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Chapter Text

The night after Yagi Toshinori offered his power to Midoriya Izuku, he dreamt of All for One. It was a dream of the battle he had fought, and won. Of All for One, standing over him, laughing like he had won while Toshinori’s entrails were spread across the ground. Toshinori remembered, too, the way that he had defeated him, by sweeping his legs out and then repeatedly bashing his head into the ground.

Needless to say, Toshinori awoke from the dream in a cold sweat. He found his body unwilling to respond to his commands, gripped in the vice of fear, like All for One was in this room with him. It wasn’t possible, it shouldn’t be possible, All for One was gone—but…All for One had defied death countless times before. It was entirely possible that it had happened again.

Toshinori ran hands through his hair. He had been a hero for far too long to risk ignoring his instincts. And…he had a duty, to protect others, to keep people safe. He had a successor now, and that meant his successor had to come first.

He checked the time. It was early, much earlier than their scheduled meeting time, but this would give Toshinori some time to think about what he wanted to say.

All Might was already on the beach when Izuku arrived, which was a little surprising, because Izuku was a whole hour ahead of schedule. He was already running, but he somehow ran even faster when he caught sight of his hero, a cheerful greeting already working its way onto his lips. He stopped, however, when he saw All Might’s face. In this form, he was already gaunt, but right now he looked exhausted, world-weary, ready to keel over and sleep for the next two days.

“All Might?” Izuku prompted gently, and All Might turned, sunken blue eyes falling on him. All Might offered him a smile, but it was a shadow of the brilliant smiles he usually wore, in either form.

“Ah, young Midoriya,” he said. “You’re quite early, my boy.”

Izuku shuffled awkwardly. “Ahh, I’m sorry, All Might. I probably shouldn’t have—”

“There’s no need to apologize,” All Might said, gently interrupting his rant. “There’s never a need to apologize for being enthusiastic about something, my boy.”

“Ahhhh—” Izuku said, rather eloquently.

This elicited a small chuckle from All Might, but it didn’t last long before he sobered again, casting his eyes back towards the horizon. “I’ve always loved dawn,” he said, voice low and gentle in a way that was unique to this form.

“It is beautiful,” Izuku said, cautiously, as if All Might was going to spook if he said it too loud or too fast. Which was a little ridiculous, probably, but All Might was also acting kind of strange, so Izuku couldn’t be too sure. Besides, if Kacchan was in a gloomy mood, he was prone to snapping, and since Izuku didn’t have much more of a model for people in bad moods to go off of than that one, well...Izuku had learned to always tread with care around sour expressions.

“It’s a cycle,” All Might said. “A new dawn, a new day, a fresh start. In these moments, right as the sun is first peeking over the horizon, the day is malleable—it could become anything you wanted it to be. It’s a bit like you in that way, my boy.”

Izuku had been buckling down for a life lesson (a life lesson from All Might, he wondered if he was ever going to get used to that), so he startled when All Might finished his statement. “Me?!” he squeaked out, feeling a warmth on his face that almost certainly meant he was blushing. Curse his overly expressive face.

All Might smiled fondly at him. “Yes, you. If—if you still accept my Quirk after this, that is.”

“All Might…why—why wouldn’t I? I—I’ve wanted a Quirk my whole life, and to get yours? I promise you, All Might, I—I mean, I don’t know how I deserve this amazing, no incredible, no amazingly incredible chance in the first place but I know I want your Quirk! I mean, if you want to give me your Quirk still! Ah!” He slapped a hand over his mouth, effectively silencing himself, what a silly thing to say, All Might had sounded so serious when he offered it yesterday. But—oh no. What if it was a joke? What if it was all an elaborate prank? What if he thought about it and realized that Izuku was just as useless and unworthy as everyone else thought and now—

“I don’t think you’re useless, young Midoriya.” A hand descended onto his shoulder and squeezed, eliciting a squeak from Izuku. He must have been saying his thoughts out loud again. He really needed to get a handle on that. “And there’s nobody I would rather pass One for All onto than you, but I…” All Might trailed off, taking in a deep breath. “I haven’t been completely honest with you, my boy.”

“O-okay,” Izuku said, biting down on his lip in an attempt to control the stammering. “Erm…is there…is there something else about One for All that I need to know, All Might?”

“There are lots of things you should know,” he said, with a sigh, his hand still heavy on Izuku’s shoulder. “And after you hear them, well. If you decide that you no longer want this power, then I want you to know that I will not be the slightest bit upset with you if you turn it down.”

There was a pretty fat chance of that happening, but Izuku didn’t say that. This was a serious moment, and whatever it was, it was clearly bothering All Might. He needed to go into this with a serious mindset.

All Might took a deep breath, and told him. He told him a story of two brothers, one small and weak and the other strong. He spoke of a criminal overlord, with the ability to both steal Quirks and pass them along to others, of how he passed a Quirk along to his own, supposedly Quirkless brother. And then this Quirk combined with the brother’s original, unknown Quirk, which allowed him to pass on his Quirk, creating One for All. One for All passed from generation to generation, each wielder trying to stop All for One before eventually being killed by him. It had a bloody history when it was given to All Might, and All Might made it bloodier. He fought All for One and won, but he was severely wounded in the process, which was why, now…

“There’s more though, isn’t there?” Izuku asked quietly, because he hadn’t spent his whole life being bullied to not know how to read in between the lines of what people said. “You’re—you’re worried.”

“I don’t think that he really died,” All Might said. “And, if that’s true, then it means, one day, he’ll come for you too.”

“And…I’ll probably lose that fight.”

“No, young Midoriya. I will do everything in my power to ensure that you won’t, I promise you that. I swear on my life—”

“No, don’t…don’t do that. Please. I don’t want anyone to die for me, but especially not you, All Might.” All Might was quiet, and Izuku inhaled sharply. “Okay.”

“Okay?” All Might echoed.

“Okay,” Izuku said, nodding. “I—I don’t want this to sound brash, or like I don’t care because I do—I mean, I definitely don’t want to die, and I will do everything I can to ensure that I don’t, but—I’ve always wanted to be a hero, All Might. I’ve always admired heroes. It doesn’t matter what Quirk you have, or how strong you are, or how smart you are. If you want to be the hero, you always run the risk of dying when someone stronger than you comes along. And…even if that happens, to me, which I don’t want it to…as long as I save one person in the process—that’s okay. It’s…I, well. I want to be a hero, All Might, and this is part of being a hero, so okay. I still want your Quirk, as long as you—as long as you want to give it. To me. Even though I’m not…impressive.”

To Izuku’s surprise, he suddenly found himself engulfed in a hug. All Might was hugging him. Hugging him! This was unreal. He wanted to cry. Oh, wait. He was crying.

“My boy,” All Might said, voice thick. Maybe All Might was crying too. “You are the most impressive young man I have ever met. And you already are a hero. You’re my hero.”

“Ahhhhh—” Izuku said, very eloquently.

They hugged for a long time after that.

About a week after that, All Might asked Izuku if he was aiming for the hero course at UA. The question was so sudden that Izuku nearly dropped a microwave on his toes.

The truth was, if All Might had asked him that a week ago, there would have only been one possible answer to that question. All Might had gone to UA, UA was the best, so Izuku was going to go there too, if he could. But things were a little different, now that he was going to receive All Might’s Quirk.

“No,” he said, decisively.

All Might looked caught off guard, which was a very rare expression on him. “No?” he echoed, like he couldn’t believe it.

A laugh bubbled out of Izuku’s throat. He honestly couldn’t believe it either. “No,” he repeated.

“…Why?”

“I always dreamed of going to UA,” Izuku admitted as he deposited the microwave into the back of the trash truck All Might had ordered. “For so many reasons. I mean, it was your alma mater, it’s the best hero course in the country, it’s close to where I live, but…no. I’m going to inherit your Quirk, and I think I should be careful about it, at least at first. UA is an amazing school, but if I got in, and I competed in the Sports Festivals, and people saw me using your Quirk, I think…I think that people would have questions.”

“I…I hadn’t thought of that,” All Might admitted sheepishly.

“There’s another reason I shouldn’t go,” Izuku said, pausing before he grabbed more trash. “Um, Kacchan, you know…the kid that you saved from the sludge villain.”

“Ah, yes, I remember him! Such fighting spirit. He’s going to go far.”

“Right, he is,” Izuku said, nodding vigorously. Whatever else could be said about Kacchan, that much he would never deny—Kacchan was extremely talented, he was going to be a hero, and there was no getting around that. “At UA.”

“I don’t see how that would be a problem, young Midoriya. If anything, having an ally at your school would be great!”

“I’m Quirkless, All Might,” Izuku said, gesturing helplessly. “Kacchan knows that. If I suddenly develop a Quirk, he’ll be suspicious. Really suspicious. And if he tells other people, they might get suspicious too, and then people will be even more likely to connect the dots between us.”

“I see,” All Might said, blinking rapidly.

“Also,” Izuku continued, because this was actually his biggest point, “you said that you don’t know for sure if All for One is dead or not. So I think it’ll probably be best if I keep a little bit of a lower profile until we do know. That way, I can learn how to be a hero and help people without causing everyone and their grandmother to connect dots between the two of us. I—I know that it’s a really powerful Quirk, and I know that you probably want me to become—to become a symbol, like you, and I want to! I want to too, but I just think that, right now—this is better. What…what do you think, All Might?”

All Might is quiet for a moment, and then he puffs up into his muscle form suddenly (and unnecessarily, but it is really cool). “I think that you surprise me every day, young Midoriya! You have already proven that you have the heart of a true hero, and now you are proving that you have the intelligence of one too! Well! That’s that, then! You will not attend UA!” He shrank again, with a cloud of smoke and a cough. “Did you have anywhere else in mind?”

Izuku did, because he had thought about this a great deal too. “Shiketsu High,” he said.

“Ah, an excellent choice,” All Might agreed. “Shiketsu is a prestigious school, just as prestigious as UA if not more so, but much more, ah, subtle, so to speak. And their entrance exam takes place a month after UA’s, which is good. If we stick to the schedule I outlined for you, that will give us an extra month, just for working with One for All. This is good, much better than my original plan.”

Izuku froze in the process of harnessing himself to a fridge. “A-all Might?”

“Yes, my boy?”

“Does that mean you were, uh—you were planning to give me One for All right before UA’s entrance exam? Like, the same day?”

"Er, yes?”

Izuku felt himself paling. “That’s so scary,” he whispered. “Get a Quirk—get All Might’s super-powerful Quirk—and pass a practical exam that’s legendary for how difficult it is, all in one day? That’s scary. That’s…so scary…”

“I, erm, well. It may have been an oversight in the initial planning, young Midoriya! Not to worry, though, since, ah, that is no longer the plan.”

“O-okay,” Izuku said. “Right. Yeah. That’s a good thing. Yeah.”

He hauled off a fridge to the sound of All Might’s awkward laughter.

As it turned out, Izuku’s misgivings about receiving One for All and taking an entrance exam were well-founded, seeing as he shattered his arm the first time he used it, spent a taxi ride to the nearest hospital in agony with All Might (All Might!), of all people, fretting over him.

He explained to the doctor that his Quirk had manifested late (not necessarily untrue), and that he had broken his arm when he tried to use it (not necessarily untrue), and after a few healing Quirks his arm was placed in a cast. He was told it would take a week to heal, still, but a week was a lot shorter than the usual three months, so he wasn’t that upset about it. Afterwards he was rushed off to a Quirk counselor, who dumped an armful of pamphlets on him before running several tests where he asked Izuku to turn his Quirk on and off.

The conclusion: his output power was stronger than what his body could safely handle. Which was essentially what All Might had said, when he told Izuku that he would have to train before he received One or All, lest his limbs explode. His arm didn’t explode, per se, but it came close.

The solution: reduce the power output to a level he could handle.

And then he was ushered out of the office with a reminder that he needed to visit the Quirk registry office as soon as humanly possible.

"I don’t even know what output level I was at when I broke my arm, or how much I can actually handle,” Izuku said to All Might as they walked out of the hospital. He glanced up (and up) at the hero, caught the guilty look on his face, and added, “I’m sorry you had to bring me here for this, All Might. I should’ve done better.”

“My boy, you never need to be sorry for that,” All Might said, clapping him on the shoulder. “If anything, I should be sorry! I had no idea that the recoil would be so bad. I suffered no such consequences when I first used it, I’m afraid. Aha!”

Izuku started. “Aha?”

“Well, I think of my power output in percentages,” All Might continued. “I think to myself, if I want to jump from here to there, I’ll need 70% of my power. Or, if I only want to jump from here to there, I need 30%. Maybe if you start at the lowest percentage possible, like, say, 5%? You might be able to get a feel for how much you can handle that way.”

“5%, huh?” Izuku scowled. That was so low. How was he supposed to be a hero, if he was only able to use 5% of his strength?

Izuku shook his head. He wasn’t a hero, not yet. First, he needed to get into Shiketsu. And before that, he needed to face his mother.

All Might left him outside of his apartment, with as many apologies as Izuku now had pamphlets, and Izuku made his way inside.

“Mom?” he called softly, as he opened the door.

“Izuku, honey?”

“It’s me.” Izuku awkwardly slid off his shoes with his left arm. “Um, Mom—”

And at that moment, she rounded the corner, and saw the cast.

She was a Midoriya, through and through, so her first reaction was to cry. Her second reaction was to demand an explanation for the broken arm. He gave her the same one as he gave the hospital—a Quirk manifested late, when he tried to use it, he broke his arm. He wished he could tell her the truth, but he’d promised All Might, and himself, that he would keep the nature of his Quirk under wraps. She cried, then, too, but because he finally had a Quirk (he may or may not have joined her in this crying session). Then she asked him why he’d taken himself to the hospital, without even telling her about it, and he paused.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” he finally said.

“Oh, Izuku. Baby. Worry me? I’m already worried. And I need to know where you are from now on, you hear? Especially if you’re at a hospital.”

“Okay, Mom,” he said, and she started tearing up. Hoping to get this in before the waterworks started again, he blurted, “I want to go to Shiketsu.”

His mom blinked at him. “…Honey?”

“I want to go to Shiketsu.” He grit his teeth. Come on, Izuku, think of how to convince her. “Now that I have a Quirk. I want to be a hero, Mom. And if I can get it under control, then I want to go there and learn.”

“But, honey…” she trailed off. “Shiketsu is so far. And you always wanted to go to UA, not Shiketsu! Why not try for there, Izuku? I know that it’s competitive, and difficult to get in, but surely you could do it.”

Izuku shook his head. “The entrance exam for UA was today.”

“Oh,” she said.

Izuku ran his left hand down his cast. “I know it’s a lot to ask,” he said. “I would have to move out, probably, but Shiketsu offers room and board for students living far away. And I could come visit on Sundays. And their entrance exam is in a month, so if I get in there, I…” he trailed off, taking in his mother’s face. She looked like she was going to say no. He didn’t know what he would do if she did. “It’s—it’s my dream,” he finished quietly.

His mom closed her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. “No more broken bones between now and then.”

“Okay,” he said, nodding vigorously. “I promise. I’m going to get this Quirk under control before then.”

She fiddled with her hands nervously. It was another habit that both Midoriya’s shared. When she looked up at him, there was a determined set to her eyes. “Once, I—once I said something to you that was not right, Izuku.” He knew what she was talking about, and he started shaking his head, opening his mouth to protest, but she cut him off. “It wasn’t right, Izuku. You can’t tell me otherwise. All you wanted to do was be a hero, and me—all I could do was say that I was sorry as I crushed your dreams too.”

 “Mom, no—”

 “I won’t do it a second time,” she said. “I promise you that, Izuku. I want you to be a hero. I know you’ll be one.”

No, Mom, what I wanted you to say was—

“Thank you,” Izuku whispered, throat tight. They were both crying.

That week, Izuku read all the pamphlets, watched every video of All Might fighting that had ever been uploaded to the internet, and thought about percentages. All Might was suspiciously busy through all of it, despite not being in the news much for hero work.

Immediately after Izuku got the cast off, he met All Might at Dagobah Beach. It had been the hero that texted him, surprisingly, after a long bout of radio silence, so of course Izuku was going to go. Besides he had something to show for his week of careful study, anyway.

“All Might!” he shouted, the moment he saw him, breathless from running and excitement. “All Might, good afternoon!”

All Might chuckled. “Good afternoon, young Midoriya. You’re quite spirited today.”

“Spirited is one word for it.” Izuku paused to catch his breath, hands on his knees, and then immediately launched into his explanation. “So I love hero analysis more than anything, and even more than that I always loved analyzing you, but the thing is that I usually base my hero analyses off of their Quirks, but for you, I never knew what your Quirk was so I had to speculate! So when I was looking back at the notes I took on you and how you use it, I realized that I was wrong! About nearly everything! So I spent the week rewatching every video of you fighting I was able to find knowing how One for All works, and I came up with something. You use it constantly, don’t you? Like, throughout your whole body, I mean? Because at first I was thinking that your Quirk—our Quirk—was something that was delegated either to our fists or our legs, depending on which one we were using at the moment because that’s how every other enhancement Quirk works! However, this isn’t any other enhancement Quirk, so it makes sense that it wouldn’t work like one, which was when I realized—whole body! I don’t know what took me so long, honestly, since your muscle form is your entire body too. And your muscle form is definitely linked to One for All, so obviously, you must use One for All in your body.”

 All Might was looking at him with a grin and a bright glint to his eyes. “So, did you figure it out, my boy?”

 “I think I did!” Izuku said, but now he paused, because this part was…strange. “But, um. Mine’s a little different from yours.”

 “Different how?” All Might asked.

 “Let me just show you.”

Izuku took a deep breath, called on One for All inside him, and let it flood his entire body, only at 5% of its power. A moment later, there was a pop as the air around him dropped several temperatures, and then a crackle. He looked down at his body, and sure enough, just like every other time he’d practiced it…there was green lightning flickering around him.

All Might had certainly never done that.

“Oh,” All Might breathed, his smile growing somehow wider. “You look like her.”

This observation shocked Izuku right out of his little mini-storm and into a squeak. “What?!”

All Might chuckled to himself. “I’m sorry, I meant to say…you look like how my master looked, when she used to use One for All. Except her lightning was pink.”

“Pink…” Izuku echoed absently, enraptured. “How—how come you…”

All Might raised a brow inquisitively. “How come I never sparkled?”

“Y-yeah.”

“I never could, actually,” All Might said with a shrug and a sad smile. “My master died not too long after passing One for All down to me. A friend of hers trained me after that, since he knew about One for All too, but no matter what either of us tried, I never did manifest the lightning. We eventually just assumed it was something unique to her. Gran Torino told me I was just too blockheaded to do anything more complex than punching bad guys, though.” He chuckled.

“Gran Torino?” Izuku asked.

“Sorry, sorry. My teacher. The one that took over for my master when she died.”

“Oh,” Izuku said. “I-I’m sorry, All Might.”

All Might smiled. “Don’t be sorry, young Midoriya! I came to terms with the fact that I would never have lightning around me a long time ago.” He reached out, burying one hand in Izuku’s curls, which he ruffled mercilessly.

That’s not what I’m sorry for. Izuku bit his lip. “Right,” he said instead.

“What’s it feel like, then?”

Izuku blinked. “One for All?” he asked. All Might nodded. “Uh…like a storm, actually. Like when you step outside and it’s about to storm and the air feels charged and heavy—that’s what it feels like.”

“Huh,” All Might said. “Guess it feels the same then. For me, every time I used One for All it felt like I was releasing built up pressure. Actually, it always felt a little bit like that moment right before rain starts to fall.”

“Mm.” Izuku agreed with the sentiment. “Actually, I was thinking about my Quirk registration.”

“Oh?”

“I was thinking that maybe I should write the Quirk down as something completely unrelated to what it is, but that still fits, if that makes sense. That doesn’t make sense, let me try again. I was thinking, you know, nobody knows what your Quirk actually is, but everybody assumes it’s some sort of super strength or physical enhancement. I was thinking I should play more off the lightning motif, throw people off our trail a bit.”

“Huh,” All Might said. “Actually, that sounds like a really good idea, my boy. Though I don’t know how it would explain the super-strength.”

“I was thinking of calling it—” Izuku broke off to seize his bottom lip between his teeth. “I was thinking of calling it Inner Storm.”

All Might made a low whistling sound. “It certainly sounds heroic and impressive, as far as Quirk names go, my boy.”

Izuku smiled, ducking his head. “Th-thanks. But, um. I was thinking, to describe the strength…um. I was thinking of going the manifestation route.”

“How so?”

“Well, I’ve tried turning it on a lot over the last week, and every time it sort of only works if first I think, I’m going to be a hero. So I thought that maybe writing that it’s a manifestation of what I feel inside, like determination, hence Inner Storm. Besides, with an explanation like that, I think it would be a little easier to explain why it manifested ten years late.”

“Really? How do you figure, young Midoriya?”

Izuku averted his gaze. “The sludge villain. I, um. I could say that I didn’t have enough determination, before. It would work out.”

All Might cleared his throat. “Young Midoriya, are you sure you don’t have an intelligence quirk?”

“What? Why?”

“You just…this is very forward-thinking, my boy! When I received One for All, I just ran off to the Quirk registration office, wrote down super-strength on my form, and went about my life, unknowingly condemning myself to a career of deflecting every question any reporter ever asked me about my Quirk, since it was clearly more than just super-strength.” He chuckled. “Never in a million years would I have thought to just come up with a different name for the Quirk and parameters that generally describe it.” Before Izuku knew it, All Might was ruffling his curls again (again!). “You, young Midoriya, are so, so brilliant.”

“I—I wouldn’t go that far, All Might! This is just…I’ve spent my whole life investigating everything I can about Quirks, since I didn’t have one, so I just…I just thought about how to describe One for All, too.”

“Well, my boy, I think that calling One for All ‘Inner Storm’ on your form is a brilliant idea. In the meantime, how does it feel to move around like that?”

Izuku called on One for All again, letting it thrum through him at just 5% of what it could do. He’d only attempted this so far standing still, so he was a little surprised at how stiff he felt after just one step, every muscle in his body straining.

He must have made a face, because All Might started laughing, his laugh transforming as he did, body beefing up as his hair straightened itself out. “5%, eh? Let’s jog the length of this beach, you and me!”

And they did. When All Might finally spared him, he collapsed into the sand, muscles screaming at him harder than they ever had in all their days of cleaning the beach—and he’d hauled fridges, with All Might on top of them, so that was saying something.

 “Try to keep this up when you can, young Midoriya,” All Might advised, crouching down into the sand next to him. “I’m…not going to be around as much anymore, now.”

 Izuku’s head popped up instantaneously. “What? All Might, why?”

 All Might winced. “Actually, young Midoriya, I took a teaching position at UA.”

 “You took a what at where? Why didn’t you tell me?”

"I didn’t want it to change things! Besides, I’ll always be a phone call away if you need my advice for anything.” All Might pulled his phone out of his pocket, as if to punctuate the statement. “Think it through, my boy. Why would I teach at UA?”

Izuku felt his eyes widen as the realization hit. “Your time limit. It’ll be easier to disguise that you can’t do hero work as often this way.”

“Right. And also, when One for All fully transfers to you, which it will, my boy, it will help for me to lie low too.”

“And,” Izuku added, as another idea came into his head. “If you work at UA, and if All for One is still alive, he’d suspect you were going to pass your Quirk on to one of the students there.”

All Might smiled ruefully. “That was the very first and foremost reason I ever took the job in the first place.” Izuku felt like his eyes were going to bug out of his head, but before any words could tumble out of his mouth asking All Might why he chose him instead of one of them, a student that was already capable of holding his power, All Might held up a hand to stop him. “I don’t regret my decision to pass it on to you, young Midoriya. I never will. You’re the perfect person to wield One for All, and you’re going to be an amazing hero one day.”

And then he ruffled his hair again. Izuku cried.

Izuku spent the next three weeks running along the beach, sparks of lightning flicking across his skin. He tried dancing, too. He was terrible at it, but it required more coordination than running did and moved more of his body in more complicated ways (plus he could do it inside, so it was a good alternative when bad weather struck). He even scraped together what little allowance he had and went to a local dojo, where he was able to pay for one lesson on the basics of fighting.

And then it was time for the Shiketsu High entrance exam.

Chapter Text

Izuku flew through the written portion, almost worried that it had been too easy. He double checked and then triple checked his work, and, finding no glaring evidence he had made any mistakes, set to preparing himself for the practical for the rest of the exam time. Realistically, even after months of training with All Might, Izuku knew that this was still going to be his weakest point.  

All Might told him that the UA entrance exam had been battle royale style since All Might himself had taken it. Students were released into mock cities in groups of roughly fifty and told to fight robots for points. Since Izuku wasn’t taking the exam, All Might had also told him that there’s an additional evaluating system in place at UA based on the students’ aptitude at rescuing their fellow competitors. He’d also sworn Izuku to secrecy in regards to that hidden criteria, but it wasn’t really like Izuku had anyone to tell. Kacchan? No way was he voluntarily talking to Kacchan. Besides, he’d already taken the exam.

The Shiketsu practical, however, was much different.

Examinees were sorted into groups of ten, completely at random. The ten were taken to a mock city, much like in UA, but there were no robots here. Instead, there were people—trained professionals, highly skilled in hand-to-hand combat and also highly skilled in not hurting people unless they wanted to. These people had also signed waivers in case they got hurt, and weren’t permitted to use their Quirks, even though the examinees were using theirs. Also, hidden somewhere in the city, there was a single “civilian” that was actually a life-size doll. Rescuing this civilian required only touching it, but it was supposedly very well hidden.

The rules went like this. Ten examinees enter, and they’re given fifteen minutes. If the civilian is rescued before then, then that’s when the exam ends for all ten students. The catch is that there are about seventy-five villains in one area, it’s about the size of a single block of a city, and they are instructed to attack on sight. Which meant, of course, that having the spare time to actually roam around a city looking for the civilian is statistically unlikely.

The quickest way to get into Shiketsu was to find the civilian and rescue them. However, as the announcer very proudly pointed out as they read the rules, the civilian had only been found twice in the sixteen years they’ve conducted the exam like this. Therefore, the much easier way to get into Shiketsu was by fighting the villains. Points were awarded per takedown, and taken away if excessive force is used. It was quite straightforward, and everyone around Izuku was buzzing with the excitement of taking down as many villains as possible.

Izuku, however, was fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve and trying to talk himself out of being insane. It wasn’t working.

See, Izuku, for better or for worse, grew up with Kacchan. Kacchan was volatile and mean and definitely a bully, but he also had a drive to win that was unchallenged by anyone else Izuku knew. However, Kacchan really didn’t like Izuku, which meant every time he wanted to challenge someone at dodgeball or in a race or to a fight, Izuku was always his first pick. Izuku suspected Kacchan only really liked to do it because he got to see Izuku lose and then insult him, but…Kacchan wasn’t here, and Izuku had a Quirk now, and, well. Izuku had grown to appreciate a good challenge when he saw one.

And finding that civilian sounded like one hell of a challenge. Besides, even though this was all hypothetical, the whole purpose of a hero was to save people. Fighting villains was only a side effect of that goal, not the main one.

The whistle blew, and Izuku and the nine people taking the test with him raced into the block.

As suspected, all nine of the other examinees ran for the first villains they saw. Izuku, for his part, went for the first fire escape—a quick scan of his surroundings had proven to him that there were not very many villains on the rooftops and many, many more on the ground level, so he had quickly decided he would make the rooftops his domain. It was pretty risky, honestly, to blow off the main objective of the exam—getting points—in such a big way, but, well. Here Izuku was, climbing a fire escape with the intents of surveilling the city from on high and not fighting anyone unless he ran into them here.

Once he reached the roof of the first building he braced himself, running to jump over to the second when he caught movement in one of the windows of that building, near the upper floor. He dropped on instinct, belly flat against the ground, body hidden by the ridge of the building. The villain looked around, eyes passing easily over where Izuku was hidden and then turned inwards, their back to the window.

Hm. Well, Izuku did need points in case his plan failed, and he did need to actually check inside buildings for the civilian too, so he figured he might as well try this out. As to how he’d try it out, though, he had no id—

Actually, he had one idea, one very crazy idea. But he also had fifteen minutes, so he wasn’t going to waste time thinking of a saner one. Izuku straightened, cautious to make sure he was going unobserved by the villain in the window as well as all the others fighting on the ground. He was good, so he called One for All into his body and leapt, barely thinking as he did.

Thankfully, barely thinking worked out for Izuku as he latched onto the windowsill above the one the villain had been standing at, arms throbbing with the strain of One for All and his entire bodyweight—though he was in no danger of losing his grip. He’d done too many pushups in the last ten months for that. Izuku put his feet against the wall and pushed outwards, peering down at the window below. The villain was still there, back still turned, apparently deaf since a teenage boy made of solid muscle just thumped rather solidly against the side of the building.

Not that Izuku minded this guy’s selective deafness, though. Especially since it was working in his favor.

He stretched his leg down, catching the edge of the window with his toe and gently pulling it upwards, as slowly and as steadily as possible. Surprisingly, its progress upwards was silent. Luck was really on Izuku’s side today.

He reached down, hooking his fingers on the upper rim of the window and began lowering himself. Once he had a good enough grip, he adjusted so that he could put his other hand there too, and then he lowered himself down until he was in front of the window, body curled underneath him as he held up his entire weight with just his arms. The villain still had his back turned.

Because luck and barely thinking had gotten Izuku this far today, he decided to trust them yet again and attempt something he’d only ever seen in movies—he swung forward, stretching his legs out, and wrapped them around the villain’s shoulders, effectively squashing his windpipe between Izuku’s thighs.

The villain made a noise of surprise, and then after a few seconds, tapped Izuku’s leg three times. It was one of the yield signals they’d been instructed to use, so Izuku immediately let him go, taking the opportunity to drop himself the rest of the way into the room and give his arms a break. The villain gasped for air and turned to look at him.

“Sorry, are you alright?” Izuku asked, whispering even though they were the only two in the room. There could be other villains outside, and if they heard voices they might come to investigate.

“I’ve had worse,” the villain whispered back, then flashed him a grin and a thumbs up. “That was great, kid. You executed that with the perfect amount of pressure, too!”

Izuku decided this probably wasn’t a good time to mention that it was the first time he tried that move, so he just offered the villain a smile and a tiny nod, already moving to look around the room, which was his initial plan anyway. He’d hidden from a lot of bullies over the years, so he knew all the usual spots. This room had been outfitted to look like a hotel room, so he started, naturally, by looking under the bed.

“Are you checking the room?” the villain asked, evidently curious. Apparently they weren’t sworn to silence or anything upon their defeat. Which made sense. Izuku had seen enough villain fights where the villain kept blathering about evil plans and whatnot after being defeated.

Which, come to think of it, his response to said villain blathering was probably part of the test too. He wondered if he’d lose points for fraternizing with the enemy or something? Given the scoring system of the exam was already sneaky and multifaceted, he decided that was a possibility. He settled for nothing more than a nod as he threw open the doors to the closet.

“You better hurry up and get out of here, kid,” the villain said. “No points to be had here.”

Izuku narrowed his eyes, deciding he didn’t trust how suspicious that statement sounded.

Also…he was the only villain here. The only villain he’d seen inside of a building, actually. Granted, he hadn’t seen many buildings, but it seemed purposeful anyway. A guard, maybe? If he was a guard, then that meant that the civilian was most likely in this room. On top of that, the villain was trying to persuade him to leave. Izuku wouldn’t put it past the school to maybe give this man instructions to try and talk a student out of leaving here if they first took him out, especially if the civilian really was here.  

He scanned over the room with new vigor. There was a vent near the ceiling, right in between two support beams. A vent, huh? Izuku had hidden in air vents before. Actually, air vents were almost always the best place to hide, since no one ever thought to check there.

One for All coursed through him again and he pushed off the ground, catching the wall midway and using it to propel himself up to one of the beams, which he caught with his right arm. He braced his feet against the wall, and with his left, he tugged at the air vent. It didn’t budge, so he put a little of One for All behind it and ripped it free from its screws. Behind the air vent—

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Izuku whispered, as he reached out to grab the doll.

A loud buzzer sounded all throughout the city. “The civilian has been rescued. This exam is concluded. I repeat, the civilian has been rescued. This exam is concluded.”

Izuku checked his watch. They were only four minutes and thirty-one seconds in.

“That was pretty cool, kid,” the villain said, beaming up at him. “That was pretty cool.”

After their exam was completed, the arena was reset (and civilian relocated) and the next group was then sent in. As the ten of them walked out—most of them crestfallen, Izuku shocked into next week—the group waiting stared.

“That wasn’t even five minutes!” one girl exclaimed.

Several people sighed at once. “Someone found the civilian,” a boy in the front grumbled. “Dunno who. They won’t fess up.”

They weren’t about to, either, if Izuku had any say in it. Which he did, since he was the person that found the civilian.

“You ten,” a teacher said, materializing out of thin air to stop Izuku’s group. “Congrats on completing the exam! Which of you is Midoriya Izuku?”

He read the name off the paper in front of him, but now he looked up, scanning the ten of them for a response. The others all made awkward eye contact with each other, trying to ascertain which of them was Midoriya Izuku. Izuku himself stubbornly avoided each of the gazes directed at him. The teacher just kept gazing out over the group, patiently waiting for him to own his sins.

When Izuku felt he could drag out this awkward silence no longer, he slowly raised a hand. “That’s me.”

The teacher’s face split into a wide grin. “A big, preemptive welcome to Shiketsu High to you, Midoriya-san.”

All nine of the others, and the other ten waiting to go in nearby, stared at Izuku. Izuku started to redden under the attention—his arms twitched with the urge to hide his face, but that would probably only make the staring worse. He clasped his hands together in front of him to keep them there. “Um. Thank you.”

The teacher laughed. There was something about his face that was tickling the back of Izuku’s mind. He was most likely a pro, considering he was here at Shiketsu, but dressed in civilian clothes instead of his hero costume, it was incredibly hard to place him. “Alright, Midoriya-san, you hang here a moment. You nine, go straight ahead and then turn right at the sign. It should take you straight to the main hall.”

The others complied, shooting Izuku incomprehensible glances as they went. Some of them looked jealous, which was an unfamiliar expression directed at him. The others seemed like admiration, which, yeah, that was pretty unfamiliar too.

“Um, Sensei,” Izuku ventured when they were out of earshot. “Am I…in trouble?”

The man in front of him barked a laugh. “Are you kidding? You were incredible! No, Midoriya-san, this is just me leaping at the chance to meet you! We haven’t had somebody find the civilian in eleven years.”

Get a chance to meet Izuku. Like he’s a celebrity of some sort. Oh, this was weird. And awkward. Weird and awkward. What was Izuku even supposed to say?

“Um. Th-thanks.” Right. He said that once already.

The teacher laughed like Izuku had just made a hilarious joke, not awkwardly stammered out thanks to a nonexistent compliment. “I just wanted to warn you, too, Midoriya-san. The other kids are gonna be talking about you.”

“Oh,” Izuku said. He should have expected that, honestly. He’d probably just ruined nine of their chances to get into Shiketsu by ending their practical exam ten minutes early. Everyone was most likely furious with him. “Um. I was actually wondering…”

Izuku stopped himself, looking up at the teacher. He probably didn’t really want to field questions from Izuku. That was the usual from teachers, anyway. To Izuku’s moderate surprise, though, the man just nodded, giving him silent permission to continue.

“I was wondering if any of the…if any of the other students in my group—if they’ll be able to get in still?”

His eyebrows crept upwards somewhat involuntarily in an expression of his surprise. “Oh, uh, wow. Are you really worried about them not getting in?”

Izuku shifted uncomfortably. “I mean, I did just ruin their chances to get their own points. I—I wouldn’t feel right, if that meant they all…failed.”

The man’s gaze softened slightly. “Well, there’s still a chance. Obviously, as a hero, having prowess in combat is usually the most important thing. But there are heroes out there with Quirks better suited to other aspects of the hero job, like healing Quirks or rescue Quirks. That’s why we automatically accept the top thirty scores of students from the practical exam, with the prerequisite that they also pass the written exam. The other ten slots in our hero program are decided after careful deliberation, based on a number of factors.”

Oh. That was a relief. Izuku was happy to know he hadn’t inadvertently ruined nine lives today. Though, by the sound of it, chances of the people in his group snagging one of those ten slots were probably relatively slim still.

“But hey, you did great, Midoriya-san,” the teacher said, shifting his clipboard so he could offer Izuku a thumbs up. “You should go on down to the main hall now so you can acquaint yourself with some of your future classmates. I don’t want you to be late for the final announcements.”

“O-okay,” Izuku said. “Thanks again, um…sorry. I’m actually not sure, uh, who you are.”

“Don’t sweat it, Midoriya-san,” he said genially. “The name’s Kinetic. I’m not super well-known, so I’m pretty used to some anonymity.”

Izuku couldn’t help his eyes widening a bit at that. He should have known—he literally had yellow eyes, and orange-brown hair not styled any differently than it was in his hero outfit. And Izuku called himself a fan. He bowed to the man in front of him, as deeply as he could without being weird. “I’m so sorry!” he said, bowing again for good measure. “I should have recognized you!”

Kinetic laughed. “Really, don’t sweat it.”

“I didn’t know you taught at Shiketsu,” Izuku said. “Didn’t you just open an agency?”

Kinetic rubbed the back of his neck. “You know about that?”

“Yeah!” Izuku said, nodding vigorously. “I mean, your legal battle with Endeavour was all over the news not too long ago. I always thought it was really brave of you, to stand up for yourself the way that you did. I was rooting for you, you know! A lot of sidekicks never really strike out on their own, and even fewer sidekicks would have the guts to try to take on the Number Two hero! And maybe more people should have taken on the Number Two hero! He was so focused on fighting Grimace that he wasn’t even bothering to watch out for collateral damage. I mean, there were how many people in that building? And they would all be dead if you hadn’t redirected his flames at the last minute!”

Izuku suddenly became aware of the fact that Kinetic was blinking blankly at him, and he clamped his mouth shut, the embarrassment that had dissipated in his general excitement for heroes returning with a vengeance. He opened his mouth to start apologizing for word vomiting at the poor man about a topic that was probably a little sensitive for him when Kinetic cut him off with an easy smile. “You really know your stuff. I’m sorry, it’s just…most people don’t even know my name, you know? Even with it being in the news a bit with that whole thing with Endeavour, people just don’t know me. And if they do, it’s as Endeavour’s sidekick. Now former sidekick, I guess.”

Izuku shuffled his feet, extremely embarrassed. “It’s just, well. I love heroes,” he explained. “And you’re my favorite kind of hero.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Izuku affirmed, nodding along with his words as he said them. “We call All Might the Symbol of Peace and Justice, you know? But I think that all heroes are a sort of symbol—they hold society up. They’re meant to be protectors above all else, so I like seeing heroes that embody that, in one way or another. If you want to call yourself a hero, I think it’s important to stay true to those ideals—protection, peace, justice. Even if it means calling other heroes on their bullshit.”

Kinetic stared at Izuku, and a moment later, Izuku realized that he’d cussed in front of a teacher. Oh, gods, he’d cussed in front of a teacher. He hadn’t even been accepted to Shiketsu yet and he was already going to have a detention—

Kinetic barked a single laugh, and then put his hand on Izuku’s head, much like how All Might often did. “You,” he said, interrupting himself to ruffle Izuku’s curls, “are going to be a wonderful hero. But right now, you really need to get to the main hall.”

“Oh, right,” Izuku said, ducking out from under his hand and shuffling in the direction he’d pointed the other nine people from his group. Maybe Kinetic was just going to let the swear word slide, since Izuku wasn’t technically a student yet? Yeah, that’s probably what it was. “Um, thanks, Kinetic. It was nice to meet you!”

“It was nice to meet you too,” Kinetic said. He sounded like he meant it, too, which was a bit of another novelty to Izuku. It was something that started with All Might—people other than his mom saying they wanted to be around him, and meaning it. Izuku wondered if he’d ever get used to it. He probably wouldn’t.

As Izuku walked he drifted into his thoughts. If he was honest with himself, he hadn’t even expected to find the civilian, let alone rescue them and get the highest score. He definitely hadn’t expected to use thigh-jutsu on one of the villains. Or leap off of a building with very little in the way of planning other than a thought to grab that windowsill, for that matter. On another level, he was able to realize that his actions hadn’t just been the result of a lot of really extreme luck converging on him all at once—giving himself the high ground to check for anomalies had been a solid strategy, stopping to take out the guy in the room had been a solid strategy, and remaining in said room to investigate his behavior had been another solid strategy.

But he also knew, on a third processing level, that he had painted something of a target on his back. The other nine people in his group had probably already rushed back to circulate his name and his feats around to the other test takers—he knew how students gossiped, he’d always been the brunt of it—and everyone in there was probably going to have it out for him as soon as he walked in. To them, he probably wasn’t just another competitor. He was the big fish. The guy that found the civilian. Essentially, he was a cheat code in a video game—get into Shiketsu the hard way, by fighting for it tooth in nail, or get into Shiketsu the easy way, by hunting down one single civilian and taking not only five hundred points, but the opportunity for more from the nine people stuck in the ring with you.

In other words, he should expect the worst from the other kids in this hall. Not that Izuku usually expected better than the worst from people his own age, just…usually, he was expecting the worst because of them and not because of something he had done.

Izuku arrived at the hall in question and took a deep breath, steeling himself. And then he opened the door.

“That’s him! That’s the guy that rescued the civilian!”

Izuku winced. And so it began.

“That’s so cool!” someone near him proclaimed. What? Cool? “Dude, how did you do it?”

“Ahhhh—” Izuku said, very eloquently.

“You have to tell us! Wait, what’s your name? You have to tell us your name!”

“Um—”

“The teacher said Midoriya Izuku!” someone offered, and Izuku recognized her as one of the girls in his group.

“Midoriya-kun!” This voice belonged to a very tall boy, pushing his way through the crowd with ease, where he stopped in front of Izuku. There was a moment of silence where they stared at each other (well, Izuku stared up at him—Izuku knew he was on the short side, but honestly, how tall was this guy?), and then the boy stiffened, slapped his hands to the back of his legs, and then slammed his forehead to the ground in a bow so forceful that Izuku heard the impact reverberating around the hall. “My name is Yoarashi Inasa! I’m so excited to meet you!”

“Uh—” Izuku said, then tried for a smile. It probably came out looking as wobbly and nervous as Izuku felt. “Please, you don’t have to do that. It’s nice to meet you too. Um.” He glanced around. All in all, there was not, actually, a lot of hostility in this room. “All of you, actually. It’s nice to meet all of you!”

Yoarashi straightened, flashing a wide grin at Izuku. “You’re very hot-blooded, for a hero!” he shouted.

Izuku blinked. Um…what did…what exactly did that mean?

“Midoriya-san, how did you do it?” This was a new voice vying for attention, belonging to a boy even smaller than Izuku that had followed in Yoarashi’s wake, sort of like a duckling following after its mother. “How’d you find the civilian?”

“Oh, I, uh—” Whereas before everyone had been clamoring for his attention, now they all watched him raptly. It was very nerve-wracking. Incredibly nerve-wracking. Izuku decided he would tell this story to the ceiling, instead of while making eye contact with any of them. “I wanted to rescue the civilian from the start, so I, uh, climbed onto the roof of the first building I saw. And then I saw a guy in the next building over. One of the villains. Not that I needed to clarify that, but I did. Anyway. Um, so I jumped over and then snuck in through the window he was standing by and I, uh.” He swallowed, decided he didn’t need to mention the impromptu thigh-jutsu, and continued without that detail. “I took him out. But then he was acting suspicious, so I checked the room for the civilian. It was, uh, pretty lucky. I was extremely lucky, actually.”

“Wait! You took out one of the mock villains in less than five minutes?” That was another person that had been in his group. Everyone else was looking at them, stunned, which was nice because it meant they weren’t looking at Izuku like that anymore. But then they all turned those stunned looks on Izuku, and they were right back to square one.

“Uh, yeah...” Izuku said, and then he trailed off when all of their faces shifted from incredulity, expressions full of wonder and jealousy and lots of things he didn’t have the mental aptitude to place at the moment. “It was, uh, lucky.”

“How’d you do it, then?” Yoarashi asked. Or shouted. His only volume setting seemed to be as loud as possible.

Izuku closed his eyes. He was apparently going to have to regale them with tales of impromptu thigh-jutsu anyway. Certain death by social anxiety, one. Midoriya Izuku, zero. “I was holding myself up using the window, so I just. You know.” They stared at him expectantly. “I just wrapped my thighs around his windpipe while he wasn’t looking and then he yielded! It was just luck, honestly. I hadn’t even tried that before! It could have gone terribly. They should probably take points off my score because of it!”

Once again, Izuku was met with silence, but unfortunately a few of those expressions were shifting again to something he didn’t know. A few people glanced down, not so subtly, at his legs. A few people were blushing. No one seemed to know what to say.

Izuku wanted to die.

Thankfully, at that moment, the doors opened to admit a new group and Izuku was able to slip away, finding himself a seat in the back corner of the room, where very few people were. Most of them immediately started questioning the newcomers like they had Izuku, and said newcomers responded in like. Izuku cast a small smile their way, glad to see them so enthusiastic about recounting their own exam.

That was probably just because they didn’t have to admit to gripping someone in a strangle hold with their thighs, though.

Izuku tensed as he became aware of someone looming over him—not all that uncommon, given his past—but he still jumped at the sheer volume of the person’s voice when it sounded. “I like you!”

Izuku jumped so bad he nearly fell out of his chair.

Clutching at his chest where his heart was hammering away, Izuku looked up to find Yoarashi standing above him, beaming like an idiot. Izuku couldn’t help but smile a little himself as he reclaimed his chair. “Yeah, I, um. You seem really cool, too!”

“Thank you!” he said, either not noticing or not caring about what was probably the single most awkward sentence ever uttered to him. “Do you have a favorite hero?”

“Oh, yeah! All Might is definitely my favorite!”

Yoarashi gave him a double thumbs up. “Everyone loves All Might! He’s such a hot-blooded hero, what’s not to love?”

And there it was again. Hot-blooded. “I agree,” Izuku said, “but, um, what do you mean by hot-blooded?”

Yoarashi’s expression soured, and for a moment Izuku thought it had something to do with what he said, but then Yoarashi started talking—a lot—about how he fell in love with passionate heroes when he was a kid. He said Endeavour was his favorite until he met him. Yoarashi described Endeavour’s eyes as cold as he slapped the autograph board out of kid Yoarashi’s hands, and said that’s what made him decide he wanted to be warm and hot-blooded, as a hero.

“So, you mean it as a compliment, then,” Izuku said, nodding along as he finished the story. Then he breathed a sigh of relief. “I was a little worried, for a moment.”

Yoarashi laughed. “Of course it’s a compliment! Without passion, what’s the point of living? Of being a hero? Of helping people? There is no point!”

“Right,” Izuku said, because he didn’t know what else to say. This was probably the longest conversation he’d had with someone his age since he was four, which was…wow, that was pretty sad.

“Let’s be friends!”

Izuku started again. He was going to have to stop doing that, since Yoarashi apparently wasn’t going to stop shouting things in his ears.

Wait a minute. Did Yoarashi just ask to be friends? Friends with Izuku? Really? There was no way. No way at all.

Izuku realized belatedly that Yoarashi was staring at him, waiting on a response, something dark falling over his expression like he thought Izuku was going to say no or something, which, oh no, he thought Izuku was going to say no to being friends and—

“I’d like that!” Izuku shouted, almost as loudly as Yoarashi had shouted at him, and immediately he felt his cheeks going red with embarrassment. This wasn’t good, what if Yoarashi thought he was making fun of him or—

Yoarashi clapped him on the back hard enough to almost knock him out of the chair again. “That’s great! I’m so happy! This worked so much better than it did last time!”

Izuku straightened himself in his chair again, then blinked up at Yoarashi. “Last…time?”

“Oh!” Yoarashi declared, and he vaulted over the chairs to settle in the one next to Izuku. Izuku sensed there was probably another story coming his way. Probably an equally long and loud one, too, at that. “I actually applied to UA too!”

“Oh, that’s cool!” Izuku said, nodding. “UA was always my dream school when I was a kid! It’s pretty close to where I live, and all the best heroes—” He cast a sideways glance at Yoarashi, remembering that speech about the Flame Hero earlier. “—excluding, uh, Endeavour, that is, I wouldn’t call him the best, per se—graduated from there, so I thought it would be cool to go too. I realized that Shiketsu was more for me when I—” Inherited the number one hero’s Quirk. “—got older, though.”

“Me too, me too!” Yoarashi said, nodding vigorously. “What changed my mind was Endeavour’s son, though!”

“I, um, wasn’t really aware he had a son? Well, I knew he had children but I didn’t think any of them were our age?”

“His youngest son is,” Yoarashi said, folding his arms across his chest. “He told me to stay out of his way at the entrance exam for UA’s recommended students. He had eyes just like his father’s.”

“Oh,” Izuku said, because he didn’t know what he was supposed to say to that. He honestly didn’t know much about Endeavour’s family at all, so he had no idea what the kids were like. And Yoarashi seemed slightly biased, so it would probably be best if Izuku reserved judgement. Assuming he ever met one of the Todoroki kids, which didn’t seem all too likely. Actually, no. If one of them was their age and attending UA, because it was relatively safe to assume that the son of Endeavour would get into UA, then that meant Izuku would probably meet him at some point. At least when they went pro, if not sooner. Assuming Izuku lived that long, considering the existence of evil overlords that were after his Quirk and what not.

Which was a very morbid thing to be thinking about while trying to have a conversation with someone else.

“Yeah,” Yoarashi agreed. “It was very cold-blooded. It was also kind of mean, you know?”

“Yeah.” It sort of reminded Izuku of Kacchan, actually. Or at least of how Kacchan went around calling everyone else extras, or—or useless, but that was a name he reserved for Izuku specifically. Izuku was all too familiar with the way that words could cut right to the core of your being, even worse than bruises and burns could.

Yoarashi looked over at him, looking like he was about to say something else. Izuku panicked—after a revelation like that he didn’t trust himself to keep logically discussing Endeavour or his son, his son who was apparently like Kacchan—no, stop that, Izuku—so he asked Yoarashi the first thing that came to his mind instead. “So, what’s your Quirk?”

Yoarashi beamed like a kid in a candy shop, and Izuku breathed an inner sigh of relief. At least he’d taken the impromptu topic change well. “It’s called Whirlwind! I can create and direct wind currents.”

“Oh, wow, that sounds incredibly applicable! I bet it would be perfect for moving debris in a rescue.”

Yoarashi laughed. “I think so too! What about you? What’s your Quirk?”

Izuku hesitated. Other than the awkward explanation he’d offered All Might, this was the first time he was going to do this, talk about his Quirk, lie about his Quirk. But he needed to be good at this. He’d never been good at lying, but it was time to get good, or else. Izuku took a deep breath, and then offered Yoarashi his best smile. He held up his hand, allowing One for All to flare to life in just one of his fingers, green sparks flying across it. Yoarashi stared, clearly enraptured by this casual display of power. Izuku closed his fist, cutting off the flow of the energy within him as he did.

“I call it Inner Storm,” he said, and he sounded calm. Somehow, he sounded calm. “It lets me manifest the energy I carry inside me with the force of powerful storm.”

“So that was lightning?” Yoarashi asked, grinning at him.

“Yes.”

“Midoriya-kun, you and I are gonna make a great team one day, I just know it,” Yoarashi said. “We both already have elemental quirks! I bet they’re super compatible too! Ooh, I know! I bet I could make you fly around in a wind storm while you rain down lightning on everyone around you!”

Izuku frowned. He hadn’t actually tried to direct the sparks of lightning that clung to him when he used his Quirk, but he wondered if he could. Maybe that was worth looking into…?

He was about to respond when someone walked out on stage—this someone, Izuku recognized, even out of costume—the snakes in her hair were a dead giveaway.

“Does Uwabami work at Shiketsu?” Izuku asked Yoarashi.

To his surprise, Yoarashi responded at a normal volume. “She teaches Public Relations classes here.”

Izuku breathed out a sigh and tried to rein in his inner fanboy a little bit. He was at a hero school, after all; he was going to meet a lot of pro heroes, and he shouldn’t be doing it in cold sweats while stammering every other word. “So cool,” he whispered, and Yoarashi laughed (back to his normal volume already).

“Welcome, everyone,” Uwabami said, smiling kindly in their direction and offering a small wave. One of the snakes in her hair waved too, which, honestly, was cute and charming in a way that Izuku hadn’t thought Uwabami could be.

The crowd murmured back a relatively tame hello (excluding Yoarashi, who shouted it), and Uwabami smiled. “Well, seems we have a lively bunch this year,” she said. Izuku doubted it was a lively bunch so much as it was a lively Yoarashi, but he kept this and his small, amused smile at the thought to himself. “This was an eventful round of testing! Oh, I’m sorry, some of you latecomers might not have heard yet—we actually had someone rescue the civilian this time around. An extra round of applause goes out to Midoriya Izuku!”

Oh, shit. They were announcing this? Oh, double shit. Everyone had turned to stare at him again as they clapped for him. To make matters worse, Yoarashi decided to practically knock Izuku out of his chair again with another clap to his back.

“Now, just to rehash some things, lovelies,” Uwabami continued, clapping her hands together as she did. “Each villain you officially take down grants you fifty points, and you earn one additional point for every minute you survive a fight with one. You lose one point from your total score for every time you damage property unnecessarily, and one point from your total score for every time you use excessive force against a villain. If you manage to rescue the civilian, you are granted five hundred points. Our acceptance policy works as follows—first, you must pass the written exam to be considered at all. Then, the top thirty scores from the practical exam are accepted automatically, provided they passed the written portion. The other ten slots for our hero course students are chosen at our discretion, based on written exam scores, practical exam scores, and judgement calls made during the practical exam. Because the fourteenth simulation ended at four and a half minutes, we’ll also take that time reduction into consideration. We pride ourselves on our speed here at Shiketsu, so you’ll all know if you made it in by the end of the week!”

A cheer went up in the crowd, though Izuku did not participate. He just smiled to himself, content with watching and waiting.

 Uwabami made a few more closing announcements, then wished them all luck and sent them on their way. Yoarashi walked with Izuku back to the locker room everyone had put their stuff to take the practical exam, then continued walking with him out of Shiketsu, chatting about this or that the whole way.

Izuku eyed the taller boy subtly as he talked. It wouldn’t be the first time that someone had asked to be friends with Izuku just for it to end up being a trick, but Yoarashi seemed genuine. Maybe it was because he was incapable of talking quiet, or the look he gave when Izuku took too long to answer his friendship request, but Izuku wanted to believe him.

And maybe it was naïve, to do this after all the times he’d been proven wrong over and over again in middle school, but Izuku always wanted to have hope that maybe people were different elsewhere.

“Would you like my number?” he asked Yoarashi, once he paused for a breath in between stories. “So that we can stay in touch after this? If—if we both get in, I think…I think that it would be nice to see a friendly face, you know?”

Yoarashi beamed, and something about the way he smiled was familiar to Izuku. It reminded him a bit of himself, and he wondered if maybe Yoarashi didn’t have many friends either. “Yes, that’s a great idea!”

Izuku nodded and fished his phone out of his pocket, opening up the contacts app and passing it over to Yoarashi, who eagerly typed in his number. Once he was done, he handed Izuku’s phone back to him, and Izuku, suddenly inexplicably nervous, opened a messaging channel with Yoarashi and sent him a simple hi. “I sent you a message so that you’d have mine. My number, I mean.”

Yoarashi pulled his own phone out then to check, still beaming. “I got it! It was great talking to you, Midoriya-kun!”

Izuku felt himself sag in relief. Yoarashi had actually given him his real number. That was...well, it wasn’t a first, but it was a first for someone doing it voluntarily and not because they’d been stuck on a group project with Izuku instead.

“It was great talking to you, too!” Izuku said, as he boarded his train. Yoarashi just grinned and waved enthusiastically, continuing even after the train started moving.

He was a good guy, Izuku thought. And, he thought, he had the makings of a good hero. A nice, hot-blooded one.

Izuku laughed quietly to himself as he took his seat.

“I ended up with the most points of all examinees, I’m pretty sure,” Izuku said into the phone. The back corner of this bus had relative privacy, but he still wasn’t about to start yelling about his exam for all the world to hear. That seemed counterintuitive to the whole reason he’d taken the Shiketsu exam instead of UA’s.

All Might made a sound on the other end of the line that sounded suspiciously like the squawking sounds Izuku’s mom made when she was fussing over him. “That’s incredible, my boy! Tell me everything!”

Izuku looked around again. The only other people on the train right now were several seats in front of him and focused on their own problems. He tucked the phone tighter to his face, turning slightly so he was looking out the window as he talked.

“It was a simulation,” he said, and launched into a thorough explanation of all the events that had transpired at the practical exam.

“You crushed his windpipe with your thighs?” All Might interrupted, voice incredulous.

Izuku instinctively shushed him, remembered they were on the phone and it didn’t matter how loudly he declared Izuku crushed a poor fake villain with his thighs, and paled considerably. “I mean, yeah. I don’t know. It was the first thing I thought of doing when I was hanging from the window by my arms. Like those old American spy movies!”

All Might chuckled. “Sounds to me like you already have an ultimate move, my boy.”

Izuku laughed. “No way! I am not making Thigh Crush: Smash! an ultimate move.”

“It would certainly set you apart from me,” All Might said, laughing lightly as he did. “I definitely never crushed any windpipes with my thighs.”

“All M—” Izuku cut himself off with a groan. “You can’t just say that stuff! Come on, it’s embarrassing.”

“It’s all about assets, my boy. If crushing people between your thighs happens to be one of yours, you should own it. I know my master did, anyway.”

“Don’t tell me that she…thigh-jutsu’d people to?”

“Once or twice. You’re very similar to her, I think. Scrappy, with much more of a head for strategy than I’ll ever have.”

Izuku felt color rising up to his cheeks. “I wouldn’t say that. I’m just…lucky, I guess. I just do things and they end up working. I wouldn’t exactly call it a well thought out plan.”

“Well, your ability to act when no one else will has always set you apart, young Midoriya. It’s why I chose you, after all.”

Izuku ducked his head, even though All Might wasn’t there to see it. “Maybe I’ll think about the thigh crushing thing then. As a special move.”

All Might laughed so hard he quickly started coughing. Izuku winced, apology at the ready for when he was done, but before he got the chance, All Might continued speaking. “You know, my boy, I think you should start calling me by my name.”

“Er, what?”

“My real name. It would be best for discretion, you know.”

“But, All M—I mean, your real name, it’s a closely guarded secret, isn’t it? You can’t just—”

“Yagi Toshinori,” All Might said, interrupting him swiftly. “That’s my name. And it is a closely guarded secret, but I trust you, my boy. Besides, the fact that it’s so closely guarded means that no one will recognize it when you talk to me.”

“Yagi-sensei,” Izuku said, rolling the name around on his tongue as he tried it out.

There was silence for a moment, then All Might—Yagi—said, “Now that’s something I never thought I’d hear.”

“O-oh.”

“I’m proud of you, though, my boy. You’ve come a long way from the Quirkless kid that ran headfirst into battle just because no one else would. And if I’m not mistaken, and I’m not, you’ll come a long way still.”

“Thank you, Yagi-sensei,” Izuku murmured.

“Are you excited to be attending Shiketsu? It’s a very prestigious school you know. Actually, I’ve heard that their entrance exam is harder than UA’s.”

“I can see how it might be,” Izuku said. “Also, technically, I haven’t actually been accepted yet. Though it was implied. Heavily implied. Anyway, the concept behind the UA entrance exam is straight-forward enough—even though the examinees don’t know about the rescue point system, as long as they take down robots, they know that they have a chance of getting in. The Shiketsu exam was not straight-forward at all. Focus on fighting villains the whole time, and if you fight enough or take down enough, you can get in. Or you could forego the fighting and go for the golden egg—you know, the civilian rescue.”

“Which you did.”

“Yeah, but I got lucky that I just happened to see that guy in the window, just happened to drop in to take him out, just happened to find the civilian in the room…”

“There’s nothing wrong with a little bit of luck, my boy. Besides, from what you told me already, that’s not all there was to it—you avoided detection by the villain, you exercised stealth, you tried out a new move since it had a high probability of succeeding. You haven’t told me the rest yet, since I got distracted by some, ah, details—” He chuckled. “—but, I’m sure the civilian doll wasn’t just hanging in plain sight for you to find, which meant you had to solve a puzzle when you looked for it. Am I right, young Midoriya?”

Izuku relented to the praise, but only because this conversation would go in circles forever if he didn’t. “The civilian was in the air vents,” he said. “But I’ve spent a lot of time hiding from other people, so…”

He probably shouldn’t have said that. It was a little dark.

“Young Midoriya,” Yagi said, like he was giving a small child a stern talking to, which actually wasn’t that far off from what was happening. “Use every tool you have in your arsenal, and then some. Your past may have been troubled, and that’s not right, it will never be right, but if you can use that past to help people in the future, then you should use it, and without shame. Everything you learn, the good and the bad, can be applied to hero work.”

Izuku leaned his forehead against the window, biting his lip to fight back tears. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d cried in public, but he would rather not make any more of a habit of it than it already was. He decided a change of topic was probably for the best. “How are things going, with UA acceptance?” he asked. The thank you went unsaid, but he knew that Yagi would hear it anyway.

“They’re going extraordinarily well,” he said, the smile evident in his voice. “This is going to be an exciting batch of first years, this time around. Though I must admit, part of me still wishes you would be amongst them, young Midoriya.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, my boy. Never apologize for being smarter than an old man.”

“You’re not old, Yagi-sensei.”

He laughed heartily. “I beg to differ, young Midoriya! All I meant was that I know UA was always your dream. I feel bad, I suppose, for depriving you of it, so to speak.”

“It was my choice to go to Shiketsu instead,” Izuku reminded him. “My idea.”

“And it’s a much better one than mine ever was. Anyway, duty calls. I’ll talk to you again soon, my boy.”

Izuku smiled. “I’ll talk to you soon, Yagi-sensei.”

The letter came in the mail on Thursday. Izuku’s mom saw it first, and brought it to him, already crying, so frantic that she tripped over herself presenting it to him. Despite getting what was probably the highest score in years, Izuku was still inexplicably nervous. There was always the chance that he’d failed the written portion, after all…

His hands shook as he opened it. His mom, though he loved her, lurking over his shoulder to read it with him didn’t help settle his nervousness. Izuku drew in a sharp intake of air when he saw the first line.

Midoriya Izuku,

We’re honored to announce your acceptance into the hero academia at Shiketsu High.

“You got in! My baby got into Shiketsu!” his mom shouted, latching onto his shoulders and shaking him, crying all the while.

Izuku couldn’t help a relieved laugh from escaping him. “I got in,” he repeated, disbelievingly. “Mom, I’m going to be a hero.”

“You’re going to be a hero,” she said, smooshing his cheeks with both her hands. “I’m so proud of you, Izuku.”

“Thank you,” Izuku said, covering her hands with his own. He was crying too. “I can’t believe I did it, Mom.”

“I can,” she said, pulling him in to give him a gentle forehead kiss. “That’s my baby. You’ve always been so determined.”

“Mom, you’re making me cry,” Izuku protested weakly.

She laughed and pulled away, wiping at her own tears with her fingers. “I’m going to make some katsudon for dinner tonight, to celebrate.”

“That sounds good,” Izuku said, wiping at his own tears as she retreated to the kitchen to get started.

He’d done it. He’d gotten in.

Chapter Text

Izuku woke up to his phone buzzing with an incoming text message the next day. It was an odd occurrence—too early for his mom to send her customary “at work now” text and still too late for it to be Yagi, who seemed to wake up, typically, an hour after Izuku did for school. Which meant that it was tempting enough for Izuku to forego the other half hour of sleep he usually got in favor of reading the message.

He blinked blearily at his too-bright phone screen, trying to make out the name of the contact.

Izuku jolted awake all at once. It was Yoarashi. Yoarashi had texted Izuku. Somehow, even though Izuku had given him his number, he hadn’t actually expected Yoarashi to use it.

He hadn’t expected him to make any effort to be his friend outside of the entrance exam.

Izuku looked at the message with a little thrill of excitement—friend, he had a friend—and smiled when he saw that it was a picture of an acceptance letter. Yoarashi had gotten in too.

Izuku typed up a response at lightning speed.

Izuku [5:34 a.m.]:

Congratulations!! That’s amazing!!!

Izuku [5:34 a.m.]:

I got in too! The letter came yesterday :D

To his surprise, Yoarashi responded equally as fast.

Yoarashi Inasa [5:34 a.m.]:

That’s great! Supposedly I got the second-best score overall. I’m guessing first was you?

Izuku [5:35 a.m.]:

Haha, yeah. That is indeed a thing that happened…

How Izuku managed to sound awkward and embarrassed even in text format he had no idea. He cringed. Gods, he needed lessons in talking to people his own age, or something.

Yoarashi Inasa [5:35 a.m.]:

Always so humble, Midoriya-kun!

Izuku didn’t really know what to say to that. Thankfully, he didn’t have to say anything, because as he was drafting his response, Yoarashi flooded his phone screen with walls upon walls of text. Most of them were about Shiketsu. One of them was about pomegranates. Another was about centipedes. Izuku read them as he brushed his teeth, not sure if he was even supposed to respond or not. Before he could, Yoarashi texted him a long-winded goodbye, explaining that he had to go to class.

Well then.

Izuku texted his own goodbye (electing to not respond to any of the previous paragraphs, seeing as he still didn’t really know what to say), and made his way to Aldera Junior High.

The change was immediate when Izuku walked into school that day. Normally, he walked these halls like a ghost—overly aware of anyone that passed near him, but mostly invisible to them all the same. Something was different, today, though. People stopped what they were doing to stare at him, conversations dropped off as he walked past. The whispers were back in full force today too—usually Izuku only heard them when someone new moved to the school and needed the scoop—that’s Midoriya, he’s Quirkless, you don’t want to accidentally sit near him at lunch or anything. No one was new today, though. And the mentions of his Quirklessness were joined by something else—that’s Midoriya, he’s Quirkless, he somehow cheated the Shiketsu exam.

Right, because Quirkless people weren’t supposed to be able to achieve anything without it being a fluke. Izuku had never even been allowed to be intelligent, something that had exactly nothing to do with having a Quirk or not. If he scored anything higher than average, he was immediately cornered by a teacher and told that he should either say who he cheated off of or expect a detention.

He always got the detention. On the bright side, though, it only took him six of these detentions to learn how to get enough answers right and enough intentionally wrong to be perfectly average.

By the time Izuku had slid open the door to his classroom, he’d counted ten people that were staring at him with enough hostility to warrant taking a different route than usual back home today. If he was hoping for a reprieve in class, though, he didn’t get it. As soon as he stepped inside, every gaze in the room zeroed in on him. That was at least five more hostile parties he had to look out for then, judging by their expressions. And one said hostile party was Kacchan, so Izuku would be better off finding a nice, small place to hide once class was done instead. Kacchan never did have the patience for hide and seek.

“Midoriya-san,” his teacher said, and Izuku looked to him. Six hostile parties in here, then, though the teacher wasn’t necessarily a threat on the way home so much as a bottomless detention dispenser. “Go to the principal’s office.”

Izuku did not audibly sigh. Izuku did not do much of anything, just shift his gaze so it was pointed at the clock behind the teacher’s head and not at him directly. “Am I in trouble for something?” he asked. He hated how empty his voice sounded as he asked it. So defeated. So resigned.

“Midoriya-san,” his teacher quipped, like he should know better than to ask a question.

“R-right,” Izuku said. He should know better than to ask. He existed, and he was Quirkless. That was always reason enough for him to be in trouble. Still, cheeks flaming with indignation and embarrassment, he bowed stiffly to his teacher and left the room again. Unfortunately, the path to the principal’s office was one that Izuku was intimately familiar with.

Izuku knocked, politely, on the principal’s door. He heard the man clear his throat on the other side. “It’s open.”

Izuku opened the door and stepped inside, the principal’s plastic smile already contorting into something complicated as soon as he saw him. “I was told to come here,” Izuku said, closing the door behind him.

“Ah, yes, Midoriya-san,” he said, gesturing to the seat in front of his desk. Izuku took it, used to this dance already. “How are you doing today? Well I hope?”

“I’m fine,” Izuku said blankly. Frankly, he probably could have told this man that his entire family had died in a villain attack an hour ago and he would probably smile at him and nod politely anyway.

“That’s good, that’s good. Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about your score on the Shiketsu High entrance exam.” Izuku didn’t say anything, just waited for him to go on. “How did you do so well?”

What he meant to ask was, how did you cheat? and they both knew it.

Shiketsu was too important to Izuku for him to just roll over and play these games like usual, though. “Surveillance. Calculated risk-taking. Clever applications of my Quirk. A near perfect score on the written portion.”

“You don’t have a Quirk, Midoriya-san,” the principal said, very slowly, like he was talking to a toddler. “And given your performance at this school, I’d wager that getting a near perfect score on the written portion is not possible unless you had outside help of some kind.”

What he meant to say was, you cheated your way in, just tell me how and this will be easier for you, and they both knew it.

“If you checked my Quirk registry, you would see that I do actually have a Quirk,” Izuku said. He didn’t bother correcting him on his judgement of the written portion. It would just fall on deaf ears anyway.

The principal huffed and adjusted his half-moon glasses, but apparently decided to humor Izuku. Probably just so that he could spin his monitor around and thrust Izuku’s Quirklessness back in his face. He sat back as he read Izuku’s recently updated Quirk registration form, though, clearly both surprised and displeased that there was a Quirk listed there now. “What’s this Inner Storm?” he asked.

“That’s my Quirk,” Izuku said.

It was a cheeky thing to say, Izuku knew. He also knew that it would more than likely result in a detention slip later. He also couldn’t entirely bring himself to regret it.

“Show it to me,” the principal said. He sounded appropriately displeased, which meant, yeah. There was definitely a detention coming Izuku’s way.

Really, the best way to show him One for All would be to snap his desk in half with a punch, but Izuku didn’t think that would be appreciated. So, instead, he settled for the same demonstration he’d given Yoarashi at the exam—sparks of green lightning dancing across his skin, nothing more, nothing less. Though unlike with Yoarashi, Izuku demonstrated using his whole right hand this time, holding it up for the principal to see easily.

The principal’s eyes tracked the sparks of lightning almost greedily. It was…it was a look that Izuku absolutely did not like having directed at him. It was the same look that people gave particularly tantalizing pieces of meat on the plate in front of them, or golden medals that they were competing to win. And that feeling only worsened when the principal spoke, his plastic grin back in full now, and noticeably uncomplicated. “That’s one flashy Quirk.”

“Yes,” Izuku said, because now that he’d been treated like a used dishrag and a diamond in the span of the same conversation, he wanted nothing more than to leave this room.

The principal’s grin sharpened. “Well, Midoriya-san, congratulations on your acceptance to Shiketsu, with the top score of all examinees, no less! Between you and Bakugou-san, Aldera has quite the prestigious lineup of graduates.”

A dishrag, a diamond, and a comparison to Kacchan.

“Thanks,” Izuku said, his voice hard and flat in a way he was pretty sure his voice was not meant to be. “I need to go back to class.”

“By all means!” the principal said, laughing. It was a big, booming laugh. The sort of laugh that was usually directed at others, rather than used with them. “I wouldn’t want to interfere with your education!”

Of course you wouldn’t. “Thanks,” Izuku said again, standing and bowing stiffly before making a beeline for the door. He didn’t go to class immediately, though. He went to the bathroom, locked himself inside a stall, and proceeded to work himself through a series of breathing exercises as he tried to calm his racing mind.

All it took was a Quirk. Years and years of scrambling to be recognized, of trying to be friendly to everyone even as they kicked him in the ribs and shoved him into lockers, and all it took was a Quirk. All it took was a Quirk, and the principal had stopped accusing him of cheating and started congratulating him on his score.

Before, Izuku was nothing.

Now, Izuku was nothing but a Quirk.

“I’m sorry for asking,” Izuku whispered into his phone receiver that night. His mom wasn’t at home, but he was being quiet anyway, in case she came back early. It was a good thing, too, considering how long it had taken Izuku to get home today. Kacchan had been a little more persistent in finding him after class than usual.

“It’s not that, my boy,” Yagi said on the other end of the line. “I don’t mind you asking, it’s just…I don’t quite understand why you’re so pressed about it.”

“I just…I just don’t want that school to have my name. I don’t want any of my success at the Shiketsu entrance exam to be linked to Aldera Junior High. I got in to Shiketsu because of your help and my own hard work. It had nothing to do with them.”

“Young Midoriya…you graduate in a week. Why should it matter if your success is inadvertently linked to your previous school?”

“Because that school is awful!” Izuku’s voice rose, without his consent, and he fought to pull it back down. “That school is awful,” he repeated, more sedately. “The Quirk-based discrimination is extremely bad there. I don’t want somebody to hear that the top hero course student at Shiketsu came from there and think it’s a good place to send their kid. Besides, the more of myself that didn’t have One for All that’s erased, the better, right? That’s how you did it.”

Yagi was silent for a long moment. “I don’t disagree,” he finally said, at the end of it. “It would be better to erase your pre-Quirk past, but…young Midoriya, what’s this really about?”

Izuku took a deep breath. He forced himself to calm down. This was Yagi. This was the first and only person that ever believed in Izuku before he got his Quirk. He could trust him. He had too. “Yagi-sensei, did you ever get used to it?”

“Used to what, my boy?” He sounded patient. Calm. It smoothed out knots in Izuku’s shoulders that he didn’t even know were there.

“Used to being nothing more than a Quirk that wasn’t even yours.” Izuku pulled his knees up onto the chair with him, then rested the side of his cheek against them. “Used to other people deciding your validity as a person based on the strength of your Quirk. Used to…never being enough, then all of a sudden being everything everyone else ever wanted?”

Yagi was silent for a long time after that, and then he exhaled, breathy and loud, crackling through Izuku’s phone speakers. “Oh, my boy. I’m so sorry. I forgot.”

“You forgot?” Izuku echoed, quietly, confused.

“Did I ever tell you that I was Quirkless before I inherited One for All too?”

Izuku straightened instantly, lowering one of his knees. “No! Why didn’t you say anything before now?”

Yagi laughed, a big, hearty laugh despite his frail frame. “I just hadn’t gotten a good chance to yet, my boy. But I was. And I went through everything you went through too. I think a lot of people build their identities around their Quirks. I think that includes us, who built our identity around being Quirkless, in one way or another. Spending a lifetime Quirkless means that getting a Quirk, getting something else to identify ourselves with, can be jarring.”

“I was thinking, too,” Izuku said, “about how it’s sort of…not right. I was always aware of it before, I mean. I was always aware that people decided my worth and what profession I should have—” And lots and lots of other things I can’t tell you about. “—based on the Quirk I didn’t have, but getting one, suddenly, and suddenly being told by everyone that I could have the dreams that I’d always been denied before…”

“It makes you feel like you don’t have worth outside of a Quirk,” Yagi finished for him.

Izuku took a shaky breath in and closed his eyes. “Yeah.”

“Well, young Midoriya, all I can say is that it never really goes away. There will always be people that look at you and see your Quirk first and everything else later, if they see it at all. But, there will also be people that see what’s underneath and value it too. I will be the first to admit that our specific Quirk can be a burden, in more ways than one. I’ll be there to help you shoulder it, though, and down the line, when you find people you can trust, they will be there to do the same.”

“Thanks, Yagi-sensei,” Izuku murmured, hugging his legs a little tighter to his chest. “I think I needed to hear that.”

“Anytime, young Midoriya. And, if you really want, I can set my team on your name like you asked, too. Get it off the records at Aldera, and everywhere else.”

“I haven’t noticed any that have it in there,” Izuku said, biting his lip, “but if you see any news articles about the sludge villain that has my name in them, you might want to pull those too. But that’s about covering up my connection to you more than anything else.”

“Not a bad idea, my boy. Not that I’d expect one from you, at this point.” Yagi chuckled.

Izuku hid his blush in his knees even though there was no one there to see it. “Thanks,” he said. “I have to go, though. Homework, and all that.”

Yagi chuckled again. “You take care, my boy.”

“You too,” Izuku murmured, and then he ended the call.

Izuku stood, maybe intending to go to the bathroom, maybe intending to actually do homework. He flopped onto his bed instead, then rolled over, staring up at the ceiling.

And then, because he was him, he started ripping through all the thoughts clogging up his mind, methodically, one at a time, until he could come to a conclusion that satisfied him.

The first conclusion that he came to was that, yes, he was glad that Yagi had offered him One for All. As much as Izuku liked to hope and dream before, he knew that getting into a hero program while Quirkless would have been extremely difficult, if not impossible. And of all the Quirks he could have possibly gotten, One for All, the Quirk that had previously belonged to All Might, was the best. A Quirk devoted entirely to the pursuit of justice, a Quirk that had belonged to countless people before him that had been willing to die just so that others could have peace of mind…that was the sort of Quirk that Izuku had always dreamed about. Which meant Izuku could and would put up with all the people that were going to look at him now and only see a flashy Quirk.

The second conclusion that he came to, though, was that he needed to be on guard for those people. Actually, he thought that it would be a good idea to be on guard around all people. The fact of the matter was this—he loved his borrowed power, he loved his Quirk, but it was a dangerous one. It had painted a target on Izuku’s back, and that target could easily spread to other backs too, if they got too close to him. He had to protect his past from people as well. The person he used to be, scared, timid, Quirkless…he knew he could never really leave that Izuku behind. But he could do his best to hide him. Izuku had always been good at hiding, after all.

The third conclusion that he came to was this: he would make it better. All the Quirk discrimination that happened, all the suffering, all the trials and tribulations—Izuku would heal them, somehow. Not right away, but one day. One day when he could step out of All Might’s shadow, he would use this power to help all those people that were like him once. All Might had used One for All to become a beacon, bright, and burning. Brilliant. The country’s shining Symbol of Peace and Justice, that saved people with a smile on his face and a heart in his hand.

Izuku didn’t know what the future held for him, but he hoped, maybe, that he could use One for All to become a Symbol of Hope. A shield that protected people from something worse than villains. Maybe then he could nudge society in the right direction. Maybe then he could save the people that he couldn’t reach.

Maybe then, he could be his own hero.

Chapter Text

“I’m surprised you left so many of your All Might posters behind, Izuku,” his mom said as she helped him hang one on his wall.

There was a reason for that, though Izuku couldn’t exactly say, Oh, yeah, by the way Mom, my Quirk is actually his and now I’m really paranoid about people discovering that so I’m really trying to dial the fanboy thing back to more manageable levels.

Izuku smiled instead. It was easy for him to hide behind smiles. “All Might is my favorite hero, and my biggest inspiration. But I want to leave room for the other heroes that inspire me too.” His mom was oddly silent, so he taped down the corner he was working on and looked over at her. She looked back at him, eyes watering dangerously, face pinched. He groaned immediately, recognizing that look. “Mom, please, don’t start crying now. If you cry, then I’ll cry and we’ll never get these posters up.”

She sniffled and wiped at her eyes. “Okay, okay, I won’t cry. I promise I won’t cry. It’s just—you’ve grown up so much, Izuku. I’m so, so proud of you!”

He smiled and pulled her into a one-armed hug, still holding the poster up with his other arm. Izuku had grown a bit since he graduated middle school—not a lot, he was definitely nowhere near Yoarashi’s height and probably never would be (speaking of Yoarashi, Izuku heard a bang in the room next to him that sounded suspiciously like Yoarashi’s head hitting the floor—he liked Yoarashi, he was a great friend, but he was living in the dorm room next to Izuku’s so he doubted that he would have any semblance of peace or quiet, ever)—and his mom felt a lot smaller tucked against his side than she used to.

“Thank you for helping me move in, Mom,” he said to the top of her head. His shirt was feeling a little damp, so he was almost certain that she had already broken her promise not to cry. He became certain when she sniffled enormously against him. “I know it’s a little…hard for you.”

She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him tighter to her. “Did I mention that I’m proud of you, Izuku? Well, I am. I’m proud.”

“Thank you, Mom,” he said, squeezing her back.

“Will you put on your uniform for me?”

Izuku reeled at the rapid topic change. “What?”

She pulled away from him, blinking tears out of her eyes. “I won’t be able to see you on your first day, so will you put it on for me today, so I can take a picture of you in it?”

“Oh, for your photo album,” Izuku realized. “You take a picture of me on my first day every year, right?”

She nodded.

Izuku bit his lip, considering. It wasn’t a strange request, per se—there weren’t any rules against wearing his school uniform outside of class, but it still felt…wrong, somehow? But his mom had rented a car, drove him here, and helped him unpack, so it was also the very least he could do for her. He nodded.

Six All Might posters and four cleverly placed figurines later, and Izuku was stepping out of his tiny, attached bathroom wearing the deep navy-blue pants, white button up, and blue coat of Shiketsu High. After struggling with it in the bathroom mirror for about five minutes, he ended up just holding the hat in his hands. He offered his mom a nervous smile. “What do you think?”

She made a soft squealing noise and clapped both of her hands over her mouth. He could see that she was trying to hold back tears again. “Oh, Izuku, honey,” she said. “You look so mature. How about the hat?”

“Oh,” Izuku said, worrying at the edge of it. “It actually doesn’t fit over my hair.”

His mom snickered, but she was polite about it, covering her mouth with her hands. “Let me see,” she commanded.

Izuku did his best to comply, he really did—tugging the hat over his mess of curls the best he could, but his hair was impossible to tame, and pushed the hat off his head regardless. He looked, frankly, ridiculous. His mom came over to him, gently pulling his hat off his head before running a hand through his curls, brushing them out with her fingers.

“How about a haircut, baby?” she asked. “A new look for you, come high school.”

He worried his lip between his teeth, but there wasn’t really much consideration necessary to answer this question. He liked his hair, he really did, even with as unruly as it was, but he also wanted his uniform hat to fit and not look ridiculous, so he nodded.

His mom pulled his desk chair into his bathroom, situating it in front of his mirror, and pushed him down into it. She grabbed one of his towels, spread it across his shoulders, and then fetched scissors and clippers from Izuku’s toiletry bag and set to work. Izuku closed his eyes as she cut his hair, letting the soft sounds of the clippers buzzing, the scissors snipping, and his hair falling feather light to the floor lull him into a meditative state.

“All done,” his mom said, and Izuku finally opened his eyes. She’d buzzed the sides of his hair completely off, and the back too, leaving only a shock of green at the top. She’d also trimmed that considerably. He ran a hand through it, surprised to find it passed through rather easily, compared to how it usually went. Curls sprang into their usual chaos again once his hand had passed, though, which made him smile at the familiarity of it all the same.

“It looks really good, Mom.”

“Try the hat!”

He did, first carding a hand through what was left of his hair to smooth it down and then quickly placing his hat over it before his hair had the chance to spring back up. A few strands curled out from under the brim in the front, but other than that, the hat was a success.

“Oh, Izuku,” his mom said, gathering up the green hair on his towel and shaking it out into his trash can. “I love it. Are you happy?”

“Yes,” he said, without having to think about it. “I am happy.” And not just with the haircut.

She took his picture after that, and he changed back into his casual clothes. His mom picked up some takeout and brought it back to his dorm room—Yoarashi came over for this too, and ruffled Izuku’s hair for a good minute when he saw the new cut—and they ate, and then he bid her a quiet goodbye outside of the entrance to the campus. He returned to his room alone, after that. He should have felt morose, or nervous, or unsure, but for some reason, all he felt was calm reassurance.

He was in the right place.

The first day of class was eventful. There were two classes of hero hopefuls at Shiketsu, each filled with twenty people. Fifteen out of twenty were the ones that were automatically admitted based off of the points system alone. The other five were chosen the next day, after faculty reviewed their work in the written portion and the practical. The ten students that got in this way (five in each class), were selected carefully, for either demonstrating skill in battle or in strategy or in rescue, and the points they earned during the practical didn’t necessarily matter.

Izuku liked this system. He thought that it made a lot of sense, because not every pro hero had a Quirk that was suited to combat. It gave people a chance, not just the Quirks people happened to have. He was also happy to see that one of the girls that had been in his group for the exam had gotten in this way—he’d been worried about them, since he ended their exam after only four and a half minutes. The people that had been stuck with him by random selection weren’t given as many opportunities to get points as the others.

Of course, though, Shiketsu had probably engineered that particular facet of the exam with that fact in mind. Pros always had to step on the toes of other pros, for both glory and money. If somebody else rescued the civilian before you, or got to the villain fight first, you don’t get ten more minutes to show how great you would be at finding the same civilian if only you’d gotten there faster.

Still, it was a little unfair.

As it worked out, Kinetic ended up being Izuku’s homeroom teacher. He shot Izuku a bright smile and a thumbs up as he walked through the door to the room. Izuku, of course, blushed—he was a fanboy, through and through. And Kinetic’s hero costume looked cool. Warm, since he had a flame Quirk? Good. It looked good.

And then the first objective of the day was introduced—the support development team that Shiketsu employed exclusively for the costume design of their heroics students was coming in. There were ten designers, and each designer would meet with two students, talk to them about their Quirk and what design ideas they had in mind to start with, but there were rules. Unlike some hero courses in the country, like Ketsubutsu or UA, which let students design costumes at their own discretion, Shiketsu wanted to present a unified front. They weren’t as extreme as some other schools—which quite literally just gave every student the same hero costume, with minor variations in support items as needed—but they were prideful. Every hero costume needed to look sharp when paired with the Shiketsu hat.

Izuku was paired with the same girl from his group in the entrance exam, then with a designer. He was a short, no-nonsense man named Kenji Yo, and he went straight to business questioning the girl. Izuku made a note of her name and filed it away in his mind: Nakamura Hanako.

“What’s your Quirk?” Kenji asked her.

“I can shrink and grow my body at will—think of Mt. Lady, except I can also get smaller as well as bigger, and not as big as her.”

“That’s straightforward enough,” Kenji said, scowling at his clipboard as he took notes at a pace that put even Izuku, master note-taker, to shame. “Alright, shrink to your smallest form.”

Nakamura complied, and he measured her efficiently, producing a tape measure from the belt at his waist. He spent the next hour having her grow herself gradually, measuring her every changes, jotting notes furiously the whole way, while Izuku sat, neglected but intrigued, watching him work as he made Nakamura run laps and touch her toes, keeping up a steady stream of questions about her Quirk and how it worked the whole while, never pausing in his note taking. Izuku felt like he probably had a lot to learn from this strange support man, at least on the Quirk analysis front.

He was also glad that he’d decided to attack Nakamura first, since it gave Izuku a chance to collect his thoughts and prepare himself for all the questions he was about to be asked about his own Quirk.

Eventually, Kenji’s line of questioning moved from the specifics of Nakamura’s Quirk and onto the specifics of what Nakamura wanted to do with her Quirk—rescue, combat, stealth operations, publicity—the list of questions he asked went on and on. Nakamura looked more like she wanted to faint from exhaustion with each passing question, explaining that she saw herself as more of a stealth and combat sort of hero, since she could fit into tight and large spaces and pull off interesting mix-ups with her size variation abilities, though she admitted that she wasn’t very experienced in that yet.

Kenji’s pencil ticked away the whole while. He asked her, then, what sort of ideas she had for a costume initially, and she blanched. “I always thought pink was a good color on me, so I wanted to go with that,” she said.

Kenji pursed his lips. “No,” he said, and now he was pulling swaths of cloth out of his belt of wonders and holding them up to Nakamura. “Pink is not allowed, anyway, and besides, dear, it would wash you out way too much. Let’s see, let’s see. Oh, I think this one is a winner!” Izuku leaned over to peer around Kenji’s shoulder at the cloth he was holding up. He was holding up two, actually, one a deep violet and the other a deep blue that perfectly matched the color of the Shiketsu High hat. Izuku was far from an expert on color theory, but he did think they were pretty enough. As far as colors went.

“You came to the perfect school, dear,” Kenji said, back to taking his notes. “Dark colors go just wonderful with dark hair, and it would be a shame to not play to the gray in your eyes. A shame. Now, dear, you go have a seat with the green one while I take a minute to work a few things out for you.”

Nakamura breathed a sigh of relief and slumped over to where Izuku was. She’d seemed nice enough during the entrance exam, so he offered her a tentative smile. She smiled weakly in return, slouching into the seat next to him.

“I’m Nakamura, by the way,” she said, dipping her head to him. “Nakamura Hanako.”

“Ah, I’m—”

“I know who you are,” she said, interrupting with a cutting smile. “Everyone knows who you are, Midoriya-kun.”

“Er, right,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck and trying to disguise the blush creeping up his cheeks. “The, ah. Announcement. At the entrance exam.”

“Mm,” Nakamura agreed. “I was in your group, you know. Not that I’d expect you to remember me.”

Oh, ouch. But then again, of course she’d think he would think he’s too good to remember other people. He’d gotten the top score, after all! The guys that usually got top scores on things didn’t remember the people in their testing zones. He doubted Kacchan did, anyway. “I remember you! I mean, I didn’t know your name until today, but I’m pretty good with faces. I remember you being there.”

She raised her eyebrows, her own cheeks a little red now too. “Um, by the way…I’m gonna just say it now, before I lose the confidence, but…the thigh thing sounds pretty impressive.”

Izuku squeaked, reaching for the brim of his hat and tugging it as far down his face as it would allow. “Please don’t talk about that, Nakamura-san. Please.”

“I’ll agree to that if you agree to be my friend,” she said.

Izuku blinked. “Your…eh?”

“Listen, blunt works best for me, so I’m just going to say it outright. I’d like to have the most powerful guy in the grade backing me, so is that cool with you?”

“Um,” Izuku said, as eloquent as ever. “…Yeah. Yep, that’s cool with me. Friends it is!”

“Sweet,” Nakamura said, flashing him another sharp grin.

Izuku tried not to think too much about how she’d just decided she wanted to be friends with him on the basis of his Quirk alone. He tried not to think about it. Really, he did.

He didn’t succeed.

“You seem pretty nice, actually,” Nakamura said, leaning back in her seat and offering him a smile that looked a lot less sharp than her last.

He started. “O-oh, yeah? Um—”

“Like that! The stuttering. I never would expect the person that got the top score in the exam to be so humble, but here you are.”

“Uh, I-I wouldn’t call it humble, actually,” he mumbled, doing his best to both look away and also not blush. Damn his overly expressive face.

“What’s a better word than humble, then?” she asked.

He sighed. “Nervous wreck is a contender, I think.”

She laughed. “You’re actually pretty funny, too. Huh. Oh, look out. Incoming.”

Kenji arrived in front of them, promptly shoving a design under Nakamura’s nose. “Take a look at that, dear,” he said. “If you have suggestions, you can say them, but I most likely won’t listen. Sign on the dotted line when you’re ready to confirm it. Now, for you!” He turned to Izuku, eyes sparkling. It was a dangerous sort of sparkle, Izuku decided.

“Um—” Izuku started, not sure where he was going with it.

“Quirk!” Kenji shouted, pulling a new clipboard out of his belt too and poising to write, pencil at the ready.

Izuku had spent his whole life passionately questioning other people about their Quirks, if they would let him, and it was really, really weird being on the receiving end for once.

Izuku launched into his explanation, the same one that he’d given Yoarashi and the principal at Aldera. Kenji questioned him further, probing for all the nitty gritty details of Izuku’s Quirk, which he gave (excluding the one about how he’d inherited it from the Number One hero, and everything along those lines). He measured Izuku twice: once while he was flexing, and once while he was relaxing. He had Izuku run laps, activate his Quirk, do pushups and sit-ups and pullups. He had him climb up the rope in the gym, had him jump as high as possible, had him stretch. When he checked Izuku’s flexibility and discovered that he could nearly get one foot behind his head while standing on the other one, he couldn’t help but tut at him, unreasonably impressed.

“I’d invest in these legs if I were you, darling,” Kenji said, not even looking up from his notes.

“What?!” Izuku said, caught off guard with his leg over his head. He nearly fell over because of it.

“I mean you should fight with them, is all,” Kenji said, looking up from his notes to assess Izuku now. “Legs are stronger than arms, anyway, and you’re surprisingly flexible.”

“Trust me, he knows,” Nakamura piped in from the sidelines. “He strangled someone with his thighs in the practical exam.”

“I did not strangle him!”

“Sounded like you strangled him to me.” Nakamura shrugged infuriatingly.

“This is delightful information, indeed!” Kenji said. “Darling, I must see this thigh strangle. You, dear, will you let him demonstrate on you?” He pointed the end of his pencil at Nakamura.

She grinned wickedly. “I would love to.”

And so it was that Nakamura ended up standing in front of one of the pull-up bars, Izuku behind it. He looked up at the bar, sighed, and looked back at Nakamura. “I’m not going to actually strangle you, I promise,” he whispered.

She looked entirely unconcerned with the prospect of being strangled by thigh-jutsu, which was worrying. Izuku gave her a dubious look as she nodded.

“Whenever you’re ready, darling,” Kenji said, tapping his pencil against his clipboard impatiently.

There wasn’t anything Izuku wanted to do less than leap up onto the pullup bar and crush his new friend between his thighs, but here he was, doing it anyway. He did it in one fluid motion, catching the bar with his hands and then immediately swinging his legs up and over Nakamura’s shoulders, wrapping them around her neck swiftly, and squeezed lightly.

Kenji, for his part, looked absolutely delighted by the predicament. He scribbled away furiously, and then after a moment, signaled to Izuku that he could let Nakamura go, which he did, not without enormous gratitude.

“Alright, darling, here’s the assessment,” Kenji said, flicking his pencil at Izuku quickly before continuing to write. “You’re flexible, surprisingly strong, and incredibly fast. You’re not limited to just combat or just rescue or just publicity or just stealth, like a lot of other heroes might be. So, you’re probably planning to dabble in all of these categories and more. You’ll need a suit that’s as flexible and sturdy as you are, but sharp and stylish as well, yes? Is there anything else you want from me, darling?”

Izuku clenched and unclenched his hand, studying how the muscles there moved for a moment. “Using my Quirk for extended periods of time can really strain my limbs. If you could incorporate something into the design that helps to stabilize my arms and legs, I would appreciate that. I also think I’m probably going to spend a lot of time jumping, so…I kind of want to incorporate some sort of visor too, if I can? I’ve heard that bugs in the eyes can be a problem with that sort of thing.” He’d heard that from All Might himself, actually. It was one of the few things that Yagi had advised him to include in his costume design, the only time they talked about it.

“All very reasonable requests,” he said, nodding and pursing his lips. With no further ado, he set to a flurry of pencil movements, frantically scribbling away at his design ideas. Nakamura and Izuku were effectively left to their own devices, for the moment.

Nakamura bumped his shoulder with hers and gestured to the bench they’d been sitting on earlier, so they returned to it. Izuku fished his water bottle out of his bag and drank greedily. Nakamura rooted around for a moment, found the clipboard with her costume design on it, and showed it to Izuku while he drank.

“I think that’ll be cool,” he commented, because he did.

Nakamura lifted one shoulder in a sort of half-shrug. “I’m a little worried about the skintight bodysuit thing, but the way he patterned the two colors looks like it’ll be flattering. He’s very thorough—he even gave me underwear suggestions.” And then she showed Izuku said underwear suggestions on the next page, and he felt like he’d probably never been this red before in his life.

Shortly after that, Kenji wandered over and thrust a design under Izuku’s nose, too, and Izuku couldn’t help but stare.

He’d designed hero costumes for himself several times when he was a kid, back when he was Quirkless and hadn’t met All Might yet. All of those had been rip-offs of All Might’s costumes, more or less, usually with a hood that gave him the classic V shape of All Might’s hair, or that plastered his smile over his own.

This costume was not like that. The first layer was an all-black bodysuit, doubling as both armor and compression gear meant to stabilize his arms and his legs. Kenji also recommended briefs, not boxers, and a genital guard that, honestly, seemed like a really good call that Izuku wouldn’t have thought of on his own. Over that was a dark green jumpsuit with no sleeves, but instead of resembling anything remotely symmetrical, it zipped on the left side of his chest, creating a sharp silhouette with a high, asymmetrical collar, punctuated with stark black lines running the length of the suit. He’d been given sturdy, fingerless black gloves, ideal for both stealth and durability. His legs were braced as well, and also padded with armor. The whole thing was brought together with a red belt and red, reinforced combat boots, and a pair red-tinted and black-banded goggles that rested on the forehead of the Izuku in the drawing.

“I was inspired by the red shoes,” Kenji said, pointing at Izuku’s feet.

Izuku raised them to look at them, then back at the drawing. Sure enough, the shoes in the costume appeared to just be his shoes, but with armor added. “Huh,” he said. “I like the red, I think.” It reminded him of All Might, actually, in a way that was much more subtle than Izuku would have come up with on his own. “I don’t love how tight you made it though.”

“That will certainly not be changing, darling. You are flexible, yes? Tight is better with flexible than loose is.”

“Oh,” Izuku said, a little dejected. He had no other complaints, so he signed the form. Beside him, Nakamura did the same. Kenji collected his designs from the both of them, gave them a bow, and left. Only one other designer was left in the room, and as soon as she left, Kinetic cleared his throat and called the class together.

“The rest of the day today will be spent pushing your Quirks to their limits,” Kinetic said. “If you were expecting this to be fun, or easy, think again. Today, we’re going to put your bodies, and your Quirks, through hell.”

“I picked out your class representative,” Kinetic announced brightly the next day, as he strolled into homeroom.

Izuku’s classmates, who had been sitting mostly quietly at their desks before that, erupted into noise. Izuku smiled but did not join in, just drummed the pads of his fingers against his desk, his mind already working.

Class representative, though usually a somewhat boring responsibility, held a lot more importance in a heroics course. It was a powerful thing to have on your resume—it proved that you already had experience leading teams, and that you weren’t afraid of taking on additional responsibilities. Both good things, for an aspiring hero. As such, class representatives in hero courses were usually chosen based on a mix of their grades, their people skills, and their relative skill in combat.

Izuku silently drummed his fingers on the underside of the desk to keep himself from muttering. Ah, well. Izuku probably wouldn’t be chosen. He was pretty good with grades, now that he didn’t get punished for getting high scores, but he lacked in people skills and was still new to combat. He was okay with that, though. The whole purpose of coming to Shiketsu was to avoid the spotlight, after all.

“Kinetic-sensei, who is it?” Nakamura asked, shooting up in her seat with her hand up as she did. She accidentally grew a little bit in her excitement. Izuku also smiled at that, though he hid it by ducking under the brim of his hat.

“Peace, peace,” Kinetic said, laughing as he held out both hands in a placating gesture. He rolled his desk chair over, then practically fell in it, backwards, as per usual. He rested his elbows on the back of his chair.

The rest of the class quieted down somewhat, and Izuku ceased his finger drumming. They all turned rapt gazes on Kinetic as he began to explain.

“I took care to monitor you all while you worked on your Quirks in training yesterday, as well as during your meetings with your costume designers,” Kinetic explained, his grin sharp. “I was keeping an eye out for students that were good at interacting with their peers, but I was also keeping an eye out for students with exceptional control of their abilities.” Ah, so Izuku was definitely out of the running then. He’d had his Quirk for less than two months. He hardly had exceptional control over anything. “That’s why none of you should be surprised that Midoriya Izuku is your class representative.”

Izuku’s heart fluttered in his chest. He gripped the edge of his desk tightly and stared, first at the rest of the class—who were nodding along like it made sense, for some reason—and then at Kinetic. “What?!” His voice was entering squeak levels. He brought it down a little. “Me?”

“Nobody should be surprised other than Midoriya-san himself, I mean,” Kinetic said, which earned him a few laughs from the class.

“Why me?” Izuku asked, feeling lightheaded.

Kinetic rolled his eyes. He honest-to-goodness rolled his eyes, like Izuku just asked him the stupidest question he’d ever heard. “Don’t be so surprised, kid. You’re faster, stronger, and more flexible than nearly all of your peers, you have near perfect control of your Quirk—” What? “—and your classmates have clear respect for you.” What? Izuku looked around. The rest of the people in his class—he didn’t even know all their names yet, and he was supposed to lead them, oh gods—looked back at him, some of them looking a little amused. Nakamura flashed him a bright grin.

“Ahhhh—” Izuku said, as he tried to restart his brain. Forget resumé appeal, he had to get out of this before his social anxiety killed him. “I’m terrible at presenting in front of the class, though!” he blurted.

The class, including Kinetic, laughed. “Midoriya-san, don’t worry so much. You’re going to do great!” Kinetic said, rolling himself back towards the blackboard. “Besides, I won’t let you step down, anyway. It’ll be good for you.”

There had to be something Izuku could say to convince him. There had to be something, anything. He couldn’t lead his class, or stand in the spotlight, or…

Izuku realized it all at once. It was one thing to not be offered the position at all, but to be offered it and turn it down anyway…that looked bad. It would look like he wasn’t interested in accepting responsibility, or like he couldn’t…

Izuku drummed his fingers on the underside of his desk as Kinetic began teaching them some basics of hero law. He would have to embrace it, then. And be good at it too. He peeked around at his classmates as Kinetic carried on with the lecture.

Izuku could do this. Probably. Most likely.

Izuku was still very apprehensive about his nomination (election? forced participation?) as class rep as he checked and double checked the name on the little placard outside of the office door. Kinetic had gone over his new responsibilities with him outside of class, but he didn’t really think it was enough to be fully prepared. Hence, why he had come here.

He took a deep breath, trying to steel himself, and knocked politely on the door.

There wasn’t an immediate reply, and for about ten seconds Izuku thought he had lucked out and Uwabami wasn’t in her office right now. Then the door opened, and Uwabami stood in front of him, in full hero costume, peering at him curiously. The three snakes in her hair peered at him curiously too.

He wanted to ask her about them so bad. (Were they real snakes? Did she have to feed them? Did they have her own conscious thoughts or were they more like puppets she controlled? If they did have their own conscious, then did that mean she could communicate to all snakes, or just the three in her hair? She didn’t do any combat now, but did she ever have to when she was in a hero course, herself? How did she do it? Did she set her snakes on people?)

He asked none of these questions. He also didn’t gush about how incredible her rescues were, and how many lives she had saved, and how great it was that a portion of all her star profits went towards women’s shelters. He took a deep breath, ready to unleash an explanation for why he was there, but Uwabami beat him to the punch.

“You haven’t even had a class with me yet, Midoriya-san,” she said, her tone almost teasing.

“Ahhhh—” Izuku said, his mind blanking. The only thought getting through his processor was Uwabami knows who I am, echoing over and over and over again. Uwabami gave him a bemused look, apparently content to sit by and let his brain short circuit. “How?” Izuku finally whisper-asked, about a full minute later.

“How do I know who you are?”

He was so glad she understood that. He nodded.

Uwabami trilled a laugh. “Everyone knows who you are, Midoriya-san. You made quite the splash at the entrance exam, you know.”

“Ahhhh—” Izuku said, because compliments were hard enough to deal with, even when they weren’t coming from a pro.

A very patient pro, since Uwabami was still just giving him a long, amused look, her golden eyes glittering with mirth. “Well, what can I do for you?” she finally asked, apparently either taking pity on him or running out of time to stand there while he struggled through his thoughts.

He was grateful for the question though, because it effectively snapped him out of it. Right. He had a purpose for all this torture he’d just put himself through.

“Actually,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, “I got chosen to be class r-representative, and I’m—I’m pretty awful at, uh, talking to people. So I was—I was wondering…you—you’re the PR teacher, and…” Izuku swallowed the lump in his throat that was forming, trying to tell him that he couldn’t ask for help from a teacher. Teachers were all the same, that lump said. They never helped him. It doesn’t matter, Izuku told himself sternly. If Uwabami-sensei won’t help, then I’ll just do what I’ve always done. Figure it out myself. “I was hoping you could help me.”

Uwabami smiled. “Well, it is a little unconventional, but it would certainly ease the boredom of the first week office hours. Nobody has any reason to come in yet. Except for you, apparently.” She didn’t sound upset or unkind about it, though. Izuku was pretty good at distinguishing those tones of voice from other ones, after years of hearing them from every teacher that spoke to him. And every person, pretty much.

He stepped inside. Uwabami’s office, unlike Uwabami herself, was relatively simple. There was a photo framed on the wall, a picture of her and a man with snake hair like hers, though his was much shorter, and also down. There were a few other simple directions, like crayon drawings of Uwabami that were most likely from kids, and a few generic but nice-looking snake themed art pieces.

Uwabami noticed his gaze. “That’s my baby brother,” she said, gesturing to the picture framed on the wall. “He’s on his way to becoming a doctor now. Everything else was sent to me by my fans. I can’t keep it in the office at my agency, so I like to keep it all here instead. I think it can be inspiring for students to see it.”

Izuku nodded, feeling a smile gracing his face. It was inspiring, in a way. Heroes existed to make a positive impact on the world, and all these crayon drawings and bad canvas prints were proof of that. Proof that they mattered. “I like them,” he said simply.

Uwabami nodded, sitting behind her desk. Izuku took a seat on one of the chairs placed in front of it, already channeling some of his nervous energy into the silent drumbeat he tapped out on his thigh with his fingers. Uwabami noticed, but she didn’t tell him to stop. “So, Midoriya-san, I’m guessing you have a problem with nerves.”

Izuku stopped drumming almost immediately, as a reflex. “Yeah,” he said. “Thanks for agreeing to help me, Uwabami-sensei.”

“Don’t mention it,” she said, waving his thanks off. One of the snakes in her hair waved it off too. “I’m only doing my job.”

“O-oh,” Izuku said, and he started drumming again, just to keep himself from saying anything stupid like I’m not used to teachers that actually want to do their job and teach, is all.

Uwabami smiled, encouragingly, and said, “Usually, in one of my first lectures, I talk about the importance of cultivating a hero persona. These personas shouldn’t be all too different from your natural personality, but heroes spend a good portion of their time in front of a camera or reassuring people that have been seriously hurt. Of course, this means that certain nuances of anyone’s personality or feelings usually need to be swept under the rug.”

Izuku nodded, knowing what she was getting at. He couldn’t go around stammering his way through sentences when he was trying to help someone injured out of a pile of rubble or when a camera was shoved in his face after a fight. Besides, knowing Yagi meant that Izuku knew well and good what it meant to have a hero persona—All Might was kind, strong, reassuring, and witty. Yagi was all of those things, too, but he presented them in a much different way, calm and wry versus All Might’s boisterous enthusiasm.

“If you’d like,” Uwabami continued, “I can help you start crafting this persona today. It might help you with your concerns with class representative.”

It wasn’t a bad idea. It would be a lot less nerve-wracking to be able to stand in front of his class as someone other than Midoriya Izuku, who was a nervous mess that had never had a real conversation with someone his age up until a few months ago (and it showed). And it would be good practice for when he did go pro, anyway.

“Thank you, Uwabami-sensei,” he said, nodding as he did. “I think that would be helpful.”

“Alright, let’s get to work then. First, tell me about yourself?”

“Eh—like what?”

“Interests, hobbies, skills. Anything you want. Though, start with what kind of hero you want to be right now.”

“Oh,” Izuku said, pausing to collect his thoughts. “I want…I want to be the sort of hero that saves people. Not just on an individual basis, but on—but on a wider basis, too. Like you with the women’s shelters, Uwabami-sensei.”

Uwabami folded her hands under her chin, smiling languidly at him. “Most people don’t know that I donate a portion of all my profits to women’s shelters.”

Izuku felt a flush rising on his cheeks. “It’s on all your merchandise.”

She raised a delicate eyebrow. “At the bottom. In fine print.”

“Right. Um, that’s a, uh, hobby of mine. I love heroes. All heroes.”

“Very well,” she said, though she sounded pleased. “Who’s your favorite? Don’t worry, I won’t be offended if it’s not me.”

Izuku laughed nervously, resisting the urge to draw his knees to his chest. “It’s, um, All Might, actually.”

“Do you want to be a hero like All Might?”

“I—” Izuku stopped himself. That had been such an easy question to answer a few months ago. “I used to want to be exactly like All Might,” he said instead. “I used to practice impersonations of him in the mirror every morning and everything. He’s strong, funny, and kind. He never fails to save someone, no matter what.”

“You both have strength enhancement Quirks of some kind, too,” Uwabami mused.

Izuku paled, and fought down the waves of panic threatening to crush him at that moment. “R-right,” he said. “He’s a huge inspiration for me. I don’t want to be a hero just like him, though.”

Uwabami frowned, slightly, as one of her snakes flicked out its tongue. “You’re afraid,” she observed.

Izuku cursed himself. How had he forgotten that her snakes could pick up on emotions? Coming here was a terrible idea. Talking to Uwabami one on one was a terrible idea for him, in general. He couldn’t very well just stand up and leave, though, so…Think, Izuku. Think.

“I don’t like comparisons like that,” Izuku said, drumming his fingers harder as he thought his way through these words. “They scare me, because they make me feel trapped on a—on a specific path. All Might is…he’s amazing. Maybe one day I’ll be like him, but I—I want to spend today just…helping people. There’s a lot of people that don’t have heroes to watch out for them on a day-to-day business, and I want to—I want to help them.”

Uwabami’s smile returned, just as genuine as it had been before. Izuku breathed an inward sigh of relief. “That’s very noble of you, Midoriya-san,” she said. “It makes sense, too. You have a base agility level comparable to the average underground hero.”

“Under—underground?” Izuku spluttered. “I—I couldn’t! Uwabami-sensei, underground heroes are insanely skilled! They’re like modern shinobi!”

Uwabami laughed, covering her mouth with one hand as she did. “Oh, my. Most people don’t even know what an underground hero is, you know.”

“How could they not?” Izuku said, all nervousness forgotten in favor of fanboying instead. As per the usual, with Izuku. “Underground heroes are practically the foundation of all heroics! They work long, unforgiving hours, they do nearly all the intel gathering that makes larger operations possible for limelight heroes, they have some of the most clever Quirk applications I’ve ever seen—”

“I’m used to students being worried they don’t have what it takes to be in the top fifty of the billboard charts one day, not students being worried they don’t have what it takes to be nearly invisible to the spotlight entirely,” Uwabami mused faintly.

All of Izuku’s thoughts came to a screeching halt.

It was true, he realized. As convinced as he usually was that he wasn’t enough, he didn’t doubt that he could break through the top fifty of the billboards one day. It was a foregone conclusion in his mind—he had All Might’s Quirk, after all, and anyone that had All Might’s Quirk was automatically going to be strong, even if it was him.

That’s what it was, wasn’t it? He wasn’t worried that he’d never make it as a hero, not anymore. He was worried that he’d never make it as a hero on his own strength.

“Well,” he said instead, around the lump in his mouth that was his tongue. “Underground heroes have higher case-resolution rates than their limelight counterparts, but they also have much higher death rates. It’s not the sort of career in heroics that most heroes-in-training would be comfortable with entering.”

Uwabami hummed. “I suppose that’s true. Do you have any other interests, besides heroes?”

Izuku stared at his hands. Underground heroics, huh?

There was no way he could do it.

Right?

“Midoriya-san?”

“Sorry,” Izuku said, jolting himself out of his thoughts at the sound of his name. He looked up to find Uwabami’s gaze on him. She looked concerned. Under her desk, Izuku closed his hand into a fist. “I’m sorry, I was lost in thought. What did you say?”

Uwabami still looked a little wary, but not like she was about to give Izuku a detention for zoning out (he’d gotten those a lot, through the years). “That’s alright, Midoriya-san. I was just asking you about any other interests you have, outside of heroes.”

“Oh,” Izuku said, shaking off the remnants of his thoughts. “I don’t have many other interests, besides academics and…athletic stuff.”

“What sort of athletic stuff?”

“I got into weightlifting to get into Shiketsu,” Izuku said, lips twitching at the memory of hauling All Might on top of a fridge across a beach. Weightlifting, indeed. “And running. And dancing.”

“Dancing?” Uwabami echoed.

Izuku nodded. “It’s good for working on full-body coordination and movement fluidity.”

Uwabami hummed in agreement. “That’s a very helpful hobby for hero work.”

Izuku spared a small smile. “I thought so too. I’m still kind of bad at it, though.”

Uwabami laughed. “That’s alright, Midoriya-san. I’m impressed that you do it at all. I’ll give you some pointers, some time, if you’d like.”

Izuku tried not to have a stroke at the words. Uwabami, offering to give him dance lessons? Not possible. “You—you dance?”

“I do,” she said, resting her chin on her hands again. One of her snakes flicked out its tongue. “I have some ideas for this hero persona of yours, as well.”

“Oh!” Izuku said, straightening in his seat a bit. “What—what are they?”

“Those smiles you give are very charming,” Uwabami said. “I would lean on them, if I were you. Beyond that, your blushes are fairly adorable, and you have a smooth, gentle sort of voice. I think, if you focused on these, you could sell yourself as humble and reassuring. Of course, you’d just have to focus on not stuttering, and keeping that panicked tone out of your voice. Composure is key, after all. Also—” She turned away to fish something out of her desk, then handed it over to him. “—feel free to try this out. It’ll give you something to do with your hands when you’re nervous.”

Izuku turned it over. It was a cube, with little knobs and dials all over it. He twisted one experimentally. “What’s this?”

“That is a fidget cube. I keep them in my office. I used to get nervous in front of the media too, believe it or not.”

Izuku immediately tried to hand it back. “I can’t take this, Uwabami-sensei! It’s yours, you should keep it if—”

“Don’t worry,” she said, fishing three more out of the desk and showing them to him. “They break fairly often, so I keep several backups on hand. I like to give them to people that need them, too. Fielding the attention that you get as a hero can be rather difficult, and I would like to see as many students succeed at it as possible.”

“Thank you,” Izuku whispered, looking at the strange object in his hand with a newfound reverence. A gift from a pro. He could probably sell this on the internet for 10.000 yen. He wouldn’t, of course, but he could. If he wanted to.

“I’m happy to help,” Uwabami said, smiling as she waved him out the door.

“Hey, Class Rep.”

Izuku paused, steeling his nerves. “Hey,” he responded, and the boy he’d just approached eyed him. He wasn’t exactly wary, but he was definitely curious.

“What’s up?” he eventually asked.

“I’m going around asking everyone their names and Quirks,” Izuku said. “And anything else you want to tell me too. If I’m going to lead a class, I should know them, right?” He tried for one of those smiles that Uwabami had told him to go for.

The smile apparently worked, because the student in question grinned back at him. “Oh, yeah, totally. You’re really devoted to this whole thing, aren’t you?”

“You mean being class rep?”

“Nah, I mean the whole hero thing,” he said instead, shaking his head slightly. “You’ve just got that look in your eye that says you’re going places or whatever. You know what I mean?”

“I think everyone in here is going places,” Izuku said, inclining his head respectfully in his classmate’s direction. “They wouldn’t have gotten into Shiketsu, otherwise.”

His grin broadened. “Yeah. Yeah, I agree. Oh, um, I’m Arakawa Tooru, by the way. My Quirk is Poison Ivy.”

“Do you make poison ivy?” Izuku asked. It would be cool if he did—not to mention relatively useful for hero work. He could use it to bind people, but it would also give them rashes if he wasn’t careful.

“Oh, no. I named it after this villain from some pre-Quirk comics,” he said.

Izuku allowed his lips to twitch in amusement. A hero hopeful, who had named his Quirk after one of the most iconic villains in DC Comics history. “You control plants in general?” he guessed, since that was more or less what Poison Ivy’s Quirk was. Or superpower. Nuances.

“I do!” Arakawa agreed. “I can also secrete pheromones like a plant, though they have an effect on the human psyche. So, I could make people feel afraid, or horny, or whatever if they got in the cloud.”

“If that’s the case, then you could be sort of like Midnight,” Izuku observed. “Fighting style wise, I mean.”

“My hero,” Arakawa said, clutching one hand over his heart dramatically. “In all seriousness though, dude, I totally look up to Midnight. When I was a kid I wanted to be one of her sidekicks. You know, one of the young hot dudes in a suit that follows her around? It would be an actual dream.”

Izuku blinked. Different strokes, different folks, he supposed. He could respect that. Even if it was a little…interesting. He had certainly never dreamed of being someone’s sidekick. “Well, I’m sure you can make it happen, Arakawa-kun!”

“Thanks, dude!”

“Of course,” Izuku said, sliding past his seat to talk to the student behind him. He committed everything he’d just learned to memory as he did. Arakawa Tooru. Quirk: Poison Ivy. In the hero course because he wants to be a “young hot dude in a suit” following Pro Hero Midnight around.

He arrived at the next desk, opening his mouth to start his introduction, but the girl there caught his eye with a shy smile. “I heard,” she said, tucking a strand of long purple hair behind her ear as she did. Her eyes were a brilliant red, like Kacchan’s, but a lot softer. “My name is Watanabe Mura. My Quirk is called Ultraviolet. I can control the intensity of light waves.”

“That sounds like an amazing Quirk!” Izuku said, unable to help a little bit of his excitement. “Can you control the intensity of all light on the electromagnetic spectrum, or just violet light? Do you have to manipulate the light in a room itself, or do you generate light? Does that mean you would be at a disadvantage in a dark room?”

She giggled, interrupting his stream of questions. “Yes, to the first question. Everything from infrared to ultraviolet is at my disposal. To the second question, your first guess was correct. I manipulate existing light, instead of generating light where before there was none. That means that, yes, I am at a disadvantage in a dark room, though I am not completely useless. We don’t usually think about it this way, because we think about light in terms of what is seen rather than what is not, but some quantity of light exists even in the dark.”

“That’s really amazing,” Izuku breathed, leaning his hip against her desk. “Do you fight by increasing the intensity of light waves and directing them towards your opponent? Or do you think you would rely more on maybe blinding them? But then would that style of fighting be less useful against an opponent that is either already blind or has a hearing enhancement Quirk?”

“You ask a lot of these questions,” Watanabe said, steepling her fingers in front of her. “Are you interested in Quirk analysis as well as acrobatics?”

Izuku felt a blush creeping up his face. Right. He’d somehow managed to forget how weird and creepy his interest in Quirks was. “Oh, um. Yes.”

“Fascinating,” Watanabe said, averting her gaze as pink began to dust her cheeks. “I am very interested in Quirk analysis as well. I actually wanted to ask you about yours, but I figured you would not be receptive to the questions.”

Izuku was immediately and completely taken aback. Another person, interested in Quirks? Unheard of. Also, why would she think he wouldn’t be okay with her asking him about his Quirk?

Probably the same reason you thought she wouldn’t be okay with you asking about hers, dipshit, a very helpful voice in the back of his head supplied. Right. That made sense.

“You can ask,” Izuku said, offering her an encouraging smile. “I don’t mind. I’ll answer any question I can.”

“Really?” she asked, looking at him with eyes blown wide. “You don’t worry about divulging information like that to the competition?”

She made a good point, he supposed. Knowing the ins and outs of other people’s Quirks would certainly help with strategies in the long run and give her a hand up in future combat practice, but also…

“Everyone in this class is an ally first and foremost,” he said, shrugging as he did. “We’re all going to be pros together one day, and when that day comes, it’s much better to know what each others’ Quirks are and what our limits are. So I don’t mind answering, even if it means that I might end up giving you information you can use to beat me in a match later on.”

She blinked owlishly at him. “You are positive?”

“Like a whole number.”

She stared at him for a long moment, until Arakawa, who had been politely eavesdropping from the seat in front of them, burst out laughing. “Oh my god, nerd humor,” he said.

Izuku cracked a smile, and finally a little giggle trilled out of Watanabe. “Alright, alright,” she conceded, though she still looked a little nervous, cutting her eyes to Izuku and away again. “Well, first, I was wondering about the mechanics of your Quirk. It seems to be a strength and speed enhancer, but I also noticed that you emit some sort of light around you that appears to be lightning. Additionally, when I stood too close to you once while you had your Quirk activated, I noticed a considerable drop in the air pressure. So, is your Quirk a physical enhancer, or some sort of weather emitter?”

Izuku nodded along through her lead up, then paused on the question. He noticed that a several of the students all around him were gazing expectantly at him. Apparently, the details on his Quirk were a hot topic. Not that he could blame them, really—if Izuku had been anyone else and he’d seen someone walk in with a Quirk like his, he’d probably jump on a chance to ask them a thousand questions about it too.

“My Quirk is called Inner Storm,” he explained, projecting his voice slightly for the benefit of the people that were a few seats away but still trying to listen in. “It works by converting my emotions, or energy, into manifestations of strength. So, to answer your question, it’s actually both a physical enhancement and a weather emitter, though other than the air pressure, the weather emission that occurs—the lightning—is largely cosmetic. I’ve been told it tingles a bit, though, if you get caught in the crossfire of it.”

“Oh,” another one of the students nearby said, leaning an elbow on his desk. “That’s interesting, because I thought for sure that with a Quirk like that, you’d be the type to just go around punching things into oblivion. Except, when you told us about the villain at the entrance exam, it sounded like you’re more of a stealthy, acrobatic type.”

“A specific type of Quirk doesn’t necessarily always guarantee you a specific type of fighting style,” Izuku said, shrugging. Quirk prejudice, apparently, reached everywhere. “It’s the way you apply the Quirk you’ve been given that molds the hero you become, not the other way around.”

The whole class was looking at him, now, seemingly lost in thought. Izuku didn’t want to disturb them, so he just stayed silent, shifting awkwardly under their gazes. He took a deep breath and looked up towards the ceiling, sliding his hands into his pockets so that he could roll his thumb over the fidget cube Uwabami had given him, out of sight from the others.

“Well,” Nakamura said, and Izuku looked over at her. He was a little worried that he’d already come to fear that look on her face after only knowing her for a day. “Look at him. All I’m saying is, if you have thighs like that, it would be a shame not to use them to crush the enemy.”

And then, collectively, they glanced down, not so subtly,  to his thighs, appraising them. A few nodded, like they found his thighs met whatever criteria they’d been judging them with.

Somewhere along the way, Izuku had turned bright red. Certain death by social anxiety, two. Midoriya Izuku, zero.

The door opened, and Kinetic wheeled himself in on his desk chair, kicking his legs out and shooting himself backwards to the blackboard like a kid that was having too much fun with the simple things in life. “Alright!” he announced. “Seats, please. We have an exciting pop quiz on the nuances of collateral damage today!”

The class groaned collectively.

Chapter Text

Izuku cricked his neck as he walked back to his dorm room, hungry, and more than a little bit sore. He’d had One for All activated for essentially two hours straight, the longest he’d ever held it for, and his muscles creaked in protest at every miniscule movement. Moreover, he’d also been almost exclusively practicing handsprings for that entire time, except for half an hour, where he’d been sparring with Nakamura, practicing moves on opponents of varying sizes.

To put it simply, he hadn’t hurt this bad since the day All Might sat on a fridge in his muscle form and told Izuku to haul it across a beach. The only difference between then and now, though, was that Izuku was slogging through Quirk exhaustion on top of regular body exhaustion.

He should look into some sort of endurance training. Swimming, maybe? Running? Running uphill, specifically? No, actually, judging by his surprising success with the handsprings over the last few hours, he should probably look into gymnastics as his endurance training. Or parkour. Jumping around on buildings had to be good for—

Izuku paused. He took a few steps backwards, body audibly creaking as he did. He turned his head to the side almost imperceptibly slow.

Well. He supposed it really was wishful thinking to hope years of taking Kacchan’s explosions directly to his face hadn’t resulted in a few screws getting knocked loose in his brain.

At least, that’s what he thought as he stood by the alley in one of the mock cities, alone, staring at eight shades with glowing eyes, who all stared back at him.

Like it was a switch being flipped, Izuku’s brain started to work again. Oh, right. This was probably some sort of practical joke being played on him by somebody at Shiketsu. Gods, he was too tired for this. What was he even supposed to do? Laugh? Find the person responsible and practice his refined thigh-jutsu on them? Talk to the shadow people?

He decided on talking to the shadow people first, and potentially exercising thigh-jutsu later. “I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish with all this.” He hoped whoever was puppeteering the shadow people would get the message. Izuku was tired. He was hungry. He had English homework to do. He did not have time to humor practical jokes.

“Kid thinks we’re a joke,” one of the shades said.

Except, Izuku heard it not with his ears but with his brain, the words zinging uncomfortably through his head like someone had sliced his skull open and tickled his gray matter. Props to whoever this Quirk belonged to, though. It was pretty terrifying (and their application of it seemed pretty stellar. He wondered how much concentration it took for them to tickle his brain with their Quirk like that while also producing the shadow people. Maybe it was two Quirks at work?).

“Now he thinks we’re a Quirk,” a different voice said. It tickled a different part of Izuku’s brain too. Okay, yeah, that was a really unpleasant feeling. Someone was getting thigh-jutsu’d. He didn’t know who, but he was finding them, and he was Thigh Crush: Smash!ing them into next week.

“…What the hell is thigh-jutsu?” yet another voice said, and Izuku slapped both hands over either side of his head in a futile attempt to chase the voices and the brain tickling away.

“Enough of this. We came to warn him.”

“Stop talking, all of you!” Izuku shouted. “And stop reading my mind or whatever while you’re at it. Gods, that’s so aggravating. What even is this?”

Izuku knew things were dire when he couldn’t come up with theories about a Quirk.

There was a ripple of silence, like the ghosts were surprised (they were surprised, actually, Izuku wasn’t sure how, but he knew that with the utmost confidence). One said, “I think he can hear us.”

“I never heard the Vestiges.”

“I didn’t even know they talked until I became one.”

“Maybe this means—”

“Stop!” Izuku shouted. Thankfully they stopped. With the heavy pressure of their voices lifted from his brain, he was finally able to think clearly. Alright. Think this through, Izuku.

He was fairly confident in ruling out “elaborate prank” as a cause. If it was a prank, that person probably would have just left it at creepy shadow ghosts and a voice in his head, not gone on to invent all this dialogue between the different voices. There was a chance that it was a villain’s Quirk and they’d infiltrated campus somehow, but then again, why bother with the dialogue? There was a chance that this was some latent Quirk of Izuku’s, maybe? Latent Quirks were rare but possible, usually activated later in life based on some sort of condition. Actually, his entire concept for Inner Storm was that it was a latent Quirk, conditional on near-death experiences. Alright, some weird latent Quirk of his, or not? He reached for One for All within himself, and found only One for All. He would rule latent Quirks of his own out for now.

Which meant he was back to theory number one. Izuku had lost his marbles.

“All of that, just to conclude he’s crazy,” a voice mused, and the voice tingle-tickled along Izuku’s brain. Izuku groaned, massaging at his head in hopes of alleviating that feeling somewhat.

“Well, if he can hear us, it makes our job easier, right?” a different voice said.

“You’re right. Hey, Nine. Toshinori’s in trouble, okay? We know you can’t go running after him or whatever, but you need to know.”

“Toshinori?” Izuku repeated, the name ringing familiarly in the back of his mind. “Yagi-sensei?”

“That’s the one,” one of the voices murmured.

Izuku blinked, opening his mouth to ask more questions—who were they, what did they mean, how did they know All Might’s civilian name, why did they call him Nine—but before he could voice a single one of those, they all faded away like they’d never been there in the first place.

Imaginary shadow people had talked to him. He’d talked back. If he didn’t think he was crazy before, he was definitely sure of it now.

But…it couldn’t hurt to call Yagi anyway, right? The shadow people had said he was in trouble after all. It wasn’t like it was weird of Izuku to call his mentor just to check in, right?

Izuku pulled his phone out of his pocket with one hand while he clutched at his chest with the other, walking slowly back towards the dorms while he tried to slow the hammering beats of his heart. He dialed Yagi’s number almost numbly, then waited to see if Yagi answered the phone.

He didn’t.

It was totally fine. Normal even! Yagi was a teacher and a pro hero. He was busy sometimes.

Izuku would just check the news for mentions of All Might doing hero work. That always drew a camera or two, so All Might wouldn’t be able to stay out of the media if he was working.  It wasn’t like Izuku was doing it specifically because the shade people told him too—he always checked hero news. He especially always checked hero news for mentions of All Might. It was just another routine, right?

The press had nothing on All Might, except for a few events early this morning. All Might had seemed fine in all of those, grinning and laughing, which meant he was probably fine now, too. The shade people were probably just feeding off of Izuku’s own anxieties, or something, considering they were a figment of his imagination…

He’d just wait for Yagi to call him back. Even if he was busy, he usually got back to Izuku in a few hours.

When Izuku went to bed later that night, he still hadn’t heard back from Yagi.

The next morning, Izuku woke up to no calls from Yagi, and no text messages either. He scanned hero news for mentions of All Might again, trying to see if a big fight had made the news. His mind was filled with the warning from the shades and half-baked images of the man that put that scar on Yagi’s side. Yagi had said it was very unlikely that he was still alive, but he had been worried anyway, and if he was worried, that meant there was a chance it was true. Had All for One crawled out of the shadows? Had he killed Yagi?

If he had, it would be on the news, right?

Izuku almost scrolled past the article on UA. There was always a lot that came up when he searched for news on All Might—him teaching there was a big deal, and reporters were hungry for a statement from All Might in regards to why he had decided to take a teaching position. Unfortunately, that meant that the media was flooding their networks with every little tabloid-like tidbit they got about All Might from a student walking to class or whomever.

This article looked vaguely different though. More professional. Less geared towards gossip. It wouldn’t hurt to at least skim it.

The more Izuku read, though, the more his panic and anxiety spiked. A large-scale villain attack on a training facility associated with UA occurred yesterday. The villains were stated to have been there with the objective to kill All Might. A first-year heroics class had been involved, though no students were injured. Two pro heroes were hospitalized with severe injuries. All Might had been there, and apparently had been responsible for defeating a villain with an exposed brain, and…

Multiple Quirks.

Multiple Quirks. What had Yagi said, on the beach that day? That All for One used to take people’s Quirks and combine them and give them to other people?

Izuku covered his mouth with a hand. He closed out of the article and opened up his phone app, dialing Yagi. The line rang, and rang, and rang.

It went to voicemail.

“Is this what you were trying to tell me?” Izuku said into the air. Really, he was talking to the shades, but they weren’t there, at least not as far as he knew. “Did Yagi die there?”

The shades didn’t respond, but Izuku hadn’t really expected them too.

He got ready for class in a daze, one eye on his phone at all times in case Yagi called back. He worked through the mystery of the shades in his head. What were they? …Who were they?

Nine.

Izuku’s hands stilled on the buttons of his dress shirt.

How many people had held One for All before him? Had Yagi ever said?

No, but Yagi had mentioned the original wielder of One for All had lived in the dawn of Quirks. That was, what? Two-hundred years ago now? How long had Yagi carried One for All, before he passed it on to Izuku? It was hard to say exactly, but he felt like it had probably been around thirty years, considering he had to have it when he’d been in high school himself.

Judging by the look on Yagi’s face in the few instances he’d described his battle with All for One and the death of his master—distant, somber, grim—Izuku was willing to bet that he’d probably held it for a comparatively long time. It was more than likely that All for One usually killed the wielders not long after they obtained One for All. If he assumed every other wielder had held it for about half Yagi’s time at least, then it would take around eight to ten wielders running roughly at fifteen years a piece to get back that many years.

Eight to ten. And there had distinctly been eight shades in that alleyway. Eight shades, who referred to him as Nine.

Izuku lifted up the lid of his toilet seat and promptly threw up into the bowl.

He finished with that a few minutes later, then brushed his teeth, rinsed his mouth out, and headed off to class in a distracted daze. He got through the lectures somehow, but took one of Watanabe’s light beams to the arm for his troubles during combat training. (On the bright side, he was able to give her some input about her different intensity levels, even if he did have to get carted off to the nurse’s office for his burns. Watanabe was very apologetic about those.)

By the time Izuku was trudging back to his room, he was ready to hop on the next train and go to Musutafu himself to shake some answers out of Yagi. That was unreasonable, not to mention impractical, but the radio silence was not good for his anxiety. So, instead, he waited, and hoped, and waited some more. He would do some homework, maybe. Quadratic functions were good for distracting oneself from the imagery of dead heroes and maniacally laughing, faceless evil overlords, right?

Izuku did not end up working on any quadratic functions. Instead, he sat in front of his laptop with his knees pulled up to his chest, watching whatever footage he could find of the aftermath of the USJ attack on a loop. He was trying not to listen to the voice in his head that whispered that it was all his fault, for insisting on living in the shadows, for leaving his mentor to struggle against the darkness all on his own…                                                                                       

When his phone rang, it jarred Izuku so much that he fell out of his desk chair trying to answer it. Flat on his back on the floor he tried again, squinting briefly at the caller ID.

Suddenly extremely alert, Izuku fumbled the green answer button and immediately snapped the phone up to his ear. “Yagi-sensei?”

“My boy,” Yagi greeted him, coughing into his fist as he did. “Are you holding up alright at Shiketsu High, young Midoriya?”

Izuku almost screeched out of pure frustration. “Am I holding up alright? Am I? Yagi-sensei, you were involved in a villain attack yesterday! The news said that two pro heroes were injured so badly they had to be taken to the hospital! And you’re asking me if I’m holding up alright?” He became dimly aware of the sound Yagi was making on the other end of the phone, and he almost screeched again, but in indignation this time. “Are you laughing at me, Yagi-sensei?”

“I’m sorry, my boy, I didn’t mean to,” Yagi said, as another laughing fit dissolved into a coughing one. “It’s just, I wasn’t expecting a lecture from you when I called you today. It was nice to hear, that’s all.”

Izuku huffed, folding his arms across his chest. “Yeah, well. Are you alright, though? You weren’t one of the pros injured, were you?”

There was a beat of silence. “No,” Yagi finally said. “I was injured, actually, but my wounds were minor enough that Recovery Girl was able to take care of them for me.”

Izuku sighed, but it wasn’t overly relieved. “The other heroes, are they…?”

“They’ll live, don’t worry,” Yagi said. “I can’t disclose details about their condition, but both of them are going to be okay. And none of the students were hurt either, thankfully.”

“That is good,” Izuku said. “My mom actually messaged me earlier to tell me she was glad that I’m at Shiketsu. She said she didn’t know if she would have been able to take it if I had been at UA yesterday.”

The words settled uncomfortably in the air of his room, and then, unexpectedly, Yagi said, “I’m glad you weren’t there, either, my boy. I think…”

He trailed off in a way that could only mean bad news, and Izuku sat up. He could make a good enough guess at where that sentence had probably been going before Yagi had cut it off. He had seen the pictures of the…creature…that had been apprehended at the USJ. He had read about its Quirks. He’d also seen the shadow people, and he was growing less and less convinced he had imagined them with each passing moment. “All for One?” he whispered.

“I am afraid it might be so, yes. There was a villain there with multiple Quirks. Supposedly he had been specifically ‘manufactured’—their word, not mine—to take me down. The villain in charge had apparently noticed that I had gotten slower and weaker. The only person that would be able to pick up on that, and pass it along to this villain, is him.”

“I don’t like the sound of that, Yagi-sensei,” Izuku whispered into the phone. “Maybe…maybe you should stop teaching at UA. It doesn’t seem like it’s safe for you there, and I know that you don’t have…all…your Quirk.”

“…My boy, if I just up and quit now, I would be giving the villains a win. I can’t let them have that. Students’ lives were in danger.”

“I know. I know. But still, I—I don’t want to be crass, Yagi-sensei, but you’re not what you used to be. If All for One is targeting you, maybe I need to—”

“No, young Midoriya. I’m stopping you right there. Don’t you remember why you went to Shiketsu? You need to grow strong. You need some time to get acquainted with One for All before you have to face him.”

“I know that, but Yagi-sensei—”

“I don’t want to argue this point, young Midoriya. The plan we devised—rather, the plan you devised—it’s working. You’re safe at Shiketsu. You’re safe from him. You need to stay safe for longer.”

“But, Yagi-sensei, what if he—” Izuku stops the sentence, takes a deep breath, and proceeds. “What if while I’m hiding away at Shiketsu, he decides that one of the students at UA is who you’ve chosen as your successor, and he kills them for it? While I just sit here?”

“That’s not going to happen, young Midoriya. The students here are surrounded by pros. Just look at what happened today, for example. Every student safe. Every single one.”

“That’s not exactly reassuring, Yagi-sensei,” Izuku said, gritting his teeth. “Two pros are in the hospital. How many will it be next time?”

“What happened today was entirely my fault, not yours. I should have been there sooner than I was. Besides, it’s me they want, not UA. They likely won’t attack the school again.”

“That’s not exactly reassuring either, Yagi-sensei,” Izuku said, closing his eyes.

Yagi didn’t say anything for a long moment before he sighed. “I wanted to ask you about your progress with One for All.”

Izuku fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. It was a blatant topic change, he knew that, but he eventually gave in anyway and sighed. He did need to ask Yagi about the shades. Somehow. “I’m at 8% now.”

“Really? You’re already up three percentages?”

“They’re having us do really extensive Quirk training before we start combat training in full,” Izuku said. “And really extensive physical training, on top of that. I’m going to have to buy new shirts soon, probably.”

Yagi laughed. “Too tight, or too short?”

Izuku grimaced. “Maybe a bit of both? You should see what they did to my hero costume though.”

“Is it tight, too?”

“Yeah,” Izuku said. “I tried twice to get the designer to change it. The first time he just told me no, and the second time he told me that I needed to invest in my assets, and then I stopped asking.”

Yagi laughed again. “Shiketsu hasn’t changed much I see.”

“I didn’t realize you were familiar with their curriculum…?”

“Ah, no. But I have been in the hero industry for a long time, my boy. I’ve met plenty of the heroes that come out of Shiketsu. It is a talent power-house of a school, but nearly all of them change their costumes as soon as they’re free.”

Izuku laughed. “Shiketsu wants to encourage unification, hence the strict color scheme and personal designers. It’s a pride point for the administration, I think.”

“The administration has plenty to be proud about,” Yagi said, voice light and teasing. “After all, they did seduce you into going there.”

“Ahhh—” Izuku said, ever eloquent.

Yagi laughed, and then silence fell and stretched. “You seem to be growing into yourself, though, my boy. It’s a shame that I can’t be around to see it myself.”

It was a shame, but Izuku had chosen this. He’d been the one to decide on practicality, even if it meant he wouldn’t get to see his mentor as much.

Even if it meant he only knew something was wrong because a bunch of shadowy ghosts potentially attached to One for All told him. Well. Now was as good a time as any to risk getting himself committed to a mental institution.

“Yagi-sensei…”

“What is it, my boy?”

“Um, yesterday…” Izuku trailed off, then reached into his pocket. He fished Uwabami’s fidget cube out of it and started playing with it. “I think I might have seen the previous users of One for All, or something…”

There was a long pause, and then Yagi said, “Ah, the Vestiges.”

Izuku perked up. “So you know what they are? I’m not going crazy?”

Yagi laughed. “No, you’re not crazy, my boy. They’re normal, for us! I saw them once, too. It’s a sign that you’re coming into One for All.”

“Did they…talk to you too?”

There was another pause. Then, “They talked to you?”

Izuku sighed. “Yeah, they seemed surprised about that too. They were warning me…about you. They called me Nine.”

“…They’ve never talked to anyone before. At least, not to me or my master.”

“I could probably only hear them because I was so tired, or something,” Izuku speculated weakly. “I did just finish practicing handsprings with One for All activated for two hours beforehand.”

“You had it activated, non-stop, for two whole hours?”

“Pretty much,” Izuku said, chuckling slightly at his reaction. “I mean, I turned it off here and there to drink water or whatever, but other than that, two hours straight.”

“Color me impressed, my boy. That’s difficult to do, you know.”

“I don’t get any free time here,” Izuku said, too embarrassed to properly acknowledge the compliment, “but if I do, I might take a day trip back to Musutafu to visit you and Mom. I’d like to show you my progress in person sometime, maybe.”

“I’d like that too,” Yagi said quietly. “I have to go now, young Midoriya. Keep up with your studies, for me?”

He would. He did.

A few weekends after that, Izuku was doing rather extensive research on underground heroes for one of his heroics essays when Yoarashi bust into his room with a wicked grin on his face.

“Yoarashi-kun, we’ve talked about this,” Izuku said, blinking up at his friend. He had his laptop cradled in one arm. “You’ve got to learn to knock. Otherwise, you might just bust in here when I’m naked or something and I will not be held responsible for what you see then.”

“It’s the UA Sports Festival today!” he said, effectively glossing over everything Izuku just said to him.

But that was fine, because he was right. What he had to say was a lot more important.

Izuku stared at Yoarashi, then blinked a few times, then turned to his watch, tapping a few times to get it to wake up so that he could see the date and time. “Shit, it is! I completely forgot about it. Yoarashi-kun, how did I forget about the UA Sports Festival? Why didn’t you remind me before now?”

Yoarashi only laughed, plopped his laptop down on Izuku’s desk, and then left. A minute later, he returned with his own desk chair in tow, which he crammed into the very limited space left between Izuku’s desk and the chair. He dropped into it, crowding Izuku into a corner of his own desk (not because he was mean, just because he was gigantic). Yoarashi opened his laptop and then found the broadcast channel for the UA Sports Festival in time for them to see the first-year stage.

“You know, these guys are the same graduating year as us,” Yoarashi said as they started lining up to begin the obstacle race. “We might actually end up working with them one day! This is going to be a great opportunity to assess their abilities.”

“I agree,” Izuku said. “It’s also a great opportunity to assess their weaknesses, since we might also have to fight them at some point.”

“When would we fight UA students?”

Izuku ran a thumb along his bottom lip, thinking. “Provisional licensing exam,” he said. “We take it when we’re second years. I found it on one of my forays into the internet when I was searching for information about underground heroes. The exact format of the exam changes every year, but it’s always loosely a battle royale. We might end up against UA in that.”

“Huh,” Yoarashi said. “Oh! We might also do joint battle training with UA at some point.”

“I don’t know if that happens, but it would be super cool if it did.”

On the screen in front of them, ice shot out from the entrance to the obstacle race, freezing several of the UA students in place. A single student broke away from the crowds—oddly distinct red and white hair flashing in the cameras.

“That’s him,” Yoarashi said, lips pursed. “Endeavour’s son.”

Izuku looked back at the screen as Present Mic screamed out the name of the student in the lead—Todoroki Shouto, as Yoarashi had said, Endeavour’s son—and paused for a moment. To be completely honest, Todoroki Shouto didn’t look very much like Endeavour, other than the half of his hair that was the same, deep red.

“Endeavour’s son has…an ice Quirk?” Izuku asked, looking between the screen and Yoarashi.

“Yeah,” Yoarashi said. “Damn good one too. When we took the entrance exam for recommended students together, he nearly beat me.”

“What did you say your exam was, again?”

“It was a race.”

Izuku looked between the screen and Yoarashi and cracked a smile. “Ironic. I bet you’d already be across the finish line at this event, if you went to UA. Speed is one of your strong suits, yeah?”

Yoarashi laughed. “Damn straight I’d win this thing! You’d lose, though. There’s no opportunity to crush people between your thighs when you’re running nonstop.”

Izuku glowered and pulled his knees up to his chest, swinging his feet back and forth as he did. “You’re never gonna let it go, are you, Yoarashi-kun?”

“Nope!”

Izuku leaned forward, lowering his knees slightly as something caught his eye. “Looks like both of them have derivatives of a hardening Quirk,” he pointed out. There were two students on the screen, both standing in piles of robot rubble, one with rock-like skin and bright red hair and the other with steel skin.

“Seems that way,” Yoarashi said, nodding. “I bet it’d be funny to see them match up in the tournaments, since they’re probably evenly matched in defensive and offensive capabilities. Woah, look at that hot-bloodedness!”

Izuku looked at where Yoarashi was pointing, not at all surprised to find it was Kacchan, using his Quirk to soar over the tops of the giant robots, snarling the whole way. “That’s Kacchan for you.”

“Oh, you know him?”

“Oh, yeah, actually. We were friends when we were four.”

“Was he like that when he was four, too?”

Izuku laughed quietly into his knees. “As in, talented enough to use his Quirk to propel himself over giant robots, or deranged?”

“He does look a bit deranged, now that you point it out,” Yoarashi said. “But so passionate!”

“He’s incredibly passionate,” Izuku agreed. “I don’t know if his heart’s always in the right place, but he’s extremely determined. And the answer is yes, by the way. To both—the talented thing and the deranged thing.”

“I don’t know if I want to imagine that expression on a four-year-old,” Yoarashi said. That was fair enough. Izuku didn’t want to imagine four-year-old Kacchan with that look on his face either.

“Um, Yoarashi-kun,” Izuku said, noticing something on the screen now. “Are those…cannons?”

“Uh…”

They were cannons. They were cannons, and another one was appearing out of a girl’s stomach.

“Okay,” Izuku said, pointing at the girl. “That has got to be the singular coolest Quirk I have ever seen in my life.”

“I’m not even going to try and argue with that,” Yoarashi said, nodding along. “Cannons. Out of her stomach.”

“I wonder if she can only make cannons or if she can make other things too?”

“I think I remember a pole, earlier, so I’d be willing to bet that she can make anything.”

Izuku frowned. “There’s got to be some crazy catch to that Quirk that we’re missing. Like…like…you know the rules about matter, where it can’t be created, only transferred? Does she have to convert some sort of matter to create that? Body fat, maybe?”

Yoarashi made an agreeable noise. “Fat is our body’s source of energy, so that would make sense!”

Izuku looked between Yoarashi and the screen, a grin spreading across his face. “Think she could out-eat you, Yoarashi-kun?”

“Nobody can out-eat me!” Yoarashi said, vaguely offended.

“Enter in an eating competition with Fat Gum, then.”

“…Nobody can out-eat me except Fat Gum!”

“That’s what I thought,” Izuku said, grinning good naturedly. On screen, Todoroki and Kacchan were arriving to the second obstacle—and it sure was an obstacle. Izuku wasn’t sure he’d have the courage to walk across one of those tightropes, and he wasn’t even afraid of heights. It didn’t pose much of a problem for either of the front runners, though. Todoroki skated across the cables on ice, and Kacchan launched himself over them with blasts from his hands. It did give a few of the others pause, though.

“Oh, look,” Izuku said, catching someone launching themselves across the chasms with an absolute plethora of support items. “I’d be willing to bet she’s from the support course.”

“What makes you say that?”

“UA has a rule about support items in the Sports Festival,” Izuku said. “The students aren’t allowed to use them unless they’re pre-approved, or made by them, in the case of the support course. And I don’t see UA approving all of those for a heroics student. Neither do I see a general studies student or a business student putting in the time to make all of them.”

“That makes sense,” Yoarashi said. “I’m glad to see other courses giving it their all in this!”

“Very hot-blooded, right?” Izuku guessed, grinning wryly.

“Extremely!” Yoarashi agreed, with an enormous laugh.

Izuku started to respond, before he noticed something else interesting happening over the chasm. He pointed the person in question out—a tall and broad type, like Yoarashi, with positively gigantic calves with exhaust pipes stretching out of them. “Oh, look, that guy has Ingenium’s Quirk. But in his legs.”

“That guy looks ridiculous,” Yoarashi observed, and Izuku had to agree, unfortunately. He did indeed look very ridiculous. “But he’s owning it, and he’s obviously got passion too, so I like him!” Izuku had to agree with that, too.

“Hey, Yoarashi-kun,” Izuku said as Todoroki and Kacchan were nearing the final obstacle.

“Hm?”

“Do you ever wish you went to UA instead? I mean…” Izuku trailed off.

“I know what you mean,” Yoarashi said, at a normal volume. That was as good as whispering, for Yoarashi. “Shiketsu and UA are regarded as being on par with each other, but UA is the best, and moments like these, it’s pretty clear to see why. Plus, All Might is teaching there now, so it feels like a major loss to go somewhere else!” He laughed good-naturedly, but there was something real behind it—a tinge of sadness, or regret. “In truth, though, Midoriya-kun, I’m more than happy with Shiketsu High. I think it’s been good for me to be here, where everyone is so accepting and kind.”

“Have you had trouble with that in the past?” Izuku asked, eying his friend curiously. “With people being accepting and…kind to you.”

“Yeah,” Yoarashi said, and this time it was a whisper. “I like a lot of things that not a lot of people care about, and they tended to call me weird because of it.” He took a deep breath. “But that’s all in the past! So I’d rather not dwell on what could have been!”

“Yeah,” Izuku agreed, looking back at the screen. He’d wondered about Yoarashi’s past, for a while, if he was honest with himself.. Izuku was pretty good at reading people (he had to be—he had to be able to recognize threats, to know who to watch out for in the halls or on the way home), so he knew he hadn’t mistaken that look that Yoarashi had given him at the entrance exam. That moment, where he’d been seemingly convinced that Izuku would say no, I don’t want to be friends, who would want to be friends with you? He was glad his friend was happy, now, though. Izuku was happy too. Shiketsu High had been everything he could ever hope for out of school.

The part of Izuku that wanted to be running in the race taking place on-screen too, the part that had watched UA as long as he’d known what heroes were, the part that had wanted, more than anything, to go there, the pinnacle of hero education—that part of him would probably never die. But at least for now, it was quiet.

“Todoroki-san won,” Yoarashi said, jolting Izuku out of his thoughts with his loudness. Then he laughed. “Your friend looks rather cross about it!”

On the screen, Kacchan was shaking Todoroki by the shoulders, shouting something in his face, while the latter just blinked vapidly at him, either utterly bored or utterly unimpressed or both. Izuku burst out laughing too. “I’ve never seen anyone just ignore Kacchan like that before,” he wheezed, grasping at his stomach. “That’s got to be the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Yoarashi laughed at that too, in spite of his bad blood with Todoroki. “It is pretty hilarious! They seem like such complete opposites, you know?”

“Seems like it,” Izuku agreed, scanning the influx of students as they poured into the stadium. “Oh, look! The girl with the cannons made it—oh!” There was a small boy with purple balls on his head attached to the back of the girl, smirking, while she was clearly out of breath. “Oh, that isn’t right,” Izuku said. “They should not let him place, if he just got there by making someone else do all the work for him.”

Yoarashi looked at the screen with the same amount of alarm Izuku felt. There was no way something like that would fly at Shiketsu—discipline and effort were the staples of their school, and taking advantage of someone else’s strength…that just felt wrong, even just witnessing it. “They’re not doing anything about it! Oh, come on!”

“Honestly! That’s so unfair! And she made those cannons too, which she used to take out the robots even if it meant helping the other students! That is not the payment she deserves.”

“I can’t believe they’re just letting him—oh, look! Both of the hardening ones got through!”

“Maybe we will get to see them face off against each other after all,” Izuku said, distracted from his previous grievances by the prospect of seeing the two Quirks pitted against each other. They were similar, but there had to be differences in there somewhere. “I wish I could ask them how their Quirks work and catalogue all the variations. They’re so fascinating! I mean, everyone has fascinating Quirks at UA! I can see so many of them going so far.”

“It’s so like you to nerd out over that sort of thing,” Yoarashi mused, before pointing at the screen again. “Look, they’re doing a cavalry battle.”

“Oh, that’ll be interesting,” Izuku said, tuning in again as Midnight read out the rules. “Yoarashi-kun, I sense a plot twist at the end of these rules. They’ve made too much sense so far.”

“I also—”

“—except the person who placed first in the obstacle race, who is worth ten million points!” Midnight announced.

“There’s the plot twist,” Izuku said.

“Yep. Quite the plot twist!”

“Todoroki-san’s going to have his work cut out for him, if he wants to keep ahold of that headband,” Izuku said. Then another thought struck him. “It’s like rescuing the civilian!”

“What?”

“In our entrance exam here, they tell you upfront that rescuing the civilian would get you automatic acceptance, but that it’s hard. The best way to get into Shiketsu is by finding the civilian, but because it’s so risky and the exams been going on for so long people primarily just get in by grabbing the points they can from the combat element. But I bet when the exam first started—”

“Everyone tried to find the civilian,” Yoarashi said, nodding. “The ten million point headband is the civilian rescue. If you get it, you’ll have guaranteed victory, pretty much. But if you get too focused on it and spend the whole time trying to grab it, you’re probably going to lose anyway because the people that do decide to collect smaller headbands, or fight the villains, are going to get more points than you.”

“Shiketsu should sue them for this blatant idea plagiarism, honestly,” Izuku said, and Yoarashi laughed so hard he nearly knocked his own chair over.

“Says the guy that rescued the civilian,” Yoarashi said when he was mostly done laughing.

“Hey now, I at least had the sense to try crushing a villain or two between my thighs on my way to the civilian,” Izuku said. “All of UA seems to just be rushing Todoroki-san’s team, though.”

“I can’t believe you just—” Yoarashi wheezed. “And earlier, you told me to let the thigh crushing thing go!”

“Yeah, you need to let the thigh crushing thing go,” Izuku said, raising his eyebrow at Yoarashi. “I’m the one that crushed the guy with my thighs, so if I want to talk about it, I should be more than welcome to.”

Yoarashi laughed until he was hoarse, and Izuku discreetly leaned over, fished a water bottle out of his mini fridge, and nudged it Yoarashi’s way. He accepted it graciously as they watched the rest of the cavalry battle.

“I wonder how many points Kacchan just lost so he could snag the ten million,” Izuku mused as he watched Kacchan leap into the air to snag the ten million from around Todoroki’s head, just for Todoroki to snag a handful of bands from around Kacchan’s neck in turn.

“I wonder why Todoroki-san didn’t encase him in ice as soon as he moved.”

“I was thinking about that too,” Izuku said. “Did you notice Kacchan was only attacking him from the right side? Well, our right side, watching it. I think that’s Todoroki-san’s left, though. Actually, come to think of it, I think Todoroki-san was leading with his right the whole time. Wait!”

“What?”

“What if the ice only works from one half of his body? What if that’s why Kacchan was only attacking him from the left? He was exploiting it! He must have been, that must have been why Todoroki-san couldn’t defend with ice walls anymore, he would have hit his teammate.”

Yoarashi pulled a face. “Well, at least he’s considerate of his teammate. It’s sort of bizarre to have a Quirk only activate on one half of your body though, don’t you think?”

“It is weird,” Izuku said, pinching his bottom lip to keep himself from muttering his thoughts out loud. “That’s why I’d be willing to bet the ice is only one half of his Quirk.”

Yoarashi shrugged noncommittally. “Left side looks like Endeavour, eh? Maybe it has the same Quirk as him, too.”

“Not a bad thought,” Izuku said. “It would explain why he wouldn’t use it in the cavalry battle either, then, since he might burn a teammate, but why not in the obstacle race…? Does he not use it at all, maybe? Maybe it’s really weak compared to the ice, or something. Or, you know, fire Quirks can be pretty dangerous to the people that use them, sometimes. It could be that it burns him—that would explain the mark around his eye, I guess. I’m thinking it could be a major liability in battle, though.”

“It’s already been a liability in battle,” Yoarashi said, voice sharp. “He cost his teammates the win because he can apparently only fight with half his body.”

“Mm,” Izuku agreed. “If that’s a permanent issue, it might make me a little…cautious? If I have to team up with him for something when we all go pro, that is. Then again, though, I know a thing or two about handling Quirks with nasty backlash. I think it can get better if you work on it, so if that’s why he only uses half right now I can understand. Winning a Sports Festival isn’t worth injuring yourself or your teammates over.”

“And what if he’s just not using it because he thinks he’s better than everyone else even without it?”

“I’m not going to assume anything like that about someone I don’t know, Yoarashi-kun,” Izuku said, shaking his head. “I mean, he’s clearly trying to win, so it’s probably not anything like that, anyway. Normally people pull out all the stops they can for things like this. Take Kacchan, for example.”

They settled in to watch the final tournaments. First up was a match between two boys who had been on the same team in the cavalry battle, though neither had made a particularly impressive showing in any event prior. “First up is Takahashi Juuhachi from the heroics course, Class 1-A!” Present Mic announced. “On the other side of the ring is Shinsou Hitoshi, from general studies, Class 1-C!”

“Oh, a general studies student made it to the finals,” Yoarashi said. “Good for him!”

“I agree,” Izuku said, watching as they called match start. To his surprise, Takahashi surged forward immediately, looking angrier than anyone had reason to look, going up against someone they’d been on a team with a moment ago. To Izuku’s further surprise, he yelled loud enough for the microphones to pick up at least a portion of what he was saying.

And it was not very sportsmanlike, let alone heroic.

“Oh, wow,” Yoarashi said. “I don’t think, uh…”

“I don’t think you should call people villainous scum,” Izuku finished for him. “Especially not…”

To their further horror, Takahashi had apparently foregone use of his Quirk in favor of beating Shinsou with his fists instead. According to Present Mic, he could apparently end things quickly with his Quirk—one of the thousands of water-based Quirks held by the general populace that worked by changing the state of matter of the air and could apparently be used to make waves that would knock Shinsou out of bounds easily—but he had opted for a beatdown with his fists anyway.

“What’s Shinsou-san’s Quirk?” Izuku asked. “Have they said?”

“No, not yet,” Yoarashi said, enraptured by the violent display occurring on-screen. Shinsou was fighting back—he was doing his damn best to fight back, actually, and landing several hits of his own—but he wasn’t using his Quirk either.

Maybe he didn’t have a Quirk at all? Or a nonphysical one at least? It would make sense for a Quirkless person to end up in a general studies program. It would make sense for them to use the Sports Festival to try to transfer into the hero course. That had been Izuku’s plan before he accepted One for All, anyway.

And then, suddenly, Takahashi went slack. He stopped attacking, stopped doing anything, and then turned and slowly began walking to the border of the ring. Shinsou sat up, wiping blood dribbling from his nose, eyes burning with determination.

“Shinsou Hitoshi,” the unknown and extremely tired second commenter drawled into the microphone. “Quirk: Brainwashing. I took the liberty of looking into it.”

Takahashi walked out of bounds, and Midnight declared Shinsou the winner.

There was silence in the room for all of one moment.

“Good,” Izuku said softly, then louder. “Good. I don’t know the whole situation, but I’m glad he won. It’s rare to see non-combative Quirks doing so well in the UA Sports Festival.”

A year ago, it would have been the kind of thing he would look up to someone for.

“Yeah,” Yoarashi agreed. “It is good.”

The next match started. This one was between leg-Ingenium and the support course girl from the obstacle race. At the five minute mark for the battle turned infomercial, Izuku figured it was probably safe to use the bathroom. Considering the support course student was running an advertisement for another item when he got back, that was probably a safe assumption.

“This poor fellow,” Yoarashi quietly remarked. A minute later, and he stood up and went to the bathroom too. It was honestly a relief when the support course student finally decided to end the match.

Todoroki was up next, against someone that had been on Kacchan’s team in the cavalry battle—he shot tape out of his elbows if Izuku was remembering right, which was pretty unique—and the match had barely been called to a start when it was over.

“That’s unnecessary force,” Yoarashi said, but he seemed taken aback by the amount of power on display.

Izuku was too, peering at the size of the ice attack Todoroki had just unleashed. It covered half the stadium, and when they switched to a view from a helicopter hovering over the arena, he saw the tallest of the spikes even reached over the tops of the stands. The camera angle switched back to Todoroki as he stepped forward and placed his left hand over the other student’s chest.

“It’s a heating Quirk,” Izuku murmured, because it was the answer they’d been looking for while watching.

“It’s a really powerful heating Quirk,” Yoarashi corrected. He was right, it was really powerful, easily melting Sero Hanta—Present Mic had just called out his name—out of the ice he was trapped in and then some.

“It might only manifest heat, and not flames,” Izuku said, but they sounded like flimsy excuses, even to him. This was Endeavour’s son, after all. “It might not have offensive potential.”

“I bet it does,” Yoarashi said, simply.

Izuku didn’t play devil’s advocate this time. There was no reason to, when the answer was as plain as day in front of them. Todoroki had a heat Quirk activatable through his left side, and had impeccable control over it. This could only mean one thing. “He just…doesn’t use it,” Izuku said. Anger was stirring in his veins, just like it had been when the ball-hair-guy had been hanging off of the girl with the object-creation Quirk, or Takahashi had chosen to mercilessly beat Shinsou instead of ending the fight honorably. “Everyone else out there on that field is doing everything they can to win, and he’s doing it with only half of his potential. Not because he can’t use the rest of it. Because he won’t.”

“It’s not right,” Yoarashi murmured.

“No, it’s not,” Izuku agreed. He shook himself, shook the anger out of him. There was no sense in being angry at a stranger. “One of them is going to beat him, I think.”

It took the entire tournament before it got to that point. They watched the two students with hardening Quirks duke it out, and come to a draw. They watched a girl named Uraraka Ochako try to drop a stadium on Kacchan’s head (it was impressive, and more than a little terrifying, even though she ultimately lost). Shinsou lost to Iida Tenya—leg-Ingenium, probably related to actual Ingenium, if the last name was any indicator—before Iida, in turn, lost to Todoroki. It took until the final round, when Todoroki stepped out on the field across from Kacchan. Kacchan, who was terrifyingly observant and more skilled in combat than Izuku could have truly imagined even after years of being on the receiving end of Kacchan’s violent streak, exploited the same exact weakness he had in the cavalry battle.

And Todoroki let it happen.

At the end of everything, he stood quiet and thoughtful on the second place podium while Kacchan triumphantly accepted his gold medal.

“He looks indifferent to his loss,” Yoarashi said, his voice ringing with disdain.

Izuku didn’t comment. He didn’t see indifference in the set of Todoroki’s shoulders when he looked. No, what he saw was resignation of some kind. The feeling that set in when a long-standing dream had been thoroughly crushed. Izuku knew that look. He’d worn it before, too.

“Let’s get lunch before they start the second-year stage,” Izuku said instead.

Chapter Text

Shouto took the internship offer at Endeavour’s agency. He had Bakugou to thank for that, in a roundabout way.

That being said, Bakugou would very much like to never be thanked for anything, especially not for knocking some much needed sense into Shouto in their final match in the Sports Festival. Not that Bakugou had intended to knock sense into Shouto either—he’d only intended to beat his ass, and succeeded spectacularly—but it had proved a rather dismal point to Shouto all the same. If a fifteen-year-old with no prior training before waltzing into UA could beat Shouto’s ice with the strength of his Quirk and his spirit alone, somebody else probably could too. Which meant, as much as Shouto hated it, he needed both. Both Quirks. His mother’s, and his.  

Though Shouto would be damned if he just rolled over and accepted Endeavour’s preaching, like the bastard seemed to think was happening. No, Shouto might use the fire, but only because he had to. When he had to. He was only here to learn whatever Endeavour would or would not teach him about controlling the flames, and at the end of the week, they would once again be two people tied together by the loose threads of old hatred and new spite.

Besides, the offer to intern at Endeavour’s Agency, despite the thousands he got, was the only offer that Shouto knew, with the utmost certainty, had nothing to do with recruiting him for the purpose of buying favor with his father.

So, he went to Endeavour’s agency. He stayed focused for the entire night that Endeavour sculpted Shouto’s flames. Endeavour stood by his side, demonstrating moves, instructing Shouto mechanically on things like temperature control and aiming. It was almost funny how easy these training sessions were now that Endeavour wasn’t beating him down for “wasting his gift” or whatever. No, this was a completely different side of Endeavour. This was Endeavour the hero, raising his protégé, not Enji the man, training his son.

Shouto was nothing if not agreeable while they trained. He put on his (new) hero suit when instructed to do so. He made flames when he was told to make them. He made them hotter, or cooler. He used them in conjecture with his ice, and he neither overheated nor gave himself borderline frostbite.

It was certainly the easier way to do things, even if Shouto still hated the flames that burst out of him. It was practical, though. It was enough. It would get him the top spot at the next year’s Sports Festival.

“We’re going to Hosu,” Endeavour announced, when Shouto met him in the office in the morning of the third day. “We’re going to apprehend the Hero Killer there.”

Big talk. Heroes had been trying to apprehend the Hero Killer for a while, now, and most of them had ended up as just another number on an ever-growing list of hero casualties.

What Shouto said, though, was, “Fine.”

They went to Hosu.

The morning was spent scouting the area. For Shouto, it was spent running drills with Burnin’ while Endeavour patrolled. Shouto, for whatever reason, was being left out of these city scouting missions, though they’d more than likely be helpful to him as well.

Albeit far from his place to question the mighty Endeavour, though.

“Not bad, kid,” Burnin’ said, her grin as sharp as ever. “You’ll be uprooting me in no time after graduating, anyway.” She stretched as she said the last part, her shoulders popping as she pulled them behind her. Shouto held his fire in his hand idly as he awaited her further instruction, but she seemed a little more interested in chatting now that Endeavour was gone. Most of the Flamin’ Sidekickers were more interested in chatting once Endeavour was gone. “How’s UA treating you? Still brutally and without any mercy?”

“I suppose,” Shouto said, shrugging. He didn’t pay that much attention at UA, honestly. He came, he passed the exercises given to him, he left. It wasn’t any harder than what he’d done with Endeavour since he was five.

“I have so many horror stories from my time at UA,” she said, continuing like Shouto hadn’t just attempted to dismiss the conversation with two well-placed words. “I’ve heard worse about Shiketsu though.”

Shouto sighed. Apparently, this was one of those times where idle conversation was required if he wanted to actually get anywhere today. “Is that so?”

“Hey, kid, come on,” Burnin’ said, jabbing at his shoulder unnecessarily. “You heard some of the things Kinetic used to say when he was around here.”

Ah, right, Kinetic. He that had been fired, literally, for daring to have a brain. Actually, in Shouto’s opinion, Kinetic’s sacking had more to do with him stealing the spotlight from Endeavour, but still. “I bet Kinetic misses the fame.”

“Nah, not really,” Burnin’ said, sniffling slightly. Shouto raised an eyebrow slightly at the surety in her tone, and she cast him another sharp grin. “We keep in touch. He’s doing the teaching thing. He says that as much as he complained about it, he’s doing the same thing to his kids that his old teachers used to do to him.”

“Is that so,” Shouto said, hoping to convey just how disinterested in this conversation he was.

“He’s got a standout though, this year,” Burnin’ said. She winked at Shouto. “Consider this a warning on what to look out for, kid. The brats in class with you aren’t the only heroes you’ll have to wrestle for a spot on the rankings with when you go pro. According to Kinetic, he’s got a showstopper in his class. He’s teaching first years right now, by the way. What do you say, Shouto? You’ll finally take a little break from this fire stuff if we justify it as scouting the competition?”

Shouto sighed again and let the fire drop from his hand. He turned fully to Burnin’ now, folding his arms across his chest. In all honesty, an opportunity to scout the competition was an advantage he was loathe to pass on. “Alright. I’m listening.”

Burnin’ laughed. “Ever the studious one, there, kid. Alright. Well, this show-stopper has a storm Quirk, apparently.”

“As in, he summons storms?”

“As in, he summons the power of storms,” Burnin’ corrected, raising an eyebrow. “He’s fast and strong, apparently. His storm Quirk is actually a physical enhancement Quirk. Ever heard of anything like that?”

Shouto ran through the list of Quirks he had heard of—the ones that his classmates past and present had, along with the ones that he knew pro heroes had—and came up with nothing. Well, nothing, except for one pro—and he wouldn’t even have come up with that name if he hadn’t stood next to the man at the USJ as winds from his punches buffeted over them. “That sounds somewhat like All Might’s Quirk.”

“Bingo,” Burnin’ said, drawing out the latter half of the word. “See, I knew you’d be interested. I mean, this kid makes lightning and shiz apparently too, so it is a storm Quirk, but as soon as Kinetic told me I thought to myself—yep. That sounds like the next All Might, or whatever.”

“The analogy would be perfect if only he went to UA,” Shouto mused.

“Right on,” Burnin’ agreed. “And also if the kid didn’t have an apparent hard-on for the underground.”

“Really,” Shouto deadpanned. “A Quirk that sounds like All Might’s, and this person wants to be an underground hero. And sorry, did you say he makes lightning?”

“I know, right?” Burnin’ said, laughing along with her words. “It sounds like the flashiest Quirk in existence. And to boot, the kid got the highest score on the Shiketsu entrance exam in, like, a decade. Kinetic is duly impressed. He’s spreading the word of this whiz kid in the pro world where he can.”

“Does said whiz kid have a name?”

“That’d be Midoriya, I think,” she said, shrugging. “Anyway, keep your eyes peeled, here in a few years. If he changes his mind about that underground thing, it sounds like he’ll be trouble.”

Shouto made a carefully noncommittal noise. “Flashy Quirks aren’t everything.”

“You’re right, obviously. It’s all about the personality. Look at your dear old dad, if you don’t believe me.” Burnin’ laughed. “If you’re asking about the storm kid’s personality, though, it’s supposedly a good one. Stretch your back, kid. Trust me. You’re going to get cramps.” Shouto inwardly rolled his eyes but followed her advice, stretching his arms up and over his head as she continued talking. “Kinetic called the kid charming, of all things. Could you imagine being charming? I couldn’t.”

Shouto could argue that Burnin’ was probably charming in her own right, in one way or another, but he figured she meant a more traditional kind of charm, like All Might’s charm, or Ingenium’s charm.

Speaking of Ingenium. “Should I expect to ever patrol, or am I meant to spend the entire week in a training room?”

Burnin’ barked a laugh. “Word on the street is that the boss is taking you out tonight. Hero Killer hunting season, and all that.”

“Great. So he wants my first patrol to involve apprehending the Hero Killer. Naturally.”

“Look where you are, kid,” Burnin’ said, gesturing at the hotel gym they were standing in. Shouto raised an eyebrow. “We’re at Endeavor’s agency,” she said, ignoring both her slip-up and his skeptical gaze. “Trial by fire, here. Let’s work on your hand-to-hand. We’ll just say no Quirks for the moment.”

Shouto nodded, settling into a stance, and they began.

True to the word on the street Burnin’ had supposedly heard, Endeavour did indeed decide to take Shouto on patrol with him when night fell.

Naturally, because it was his first patrol that week, everything had to go to shit.

Shouto couldn’t pinpoint exactly what moment everything started going wrong. Was it as soon as the patrol started, and Endeavor had seen fit to regale Shouto with repetitions of the same old mantras that he had spouted since the beginning of time? (This is what heroes do, we patrol for the safety and comfort of the civilians and also to discourage crime, pay attention to your surroundings, Shouto, don’t waste your time responding to the fans that wave at you, be the best at everything you do—) Was it when the first Noumu dropped from the sky and tried to carry off a sidekick before Endeavor roasted it? Was it when the second Noumu touched down, right in between Endeavour and Shouto, forcing Shouto to dodge into a dark alley to avoid being scourged from the Earth by his own father’s flames? Was it when that very same Noumu had then turned and given chase to Shouto instead, forcing him away from his father and the rest of his sidekicks?

Or had the night gone to shit before it even started, because Endeavor had decided Shouto apparently didn’t need to know anything about the city they were in since he was working under the assumption that Shouto would have been glued to his side the entire night?

That was perhaps a little unfair. Endeavor couldn’t account for three Noumus waging war on Hosu, after all. Still, though. It would be damn nice if Shouto knew where the fuck he was, now that his Noumu friend had chased him far, far away from everyone else. It would also be damn nice if Shouto knew where the fuck said Noumu was, if only because if it wasn’t chasing him, that most likely meant it was off murdering civilians.

What a goddamn shitshow.

Shouto stepped off the ice ramp he’d been shooting aimlessly across the city on and into what appeared to be a dingy district—no civilians, exactly the sort of place Shouto had been trying to lead the Noumu too—comprised entirely of dark, skinny alleys and sloping multi-story buildings and heaps of trash left out on the streets. Ironically, it was exactly the sort of place that the Hero Killer—their actual target—would be at. Shouto doubted even the Hero Killer would be batshit enough to attempt pro-hero purging in the middle of a Noumu crisis, though. Well, hopefully not.

Shouto rested his hands on his knees to catch his breath, turning his ear to the city instead. If he just followed the sound of crazed civilians screaming, he could probably find his way back to where the action was. Subsequently, he could find his way back to where Endeavor was, and where that Noumu he’d been playing cat and mouse with had disappeared to. Maybe. Hopefully.

He did not hear the sounds of civilians screaming. All he heard was the measured rhythm of his own breathing, and the muffled sound of voices not too far from where he was. Shouto was too far away to make out finer tones of voice, but they sounded angry.

He huffed and straightened, pushing his bangs out of his eyes as he did. Seriously? People arguing, at a time like this? What did they even have to argue about? He had half a mind to leave them to their stupidity and their drug deal gone bad, or whatever the hell was going on, but he had a duty to try and evacuate people at the very least. Even if they were dumbasses.

Shouto set off towards the alley, footsteps nothing more than a whisper as he approached—generally speaking, if Shouto didn’t have a reason to be loud, he wasn’t. That was something he learned at a young age, growing up in the Todoroki household. The voices got clearer as he walked, and Shouto paused as a note of familiarity rang in the back of his mind.

He didn’t know how, exactly, not yet, but…he knew that voice.

“I will avenge my brother’s injuries!” the slightly familiar voice shouted, and a sick feeling twisted in Shouto’s stomach. “I am Ingenium, and I will bring you down!”

No. It couldn’t be. There was no way that was Iida. Iida was loud, yes, but never angry. Never…never—

“What about him?” the second voice hissed, and there was a tone to it that set Shouto’s body on edge and brought his blood to a boil. “Shouldn’t you save people first, false hero?”

Apparently, Shouto thought, as he peeked around the corner and saw his classmate with one of the Hero Killer’s knives pressed to the throat, Stain is batshit enough to attempt pro hero purging in the middle of a Noumu crisis.

What a goddamn shitshow.

Shouto snapped back around the corner as fast as he had peeked around it, and weighed his options. On the one hand, both Stain and Iida were apparently in a monologuing mood tonight, so he had a minute to think through his (very few) ideas. However, as much as either party wanted to chat about vengeance and ideals with the other party, neither would keep talking long enough for Shouto to find any sort of help.

Which meant that if Shouto didn’t do something, Iida was probably going to die. And the other guy in the vaguely offensive hero costume slumped against the wall was going to die. Was Shouto qualified to fight the Hero Killer? Definitely not. Shouto couldn’t even fight and win against a teenager with a bad temper and barely any formal training.

But Shouto couldn’t stand there and passively observe two people’s deaths, either, so…he supposed that today he…died.

Well. He guessed there were worse ways to go…?

Shouto rounded the corner, ice at his fingertips, and no other plan beyond try to survive. He analyzed the situation as best as he could and—well, this wasn’t exactly good. Iida was closest to him, on the ground, with Stain looming over him ready to strike. Behind them was the pro hero Shouto had spotted earlier—presumably, Stain’s original target. Which meant an ice wall between Stain and Iida would put the pro on the other side with Stain—it might save Iida, but it would result in the pro’s certain death. An ice ramp would have the same problem—he could grab just Iida, or grab all three of them and Stain’s many pointy objects. Ice spikes were a possibility, but, no. It was too dark in this alley too accurately judge where exactly Iida and the pro were, which meant Shouto could impale them by accident.

Which really only left one thing. Shouto hadn’t expected to come to this impasse so soon.

He raised his left hand, flames burning through his veins, desperate to be set free. It’s a serial killer, Shouto reminded himself, stubbornly refusing to succumb to the fear. If you’re going to shoot flames at people, at least it’s a serial killer and not your family. He took a deep breath and launched his attack, flames swirling out and around him, towards Stain. There was a difference between a dummy in a training room and a living, breathing human being, though, and Shouto felt that difference in his bones. Shouto’s hand, against his will, jerked at the last moment.

The flames burst to the side, ricocheted harmlessly off of the opposite wall to where most of the action was happening, and petered out into nothingness a few moments later. Effectively, all Shouto had just done was bring Stain’s attention to himself.

Shouto breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth as crazed, beady eyes settled on him. Now that he had colossally fucked up, he had a duty to at least try to recover from his mistake. “Step away from them.” His voice, unsurprisingly, was as calm and level as it always was. He was grateful for very, very few things that Endeavour had taught him, but his poker face was undeniably one of them.

Stain, with his sword still poised over Iida, sighed. “It’s just one after another today, isn’t it?”

“Todoroki-kun?” Iida’s voice was faint, gravely. Rough with fallen tears and harsh anger. It was a voice that Shouto had heard from himself all too often. “What are you doing here?”

Now it was Shouto’s turn to sigh. Everyone was so goddamn interested in chatting today. But chatting, at least, was keeping Stain from plunging his sword into Iida’s throat while Shouto tried to come up with a game plan. “I’m trying to save you, or whatever,” he said. Then, because he was cranky and irritable from so many things (especially his impending death), he added, “What the hell do you think you’re doing, anyway, going on homicidal rampages in dark alleys while superpowered monsters with their brains exposed wreak havoc on a city? Do you realize how stupid that is? I am talking to both of you, for the record.”

There was a tense moment of silence, broken only when Stain barked a single laugh. He kept his sword trained on Iida, but turned his body towards Shouto. It was good, because it meant Stain was a little less focused on murdering his classmate, but it was irritating, because it probably meant Shouto was going to have to listen to some idealist bullshit, judging by the conversation he’d overheard between Iida and Stain before he unsuccessfully crashed their party.

Damn it if Shouto didn’t really wish he had a plan right about now.

“So, you’re Endeavor’s son,” Stain said, drawing another knife and pointing it at Shouto.

“Unfortunately.”

“Come to collect on the glory of taking me down yourself, little hero?”

“Mostly I’m here because I’m lost,” Shouto said, “and because I’m not interested in standing by and watching while you kill two people.”

“Be warned then. I have a duty to kill these false heroes before you. I don’t wish to kill children, especially not young heroes that could, perhaps, become good one day. If you interfere, however, my hands will be tied on the matter.”

“Whatever,” Shouto said, narrowing his eyes at Stain despite the frightened thumping of his heart in his chest. “You can dress your actions up in the guise of morality, but murder is still just murder.”

A sadistic chuckle bubbled out of Stain’s throat, then deepened, rumbling through the darkness of the alley around them. It set every instinct Shouto had on edge, made every muscle in his body beg him to flee. And under that laugh there was Iida, pleading with Shouto, begging him to leave.

“This is my fight,” Iida proclaimed, with the utmost certainty in the world. “I’m the one that’s supposed to avenge Ingenium. I’m the one that’s supposed to bring this murderer to justice. I never asked you to interfere, Todoroki-kun. I can take care of this myself.”

For one sad, gut-wrenching moment, Shouto realized that he was looking in a mirror. Iida Tenya, who came from a family of heroes like him. Iida, who had probably trained with his Quirk before he went to UA like him. Iida, consumed by rage and anger and bitterness like Shouto had been just a week ago. Is this what Shouto would have become, if he’d kept going as he was? Using his ice stubbornly out of spite, even though it might have meant putting people in danger one day? Is this what Shouto would have become, if he’d won that fight with Bakugou, if he’d gotten that bitter validation he’d been so desperately looking for?

The next moment, Shouto was dodging to the right to avoid the knife that Stain threw at him. Shouto was fast, but the knife was still faster, grazing the already scarred flesh on his left cheek. That was not a good thing. Shouto didn’t know any more about Stain’s Quirk than what the police knew and passed on to Endeavor for this case, but he knew it was a paralysis Quirk of some kind, and bloodletting was a necessary ingredient. Whether it was the act of bleeding in and of itself or some other factor was unknown, but in case it was the first, this could already be bad for him.

Shouto flexed his fingers. He was bleeding, but he could still move. So, not just the blood itself. There was another factor, something Stain had to do beyond that to activate his Quirk.

Stain threw the sword he’d been holding up into the air. It’s trajectory was clear—if Shouto didn’t move right now, there was an impromptu haircut in his future. He dodged left, back closer to the center of the alley and away from the wall. Inadvertently, he also dodged directly into Stain’s waiting grasp. He gripped Shouto’s costume with one hand, surging forward, long, wart-ridden tongue flicking out past his teeth, aiming for the drops of blood beading up and dripping down Shouto’s cheek. Shouto panicked for one instant, and then burst into flames in the next, forcing Stain away from him.

There was a very brief reprieve in the battle. The attempted face-licking had been telling though. Shouto could guess that consumption of blood was necessary for Stain’s Quirk. Gross, obviously, but he supposed serial killers probably weren’t worried about hepatitis.

“I grow tired of these games, little hero,” Stain said, from further down the alley. “How about a choice for the hero-to-be?”

Shouto grit his teeth, not liking where this was probably going. Sure enough, Stain leapt back, over Iida, between him and the other pro, and pulled out two knives. He sent one flying towards either of them to a chorus of spewed insults from Iida. Shouto leapt forward, ice springing into walls around the alley. One knife buried itself blade first into the wall of ice in front of the pro hero, but the other knife landed somewhere in Iida’s arm, sliding past his ice wall with only seconds to spare. Iida cried out as the blade connected with flesh.

“Not very smart, obscuring your sight like that,” Stain said, leaping over the ice wall that Shouto had erected, slicing off the top of it with an easy swing of his sword. He lunged for Shouto immediately, forcing him into dodging to the left with a sword thrown slightly to the right. The two throwing knifes Shouto had just dodged into buried themselves into his arm. He grunted in pain, right hand instinctively flying to the wounds, already slick with blood. It slid down his bicep and dripped off his elbow, landing drop by drop in a sad little puddle by his left foot. This was…bad. For a number of reasons. Mainly, Shouto couldn’t rely on his flames as much now, and he was also leaving usable material for his Quirk all over this alley for Stain.

Stain surged forward again, and Shouto let spikes of ice burst forth, careful to stop them before they got anywhere near Iida. He was careful of giving Stain material to hide behind this time, too. Not that it mattered, since Stain sprang off of the spikes meant to impale him or at the very least cut him slightly, bursting forward with all the ferocity of a cornered animal, blades held out and crossed into a lethal X. Shouto leapt backwards, barely erecting a barrier of ice in between himself and the swords in time. They bounced off of it with a clinking sound. Shouto hurtled around his barrier, hand already raised to create more spikes, more something, to keep fighting—

His muscles stiffened in spite of himself, locking up, sending him hurtling to the ground. His chin took the hit since he couldn’t brace himself, and it connected with the concrete with a thud and a burst of pain that reverberated through his whole mouth. He raised his eyes and found Stain crouched in front of him, licking up the side of his blood-stained finger. Bloodstained…from the small pool of it that Shouto had left behind when he’d leapt back. Stain had dipped his finger in it.

He’d lost.

“Todoroki-kun, why?” Iida shouted, but the words felt fuzzy in the back of Shouto’s mind. “Why did you try to save me? Damn it, I told you to run! I told you this is my fight!”

Stain reached out to Shouto, long fingers curling into the collar of his hero costume as Stain used it to haul Shouto’s limp body closer to him. Shouto’s heart was beating too loudly. His ears were ringing. In short, he was terrified.

He would not go out cowed and broken though. He met Stain’s eyes, not flinching away from the old scarring that peppered his cheeks or his pinched, damaged nose. He looked into the eyes of death, his eyes and mouth the only parts of his body that he could move, and death looked back.

“I like you, little hero,” Stain whispered, like it was a secret. It took everything Shouto had to not flinch at the breath ghosting across his cheek. “I’d like to see what you become. I’ll even let you save one of these false heroes after this.”

Shouto didn’t say anything, just stared, defiant. He might be defeated, but he would not be broken.

Stain sat him down, disgusting in how gentle it was, and turned Shouto so he could look towards Iida and the other pro. A spike of alarm shot through Shouto’s body. No—he wasn’t—he couldn’t be—

“You’ll want to watch this,” Stain advised, as he crossed to Iida. Iida looked up at him, finally silent, then back to Shouto. Realization was dawning in his eyes.

“No,” Shouto said, finally speaking. His body felt heavy, dull. He tried to raise a limb, and he failed. He tried again. He would not just lay here, damn it. He would not just lay here and watch while some madman with knives stabbed people. He would not. “No!”

Stain did not raise the knife like in the movies, but lowered it, seemingly picking out a specific point on Iida’s throat. “Stop it,” Shouto said, aware that he was slipping dangerously close to the territory of begging. “Stop it, no.”

Iida, for his part, just stared up at Stain, defiantly, the same way that Shouto had before. Stain plunged the knife into Iida’s throat, retracting it just as quickly. It made a sickening sound, slurping and gurgling, and blood bubbled out of Iida’s mouth as he tried to cry out in pain or talk or something. Shouto wanted to reach out to him. He wanted to impale Stain on a pillar of ice. He wanted to stand up.

Move, damnit, he commanded his limbs. Get up and fight. Get up.

Iida’s life spilled out of his throat, pouring and pouring. Occasionally, there was a spurt of blood, bursting out of his wound and speckling his face in red as the puddle beneath his head grew larger and larger, darker with each passing moment. There was a lot of blood that could come out of a person’s neck.

“And for you,” Stain said, crossing to the pro still slumped against the wall. He positioned the knife somewhere over his chest, and even from here Shouto could hear him sharply gasp. He screamed as he was stabbed, though, the noise echoing in the alley.

It would echo in Shouto’s mind afterwards, too.

“A word of advice for you, Todoroki Shouto,” Stain said. He didn’t look at Shouto, though, just wiped the blood off of his blade on the shoulder of the hero’s costume as he breathed, sharp and laboriously. “I would choose which one you’re going to save before you can move again. If you try to save them both, then both will die.” Stain straightened, sheathing his weapon at his side, and turned away. “Shigaraki Tomura has his eyes on you, little hero. You and the blond one, with the red eyes. I’d watch yourself, were I you.”

Another chill ran its course down Shouto’s spine. Was it true? He couldn’t just trust Stain at his word, obviously, but…if Shigaraki was watching him… There were noumu in Hosu. Was it a targeted attack? On him? But why?

Shouto looked up, maybe to ask Stain for more details, maybe to do something else, and found that Stain was already gone. All that was left in the alley was ice and two half-dead people, and Shouto.

“To…do…roki, r-right?”

Shouto’s gaze snapped toward the voice. It was the pro hero, his entire nude-colored costume practically stained red. He must still be paralyzed, since he didn’t even have a hand pressed against the wound in his stomach. It was dark in the alley, but there was still enough light from the street for Shouto to see how his flesh puckered around the wound, could hear the way he gasped with every breath.

“Save…kid,” the pro continued. “’M’a pro. Knew I…was…gonna die.”

“No,” Shouto said. “No, I—”

“’S’okay. You’ve done…’nough, ‘kay? Save…your friend.”

Shouto couldn’t remember the last time he cried, but he felt dangerously close to tears now. He squeezed his eyes shut and willed the moisture away. “No. Lives aren’t…”

“You come…near me…I’ll push…away,” the pro managed, between gasps of breath. “Ya hear? Don’ do it. Save him. Still a kid.”

“No,” Shouto whispered. He would shake his head, if he could, stubborn in his refusal.

Barely, just barely, his fingers twitched.

“Please,” the pro said, sounding broken. He’d already given up. He was probably saying this because he knew what Shouto was going to decide, as soon as Stain finished speaking. He was trying to make it easier for Shouto to throw his life away, like that was a good thing for a hero to do, like one life could equal the worth of another.

“God damn it,” Shouto hissed, as he surged forward all at once. He scrambled in his pocket—his phone, of course, was not there. It had probably taken a tumble at some point while he was running about the city. He didn’t have any gauze or bandages either.

Shouto eyed the two knives still embedded in his arm. He eyed his sleeve. He supposed he might as well add the possibility of himself bleeding out in this alley to the long, long list of worries he had to think about. Shouto wrapped his fingers around the hilt of one of the knives, buried his teeth in the collar of his costume, and pulled it out. He was immensely glad he gagged himself before he did, since he did yell out in pain as the knife left the wound. He made quick work of the left sleeve of his costume, cutting it off at the shoulder. He began to delicately wrap it around Iida’s throat. Shouto did not meet his eyes as he did.

“You’re…doing great,” the pro murmured, from where he was slumped against the wall. “Keep…pressure. There.”

Shouto gritted his teeth and put a little more pressure on Iida’s throat wound. Blood dripped down his arm, mingling with the pool of Iida’s blood that Shouto was practically kneeling in. With his other hand, he rooted around in Iida’s pockets and found his phone, somehow, miraculously, undamaged. Thank fuck Iida didn’t lock the device, either.

Shouto did not call the police. They were probably bogged down with calls for Hosu and likely wouldn’t be inclined to respond to one more in the sea. Instead, he dialed a number from memory (hating that he even had it memorized, all the while). Endeavor, predictably, did not answer the first time. Or the second. He didn’t answer until the sixth call, and when he did, it was in a fit of rage.

“I don’t know who you think you are, but—”

“It’s Shouto. I dropped my phone somewhere.”

“…Shouto? Where are you? What happened?”

Shouto didn’t respond, just cast around for a street sign, anything noticeable, anything at all. Ah, there. “Dispatch an ambulance to Fifth Street, across from a hardware store. Maybe dispatch two ambulances.” He eyed the pro hero dubiously. Stain had said that only one of them would survive, but Shouto could hope. He had to hope. “I’m injured too, by the way,” he added, because Endeavor might not throw his weight around for random civilians until seeing them himself in the middle of a crisis.

“Shouto—”

Shouto hung up, and cast the phone to the side. He could apologize to Iida for that later. For now, he needed to keep him from bleeding to death.

Shouto might need to cut off his other sleeve, too.

“Doin’…great,” the pro murmured from against the wall. “You…gonna be…great hero.”

Shouto closed his eyes. He inhaled for four. He exhaled for four.

And then he looked at the man that he was killing. He committed his face to memory, his hair color, ever miniscule detail about his hero costume. He even committed to memory the bloodstains, the sound of his ragged breathing, the way he slumped against the wall. “What’s your name?” he asked, voice soft.

“Na…tive.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you, Native.”

A wet, sickening sounding chuckle. “’S’okay, kid. Most…don’t.”

Shouto didn’t know what to say to that, other than the only thing he was thinking.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, like it was a pledge. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t…be. ‘M’okay.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re doing…great. Goin’…to be…great.”

“I’m sorry.”

“S’okay,” Native said. “I’m…at peace.”

“I’m sorry,” Shouto whispered, like it was a vow.

Native didn’t say anything else.

Iida made a strangled noise, and Shouto snapped back onto him. “Shut up,” he hissed. Tears, unbidden, had come to Shouto’s eyes. “Whatever you’re about to say, just…don’t.”

Maybe that was a little harsh. Maybe it wasn’t.

At any rate, when Endeavour finally came what could only be a few minutes later—though it felt like an eternity—Shouto was quiet.

Nine.

Izuku stirred and rolled over, a memory of fingers ghosting through his curls that he didn’t recognize. He groaned, but otherwise did nothing to get up.

Oh, Nine. The burden placed on this one’s shoulders is easily the heaviest of them all.

Izuku wrapped himself in his All Might comforter—he didn’t have enough money to buy a different one right now, besides, it was cozy—and sank further into sleep.

I wish you knew how smart you are. Fingers ghosted through his hair again, the touch soft and caring. It reminded Izuku of his mother’s touch, of the way she slid her own fingers through his hair. I wish you knew how brave you are.

Seven.

I know. Wake up, Nine. Hosu is burning.

He’s looking for you, Nine. He’ll chase down every lead until he finds you.

Just…remember Hosu, okay? You’re so smart, Nine. You’ll know what it means.

The fingers that weren’t there ghosted through curls one last time, and Midoriya Izuku opened his eyes.

Izuku woke quietly, with One for All humming softly in his veins. It was warm and pleasant, almost like a hug, and Izuku sighed. His dreams felt hazier and more distant than usual, and when he grasped for the tiniest detail, everything fled. He set up in his bed, eyes falling on the clock on his nightstand that read 4:10 a.m. Earlier than any sane person would want to get up, but still too late for Izuku to succeed in falling back asleep. He yawned as he squirmed from beneath his blankets, making for the bathroom attached to his dorm room, where he idly brushed his teeth. He scrolled through his phone as he did, just for something to do, until he eventually settled on the news. The toothbrush stilled in his mouth.

There was a full-scale attack on Hosu last night.

Hosu…Hosu…

Had he been dreaming of Hosu?

Izuku finished brushing his teeth, spat, and rinsed in record time. He wandered out of the bathroom, phone in hand, as he collapsed on his bed and clicked on article after article, anything he could find.

Three Noumus, all apprehended by Endeavor. Izuku was glad the Flame Hero had been there—he didn’t like him much, or his property damage statistics, or the way he treated his fans—but it was an undeniable truth that the Noumus were always going to be too much for the average pro hero. In terms of pure power, he doubted few others besides Endeavour and All Might could stand toe to toe with a Noumu and come out looking no worse the wear.

Shigaraki Tomura, presumed leader of the League of Villains and All for One’s puppet, spotted on the top of a water tower with Kurogiri, another member of the League of Villains with a warping Quirk.

The Hero Killer: Stain, who murdered a pro hero named Native. He had also taken it upon himself to seriously wound two UA students. The two chosen seemed intentional, too—Iida Tenya, younger brother of Hero Ingenium, who fell under Stain’s blades about a week ago. Todoroki Shouto, youngest son of Hero Endeavour. One of the more speculative, gossipy articles about the incident that Izuku found pointed out that it seemed Stain had allowed Todoroki to live, since his injuries were the least severe. The implications of the theory were wide and equally revolting in every single one of them, and Izuku forced himself to read every theory, even the baseless, insensitive ones that implied Todoroki might be working with the League of Villains, before he closed out of that particular article.

Todoroki and Iida might come from hero families, but they were kids. They were Izuku’s age. They were in the same year as him. They were going to a prestigious hero school, like him. What right did these reporters have implying that they had been anything but victims in yet another tragic crime the League of Villains committed against UA?

Izuku’s brain screeched to a sudden halt.

The League of Villains, a group definitively connected to All for One, attacking UA again. UA, where Yagi worked. UA, where Izuku couldn’t go because they display their students’ Quirks on live television.

Iida Tenya, who won third place at the UA Sports Festival’s first year stage.

Todoroki Shouto, who won second place at the UA Sports Festival’s first year stage.

Iida Tenya and Todoroki Shouto, who both had extremely powerful Quirks, who both dominated the Sports Festival with displays of their power and their control of that power, and who were taught by All Might.

Izuku covered his mouth with his hand as he closed out of the news entirely, opened his contacts, and called a familiar number.

Yagi picked up on the third ring, even though it was barely past 4:30 in the morning, sounding groggy and disoriented. “Young Midoriya? What time is it?”

“It’s 4:39 a.m.,” Izuku said, reading dutifully from his alarm clock. “Have you seen the news on Hosu?”

There was silence on the other end of the line, then shuffling, like Yagi was getting up. Izuku winced, but still didn’t apologize for waking his mentor up this early. He could apologize after he asked his question. Yagi yawned, then suddenly gasped. It must have been the moment he checked the news himself. “Noumu.”

“Noumu,” Izuku agreed, “and Shigaraki Tomura and Kurogiri on a water tower, and Stain running amok seriously injuring UA students.”

“What?!” Yagi said, with a forcefulness that usually belonged to his muscular form. There was silence after his what that stretched for several long minutes, presumably as he read, but Izuku didn’t interrupt. “Young Todoroki and young Iida…how?”

“Yagi-sensei, I have a question for you and you have to promise me you’ll answer it even though it’s seemingly out of the blue,” Izuku said, since he knew enough about the situation that Izuku could ask it now.

“…What is it, my boy?” He sounded shaken.

Izuku sounded shaken, too, when he took in a deep breath and voiced his thoughts. “What happens when One for All is passed on to someone that already has a Quirk?”

“What? Where’s this coming from?”

“Please, Yagi-sensei,” Izuku said, resting his forehead against his knuckles. “Please just humor me.”

Yagi was silent for a long moment. Whether he was thinking about an answer or trying to parse through Izuku’s thought process, it was hard to tell. Finally, Yagi spoke. “One for All is an enhancement Quirk. It enhances physical strength, and when given to Quirkless people like you and I, that’s all that it does. When given to someone with a preexisting Quirk, however, it would also enhance that.”

Izuku breathed out a long sigh as dread settled into his bones. “Do you…remember what we said? When you told me you took a teaching position at UA, and I asked you why, and you told me to think through reasons?”

“I do,” Yagi said, sounding confused. “There’s disguising my time limit, or course, and the dissipation of my Quirk, and…”

“And the possibility of you theoretically choosing a successor from amongst UA’s students,” Izuku finished. “Somebody with a strong, powerful Quirk. Probably from the classes you teach the most often.” Izuku’s voice was starting to shake, so he fished the fidget cube Uwabami gave him out of his desk drawer and clicked one of the buttons on it. “A student whose Quirk might have, presumably, just received a power-up. I watched UA’s Sports Festival this year, you know. The way Iida-san’s engines burned white-hot made him seem even faster than Ingenium. Todoroki-san freezing half the stadium was quite the power move, too. I could honestly say that Todoroki-san maybe has more raw power than even Endeavor does.”

“Young Midoriya,” Yagi said, sounding faint. “Where are you going with this?”

“They’re looking for me,” Izuku said, as tears silently collected in his eyes and spilled down his cheeks. “They’re going to go through your most powerful students until they find me. It’s true, isn’t it, Yagi-sensei? My plan worked perfectly. All for One is convinced your successor is at UA, and he’s using Shigaraki to try to find them. And he’s not going to stop until he does.”

“Young Midoriya, you don’t know that,” Yagi said, trying to be soothing. “You don’t know that he was…targeting young Iida, or young Todoroki. Even if he was, it’s not your fault. If anything it would be my fault, my boy, not yours.”

“It was my idea, wasn’t it?” Izuku asked. “I’m the one that wanted to hide.”

“Young Midoriya—”

Izuku sniffled impressively and wiped the tears out of his eyes, pulling himself together in one motion. “You’re right,” he said. “I don’t know for sure that All for One is using the League of Villains to target UA students to try to find me. And there’s not any sense in worrying about what ifs. But if I’m right…” Izuku trailed off, and only continued in a much quieter voice. “If I’m right, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive myself.”

“My boy,” Yagi said, but he seemed at a loss for what to say. “It’s not your fault. Either way, it’s not your fault. You can’t blame yourself for this.”

“I know,” Izuku said, standing to set the fidget cube on his desk. He took one long breath in, held it, then let it out. “I just wanted to talk about Hosu. I have classes in a few hours, and you probably want to try and get some more sleep, so I’ll let you go.”

Yagi was silent for a long time before he finally said, “Okay, my boy. Call me back when you get done with classes today, if you get the chance.”

“Okay, Yagi-sensei,” Izuku said. “I’ll try.”

“I’ll look forward to it, my boy.”

Izuku breathed out a long sigh. “I’ll talk to you later, Yagi-sensei.”

“Goodbye, young Midoriya.”

Izuku did not call him later.

Chapter Text

“Catchphrases,” Uwabami drawled, as she slid elegantly across the front of the room, “are very important to hero work. They can define you as a hero just as much as an ultimate move can, if you are a combat-oriented sort of hero. Take, for example, All Might. Say, does anyone in this room know what his catchphrase is?”

Several students laughed, Izuku included. The better question would probably be who didn’t know that.

“Exactly,” Uwabami said, pausing behind her podium and folding her hands beneath her chin. “If you were a citizen in need of rescue, and you heard a booming voice declare I am here! you would most likely feel some measure of preemptive safety, would you not? Catchphrases vary from hero to hero—some, like Crimson Riot, may not have so much as a declaration when they arrive on fights as a repeated phrase they use often in interviews or the like. Does anyone know that one?”

A few people raised their hands this time, Izuku included. Uwabami smiled and nodded. “Hojo-san.”

“You’re thinking of chivalrous spirit, right?” she asked, tilting her head to the side curiously. Her tail swished through the air as she did. Izuku dodged it deftly.

“That is correct,” Uwabami said, nodding towards her. “Today, I want you to brainstorm a few catchphrases for yourself. Excluding Midoriya-san, you all have hero names picked out. You have ideas for what avenues of heroics you want to go into. I suggest bouncing ideas off of one another with the time I give you today. By tomorrow, I want a list of at least five potential catchphrases prepared.”

They set to work, pulling desks towards friends to chat with one another. Izuku didn’t join in any of the groups, though, just sat by himself, silently tapping his marker against his board.

He was running into the same problem with catchphrases that he’d run into with hero names. Whenever he’d thought of either thing in the past, it was only in terms of the best way to rip off All Might. And that—he obviously couldn’t do that anymore.

“Hey, Class Rep,” Nakamura chirped, and Izuku lifted his board off his desk just in time for her to push herself up on it. “I’ve got an idea for a catchphrase for you.”

“Do tell,” Izuku said. Normally, he wouldn’t give her an opening to make whatever sort of joke she was about to make, but, frankly, he was a little desperate right now.

“Thick thighs save lives,” Nakamura declared smugly.

Izuku groaned, put his arms on what little of his desk had been left to him, and buried his face in them. “Leave me alone.”

“Get some sleep,” Nakamura countered, whacking him on the back of his head with her own board. “Don’t think I didn’t notice the eyebags. What are you doing in the training gyms for hours after school anyway?”

“Um. Training…?”

“Every single night?”

“That’s how you get better, isn’t it?”

“That’s how you work yourself into an early grave, more like,” Nakamura decided.

“I must agree with Hanako-chan on this one,” Watanabe added. There was a horrific scraping noise that most likely meant she was dragging her desk over. “You look like you have seen better days, Midoriya-kun.”

“Yeah, but I’ve mastered backflips off of three-story tall buildings.” Though, he knew better than to try denying he looked a little worse for wear because of it.

“I don’t know if I’d call that worth it, man,” Nakamura said. When Izuku deigned not to respond, she cleared her throat. “Anyway, since we’re all gathered here today for this glorious meeting…how cheesy would it be to say something like ‘no problem is too big or small for the Size Hero: Shrink ‘n’ Gro?’”

“Extremely cheesy,” Izuku answered. “Perfect for you, though.”

He got whacked on the back of the head again.

“Anyway, that’s one for me, that’s one for Midoriya-kun—”

“I am not writing ‘thick thighs save lives’ down for my assignment, Nakamura-san.”

“—so what about you, Mura-chan?”

Watanabe sighed. “If I wish to go the ‘cheesy’ route, as well, I was thinking that I could say, ‘Nothing is too dark as long as I am around.’”

“I don’t think it’s a bad start,” Nakamura said.

“I think you should focus on your serene demeanor, Watanabe-san,” Izuku said, finally emerging from his arms to stare dejectedly at his blank board. “You could even say something like, ‘where there is darkness, there is also light.’ That’s sort of what you said to me when you described your Quirk, anyway.”

“He is so wise when it comes to others,” Watanabe said, prodding him lightly, “yet so terrible at defining himself.”

“He defines himself by his thighs,” Nakamura said.

“Stop, or I’ll leave.”

“This is your desk, Class Rep.”

“Then I’ll make you leave.”

“What are you gonna do, crush me between your thighs?”

Izuku let out a noise that was half frustrated and half strangled. “Why are you so obsessed with that, anyway?”

“Why aren’t you?”

“Hanako-chan has a point, though you hate to see it,” Watanabe said. Izuku shot her a glare, and she raised her hands placatingly. “Choosing catchphrases that play off of your physical appearance or skills may be a good option for you, seeing as you have yet to choose a hero name.”

“The problem with Midoriya-kun, here,” Arakawa said, boosting himself up onto Watanabe’s desk as he entered the conversation (which was unnecessary, since his desk was right in front of hers anyway), “is that he spends too much time helping everyone else figure themselves out and not enough time helping himself figure anything out.” He paused, then added, “With the exception of his latest move to kick our asses into next week, of course. He puts plenty of effort into that.”

Izuku sighed. “I don’t think being too helpful is necessarily a bad problem to have, though…?”

“I’m so glad you feel that way,” Arakawa said, “because I actually need help with picking out a catchphrase or two.”

Izuku perked up immediately. Try to figure something like this out for himself when he had to keep everything about his Quirk secret? No thanks. Help someone else? Much better.

“Well,” Izuku said, drumming his fingers to organize his thoughts so they didn’t come spilling out of his head unprompted instead. “You want to be a sex appeal hero, you have a plant control Quirk, and you can create pheromones that can cause people that breathe them in to act certain ways…I’d probably go the pun route? Something along the lines of…growing on people?”

“Ooh, I’m stealing that,” Nakamura said. “Arakawa-kun, do your thing and make it some weird sex joke instead.”

Arakawa cast a hand over his heart, putting on his best melodramatic expression. “You wound me by assuming I was not already making it a sex joke. Also, my jokes are great, not weird.”

Watanabe watched them for a moment, amused, before looking back to Izuku. “What of your Quirk?” she suggested. “You could make catchphrases that utilize a storm motif.”

Hm. That wasn’t necessarily a bad idea. It could get him through this assignment, at least. “But where to start?”

“You could do something about being the calm before the storm, or whatever,” Nakamura suggested. “Or go with an eye of the storm, thing?”

“You could say, ‘I’m bringing the storm,’ or something dramatic like that,” Arakawa suggested, with a flourish of his hand.

Watanabe frowned. “Midoriya-kun himself is a very calm and reassuring individual. Perhaps steering away from phrases that will paint him as intense would be best?”

“Mura-chan, your naivety, it’s charming. Really.” Nakamura jabbed her marker at her. “But you’ve also never been on the receiving end of that guy’s thighs. He’s terrifying.”

Izuku opened his mouth to protest the thigh thing, yet again, but he got interrupted before he even started.

“Do both,” Arakawa suggested, looking at Izuku. “Both intense catchphrases and calming ones. The intense ones can be for the villains trapped between your thighs, and the reassuring ones can be for the civilians swooning on the sidelines.”

Izuku opened his mouth to protest both the thigh comment and the swooning comment, but he was interrupted, again.

“How are those catchphrases coming along over here?” Uwabami asked, gliding over to their little makeshift group and resting a hip against Hojo’s vacated desk.

“We’re mostly doing good,” Nakamura said. “Midoriya-kun is struggling, though.”

Uwabami smiled, twirling her finger through the air. “Understand that these things are harder for him, as an aspiring underground hero, than they are for you.”

“Really, Midoriya-kun?” Watanabe asked, tilting her head to the side. “You wish to enter the underground, instead of standing in the light?”

“Um, well, sort of,” Izuku said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t really know that I’d have what it takes. I would like to, though! Also, um, Watanabe-san—you should use that as a catchphrase. For villains. It could be sort of intimidating, you know?”

Watanabe paused for a moment, then said, “Why choose to walk in the shadows, when instead you could stand in the light?”

“Oh, I love that,” Uwabami cooed. “Let’s hear more.”

“Let me grow on you,” Arakawa said, striking a dramatic pose and then casting a wink in Uwabami’s direction.

“Wonderful!” she said, clapping her hands. “That plays to the hero persona you’re cultivating quite well, Arakawa-san.”

“Thanks, Sensei,” he muttered, his green cheeks tinted slightly pink.

“There’s no problem too big or too small!” Nakamura said, growing slightly as she did and throwing both arms in the air.

“Well done,” Uwabami said, nodding. “I can see that working with children, especially.”

“Thank you, Uwabami-sensei!” Nakamura chirped, shrinking back down to her original size.

“Of course. And you, Midoriya-san? Does anything come to mind?”

Did anything come to mind?

A new dawn, a new day, a fresh start. In these moments, right as the sun is first peeking over the horizon, the day is malleable—it could become anything you wanted it to be.

Izuku clutched a hand over his heart, fingertips digging into his shirt. That was what Yagi had said back on the beach that day. A new dawn. A new day. A fresh start. But what would Izuku make of it? He tightened his hand into a fist, twisting the fabric of his shirt with it.

“Hope,” he murmured, “is always on the horizon.”

For a moment, the other four were completely silent. It lasted long enough for Izuku’s old nerves to set in again—he’d said something weird, hadn’t he? It was a stupid idea. It didn’t even make sense! It had nothing to do with his Quirk or his nonexistent hero name or himself, even, just a variation of something Yagi once said to him and nothing more.

Nakamura groaned. “You can’t just go from being totally lost to being insanely profound, Midoriya-kun. That’s so unfair to the rest of us.”

“I agree that it is a lovely idea,” Uwabami added. “It is also very well-branded for your image—quiet and confident. It’s a phrase that would do well at both instilling villains with fear and citizens with, well, hope.”

Huh. They actually liked it, apparently. He hadn’t been expecting that.

“Thank you, Uwabami-sensei,” he said. “Thank you all.”

“Always so polite,” Watanabe teased.

“We are happy to help, of course,” Uwabami said, lifting off of the desk. “Well, you four are in good shape, so I’ll be off to check on the others. By the way, Midoriya-san—” Her eyes glittered dangerously in the light of the classroom as she looked over her shoulder at him. “—your request got approved. As such, you’ll be joining the second years at their intensive training camp this summer.”

“Wh-what?” Izuku asked. The other three were staring at him now, but he kept his gaze on Uwabami. “A training camp?”

“Here at Shiketsu High, we take pride in the work we do,” she said, bowing dramatically. “As such, we want as many students passing that pesky provisional licensing exam as possible, yes?”

With that, she retreated, and Nakamura, Arakawa, and Watanabe erupted into questions around him.

“You come up with some of the craziest Quirk training ideas,” Yoarashi declared as soon as Izuku finished explaining their presence in the gym tonight. Yoarashi didn’t seem upset by Izuku’s proposition though. If anything, he seemed excited.

“Right,” Izuku said. “I mean, just think about it! Having control over my trajectory when released from any point in the air is going to hone my body in ways that just doing ground exercises isn’t. And you get to work on control over Whirlwind! It’s a win-win situation.”

“Trust me, I’m not complaining,” Yoarashi said, grinning. “I feel like you’re going to hurt yourself, though.”

“Just…” Izuku eyed the distance from the ground to the top of the gym. “Don’t drop me from higher than 2.5 meters. And help me lay out these mats over the floor.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” Yoarashi said, saluting him. He raised both his arms, the wind rising with them, and then Yoarashi swiped a hand through the air, taking a row of sparring mats along with it.

Izuku grinned. Yoarashi’s control really was impeccable. Being able to take the mats but leave the targets next to them? Amazing. Izuku wasn’t going to let him be the only one showing off, though.

One for All thrummed to life beneath his skin, and Izuku sped forward, a stream of green sparks trailing him. He leapt into the air to snag one of Yoarashi’s mats and flung it to the ground. Izuku stuck the landing too—sneakers squeaking against the floor of the gym as he skidded backwards. Yoarashi laughed and laid out a mat of his own with a well-controlled wind current, and Izuku grabbed another, throwing it down.

At the end, they were both panting, hands on their knees, standing on the now sparring mat padded gym floor. “I got—twenty-one,” Izuku panted.

“Try-hard,” Yoarashi accused, casting him a sharp grin. “I only—got—nineteen. You kept—taking mine.”

“I sure did,” Izuku said, pleased with himself. He took one last gasp of air and straightened. “Well. Onto what we’re actually doing then?”

“Right on,” Yoarashi huffed, straightening as well. He raised his arms again, and the winds started picking up around them. This time Yoarashi lifted with them, and then, a moment later, Izuku lifted too. Izuku braced himself—he’d been on the receiving end of Whirlwind several times, now—but still, flying was something he didn’t immediately get used to. “Ready to move?” Yoarashi called.

Izuku gave a nod, and a gesture from Yoarashi later, and Izuku was caught on a wind current, being carried clockwise around the room. Izuku swallowed his nausea and tried to focus—keep his body oriented, keep One for All coursing through him at eight percent, stick the landing whenever it came. “Cancelling in 3…2…1…Now!”

Izuku was tilted slightly backwards, and try as he did to control his momentum through the fall, he still landed awkwardly, his ass taking the brunt of the impact rather than his legs. Yoarashi laughed as he crossed to Izuku, offering him a hand up. “I told you that you were going to get hurt,” he said.

“Not hurt,” Izuku grumbled, though he accepted the hand up. “My butt tingles a bit, but I’m not hurt.”

Yoarashi laughed again, loud and booming. “Well! That’s about what I’d expect from a first attempt! Again?”

“We’re doing this until I stick every landing or you get tired of helping me, Yoarashi-kun,” Izuku said.

Yoarashi ruffled his hair in response. “You better start landing, then.”

They flew again. This time, Izuku landed face first. Izuku pushed himself up before Yoarashi could offer, and they went again. This time, Izuku was able to adjust himself as he fell, though he lost his balance shortly after landing. Three more repetitions after that, and Izuku started sticking the landings perfectly. Ten repetitions after that, and he stuck them no matter what angle Yoarashi dropped him from—even if Yoarashi had flipped him completely upside down first.

Fifteen repetitions later, and Izuku jumped up to give Yoarashi a high five with each hand. Then, he grinned wickedly up at his friend. “Hell yeah.”

“Hell yeah!” Yoarashi agreed, slapping Izuku heartily on the back. “That was a good training session.”

“Oh, we’re not done training,” Izuku said, checking his watch. “It’s only 7 p.m., after all.”

Yoarashi eyed him, suspicious and a little bit fearful. Izuku laughed—it was a look he was used to from his classmates. “What…else do you have in mind?”

“I’m so glad you asked, Yoarashi-kun,” Izuku said, already falling into a defensive stance. “Now we apply it.”

Yoarashi laughed. “No way, Midoriya-kun! I’m not sparring with you hand-to-hand!”

Izuku only held his stance and continued grinning at his friend. “Didn’t you tell me yesterday that your hand-to-hand needs a little work, Yoarashi-kun?”

“Not against you!” he laughed. It sounded like a nervous laugh.

Izuku shifted, holding one arm out in front of him now. Then he wiggled his fingers in a silent bring it gesture.

Yoarashi sighed in defeat. “Don’t you even think about using your Quirk,” he said, pointing at Izuku threateningly with his water bottle still clutched in his hand.

Izuku lifted his shoulders in an innocent shrug, watching carefully as Yoarashi ran a hand over his head and sat his water bottle down, settling into a stance of his own.

Yoarashi made the first move, as he usually did, lunging towards Izuku with his right arm stretched out. Izuku dodged the hit, catching Yoarashi’s arm with both hands. He dodged again as Yoarashi brought a knee up to kick him in the gut.

Now, time to test what he’d learned about controlled falling.

He pulled himself up using Yoarashi’s arm. He felt the other boy tensing underneath him, expecting what was coming to him. And who was Izuku to not deliver? Still keeping a tight hold on his arm, Izuku swung his legs up and over Yoarashi’s shoulders, careful to exude what he hoped was the perfect amount of momentum as they both twisted, Yoarashi toppling with the added weight on his shoulders. Izuku twisted the arm around his back as they went down, holding it there.

Yoarashi groaned. “That didn’t even take you a full minute.”

“You swing extremely wide,” Izuku advised, not for the first time. “You’ll fair well against opponents that are the same size as you, but us agile types can get inside your defenses easily. Keep your limbs closer to your body as you attack. Otherwise, though, how was that fall? Did it hurt any more or less than usual?”

Yoarashi considered. “It hurt less, I think.”

“Cool,” Izuku said, releasing him now. He wasn’t able to keep the stupid grin off his face, though. “That means all our hard work paid off. We could probably call it a night, if you really wanted.”

“Nope,” Yoarashi said, climbing to his feet and dusting off his hands. “We’re staying here until I beat you in at least one spar or you get tired of helping me, Midoriya-kun.”

Izuku grinned.

It took Yoarashi about fifteen attempts, but he finally laid Izuku out, throwing him over his shoulder with enough force to force the air in his lungs out of them once he landed. When Yoarashi asked if he was okay, Izuku only managed a weak thumbs up. Yoarashi laughed.

They finally called it quits, after that.

“MIDORIYA-KUN!”

That was…definitely Yoarashi. Izuku peeked around his classmates, wondering what Yoarashi was doing here and why. He spotted not just Yoarashi, but the entire other class of hero students at Shiketsu High, led by their homeroom teacher. Izuku raised his hand in greeting for his friend, who responded with an enthusiastic wave of his own.

“Friend of yours?” Nakamura asked, eying Yoarashi. “Isn’t he that loud guy from the entrance exam?”

Izuku smiled privately to himself. He wondered how Yoarashi would feel about being known as that. Probably good, knowing him; he was proud of his loudness. “Yeah,” he said. “That’s Yoarashi Inasa. He got the second highest score on the practical exam.”

“He seems to be a very bright individual,” Watanabe said, her expression lifting into a smile as she observed him.

Izuku made a noise of agreement. “I wonder if we’re taking the practical portion of our final exam with Class 2.”

Arakawa wrinkled his nose slightly. Not out of disgust, but confusion. “Why?”

“We’re used to teaming up with each other, silly,” Nakamura said, looping one of her arms through one of his and the other through one of Watanabe’s. “If we team up with members of 1-2, it’ll be more challenging.”

Watanabe looped her free arm through Izuku’s and hummed thoughtfully. “If this is the case, I wonder how we may be paired up?”

“Our scores on the entrance exam are a possibility,” Izuku offered, accepting his fate as an arm attachment surprisingly easily. He was too used to them doing this by now.

Watanabe made a strange expression. “What about those of us that were accepted through review, like Hanako-chan?”

“Way to call a girl out, Mura-chan,” Nakamura said, unimpressed.

“I merely used you as an example,” Watanabe said, blinking owlishly. “Of course, Arakawa-kun was also accepted via review. I could have just as easily said his name instead of yours.”

“Hey!” Arakawa protested, from Nakamura’s other side. “It’s not my fault I was in a city-scape! There aren’t as many plants there!”

“It looks like you may be delegated to a similar fate this time around too, Arakawa-kun,” Izuku observed, eying the city Kinetic was leading them towards. The oddly familiar city. Most likely, they’d taken the entrance exam here. Kinetic was being suspiciously quiet, too, which was rarely a good sign.

It was that moment Yoarashi caught up to them, slapping Izuku heartily on the back (as per usual). Izuku was making progress, though, since he barely even stumbled. “Midoriya-kun! And friends! Midoriya-kun’s friends! Hello!”

“Hello,” Watanabe replied, ever calm and serene even in the face of Yoarashi’s enthusiasm.

“Heya,” Nakamura said, much less on the serene side and much more on the sharp one.

“You’re extremely tall, so I don’t know about the logistics of this, but you can join the arm linking thing too,” Izuku said, offering his elbow to Yoarashi.

“Yo, yo,” Arakawa said. “I’ve got this. Nakamura-san, trade me, and then grow, and then Yoarashi-kun can link arms with you.”

Yoarashi gave Izuku a look. Izuku gave him a shrug in response.

“Alright, then!” Yoarashi said instead, ever the enthusiast. Arakawa and Nakamura shuffled, and Yoarashi was tacked onto the end. “What is this, by the way? Why do we do it?”

“This is to keep Midoriya-kun over there from running off,” Nakamura said.

“Hey, now,” Izuku said, but they had a good point. He…did his best to not be particularly sociable, which meant the more he could escape social interactions, the better.

It was dangerous to get too comfortable with others.

Yoarashi boomed out a laugh. “Does he run off often?”

“He is a runner,” Watanabe said. “Midoriya-kun informed us of your identity, by the way. I am Watanabe Mura.”

“I see you’re tasked with keeping Midoriya-kun grounded today.”

“I am usually tasked with keeping Midoriya-kun grounded,” Watanabe said, gravely, like she took her job very seriously. Knowing her, she did. “He is easily distracted by Quirks.”

“He’s easily distracted by heroes, too,” Yoarashi helpfully supplied.

“Traitor,” Izuku commented.

Arakawa and Nakamura, so often of the same mind, both laughed boisterously. “Oh, my,” Nakamura said. “I like you, tall guy. I’m Nakamura Hanako, by the way.”

“It’s very nice to meet you!”

“Arakawa Tooru is my name.” Arakawa made a face. “Hey. Are those the villains from the entrance exam?”

“They are!” Kinetic said, apparently choosing that moment to latch onto the conversation his students were having. “And you’ll be fighting them today!”

The villains—which were actually a highly trained group of adrenaline junkies and martial arts specialists—shifted with barely contained nervous excitement at this. Like before, all of them were wearing Quirk suppressing cuffs. “Are we to repeat the entrance exam, then, to see if we may best our personal scores?” Watanabe asked, the arm linked with Izuku’s still half raised in question.

“Incorrect!” Kinetic said, pointing at her enthusiastically all the same. “No, today, you’re teaming up in pairs of two that have already been decided! Seeing as we wanted to make skill levels as fair as possible, you will be paired with your closest score partner from the practical portion of the entrance exam. Meaning first and second will be a pair, third and fourth will be a pair, and so on and so forth.” Izuku felt a jolt run down his spine.

No way. First and second? That would mean…

Izuku looked over Watanabe’s, Arakawa’s, and Nakamura’s heads to meet Yoarashi’s devilish grin. Oh, this was going to be fun.

“Your objective,” Kinetic said, still dishing out the rules, “is to rescue a hostage from a group of villain terrorists, played by these fine ladies and gentlemen in front of you. This is a test of your skill in situations where you are severely outnumbered, your strength in stealth operations, your ability to strategize, as well as your ability to work with someone you may have never worked with before. It is not going to be easy.”

Kinetic went on to explain the rules. The hostage would be stationed somewhere in the middle of the city, surrounded by all of the villains, and they had to both fight off the villains to get the hostage, and then rescue said hostage, carrying the doll through a gate at the end of the arena. In other words, it was basically a herculean task set before them. Izuku had no doubt that their teachers probably expected them to fail.  

Izuku was not interested in failing.

“Alright, first pair,” Kinetic said, checking his clipboard. “That’d be Midoriya Izuku and Yoarashi Inasa. Next is Hojo Anri and Suga Kouhei…”

As Kinetic continued to read off names, Izuku quietly disentangled himself from Watanabe and crossed to Yoarashi’s side. Yoarashi grinned at him and offered him a fist, which Izuku bumped his own gloved knuckles against with a satisfying tok.

“Remember how we were training in the gym the other day?” Izuku murmured. They weren’t the only group that had united to start quietly discussing strategy while Kinetic continued to read off names.

“The Quirkless sparring or the part where I repeatedly dropped you from the skies?” Yoarashi whispered back, in one of the rare moments he was capable of whispering.

“The latter,” Izuku said. “Want to make it a combo move?”

“I would freaking love to make that a combo move,” Yoarashi said. “We’re calling it Green Bullet.”

Izuku raised his eyebrows at the speed with which he decided that. “Alright, Green Bullet it is. So, my fighting style is already suited to hit and run tactics, so I’m thinking…”

“Start at the edges and work our way in,” Yoarashi said, nodding. “I’m not great with subtlety, so I could be the distraction. I can hold my own against larger groups…”

“And when we start getting closer to the hostage, Green Bullet!” Izuku said, spreading his hands. “Into the thickest cloud of villains surrounding the hostage. I’ll take them out fast—”

“With your thigh flip.”

“Yeah, with my thigh flip. I don’t even—is that what it’s even called? Is that what we’re calling it?”

“I think that’s as close to the terminology as we’re going to get, Midoriya-kun,” Yoarashi said, his lips twitching as if he was holding back laughter.

“Alright, so the thigh flip, I guess…anyway, I can take people out pretty fast with that. Hopefully we’ll have taken out enough of them by then that openings happen more often, so I’ll grab the hostage and run, while you distract them.”

“I’ll catch up to you as soon as I can get away…”

“And we’ll trade off who has the hostage.”

“Ten minutes of planning time starts now!” Kinetic called, as he finished reading off the names.

“Why are we trading off who has the hostage?”

“Because now, I’m the decoy, not you,” Izuku said. “I mean, if you were the decoy the entire time, they’re probably going to keep assuming that’s the case, right?”

“So I take the hostage to the gate, you distract them, and we win?”

“Bam,” Izuku said, bumping knuckles with Yoarashi again.

“Bam,” he agreed. “Of course, plans rarely work, though.”

“Obviously,” Izuku said. “Improvisation is key, right?”

“So your solution is just to wing it?” Yoarashi asked.

Izuku shrugged. “Basically. What are we gonna do otherwise, sit here and try to think of every statistical anomaly that could possibly occur?”

“Fair enough,” Yoarashi said, laughing jubilantly.

“Five minutes!” Kinetic called.

“So, what do you want to do for the next five minutes?” Izuku asked. “Try to account for some of the statistical anomalies?”

“Actually, I’d like to know how you’re doing,” Yoarashi said. “No offense, Midoriya-kun, but you look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

Izuku made a noncommittal noise. Everyone was so concerned about his sleeping schedule, lately. “I’m okay.”

“Midoriya-kun, come on,” Yoarashi said. “We have five minutes. Just say it.”

Izuku dragged a hand over his face, mindful of the brim of his hat. “It’s fine,” he said, though he didn’t dare try for a smile. “Really, I’m fine.”

Yoarashi seemed to consider this, clearly questioning him. Thinking of Yoarashi as being smart wasn’t usually the first impression that people got from him, but it was still true. Izuku knew that. “You’re worked up over that thing that happened in Hosu,” Yoarashi guessed.

He wasn’t wrong, not entirely. Izuku was worried about Hosu, yes, but mostly he was worried about the dreams. Nights spent hovering over destroyed cities with a birds-eye view, of looking down and seeing unfamiliar hands stained with blood, of the feeling of rage—usually so delicately contained inside of him, tucked away behind his smiles with all the rest—bursting out of his body. The feeling of sludge sliding between his fingers, a pair of glazed over red eyes, a name echoing in his memory that lived and died on his tongue when he opened his eyes—

“Midoriya-kun?” Yoarashi asked, gripping Izuku’s shoulder suddenly.

When Izuku smiled at him, it was bright and friendly and entirely genuine, and Yoarashi visibly relaxed. “Sorry, I got lost in my thoughts a little there,” Izuku said. “I am worked up about Hosu, obviously. I don’t know anyone who isn’t, in one way or another! But I’m doing something about it. That’s all that matters.”

“Doing something about it?” Yoarashi prompted.

“Oh, yeah,” Izuku said, scratching the back of his neck. “I forgot to mention it. I actually petitioned the school board to let me take the provisional licensing exam a year early. You know, so that I can start working as a hero. It would be under the supervision of another hero, of course, but action is action.”

“Oh,” Yoarashi said, suddenly inexplicably bashful for some reason. “Ironically, I made the same appeal!”

Izuku felt his jaw drop. “Did you really?”

“I did! It got approved!”

“So did mine. Wait, does that mean you’re going to the training camp too?”

“With the second-years?”

“That’s the one.”

“I am!”

Izuku frowned, then laughed, then laughed so hard he hunched over, clutching his stomach. “I don’t know how we didn’t know we both had the same idea before now.”

“I suppose we didn’t want to upset the other?” Yoarashi suggested, though he laughed too. “I didn’t want to upset you, anyway, in case you thought I was looking down on you by it, or something along those lines.”

“How ridiculous,” Izuku commented, wiping laughter tears out of his eyes. “Yoarashi-kun, you’re always looking down on me.”

“I’m not! I swear, I’m—” Yoarashi stopped, squinting at Izuku suspiciously. “Did you just make a short joke? About yourself?”

“Technically I’m not short,” Izuku said, holding up a finger in protest but still barely containing his laughter. “You’re just tall. But yes. I did make a short joke about myself. How the mighty fall for the sake of comedy, I suppose.”

“One minute!” Kinetic called. “Yoarashi-san, Midoriya-san, get ready to head into the arena!”

Izuku saluted him, crossing to the entrance with Yoarashi as he pulled his goggles down from where they perched on the rim of his hat and over his eyes. “Anyway, it’s nice to know I’m not doing it alone. A friendly face is always welcome, right, Yoarashi-kun?” He nudged him as he said the last part, and Yoarashi laughed.

“You have no idea how much I agree with you,” he said. “Honestly, I was very nervous.”

“For now,” Izuku said, allowing his grin to swallow his face at the prospect of this upcoming fight, “let’s destroy this thing.”

“Hell yeah,” Yoarashi said, bracing himself the same way Izuku was now.

The buzzer sounded to signal the start of their exam, and they set off, nodding to each other as they parted ways—though they remained close enough that they could be at the other’s side in a flash, should they need the assist. Izuku and Yoarashi were both heroes that marketed themselves on their speed, after all.

Izuku slunk into the shadows of the back alleys in this city at the same time that Yoarashi took to the skies, flanking and cornering. Izuku’s movements were precise and meticulous. He checked around every corner for hidden enemies, and only moved on when they were clear. Judging by constant wind threatening to blow his hat off his head, Yoarashi was already at work at some other part of the city.

Izuku made his rounds around the perimeter quickly. One villain spotted him as he rounded a corner and opened her mouth to shout, but a burst of One for All allowed Izuku to get to her before she could shout to any others nearby. She threw a punch in his direction and he grabbed her arm and pulled, using her momentum from the attack to push her to the ground. He twisted the same arm behind her back.

“I yield,” she said, and that was all Izuku needed to climb off of her and continue his spiraling patrol. If the villains in these exercises yielded, that meant they were effectively unconscious or unsuspectingly hog-tied somewhere in real-world terms. Not permitted to interfere in any way following their takedown, and Izuku didn’t have time to exchange niceties.

His next victim had his back turned when Izuku rounded the corner of the alley he was stationed in, and was taken down equally as fast as the woman had been. Izuku’s third victim spotted him on their patrol and put up a little more of a fight, calling for backup. Only two others rushed over to help them though, which was fine. Izuku could handle a three-on-one.

Izuku kicked at the first one and, predictably, they dodged. Izuku grinned—whether they knew it or not, they’d just given him the perfect opportunity. He hooked his leg around their neck instead, and then his other, both of them spinning to the ground with his added weight. Izuku kept pressure tight around the victim’s throat—not tight enough that they were at risk of dying from oxygen deprivation, but certainly enough that they weren’t going anywhere. Izuku grabbed the second man’s leg with both arms and pulled, launching the fully grown man with musculature to rival All Might himself to the ground with just a fraction of One for All.

“Yield,” the villain between Izuku’s legs gasped, and that was all Izuku needed to move again. He used the leg of the other guy, which he was still holding, as a support to pull himself up, kicking one leg over another until Izuku was back on his feet again, and then he flung the All Might-sized man into the nearest building. Judging by the sound of the crash, the dent he left in the wall, and the groans coming from where he had landed on the ground, he was not getting up anytime soon.

The last of the three villains stood, watching him warily from several meters away. Izuku hummed thoughtfully to himself. A long-ranged attack would be useful for moments like this, when an opponent was wary of getting in close quarters with him. All Might had rarely used long ranged attacks with One for All before, though. Izuku wondered if it was even possible at his percentage level, or if he needed to be at 100% to perform an attack like that.

Izuku approached the woman instead, one step at a time, calculating her shifting defensive stances. She would have to face him eventually. Honestly, he was sort of hoping she would call for more reinforcements first, though. If they came to him it would make his job a lot easier, after all.

The woman did not disappoint. As soon as she shouted Izuku sprang on her, blocking the kick she threw at him before landing one of his own, right in between her ribs. She staggered back as Izuku came forward, landing a carefully placed and carefully controlled punch to her throat. Her hand flew to her throat at the same time her other hand came up, already making the yield sign.

“I’m sorry about the bruises,” Izuku told her. “Will you give my apologies to the guy I threw at a building, too?”

She gave him a thumbs up, and Izuku moved on to the next three villains that had stumbled into his court. They went down in similar ways, and Izuku was off. Four villains later, and Izuku had secured the first layer of the perimeter, just as planned. He took a fire escape up to a roof of a building, and crouched, surveying the remaining thirty villains surrounding the hostage while he waited for his partner in crime. Yoarashi landed on the roof beside him in a few minutes, also in a crouch. It was about as close to subtle as Yoarashi got.

“How are we on time?” Yoarashi asked.

Izuku peeled down his glove slightly to check the time on the watch underneath it. “Ten minutes in. How many did you get?”

“Around twenty. You?”

Izuku hummed. Twenty was an impressive number. “Twelve for me. Everything’s going to plan.”

Yoarashi grinned. “Green Bullet?”

“Green Bullet,” Izuku agreed, grinning back.

All semblance of stealth was completely forgone after that. They both straightened on their rooftop, fearsome in countenance, kings of this battlefield they were about to create. Their Quirks flared into existence at the same time. The villains, first, felt the stirring of Yoarashi’s wind currents, and then looked up, drawn by the flicker of Izuku’s lightning. Izuku stepped to the edge of the building and, without even sparing a second glance at Yoarashi, jumped. He had the utmost faith in Yoarashi’s control of his Quirk, and even if he didn’t, One for All could absorb most of the impact from a fall at this height.

Yoarashi caught him, though, and Izuku started to spin through the air, careful to keep his body both vertical and poised for the fall. Even Izuku didn’t know where he was going to land, not really—it depended, entirely, on where Yoarashi decided to drop him and how Izuku decided to anchor himself. He kept his eyes on the hostage, though, the eye of the storm, the one spot untouched by Yoarashi’s wind.

Izuku plummeted, his eyes falling on the same target he thought Yoarashi had chosen for him, a man standing below them, watching Izuku with wide eyes. Izuku careened into him, all careful control and precise movements. He wrapped both legs around his shoulders, throwing his own weight forwards, enough to drag this man down with him, twisting as he did. Izuku was in complete control of their momentum, just like he’d practiced.

“Of course it’s you first,” the man wheezed.

Izuku blinked at him. Come to think of it, he looked vaguely familiar… “Oh, hey,” Izuku said, with a nervous chuckle. “Uh, good to see you again?”

“I yield, obviously,” the guy said. “Again. It was even the same way as before.”

“Sorry about that,” Izuku said, releasing him. Of course he would reunite with the guy he’d performed thigh-jutsu on at the entrance exam by performing thigh-jutsu on him again. Of course.

Not that it would do to dwell on such things.

Conversation with the faux villain forgotten, Izuku moved on to his preferred group fighting tactics—run like hell, and land some kicks and punches while he did. This was the long game in a group fight, not taking down one opponent at a time, but taking a lot of opponents down one hit at a time. Yoarashi was doing the heavy lifting at the moment, repeatedly picking up and then dropping targets at random, covering Izuku’s blind spots for him from on high. Izuku had an end goal in mind, too—break through that iron security that came from a superior numbers advantage and snag the hostage.

Izuku got the opening he was looking for and he abandoned the fight he was in all together, ducking under elbows and scooping the doll that was serving as the hostage up in his arms. As soon as he had the doll secured princess-carry style, he crouched down low and then leapt into the air, as high as his Quirk could carry him. Yoarashi picked him up with a gust of wind and pushed him further. Izuku landed with the treads of his boots skidding horribly against the pavement, but he did not falter. Instead, he ran, hostage in his arms, faster than he’d probably ever run in his life. He immediately heard a whole slew of villains chasing after him.

So the wild goose chase plan begins, Izuku thought as he zipped around a corner. It wasn’t necessarily in a direction opposite to the gate, but no one in their right mind would call it a direct path, either. The villains behind him made an aborted noise, and Izuku heard skidding as they changed direction again. Izuku gritted his teeth and darted down another alley—a questionable choice, for anyone that wasn’t him or Yoarashi. The villains would probably just assume Izuku was lost. That was part of their plan.

Izuku ducked down another alley, then sprinted down a main street, before sliding down yet another alley. The footsteps that had been behind him were growing distant, and Izuku skidded to a stop right as Yoarashi appeared in front of him. “Here,” Izuku breathed, transferring the hostage into his waiting arms as gently as possible.

“You good to carry through the final part of the plan?” Yoarashi asked. He was incredibly out of breath himself—he’d been using his Quirk a lot, and it showed.

“Hell yeah, I’m good,” Izuku gasped, giving Yoarashi’s shoulder a shove. “Get out of here.”

Yoarashi was gone, then, lifting into the air with practiced ease, even with his arms occupied. Izuku immediately turned, his breaktime over, and backtracked to where the villains had paused, fanned out slightly, looking for either him or Yoarashi or both.

“Looking for me?” Izuku asked them, and several startled gazes turned on him. A few of them, with their honed reflexes, started towards him to attack.

Well, just because Izuku preferred stealth and ambush, it didn’t mean it was the only trick he had up his sleeve.

He yelled as he slammed his fist into the ground, at 15% of his power—slightly more than Izuku could really handle, and if the pain in his arm was anything to go by he was definitely going to have some bruises from this stunt when all was said and done. 15% was by no means a lot, but 15% of One for All was apparently still enough to rip the street in two and send debris flying. Suddenly, the villains were a little too busy dodging chunks of concrete to come after Izuku, staggering as the ground shuddered beneath them.

There was a moment, just a breath, one pregnant silence, and then a buzzer sounded.

Kinetic’s voice came over the speakers stationed throughout the city. He sounded half-proud, and half-impressed, and a lot surprised. “Midoriya-san and Yoarashi-san pass the final exam!”

Izuku grinned from ear to ear.

Chapter Text

Izuku sat at his desk, knees pulled up to his chest, as he rewound the video playing on his laptop, paused it, and then played it again.

Pause. Rewind. Play again.

The Hero Killer stood on the screen, one foot on the prone back of Hero Endeavour—held under the power of Stain’s Quirk. A crowd of Endeavour’s sidekicks stood around the scene, not doing much of anything other than standing there for fear of costing their boss his life. It was a scene eerily similar to one from Izuku’s own life but twisted—the sludge villain, holding Kacchan captive. Heroes standing by and doing nothing, leaving Kacchan to fend for himself.

There were a few main differences, though. There’d been a camera at the sludge villain incident that got pictures of Kacchan’s struggle with the villain before Izuku arrived, but there had been no video. And the sludge villain had plenty to say about wearing Kacchan as a skin suit to get out of town and not much else. Stain, on the other hand, had plenty to say about plenty of things. And say them he did.  

“You are all false heroes,” Stain hissed, still audible despite the terrible audio of the camera that had picked up this footage. “You deserve to be culled, this one most of all. The title of hero should fall upon the successor!”

Izuku paused it. He rewound it. He played it again.

“The title of hero should fall upon the successor!”

Izuku paused. He rewound. He played it again.

“The title of hero should fall upon the successor!”

Izuku was hearing it right. No matter how many times he rewound the footage, no matter how closely he listened, those words were the same. “The title of hero should fall upon the successor! He is worthy!” Izuku let the old recording of the news play a little longer, already frowning at the words that came next. “Him, and All Might, the one true hero! You, Endeavour, are nothing more than a fraud, drawn to heroism for the sake of popularity, the sake of wealth. You are the worst of them all, in this corrupt hero-driven society. You—”

Endeavour, in the footage, burst into flames right on cue, after Stain’s Quirk, apparently, wore off (it was an interesting Quirk too—blood consumption-based paralysis it seemed. Izuku wondered if it had some other conditionals involved with blood, like varying potency based on blood type, or varied time limits based on blood type, or variable potency or time limits based on amount of blood consumed?). The rest of the fight is over quickly from there. Endeavour may have been gravely injured from the stab wound in his side, but he was still the Number Two hero for a reason. The only way Stain would have won a fight against him was if Stain had maintained the element of surprise he had from jumping the man the entire time, which ceased to be a possibility as soon as he gave it up to preach instead.

Izuku almost wondered if Stain had decided to give up his upper hand for a reason. A reason…bigger than spreading ideology.

“The title of hero should fall upon the successor!”

Izuku did not like that phrasing.

Stain was talking about Todoroki Shouto. Anybody with half a brain could tell that he was talking about Todoroki Shouto. Somebody—because the media always had to be the biggest dick in the room—had leaked parts of Todoroki’s police statement following his encounter with Stain in Hosu a month prior. Thanks to that, the world had confirmation from Todoroki himself that Stain had intentionally avoided harming him that time around out of some sense of approval of Todoroki. Even if the media hadn’t seen fit to leak that little bit of information, that much probably would have been clear anyway—Stain is talking about Endeavour in that clip. Endeavour’s successor is his son—if Todoroki’s presence in the top hero course in the country hadn’t already been statement enough of that fact, Endeavour had also confirmed it in interviews previously.

Which was all well and good, so to speak. If that was the only thing Stain said in this video, Izuku would have probably watched it a few times, winced in sympathy for Todoroki even though he didn’t know him and probably wouldn’t for a long time, at least not for a long time, and been about his merry way.

Except Stain had chosen the word successor and then said All Might a sentence or two later, and as All Might’s successor…

Izuku was more than a little uncomfortable, not to mention guilty—because in a certain context (and Izuku was obviously reading this scenario with that context, considering he was one of the very few people in the world that knew All Might had a successor), it seemed like Stain was implying Todoroki was All Might’s successor, not Endeavour’s.

And thanks to Stain’s escapade in Hosu, everyone knew he was working with the League of Villains.

And thanks to the events of the USJ attack, a select few people, Izuku included, knew that the League of Villains was working for All for One.

All for One, who was the third part in the uncomfortable tripod of individuals that knew All Might was due for a successor. The other two individuals on that tripod were All Might and Izuku, said successor, so. Bad news, all around. Especially if All for One had passed the task of successor-hunting on to his subordinates, which seemed likely, at the very least.

Izuku wanted to scream. Or cry. Or run laps using 12% of One for All until he couldn’t feel his body anymore. A part of him (the part that everyone has, that never really grows up) sort of wanted to call his mom. Not for any particular reason, just because moms make everything better when you’re a kid. Though, Izuku had stopped going to his mom for comfort on the things that really and truly distressed him a long time ago.

He did none of those things, though. He just sat in his room, rewound the clip, and played it over and over, his brain apparently determined to use every bit of the two hours left before Izuku needed to head down to the bus waiting to take him to a training camp with Shiketsu’s second year hero course students (and wasn’t that nerve wracking) burning the sound of Stain’s words into his mind.

There was a pinprick of pain in Izuku’s head, accompanied by his door crashing open. He immediately flipped over the back of his chair on instinct and fell into a fighting stance, One for All thrumming around him without him even realizing he’d called on it until he noticed green lightning was flickering around his body. A moment later, he realized why his door had crashed open, and all of his apprehension drained out of him.

“Yoarashi-kun,” Izuku said, breathing a sigh of relief.

“Your reflexes are insanely fast,” Yoarashi said, blinking at him in surprise.

“Too fast,” Izuku noted with a small frown. “I was already moving before you even got to the door.”

“Did you hear my footsteps, maybe?”

“No, I…” Izuku trailed off, noticing his friend’s face. “Yoarashi-kun, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he said, shifting to rub the back of his neck. Everything about him seemed strangely subdued, though. Uncharacteristically subdued. He seemed…incredibly anxious, actually.

“You’re not,” Izuku said, with the utmost certainty he was right.

Yoarashi sighed. “It’s just…the Stain video, you know? Why would they air something like that?”

Izuku finally relaxed, himself, and picked up his chair from where it had fallen on the floor. Seeing as the Stain video was still playing through Endeavour’s fight sequence on his laptop screen, he could understand having anxiety because of it. He could understand it all too well. “I get that.” Both of their gazes fell on the video playing on Izuku’s laptop, and after a moment, Izuku reached out and stopped it. “It’s sort of like…the world’s best advertisement for villainy, playing on live television. On every station.”

“It’s better for people to be aware of what’s going on in the world,” Yoarashi said. “But it goes a little…too far.”

Izuku grunted in agreement, and after considering Yoarashi’s face for a moment, he closed the laptop all together. “Did you need something, Yoarashi-kun?”

“It’s just.” Yoarashi sat, heavily, on Izuku’s bed, contemplating the back of his hands as he did. “Do you think we’re doing enough?”

“It’s not like you to be so unsure of yourself,” Izuku observed, leaning on his dresser across from Yoarashi, arms folded across his chest.

Yoarashi let out an enormous groan and flopped backwards, throwing one arm over his eyes. “I know, right? I’m supposed to be more optimistic about everything, aren’t I? Normally, wouldn’t I be? I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Izuku didn’t respond immediately, considering the sky through his window for a moment instead. A bird flew past while he watched, unconcerned with the state of the world and the conversation happening inside of his room.

“The problem with optimism,” he said, slowly, contemplating his own words as he said them, “is that it sits at the high end of a spectrum, balanced by pessimism. Focusing too much on one or the other would leave you blinded and trapped in a prison of your own making.”

Deku, a voice whispered in the back of Izuku’s mind.

You’ll never be anything.

You can’t be a hero without a Quirk.

Useless.

Izuku closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “If you cling to the bad, you’ll never see the good. If you cling to the good, you’ll never see the bad. If you parse through both, you may come close to seeing the full picture. A positive outlook is just another tool in a hero’s arsenal. Reality is another. The most important thing we can do, though, at any given moment, is taking action.” He looked over at Yoarashi, sprawled out on his bed as he was. “Right now, we’re not ready to take to the streets and battle the likes of the Hero Killer. So are we doing enough? Yes. We’re getting stronger. We’re making progress, however small it is, and we’re doing it together, along with everyone else training at a hero school right now.” Izuku unfolded his arms and leaned forward slightly, bumping Yoarashi’s knee with his knuckles. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Yoarashi-kun. Just keep your eyes on the horizon, and you’ll be there in no time.”

Yoarashi was quiet for a suspiciously long time, and Izuku reverted back into his anxious mode. Had he said something stupid? Had he offended Yoarashi? Oh gods, what if he offended Yoarashi? What if—

Yoarashi sniffed. “Do you know your inspirational speeches are famous around the school?”

“They are not,” Izuku protested, kindly ignoring Yoarashi’s sniffle.

“They are,” Yoarashi said, with a laugh. It wasn’t quite the laugh it usually was, but it was getting there. “Your classmates tell everyone about them.”

“Oh, great,” Izuku deadpanned. “It’s like the thigh thing, all over again.”

“You say that like the thigh thing ever stopped,” Yoarashi said.

“And that’s checkmate,” Izuku said. “You win. You got me. It never did stop, did it? Oh gods, what if the second years know?”

“I’d bet my left foot they know.”

“Where did that even come from? Your left foot? Is your left foot secretly inferior to your right foot? Are you trying to get rid of it?”

“Stop trying to make me laugh,” Yoarashi said, synthesized indignance in his voice.

Izuku smiled. “Check and mate, yet again.”

“Seriously, though,” Yoarashi said, finally sitting up, any traces of the tears he might have shed gone. “Your speeches are legendary for a reason! I’m glad to finally be on the receiving end of one.”

“It’s no problem,” Izuku said. “I’m always happy to talk. For hours. On end. Mostly about heroes. You know that.”

Yoarashi’s gaze flicked around the room, as if noticing it for the first time since he came in. “You have a new poster,” he remarked.

“Oh, yeah,” Izuku said, jumping onto his bed next to Yoarashi. He held an arm to either side of it, showing it off. Yoarashi looked amused, which was good, because it was also the whole reason Izuku was doing this. “What do you think?”

“He looks cool,” Yoarashi said. “I have no idea who he is.”

“Eraserhead,” Izuku answered, folding his arms over his chest as he stood on his bed, regarding the poster fondly. “Underground hero. I had to scour the internet for images of him, and then when I saw this one, I sent it off to get a commission of it as soon as possible.” He nodded to himself as he said it. The artist had done an excellent job recreating the photo, one of Eraserhead hanging upside down, his arm wrapped in one end of a long gray scarf that Izuku knew was a capture weapon from the very few videos he’d seen of the hero. Eraserhead had his face turned slightly away, though most of the yellow goggles were still in full view.

“That explains it,” Yoarashi said, nodding. “That must have cost a fortune to get made, though. How much did you pay for it?”

“I didn’t pay for it at all,” Izuku said, fishing his wallet from his pocket. He opened it and fished the credit card out of it, before dropping it into Yoarashi’s hands. “Midoriya Hisashi bought it.”

“Your dad?”

“He goes through phases sometimes,” Izuku said, shrugging. “I don’t know. He’s weird. But sometimes I guess the fact that he abandoned us gets to him so he sends me one of these for a few months before he cancels it. I always take full advantage of it when I have it, though. He can’t buy my love, but he can buy me a surplus of hero merch if he’s that pressed about it.” Izuku dropped down onto the bed next to Yoarashi, the mattress bouncing as he did, and accepted the card back while he folded his legs under him.

“Your dad seems sort of shady, if I’m completely honest,” Yoarashi said.

“I think he just wasn’t as ready for parenthood as he thought he was,” Izuku said, tucking his wallet away again. Izuku didn’t mention that his father’s near permanent move to America coincided suspiciously well with Izuku’s Quirkless diagnosis. And it was no secret that most of the children that ended up in foster care nowadays landed there because parents willingly gave them up after realizing they had a problematic Quirk…or no Quirk at all. “There are lots of people like that in the world.”

“Too many,” Yoarashi agreed. “Hey, Midoriya-kun?” Izuku hummed in acknowledgement, sensing a shift in tone from Yoarashi. “I actually don’t think I’ve ever asked, but why do you want to be a hero?”

Izuku considered Yoarashi for a long moment, then listed sideways until he laid on his bed, before rolling over and staring up at the ceiling. “I just want to help people,” he said, folding his hands over his stomach as he contemplated the ceiling. There was a scorch mark just over his head, left there by whoever had lived in this room before him, shaped like a thumbprint. “All the people in the world that are trapped in their situations, whatever they are. Whoever they are. I want to reach out to them, to grab onto their hand or their heart or whatever I can, and say, you’re not alone, and this isn’t hopeless. Izuku raised one arm as he spoke, and closed his fist around open air as he finished. He closed his eyes, losing himself for just a moment in the pleased thrum of One for All under his skin. For a moment, it felt like Izuku had reached for the stars and grasped them, instead of his hand simply closing around air. And then he let his arm fall and his eyes open, and the spell was broken.

“I never really noticed before,” Yoarashi said slowly, like he was testing the waters, “but you don’t talk about your past very often. You’re my best friend, but somehow, I barely know anything about you.”

Izuku sighed, and he hated himself, but this was something he had to do. This was something he had to get used to doing, even to his best friend.

When he smiled at Yoarashi, it was bright and friendly. It bore no hidden troubles in its light, just comradery and kindness—genuine, because it was genuine. Yoarashi, whether he realized it or not, visibly relaxed a bit at the smile Izuku cast his way. “There’s not much to say about my past, really,” Izuku said. “I was just a fanboy with an absentee father and not very many friends that wanted to be a hero one day.” He nudged Yoarashi playfully with his knee. “I’m still just a fanboy with an absentee father and not very many friends that wants to be a hero one day. You’re definitely not missing out on much about my life, past or present.”

Yoarashi snorted. “I suppose that’s fair,” he said, voice once again reaching booming levels. “Oh, that reminds me. I did actually have a reason for coming here, before all the feelings started happening!”

Izuku grinned privately to himself in victory. “Do tell,” he said, sitting up again as he felt Yoarashi shifting around.

“I think I have everything packed,” Yoarashi said, producing a slightly crumpled up paper from his pocket. “I feel like I’m missing something, though, but I don’t know what. I have my toothbrush, my toothpaste, soap, underwear…”

Izuku listened quietly as Yoarashi continued to read off the contents of his list, helpfully chipping in when he noticed something essential was missing, and Yoarashi laughed and shouted and generally made a lot of noise. For just that moment, they were just two teenagers, best friends, going over a packing list for a trip they were about to leave on soon, excited and enjoying one another’s company.

For just that moment, everything was fine.

Izuku felt his old friend, social anxiety, greet him and stiffen up his limbs as a crowd of second years appeared in front of him. They looked like second years too—they were older, taller, buffer—which was to say…they looked intimidating. Izuku glanced up at Yoarashi, his grinning and jubilant friend, not even slightly deterred or intimidated by their presence.

One of the teachers standing by them—who had no defining features to say which hero he was, exactly—nodded as he saw Yoarashi and Izuku approach. “Ah, you two must be the-first years I was told about! Welcome! You’ll both be riding on my bus. You’re both famous, you know!”

Oh, no.

“I,” Yoarashi said, and Izuku eyed his hands warily. That volume level usually preceded— “am,” he continued, slapping the backs of his thighs, “so excited to meet all of you!” And…Yoarashi’s head slammed into the pavement with a thud. He straightened immediately, not even seeming to notice the blood streaming out from under his hat. “I’m Yoarashi Inasa, first-year student here! My hero name is Gale Force! I’m pumped to do this!”

“You’re bleeding again, Yoarashi-kun,” Izuku softly reminded him.

“So I am!” He agreed happily. “I’m also excited! A summer training camp! Where we get to work on our Quirks the entire time!”

Izuku cast a wary look to the second-years watching on, hoping and praying that they weren’t about to do anything mean just because Yoarashi was loud. Izuku knew other people had a tendency to snap over the smallest things, and Yoarashi had already said before that people tended to pick on him for his over-the-top personality in the past. Izuku was willing to defend him tooth and nail if he had to, but…thankfully, the second years were just looking on, faintly bemused expressions on their face.

“You’re, like, totally energetic,” one girl said, cocking her head to the side. Tawny brown hair spilled over her shoulder as she looked at Yoarashi. “It’s sick.”

“Thank you!” Yoarashi shouted. “I try to be energetic in everything I do! Energy is important for being a likeable, cool hero!”

The girl went to respond again, and Izuku decided the second-years were probably safe enough. He turned to their tired looking teacher, sizing him up too, before offering him a polite, much more understated bow. “Midoriya Izuku,” he said, much quieter than Yoarashi had.

“I know, I know,” the teacher said, motioning for Izuku to straighten up with a nervous smile. “Kinetic won’t stop talking about you and his other students. It’s all I hear about in the staff lounge.”

Izuku smiled slightly. “I’m not really surprised. Kinetic-sensei seems like the sort of person that would take his job seriously, no matter what the job may be.”

“Oh, he definitely is,” the man agreed. “I’m Nagasaki Rin by the way. You can probably pass that along to your friend for me, right?”

“Sure, Nagasaki-sensei,” Izuku said, nodding. He considered the man again, the bolo tie, brown hair, plain features… “You’re the underground hero, Sharpshot, right?”

Nagasaki blinked in surprise, which was a good indicator that Izuku had guessed right. “Wow. Uh. Huh. I don’t think I’ve ever been recognized by a civilian before.”

“I want to be an underground hero,” Izuku said, feeling a strange thrill go through him at finally declaring it out loud instead of just dodging the question like he usually did. He smiled politely at Nagasaki. “It’s good to know the terrain, isn’t it?”

Nagasaki studied him for a moment longer, and then gave him a nervous smile back. “Alright, then,” he said. “Yeah. Well, I see why Kinetic talks about you so much. Come on, grab your things. Let’s get you loaded up on the bus.”

Izuku smiled as he followed the teacher back towards the bus, falling in step with Yoarashi in the crowd of second years following behind Nagasaki as he instructed them to load their luggage into the bins on the bottom of the bus. Izuku was nervous—particularly when one of the second years’ curious gazes landed on him for a little longer than usual—but none of them seemed to be harboring hostile feelings towards either him or Yoarashi. They also didn’t complain when Izuku beelined for a seat in the very back, either, and then further sequestered himself by the window, Yoarashi taking the seat on his left.

“The teacher’s name is Nagasaki-sensei,” Izuku murmured to Yoarashi once they were on the bus.

“Thanks!” Yoarashi said, but then he did a double take on Izuku. “You’re acting really weird, you know. And sweating. A lot. Are you alright?”

“Scared out of my mind,” Izuku answered honestly, his voice a low murmur. “Twenty second-years, Yoarashi. Twenty of them! And we’re supposed to interact with them for a week. How—how are we supposed to do that?” The last part trailed off into a whisper.

“Stop that!” Yoarashi declared, at his usual volume, slapping Izuku on the back heartily. Izuku, caught off guard, slumped forward a little bit with that one. “You’re Midoriya Freaking Izuku! You’re stopped by nothing!”

“Theoretically speaking I’m stopped by lots of things, like—”

“You’re stopped by nothing!” Yoarashi insisted. “You’re Midoriya Freaking Izuku! You strangle people with your thighs!”

Izuku was immediately alarmed at the volume with which this was being announced to the entire bus. “Yoarashi-kun—”

“You fall from the sky! You have this awesome-looking green lightning all around you! You say deep poetic stuff all the time!”

Izuku, with more intensity, repeated, “Yoarashi-kun—”

“You use your dad’s credit card to buy custom-made underground hero merchandise! You can destroy the ground in a city with just one punch! You’re Midoriya Izuku! Midoriya Freaking Izuku! You can do anything, even talk to twenty second-years for a week!”

Izuku gave up on getting Yoarashi to stop and just settled for burying his extremely red face in his hands instead. “I’m ready to die,” he mumbled into his hands.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you, Midoriya Freaking Izuku! Say it louder!”

“No.”

Yoarashi grabbed Izuku by the wrists, clearly intending to drag them away from his face. Izuku was not letting that happen, not now, so he tensed his whole body up. When Yoarashi succeeded in tugging his hands a centimeter from his face, Izuku tensed and used One for All. There was no moving his hands after that, not even with Yoarashi’s freakish natural body strength. Yoarashi took it with a good-natured laugh, though, like he hadn’t just caused Izuku some of the worst embarrassment he’d ever experienced.

“Alright,” a voice said in front of him, and Izuku buried his face further in his hands, far too scared to even attempt emerging. “Hey babe, you, like, really need to work on your pep talk skills. Hey, other babe? The cute one that’s hiding right now?”

Good thing Izuku was already red from the tips of his ears to the collar of his shirt, because he definitely would have blushed at the word cute. As it was, he probably blushed worse anyway. “No,” he said, absolutely miserably. “Please. Let me live it down.”

“Actually, I wanted to chat about the thigh crushing comment. Can you really do that?”

“No,” Izuku groaned.

“He can!” Yoarashi proudly declared for him. “I’ve seen it myself!”

“Oh, sick. Can you teach me?”

Izuku parted his fingers so he could peek out at the girl speaking, somewhat surprised to find that it was the same girl that had been talking to Yoarashi earlier, turned around in her seat to look at him. She had tawny hair that fell just past her shoulders and wide, brown eyes. In other words, she was very pretty, which was enough to make Izuku hide behind his hands again. “Idon’tseewhynot,” he said into his palms, like it was one word. He’d never said no to helping someone with something before, after all, so he didn’t really see why he should start now.

“Ah, lit!” the girl said. “You’re totes the nicest person I’ve ever met, babe.”

Izuku made a squeaking noise, somewhat against his will. “Why are you calling me that?”

“Camie-san calls everyone babe,” another person said. Izuku looked up just in time to see another head pop over the top of the seats, with purple hair and dark, narrowed eyes. He seemed like a naturally intense person, but still. The daggers he was glaring at Izuku caused him to shrivel up, just a little bit. “You can tell her to stop, if the term of endearment makes you uncomfortable.”

Camie waved her hand through the air, disregarding her seat companion’s words. “Don’t mind Seiji, babe. He’s too serious for his own good.”

“At least I’m not an airheaded fool!” he snapped, fixing Camie with the same extremely tense expression.

“Ouch,” Camie said, feigning hurt with an overly dramatic hand over the heart. “That, like, totally hurt my feelings.”

Seiji (?) rolled his eyes before looking back at Izuku and Yoarashi. “Camie-san grew up in America,” Seiji supplied, and Izuku withered slightly when he looked at him again. Apparently he just…looked at everyone like that. Like they’d just killed his grandmother in a hit-and-run and he happened to be the best lawyer in the country. “Forgive her for her informalities!”

“Oh, that’s freaking cool!” Yoarashi said, grinning at Camie. “What was it like? What are American heroes like? Are they hot-blooded? Filled with passion? Exciting?”

Camie’s eyes lit up with the sort of light that only belonged to the deepest of hero fans. Izuku would know, being one himself, and the knowledge that he might be in fellow geek company may or may not have caused him to perk up slightly. “Totally, they’re so—”

“Camie-san! Shishikura-kun! Kindly sit fully in your seats, please!” another second-year, further up the bus called. Izuku raised up slightly to peer over the seats curiously, his mind reeling as he caught sight of the person that had just spoken. He’d seen him earlier, of course—they were sort of hard to miss—but now he was filled with renewed curiosity. What was his Quirk? Did it have to do with all that hair? It obviously had to do with all that hair somehow, but what could he do with the hair? Grow it at will? Or was it a secondary mutation, maybe only coming on as a side effect of a different Quirk that gave him the characteristics of something—

“Mora-kun’s Quirk is called Extend-O-Hair,” Seiji (Shishikura?) said, though now he was peering around his seat instead of over it. “He can grow it out and control it at will, but it can get horribly tangled.” He narrowed his eyes even further at Izuku, causing him to swallow a very embarrassing sound that had been threatening to escape. “You are very analytically minded. Did you say your name was Midoriya?”

Izuku did his best to un-shrivel himself and answer him. “R-right. Um. Yeah. I’m Midoriya Izuku.”

He studied Izuku for a moment longer before his face relaxed into a less critical (but still slightly scary) expression. “Ah,” he said, nodding. “You received first place at the entrance exam this year, did you not? You rescued the civilian?”

“I, uh. Yeah! Yes, I rescued the civilian. Yeah.”

Camie made a delighted high-pitched sound in the seat in front of them, and then reappeared over it. “Oh my gosh, like, everyone is talking about you! You’re totally cool!”

“Oh,” Izuku said, ducking his head under their attention. “Um—”

“How did you do it?” Camie blurted, her fingertips digging into the headrest on her seat. “I bet it was totes amazing!”

“I, uh. I. Well. I might have, um…”

“He strangled a guy with his thighs and then ripped open an air vent,” Yoarashi supplied.

Izuku shot Yoarashi a look.

“So that may be an oversimplification of events,” Yoarashi continued, intercepting the look expertly and apparently deciding damage control was an appropriate course of action. “But Midoriya-kun does not tell people this story himself, so it’s all on me! I’m Yoarashi Inasa, by the way!”

“Shishikura Seiji.”

“Camie Utsushimi!”

“Utsushimi Camie,” Shishikura corrected. “This isn’t English we’re speaking .”

“You can call me Camie, though! Just Camie!”

“Oh, nice! You could call me Inasa if you wanted!”

“For real?”

“Yeah, sure! I don’t mind!”

“Lit,” Camie said, turning bright eyes on Izuku. “What about you, babe? Are you totes in for the first name thing or what?”

“You are a dreadful influence on these young minds,” Shishikura drawled.

“You’re the one that sat with me, Seiji.”

“That is because you cannot be trusted on your own, with good reason.”

“Um,” Izuku said, very hesitantly. “I would, um. Prefer it if not? If you didn’t call me by my first name, that is.”

“Oh! Sorry! That’s totally not a problem at all!”

“Camie-san!” Mora called from the front of the bus again. “Please sit in your seat normally!”

Camie disappeared over the top of her seat again, before peeking an eye through the crack between the seats. “Some people are, like, completely more okay with that than others? I get it. Boundaries are lit.”

“Oh,” Izuku said, staring blankly at her. “Um.” Nobody has ever actually respected that particular request before, even if it was a different name. “Thank you…?”

Camie smiled and nodded. Izuku scrutinized her the whole way, trying to check for any sort of…anything. Malicious intent. Sneering. Changing her mind. Nothing was there. “Don’t worry about it, babe.”

“You, um. You said that you lived in America though? Where they use given names? So is it, like…a comfort thing?”

“Oh, sure, a little bit,” Camie said, shrugging. “I’m like, totally used to the last name thing though! I spent my summers here with my dad even before I went to high school, so I get it.”

“Oh,” Izuku said, taking a deep breath. “Well, um. I want you to be comfortable too, so, if you, um. If you wanted…I guess it would—it would be alright. Calling me Izuku.”

Izuku, he reminded himself. Not Deku. They’re different.

A moment of silence passed. “You are too kind for your own good, Midoriya-kun,” Shishikura said, shaking his head slightly. “She is going to attach to you know.”

“I’m not, Seiji!”

“She’s attaching.”

There was a sound not unlike a leg being slapped, and Shishikura made a face. “Excuse me for a moment.”

And then both second-years disappeared, and scuffling sounds could be heard in front of them.

Izuku turned his gaze to Yoarashi. “Thanks for throwing me under the bus right out the gates.”

“It was justified,” Yoarashi said, nodding sagely. “By the way, you told the second-year you just met that she could call you by your first name but not me? It’s sacrilege!”

Izuku blinked at him. “Do you want to call me by my first name, Yoarashi-kun?”

“Obviously! I’ve been waiting to call you Izu-kun forever now!”

Izuku blinked, then blinked again, then chuckled softly. It was certainly the nicer of the nicknames he’d been given in his live, but still, something just… “I see what you did there, Ina-san.”

Yoarashi clutched his chest, feigning some sort of grievous wound. “Defeated at my own game! The audacity of this one!”

“Uh-huh,” Izuku said, fishing his earbuds out of his bag and hooking them up to his phone. “You’re real upset by it, I know.”

“So upset. I get the worse honorific!”

“Take it up with your parents, not me,” Izuku said, putting one earbud in.

“I want to take it up with your parents for giving you the better name, actually.”

Izuku smiled. “It’s not better.” Deku. “Wake me up when we get there, okay?”

“You got it,” Yoarashi said, nudging Izuku’s shoulder with his own. Izuku smiled gratefully, laid his head back, contemplating the passing scenery for a moment.

It wasn’t that he hated his given name, necessarily. It was just that it was…hard. Harder than it should be, because he hadn’t heard it from anyone other than his mom in so long. It didn’t feel like it should be said by anyone in a friendly way, because it never had before. Izuku grit his teeth. It was all in his head. He just needed to…get rid of it. Let it go, like he’d let everything else go.

Izuku closed his eyes.

Inasa woke Midoriya (Izuku? He had never actually said if first names were okay or not, come to think of it) up when they reached the top of the mountains they were supposedly staying at. Midoriya thanked him politely, as he always did. Inasa chatted with the second years they had met—the two that had been sitting in front of them, Shishikura and Camie—keeping one eye on Midoriya throughout the interaction.

Why? Because, to put it frankly, Midoriya had been scaring the shit out of Inasa for a little while now.

Not in a terrifying way! Inasa wasn’t scared of Midoriya. It was more like he was scared of what Midoriya was becoming. The best way to describe it was brittle, but, no. That didn’t really make sense either.

This is what made sense.

Midoriya Izuku was the pinnacle of kindness. Inasa wasn’t stupid or oblivious, like many people had thought he was for the entirety of his life. He had seen the way that Midoriya had jumped and flinched when they’d met at the entrance exam all those months ago. He’d seen the way Midoriya looked like he was barely hanging on to the conversation. Back then, Inasa had assumed that it was because Midoriya didn’t like him much, but was being polite. Which was fine! That was what Inasa expected from people, really. He was aware of how over-the-top he was. He was aware that most people couldn’t handle it, so to speak. Which was why he wasn’t going to bug Midoriya after they left the entrance exam, as much as the extravert in him wanted to.

Midoriya had surprised him, though, with a quiet request to exchange contact information. Inasa wasn’t shunned by his peers before—his contacts list had always been full of names—but those people had always mostly been acquaintances and not really friends. Inasa, of course, had thought Midoriya was probably going for acquaintance too. It was smart to have connections, after all, and Inasa knew that both he and Midoriya were practically guaranteed positions in Shiketsu’s hero course considering their scores on the practical exam. So he agreed happily—acquaintances were always nice, even if they weren’t really friends—and then, because Midoriya was skittish and obviously not very interested in friendship, Inasa had put off texting him until he had a reason to.

But life rarely went the way Inasa expected it to, and that was evident in this aspect of his life too.

Inasa followed as Mora Nagamasa, their temporary class representative, led them to the rooms the boys would be sharing in the lodge, and he kept an eye on Midoriya.

This was what made sense.

Midoriya Izuku, as Inasa had quickly realized, was an absolute shit texter. He read everything but didn’t always respond, which, yeah. That stung a little, at first. But then Inasa realized that he would reference things that Inasa had said via text days or even weeks ago in later conversations, which meant, he was actually reading every single thing Inasa sent. And Inasa talked a lot. He knew he talked a lot. So that? That was rare. It took him about a month of texting Midoriya before he realized what the problem was—Midoriya was just pretty terrible at texting, but somehow, miraculously, actually interested in being friends with Inasa. They were friends by the time they arrived at Shiketsu, friends before they were ever given rooms next to each other to board in (they both, apparently, lived near UA. It was almost ironic that they’d ended up at Shiketsu instead, against all logic of locationality and testing scores.).

And at Shiketsu, they remained friends. They were in different classes and had different lunch periods, so their paths didn’t cross all that often, but Inasa had lots of acquaintances that might even be friends too, so he was plugged into the rumor mill at the school, and he heard about Midoriya a lot. And it was all good things he heard, too. Things that filled him with a burst of pride because that was his friend. The first real friend he’d had in a long time, who had quickly become his best friend.

Midoriya Izuku was humble. Inasa would hear that he devoted an entire afternoon just to helping his classmate refine an element of their Quirk, and he would admit it was true with a shy smile and a faint flush on his cheeks, while helping Inasa with quadratic functions. People parted for him when he walked down the hallways and he didn’t even notice, just smiled and nodded whenever someone met his gaze. Inasa heard every rumor—if they could even be called rumors while being true—and though Midoriya never denied them he never brought them up himself either, or boasted about them, or acknowledged them as special in any way either. When Inasa asked him if it was true that he’d gotten full marks on a pop quiz half his class failed, he just shrugged and admitted he’d always had a particular interest in the topic. When Inasa asked him if it was true that he’d held up a falling building in class so that all of his classmates, on the enemy team of the exercise no less, could get out safely, he just smiled shyly and admitted he’d been trying to handle more of his power lately—which apparently, what he was using now, according to him, was only a tenth of what he was capable of.

(Inasa would never admit it out loud, but he feared the force of the inadequacy he would feel the day Midoriya could use all of it. He was already strong as it was, after all.)

Midoriya was first in their year. He’d been first in their year since the entrance exam, and he’d held it, unapproachable in nearly every field. Sometimes Inasa scored higher than him in practical exercises. Sometimes Watanabe Mura, a girl in Midoriya’s class, could outscore him in science classes. Sometimes, a boy in his class named Suga Kouhei could beat Midoriya’s literature scores. Sometimes, sometimes, sometimes.

Midoriya stood on a pillar. It was impossible to reach, that pillar, though Inasa would be damned if he didn’t at least try. It was the thing he simultaneously loved most and hated most about being friends with Midoriya. It was that Midoriya was the best, in probably every way, and he was the only one that couldn’t see it. It was true that Midoriya inspired Inasa, with both his skills and his personality, and Inasa wouldn’t trade that for the world.

But it was also true that Midoriya scared him.

There had always been something a little terrifying about Midoriya, once Inasa got to know him a little better. There was something always simmering under the surface, something burning under kind smiles and laughter-crinkled eyes. If Inasa had to name it, he would probably call it hot-blooded passion, but, really, it was determination. It never used to bother Inasa, if he was honest. It was just another one of those things that made Midoriya cool. Except, now, something was different.

Inasa watched as Midoriya unrolled his bedding next to him. They’d arrived a little later in the day today, so training wouldn’t start in earnest until tomorrow. Inasa kept up a stream of chatter as he watched. If he didn’t know Midoriya better, he would say he was the exact same as always, listening happily, joining in whenever he had something to say, eyes bright with cheer as his cheeks dimpled with award-winning smile after award-winning smile, near blinding in its joviality. But Inasa knew better.

This was what didn’t make sense.

Inasa had known Midoriya for four months, roughly. Four months, and he had no idea where Midoriya had gone to school before he came to Shiketsu. Four months, and the first time he’d even paused to consider the fact that Midoriya had never once talked about any sort of father in his life was when he’d handed Inasa the credit card with his name on it earlier that day. Four months, and Inasa hadn’t heard a single thing about Midoriya’s old friends, other than the most casual of mentions of one person in the UA Sports Festival that year. Four months, and Inasa had never thought to ask Midoriya why he called someone almost every day—who it was on the other line, why Midoriya always locked his door when he talked to them. Midoriya griped at Inasa a lot every time he did it, but he also knew the truth of the matter was that Midoriya kept his door unlocked whenever he was in there and available to talk specifically for Inasa to burst in—when he actually was changing or sleeping or not there or on the phone with whoever that was (and it wasn’t his mother, the door was still unlocked when he was on the phone with his mother). Inasa knew better than anyone that Midoriya’s door was definitely locked. Four months, and Inasa had suddenly realized that he didn’t even know basic friend information about Midoriya, like what his favorite color was (though he suspected it was red or maybe yellow) or why he wanted to go into heroics in the first place. Inasa had recounted the horrifically awkward story of how his first kiss had gone and many others, and he was only just now realizing that he’d never received even a remotely similar story in return.

Four months, and Inasa had suddenly realized that being friends with Midoriya was, apparently, like being friends with a ghost.

And the worst part was that Inasa was dealing with this revelation that he somehow didn’t know Midoriya at all while also dealing with this realization that the determined glint that used to only appear in his eyes in the middle of battle or while talking about his favorite heroes, was there all the time.

And it scared Inasa. It scared him, because he was realizing for the first time that he was an outsider to the person that was his best friend.

It scared Inasa, and it planted the first seeds of a thought that he hated in his mind, but he couldn’t shake it. He couldn’t shake it while they chatted, and he couldn’t shake it when Midoriya called him Yoarashi-kun for the first time after the conversation about first names on the bus, and he definitely couldn’t shake it when he heard Midoriya get up in the middle of the night and sneak out of the room.

The thought really took root when he saw the bruises on Midoriya’s knuckles when they met with the second years that morning, and there it stayed.

Nothing is enough for Midoriya, the thought that had taken root in Inasa’s mind whispered. He might be your best friend, but you’re not his. Nobody is.

And with that…well.

Inasa had no idea where to go from there.

Chapter Text

Izuku eyed the two strips of silky fabric hanging from the ceiling dubiously. They didn’t look complicated in and of themselves, no, but what he was being asked to do with them—that was complicated.

“I’m not sure about this,” he announced to the room.

Uwabami trilled a laugh. She’d arrived this morning with some of the other teachers, and had, apparently, immediately requested Izuku and Camie for personal training the day. As to why, that was beyond him. Especially since it seemed to involve these strips of fabric and the fact that he’d been ordered to arrive in leggings and “the tightest shirt he owned,” which, admittedly, was not very tight. “You’ll be fine.”

“Come on, Izuku,” Camie said, appearing next to him and looping her elbow with his. “It’ll be fuuuuun.” And then she listed to the side, forcing Izuku to grab her arm with both hands in order to keep her upright. Camie blinked up at him, unbothered. He sighed.

“She’s right,” Uwabami added, crossing her arms over her chest. “It is quite fun.”

“Um, Uwabami-sensei…”

“Yes, Midoriya-san?”

“I, um, I actually weigh a lot.” He coughed. It was certainly the truth. The training regime that Yagi had set for Izuku more than made sure of that. “I don’t…”

“They’ll hold you, Midoriya-san,” Uwabami said, her voice lilting in amusement.

“Right,” Izuku said, eying them. “And I just…tie myself up with them.”

Camie busted out laughing, Uwabami, for her credit, was a little more subdued with her reaction, eyes glittering with amusement. “You don’t tie yourself up with them, Midoriya-san. You trust them to hold you, which allows you to exercise your body in ways you wouldn’t ordinarily get to.”

“Right.” Izuku glared at the strips some more. “Could I do this…some other way, maybe?”

“Oh, for goodness’s sake, Midoriya-san,” Uwabami said, rolling her eyes. “Set Utsushimi-san upright and get over here. It’s going to help you, I promise.”

Izuku sighed, then eyed Camie then sighed again. “Any chance you want to just be suspended here by your arm for however long it takes for her to give this up?” he asked her.

Camie laughed again, and, like the traitor she was, saw fit to use that moment to right herself. She patted Izuku’s cheek, which he did his best to duck away from so as not to blush furiously. Which was all for naught, apparently, because then she said, “Sorry, babe, but Uwabami-sensei wants me improving my flexibility with some yoga. Totally lame, if you ask me, but at least I get to watch you go.”

Izuku’s face flamed.

Uwabami trilled another laugh, covering her mouth with her hand as she did. “Oh my. Well, as you know, I’m technically obligated to remind the two of you that dating is strictly prohibited at Shiketsu High.”

“Ahhh—” Izuku said, very eloquently.

Camie (was she trying to kill him? Izuku was certainly beginning to think so) draped an arm over his shoulders and laughed too. “Oh, Uwabami-sensei, you know better.” She poked Izuku’s cheek, and he attempted to swat her hand away. “Look how cute he is with these baby cheeks and freckles! I couldn’t possibly date him, he’s too innocent.”

“Wh-what?!” Izuku squeaked, but Camie was already laughing and shoving him towards the embodiment of evil that was the two strips of fabric hanging unassumingly from the ceiling.

“Alright, Midoriya-san,” Uwabami said, her smile distinctly serpentine as she pointed out the fabric hanging from the ceiling. “Do you know why I requested the two of you today?” Izuku opened his mouth to answer, but she cut him off with an amused look. “No, it’s not to torture you, specifically, Midoriya-san. It’s because you both utilize agility in your fights, and whether you mean to or not, you both utilize sex appeal too.”

“S-s-sex a-a—what?”

“You heard me. Now, grab onto each of these, please.” Izuku, still a little dazed, obeyed. “To be honest with you, Midoriya-san, I would rather not have to educate high schoolers on their own sex appeal, and I would definitely prefer to not instruct them on how to use it. Heroes are meant to fight, save, and give people hope through publicity, so it is rather unfortunate that we so often end up rather like common celebrities as well. However, considering as useful something such as sex appeal has been to me in the past, for whatever reason it’s useful, it seems almost foolish to leave you ignorant on how to use it when it happening is an inevitability. Do you understand why I’m telling you this, Midoriya-san?”

“Y-yeah,” Izuku stammered out, and when Uwabami remained silent and intent, he realized she wanted him to say more. “Um. A lot of heroes—not just female ones—end up getting s-sexualized by either PR teams or the media or the public themselves, and um. You’re saying that when it’s, uh, likely…that it’s going to happen…you want to prepare those students for…that. But, um. Why—why me?”

“Why not you?” Uwabami asked, eyes sparking with some unreadable expression. “It could happen to just about anyone, you know, regardless of how prudent the costume they choose is. However, certain things will put you more at risk of the possibility than others. Grip the fabric tight and use it to pull yourself up. I want both feet off of the ground, please.” Izuku complied, bending his knees slightly to curl his feet off the ground, suspending himself with just his arms. It wasn’t a problem, really. He’d held himself up like this on more than one occasion. “How long could you hold like that?” Uwabami asked.

“A while, probably,” Izuku answered honestly.

“Hold it for a while for me, then, just so I can get a feel for where you’re starting at this with.” Uwabami sighed. “Utsushimi-san, please begin your warm up stretches.” Uwabami turned back to look at him. “What I’m saying, Midoriya-san, is that due to the nature of your fighting style, you have to wear a rather tight hero costume. Additionally, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, people are likely to get turned on, so to speak, by particular moves that you do. Is that correct?”

Izuku blushed furiously as he slowly began to spin in place, the fabric twisting above him. He was grateful for it, though, since it meant that his face was being spun away from both Uwabami and Camie. “Um. I think so,” he answered. Uwabami was silent, so he added, in a much quieter voice, “I catch my classmates staring at my thighs sometimes, because of the—” Saying thigh-jutsu was absolutely out, but Izuku also hadn’t given it any other sort of name. He frowned. “—uh, thigh-flipping/crushing thing.” He winced. Very smooth, Izuku. Very smooth.

“Ah. I would say so, then.” Uwabami was quiet for another moment, and Izuku almost wished that he could see her expression. “I know this probably seems impertinent to you, considering you want to be an underground hero rather than a limelight one, but I believe that it’s better to be prepared, myself,” she continued.

“No, I certainly understand the sentiment,” Izuku said, still quietly processing. “Um. Thank you…? For, uh. Helping with it.”

Uwabami let out a quiet but amused-sounding huff. “Well, it is my job, Midoriya-san. Are you tired yet?”

“No.”

“Oh, wonderful. You can let yourself down now.” Izuku complied with the command, lowering his legs until his feet were flat on the floor again, releasing the strips of fabric he’d been holding and turning to look back at Uwabami. “Now, this exercise works as both a testament to your strength and your flexibility. You will work both, here, as well as controlling your body precisely without the ground working with you to do so. Also, aerialists are often considered ‘sexy,’ because of both their fitness and the comfort and coordination they move their bodies with, in any context. Now, are you ready to challenge yourself?”

And who was Izuku, to either resist a challenge or a chance to prepare himself for hero work however possible?

“Yes, Sensei,” Izuku murmured, and Uwabami smiled.

“Good,” she said, nodding. “This time, when you grab the silks, wrap them around your arms thrice for a better grip, and then focus on not just lifting your legs up, but also over your head. I’m going to help Utsushimi-san for a moment, but I’ll be right over here if you need anything.” Izuku nodded, and Uwabami turned away with a sharp smile, already giving Camie instructions in her firm but ultimately charming way.

Izuku set to work on his task. This one, unsurprisingly, was harder than the previous one—lifting not just his body, but also using his core to lift his legs beyond that, trusting his grip on the silks to keep him from falling on his head while he attempted it, but eventually he got there. And promptly realized why a tight shirt had been on the instruction list, since his kept attempting to fall off of him now that he was inverted.

“Uh, Uwabami-sensei,” he said, wincing as a fold of his shirt fell over his face.

Camie laughed at him, because of course she did. Not that he could see it, since his vision was obscured by his shirt. Not that a lack of vision prevented him from getting his feelings hurt.

“Oh, my,” Uwabami said. “Well, you got there a lot faster than I thought you would. Now I want you to extend your legs and wrap them around their respective silks a few times each.” Izuku agreed, following her instructions as she told him to wrap and unwrap certain limbs, to tie knots, the things he was doing gradually getting more complex until he was falling through the air, fabric winding and unwinding around him. It really was an exercise in trust and strength, in both his own body and the fabric holding him. And Uwabami was right—it was one of the more intense workouts he had in a while.

“Alright, Midoriya-san, you can come down,” Uwabami eventually said. “Utsushimi-san, it’s your turn to take to the skies.”

“Damn,” Camie said, rolling her shoulders as she fell out of her stretches. “That’s a tough act to follow, Uwabami-sensei. Izuku was a natural.”

Izuku, for his part, was proud he didn’t flinch at the sound of his name that time. “I really doubt that,” he said instead, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“No, she’s right,” Uwabami said. “Your preexisting strength led to greater success than most beginners have. Copy this stretch please.” She demonstrated, hands interlocked and reaching up and over her head. Izuku followed her lead. “Continue to follow me as I lead through different exercises. Utsushimi-san, when you feel ready, attempt that fall variation we’ve discussed before.”

“Totally,” Camie agreed, a little breathlessly.

The rest of the morning passed mostly like that, with Izuku and Camie alternating between stamina training and flexibility training. It was enough to make Izuku want to pass out as soon as he got back to the lumpy futon that he had been allotted to sleep on for the duration of the trip, and he hadn’t even used his Quirk yet. Quirks were the next day.

True enough, the next morning , Izuku sleepily ran through his warm-up stretches with Camie and Uwabami. “What are we doing today?” he asked, while trying to stifle a yawn.

“Quirkless sparring, first,” Uwabami said.

Unsurprisingly, Camie laid him out on his ass in the first round. Non-combative Quirk or no, she was still a year his senior in one of the top hero schools in the country. It was needless to say that she was more skillful.

“Try not to go so easy on me next time, babe,” she said, with a flip of her hair over her shoulder.

Izuku spluttered indignantly. “I didn’t go easy on you, I promise!”

“Whatever you say,” Camie said. She blew him a kiss afterwards, a shimmery pink heart rising from her palm. Uwabami laughed softly, then (not very seriously) reprimanded Camie for using her Quirk.

Thigh-jutsu it was, then.  

When Uwabami called start for the next set, Izuku took the offensive from the start. He threw a jab at Camie’s ribs which she dodged with a laugh. He dropped immediately, transferring his weight to his palms so he could kick one of his legs out in an attempt to sweep hers. Camie caught herself with her hands, feet flipping over her head to reorient herself. Izuku sprang forward, breaking through the arms she brought up to defend herself before raising his leg, bracing like he was going to bring his heel down on her shoulder. She reacted, dodging in the other direction, where she was caught by Izuku’s waiting left hand. He steadied her while she tried to struggle out of his grip, and then swung one leg up and then the other, bringing them both down.

Camie gasped. “Damn, Izuku, I knew you were, like, totally holding out on me that last match.”

Izuku grinned, letting her free. “Hardly.”

“So that’s gotta be the sick thigh strangling move you and Inasa-babe—”

Izuku involuntarily spat out some of the water he’d been drinking. “Inasa-babe?” he questioned, somewhat desperately. “Did you just use babe as an honorific?”

“—were talking about, right? Ooh, ooh! Can you teach it to me now? Please? Please?”

Izuku eyed her dubiously, realized she probably wasn’t going to offer any sort of explanation for whatever she just said, and shrugged. “Sure. Uwabami-sensei?”

“Go ahead. You have excellent form executing that move, Midoriya-san, so I have no doubt you’ll do fine at teaching it.”

Izuku immediately blushed hard enough he could probably set things on fire with contact from his skin alone. “Ahhh—” he said rather eloquently.

Camie waved a hand in front of his face. “Aw, you’ve broken him, Uwabami-sensei.”

Izuku came to enough to slap her hand away when she stuck her finger in his ear.

The next few days were spent, largely, with Uwabami and Camie, as they moved through all physical training slotted for them. They moved on to sparring with their Quirks on their fourth and final day together (which had been fun—trying to figure out which Camie was the real one when faced down with a room full of illusion-made Camies had been more of a challenge than Izuku had thought it would be. Camie’s mastery of her Quirk was truly impressive, honestly.). However, that meant more extensive Quirk training would be next, which meant that Izuku was getting shuffled off to Kinetic today, for—

“Ranged attacks, really?” Yoarashi asked, rubbing sleep out of his right eye the next morning. He’d been assigned to Kinetic too—unsurprisingly, considering elemental Quirks tended to have similar restrictions and requirements—and Izuku couldn’t be more grateful. Despite sharing a room in the lodge with Yoarashi, he hadn’t honestly seen much of his friend since they came here for summer camp, since Yoarashi was usually asleep by the time Izuku got back from the showers.

“Yeah,” Izuku agreed, pulling one leg behind him to stretch out his thigh. “If you can have ranged attacks, you should, right?”

“You’re already the best in the grade at hand-to-hand combat, though.”

Izuku hummed. “I wouldn’t say I’m the best, just that I’m good, maybe. Besides, I can’t be in someone’s face all the time. Say if I was fighting Shishikura-senpai, for instance!”

“You probably will be fighting me, at some point,” Shishikura said, stretching on Izuku’s other side. “We’re doing Quirked spars at least once with everyone in the group.”

“Right! Well, I’d be at a disadvantage, fighting in close quarters with you, Shishikura-senpai.”

He hummed. “You would.”

“You agreed so readily to that,” Yoarashi said, blinking at the two of them.

Izuku grinned at him. “Anyone that fights mostly in close quarters would be at an extreme disadvantage against his Quirk, including me. The closer I am to Shishikura-senpai, the easier it’ll be for him to detach a finger or two and mold me into a meatball.”

Yoarashi paled. “Please don’t ever say that again.”

“Also, the farther you stay from me, the worse my control if I do get you,” Shishikura added. “If I start molding someone at my maximum range, they have a greater chance of breaking out of it, should they be strong willed enough to fight against me.” He narrowed his eyes contemplatively. “Though I know very few that are able to obtain such intensity of spirit.”

Izuku tried not to shudder. Shishikura was a little terrifying sometimes, if he was being honest. And intense. And intimidating. “There you have it. I want a ranged attack in case I have to fight against Quirks with similar limitations and strengths as Meatball. Besides, I’ve already got an idea for it! The first time I used my Quirk I used it at maximum capacity and ended up breaking my arm but I—”

“I’m sorry, but you ended up doing what?” Shishikura interrupted, going so far as to cease his stretching to look at Izuku in surprise. Or horror.

Izuku paused for a moment, running over everything he’d just said again in his head, and then, oh. Right. He probably shouldn’t have said that, because now…now…

Useless Deku.

Izuku closed his eyes. He inhaled for four beats, held for four, then released, stretching his arms over his head as he did. “The first time I used my Quirk,” he repeated, at the end of the breathing exercise, “it broke my arm because it was too strong for my body.”

Now Yoarashi paused in his stretching too, staring at Izuku with a look of disbelief that matched Shishikura’s. “How come you never told me about that?”

“It didn’t—”

“How are those warm up stretches going?” Kinetic broke in, now crossing to where the three of them stood in the clearing. Izuku felt himself relax slightly at the interruption. Truthfully, there was no reason why he couldn’t just tell Yoarashi the story he’d come up with—that Inner Storm required a near-death experience for activation to occur, and that he hadn’t been in one until he was fourteen—but he would…rather not lie. Not if he could just evade the question instead.

“They are going well,” Shishikura finally said, when the silence following Kinetic’s question extended past the realm of polite and into uncomfortable. “I think I am ready to begin training, anyway.”

“Alright! Let’s talk about goals, then. Shishikura-san, take it away.”

“Right,” Shishikura said. He eyed Izuku out of the corner of his eye for a moment longer before he looked away. “I want to increase my range and the upper level of my time limit as well as my amount limit, if possible.”

“Well,” Kinetic said, checking the clipboard he carried with him. “I suspect that might always be somewhat limited by the amount of flesh you have to spare to knead people. As I understand it, what you expend is not called back to you until after they break free of your hold, yes?”

“Correct.”

“Alright. We’ll see what we can do! Midoriya-san, what’s up with you? I will admit I was surprised to see your name on my list, considering I mostly work with ranged emitter types and you’re a brawler.”

“I actually want to work on range, Sensei,” Izuku said, taking a deep breath as he did.

Kinetic frowned, flipping two sheets on his clipboard. “’Inner Storm,’” he read. “’The ability to convert emotional energy into power, which then acts as a muscle augmenter.’ In other words, you’re stronger and faster than the average person, like a raging storm, but contained within yourself. I would think ranged attacks were impossible, given that description.”

“My idea is to use my strength to displace air around me in order to create ranged attacks.”

Kinetic blinked at him, then at his clipboard. “That seems…”

“I’ve…done it before,” Izuku said, after considering it for a moment. “It might be risky.”

“He mentioned his Quirk breaking his arm earlier,” Shishikura said, making eye contact with Izuku instead of Kinetic. The snitch. “You should not proceed with this idea if it will yield similar results this time too. As good as it is to push limits, our bodies have them for a reason.”

“I know my limits,” Izuku said, staring Kinetic down to make the message clear.

Kinetic met his gaze for a long moment, then nodded, jotting something down on his clipboard. “Alright. Yoarashi-san, what were you looking to get out of training today?”

“I just want to work on control, I guess.”

“Well, you’re control is already impeccable. Let’s see about expanding the range you can reach,” Kinetic said, nodding along as he looked at the final page. He continued nodding as he seemed to think for several long moments. “So this is what I’m thinking. Yoarashi-san, Shishikura-san, you two spar with each other. Midoriya-san, you work on your air displacement theory. I’ll bounce around, see how I can help, and where.”

They split up, Yoarashi and Shishikura to face each other down, Izuku to stare at the training dummy several meters in front of him, the air cool and thin around him due to the higher altitude. Now, as to…where to start.

The first time he’d used One for All, he’d used it at 100%, concentrated in just his arm. His arm had been broken, but also, he had produced shockwaves when he hit it. And there was the time All Might had saved him and Bakugou from the sludge villain, too, where a punch to the sludge monster’s gelatinous mass had resulted in a change of weather due to disruptions in the air pressure. Not that Izuku knew exactly what power percentage All Might had used when punching the sludge villain, though…

Izuku queued up One for All, letting it pool through his entire body, allowing the percentage to grow slowly instead of all at once. 1%, 2%, 4%, 7%, 10%, 14%, 15%...he was approaching his upper limit, he could feel the strain on his body for it. He’d start with 15%, then, see what that could do. Maybe he should channel some into his legs at the same time, to keep himself stabilized…wait, could he use One for All at different percentages with different body parts? Alright. Apparently, that was a yes. Neat. He wondered why he hadn’t tried that before now…? Anyway, so 15% in his arm, 5% in his legs—no, 5% everywhere else and now all he had to do was just…punch the air. Punch the air in the direction of the target dummy. Izuku pulled his fist back, making sure it was lined up with the dummy in question, and then threw the punch.

Power ripped through the air immediately, buffeting nearby students and teachers alike with wind gusts as they turned to look at him, many of them with their hands raised to shield their eyes. The dummy careened backwards, slamming into a nearby building at terminal velocity—an arm even detaching—and then continued, the head popping off as it was bashed into a rock on the mountain side. Izuku winced.

“Uh, Midoriya-kun…” Yoarashi said, sounding strangely hesitant. “You just…”

“That was a bit much,” Izuku agreed, studying his hand instead. He could feel a little bit of strain in it, but it was nowhere near being fractured or broken. “Too much of a percentage, or too much of a surface area? Really difficult to control, too, which means I would have trouble aiming that while moving around. I’m also more of a kicker than a puncher, thanks to thigh-jutsu, so if it is the surface area issue…hm. Well, my legs have a greater surface area. If I kicked the disruption instead of punching it it’s possible I might have more control over directionality but I suspect that—”

“You just tried to figure out a ranged attack. With your close quarters combat oriented strength augmentation Quirk. And you got it. On the first try.”

Izuku jolted from his muttering session, blinking up at Yoarashi, who had ceased his sparring with Shishikura to draw closer. He registered what Yoarashi had said a moment later and chuckled nervously, scratching at the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t say I got it on the first try. I mean, you saw that blast, it was pretty uncontrolled. I need to—” Yoarashi raised a finger, most likely with the intent of cutting Izuku off, which was fine, because “—Fingers!” Izuku declared, pointing at his friend. “Yoarashi-kun, you’re a genius! I need to control the blast with my fingers, and then it’ll be streamlined, easier to control, easier to pull off while also maneuvering around the battlefield! Kinetic-sensei, I’m resetting the dummy!”

Izuku was on the edge of sleep when he heard it, vaguely—his name. It was trying to cut through his subconscious, but not entirely successful at it “—riya-kun. Midoriya-kun.”

Izuku finally swam to enough consciousness to respond, even if it was just with a soft hum.

“Why don’t you ever talk about your past?” Yoarashi asked.

They were alone in this room—given their own space, since there was plenty of room at the lodge they were staying at and the teachers had decided they didn’t need to cram Izuku and Yoarashi in with two second-years they didn’t know. It was that, coupled with the darkness, and the warm haze of sleep that led to Izuku answering the question, for once, completely honestly.

“Don’t want to,” he murmured into his pillow, eyes still closed.

“Why not?”

Izuku breathed out a sigh, trying to muster enough consciousness to properly answer that. “Nothing worth talking about in it.”

“Not even the fact that your Quirk used to break your bones?”

Izuku hummed indignantly. “That was one time. Didn’t use it again ‘til I figured it out.”

Yoarashi was silent for a long time. Long enough for Izuku was almost asleep again when he finally spoke again. “Your new move is very cool, by the way.”

Izuku quirked his lips up into the smallest of smiles. “Thanks. It reminds me of you.”

“Does it?”

“Yeah. We both control wind now. Yours is cooler though, ‘cause it spins.”

Yoarashi laughed, and then fell silent. Izuku started slipping back into sleep. “What are you going to call it? The new move I mean.”

Izuku considered for a single moment, then said the first thing that came to mind, consequences be damned. “Air Force.”

“Like Gale Force?”

“I did just say it reminded me of you.”

“Oh.” It was a soft oh, and nothing else.

“G’night,” Izuku murmured, when it became apparent that Yoarashi wasn’t going to say more.

“Goodnight, Midoriya-kun.”

Chapter Text

Shigaraki Tomura has his eyes on you, little hero. You and the blond one, with the red eyes.

Shouto had known. Stain had told him in that alley—he’d said it as plain as day. The League of Villains was after him. Him, and Bakugou Katsuki. Yet Shouto had stood right next to him, had been standing right next to him, and he still wasn’t able to—

“Todoroki-kun?”

Shouto opened his eyes, head tilting towards the familiar voice, lilting over the syllables of his name with surprise. Not that Shouto blamed Kirishima for being surprised to find him here—Shouto was not the type to be concerned about his classmate’s well-being, after all.

“Kirishima,” he greeted him, voice even, as he looked up at the red head. After taking him in, Shouto mused that he probably wouldn’t have recognized him immediately if it weren’t for the fact that he’d already spoken. Kirishima’s hair was droopy today, perhaps his natural hair-style. Hints of black showed at the base of it too, mildly intriguing to Shouto. He’d always assumed that Kirishima’s hair coloring, like his eyes, had been natural.

“I didn’t expect to, ah, see you here,” Kirishima confessed, rubbing the back of his neck in a way that indicated unsurety as he did.

Shouto considered him for a moment, and then decided to just say what he was thinking. He’d never been one to mince his words, anyway. “I’m useless no matter where I am, but I figured I might as well be slightly useful and come here.” A pause, as he took in Kirishima’s wince. “Jirou and Hagakure are still unconscious, by the way.”

“And Yaoyorozu-san?”

“She’s awake,” Shouto said, standing. He considered Kirishima for another long moment, minding his sprained wrist, still tucked obediently into its sling even though it wouldn’t really be necessary, following his impending appointment with a doctor with a healing Quirk in an hour. “I haven’t seen her yet, because—”

Shouto paused, his eyes landing on the man that had just walked by. He recognized him from the USJ—a detective in a tan trench coat and a white dress shirt, hat held in one gloved hand, striding swiftly down the hall that led towards Yaoyorozu’s room. Probably to collect her statement, if he had to guess.

“Todoroki-kun?” Kirishima prompted.

“Because of that,” Shouto finished, already moving after the detective. “Come on if you’re coming.”

“What—”

“Quietly.”

Kirishima quieted, following behind Shouto as the two of them trailed the detective to Yaoyorozu’s door. Shouto pulled Kirishima to a halt next to them as they paused just outside of the cracked door to her hospital room. He peered in through a window, spotting Yaoyorozu on the bed, the detective, and…All Might.

“Good evening, Yaoyorozu-san,” the detective said, voice warm and neutral as he did. “I’m glad to see you feeling well.”

Kirishima tugged frantically on Shouto’s sleeve, and Shouto cast him an annoyed look. “It’s not manly to spy,” he whisper-hissed.

Shouto rolled his eyes, but otherwise ignored him, returning to his task of peering into the hospital room while the three chatted.

“Thank you, Detective,” Yaoyorozu said, voice small and polite and a little difficult to make out even with the cracked door. Shouto frowned. If only he were Jirou or Shouji right now and had a hearing enhancement Quirk.

“Young Yaoyorozu, I was told that you had something important to our investigation that you wanted to tell us about the attack on the summer camp.”

“Is that All Might?” Kirishima asked, whisper-hissing and tugging on Shouto’s arm once again.

Shouto did his best not to get annoyed. “It is.”

“What is All Might doing—”

Shouto tugged his arm free from Kirishima just so he could slap a palm over his mouth, silencing him as he listened, straining to make out everything Yaoyorozu said.

“…Awase-san from 1-B helped…a tracker on the noumu that…us. This receiver is connected to it. It might lead you to…Bakugou-san.”

Shouto felt his eyes widen at the same time that Kirishima started making muffled noises of surprise or distress against his hand.

“Young Yaoyorozu, Aizawa-kun has said in the past that you struggle to take decisive action. I think that this proves today that you are more than capable of doing so. You will make for a fine young hero one day.”

“Thank you, All Might.”

“We’ll get out of your hair now, let you rest,” the detective broke in, giving Yaoyorozu a polite bow before turning on his heel.

Shouto whipped his head up and down the hallway before spotting a corner a room back from where they were and hauling Kirishima towards it, despite the other boy’s grunts of protest. He probably looked suspicious, peering around the corner as he was, but Shouto couldn’t bring himself to really care, watching as the detective and All Might both left the room, talking amongst themselves about…phone service?...as they retreated down the hall, thankfully opposite to the direction Shouto and Kirishima were lurking.

Shouto breathed a tiny sigh of relief, then stiffened slightly when he felt a heavy hand descend onto his shoulder. That was less embarrassing than Kirishima’s reaction, though, considering he actually shouted when a hand also landed on his shoulder.

“Iida,” Shouto said instead, because he knew who that hand belonged to and why it was there.

Iida, now that he’d gotten their attention, flicked his hands up, hands twisting to form the words he could rarely speak with his real voice now. You shouldn’t spy on your classmates’ conversations.

Shouto raised his eyebrow. His classmates sure loved lecturing him on spying often, for a bunch of people aiming to be pro heroes. “How do you know we were spying on Yaoyorozu?”

Iida raised an eyebrow. I never said whom.

Shit. “What are you doing here, then?”

Spying on you. I know that look in your eyes.

“Uh, Iida-kun…” Kirishima said blinking vapidly at Iida’s rapidly cycling hands. Iida grimaced in sympathy, but it took Shouto another moment to realize what the problem was.

“Iida was scolding us about spying,” Shouto said, rolling his shoulders as he did. He’d learned basic sign language as a side effect of hero training with Endeavour. Then he brushed up on it when he realized that Bakugou was hard of hearing and Kouda was selectively mute. When Iida’s vocal chords were demolished by Stain, Shouto decided three classmates were enough to warrant an extensive online course on JSL. He was already enough out of the loop on ways to interact with people his age that he didn’t really need to add language barriers to the mix.

Iida tapped Shouto to get his attention, then flipped through a few more words. Shouto rolled his eyes. “Iida was also scolding me about vigilantism.” Shouto fixed Iida with a glare at that. “I still wonder why you resigned as vice class representative, since you’re so fond of lecturing people when you have no business to.”

Iida turned bright red, spluttering slightly. He started forming words then dropped them, then tried again. Shouto quirked an eyebrow.

“Vigilantism?” Kirishima asked, sounding hesitantly.

“Right,” Shouto said, glancing up at the ceiling in a silent request for help from the gods, then down again, meeting Kirishima’s eyes. “Iida’s under the impression that I’m going to ask Yaoyorozu for another tracker, then go there myself, in an attempt to rescue Bakugou.” Iida’s hands fluttered in the corner of Shouto’s eyes, and Shouto looked at him fully, reading what he said. “I’m not going to, Iida.”

Then why lurk outside of her hospital room? Iida asked, expression stern. I know what you’re feeling. Lost, desperate, angry. I can see it in your eyes. Iida gestured to his still sprained wrist. You were right beside him when he was taken. I know you’re feeling worse than the rest of us, but you can’t go.

“I’m not going to,” Shouto repeated, firmly. “I’m not asking Yaoyorozu to make another tracker!”

Iida stopped gesturing, leveling Shouto with an unimpressed look. Shouto clenched his jaw and looked away, meting Kirishima’s eyes instead. Kirishima, who suddenly looked—

“I am,” Kirishima said, something in his gaze hardening. “I’m going to ask her to make another tracker. Bakugou-kun is my best friend, and while he was out being targeted in the woods, I was sitting safe and happy in a classroom. So I’m going to ask her to make another tracker, and if she makes it…I’m going to go.”

Shouto blinked in surprise as Kirishima pushed past him, turning the corner and heading towards Yaoyorozu’s room. And then a moment later, Shouto remembered all the reasons why that was a problem—mainly, even though Shouto himself wanted to help rescue Bakugou, he could not, under any circumstances, make any of his classmates complicit in vigilantism, a technical crime, with him (and asking Yaoyorozu to make a tracker certainly made her complicit). He had not accounted for other classmates wanting to engage in a rescue attempt that bordered on vigilantism. Maybe he should have. Especially, since, you know. Iida.

“Fuck,” Shouto said, starting out of the hallway after Kirishima.

Iida caught his arm, pulling him back to look at him, then immediately released him to sign, the motions slightly panicked. What are you doing?

“I’m going after him,” Shouto said, starting again before he was pulled back once more.

Do you even remember Hosu?

“Of course I do,” Shouto snapped. “That’s why I can’t let him go alone.”

Iida’s expression did complicated things, dancing between anger, confusion, grief, regret, before finally settling on something steely and determined, but also a mixture of all those others somehow too. His hands flicked up to sign something, then stopped, then slowly lowered. “I…don’t…like this,” he rasped, voice like sandpaper, difficult and painful for him to use though not impossible.

One of the many casualties their class had faced over the last year.

“Then by all means,” Shouto said, already turning away, “come along too.”

Toshinori didn’t dwell on the past—his past—often. It was best, he thought, not to worry about such things. The past was past, and it deserved to stay there, so it did.

But that was also the coward’s way of approaching the problem.

The truth was—as much as Toshinori would like to deny it—the past had happened, and that meant it had relevance. And as it turns out, six years pass a lot faster than they would normally when you’re waiting on their finale to arrive.

If you continue like this, you will face off against a villain you cannot fight and you will die.

Mirai’s prediction weighed on Toshinori. It weighed on him every time he coughed up blood, every time another minute was shaved off his time limit, every time he heard young Midoriya’s voice on the phone. It had been, after all, the reason why he had decided to take the teaching position at UA. Whether it was by the wound in his side or the battle Mirai had foresaw all those years ago, Toshinori’s time was going to be up soon.

“Toshinori.”

Toshinori looked towards the voice. His mentor was not what he used to be, no, but he was still strong. His strength was etched into the lines on his face, a life lived in sorrow and fortitude. It was easy to look at him and see what he had once been and still was. It was easy to look at him and see why he had come out of retirement.

“It’s been six years,” Gran Torino said, as if he’d read Toshinori’s thoughts. He’d always read Toshinori like an open book, though, so maybe that was true. “I got your letter.”

“Ah,” Toshinori said, for lack of a better thing to say. They both knew what the implications for their raid on the League tonight could have. They both knew to be prepared.

“Midoriya Izuku, huh?” Gran Torino continued, leaning on his staff and peering at Toshinori knowingly. “You know what they’re calling him, eh?”

“The shining star of Shiketsu High,” Toshinori repeated, unable to help the fond smile that played across his lips. “His name has more than made the rounds, in pro hero circles. I’m so proud.” There was a pause, in which Toshinori half-turned towards his old mentor. “Gran Torino, if—”

“If you’re about to say something stupid like, ‘If I don’t make it, will you watch over him for me,’ don’t. You’re going to make it through this fight.”

“Or I’m going to die trying,” Toshinori finished, with the wry sort of humor that could only be mustered by a man that was on his death bed and knew it.

Gran Torino sighed.

“Sir Nighteye’s never been wrong before, has he?” Toshinori said instead, his voice carefully gentle in a way so as not to betray the nerves he was really feeling. Gran Torino only pursed his lips, and Toshinori sighed, dropping the act. “All the same, I would rather be over-prepared rather than under-prepared, just in case.” At this, Toshinori produced the letter he’d been carrying in his pocket, offering it to Gran Torino. He accepted it regardless, despite his earlier protests.

“It’s not me saying that I’m giving up, or that I want to die,” he reiterated. “It’s just me saying that if something were to happen, there’s a lot that I still need to say to my boy, and I need a way to say it. And I have a feeling. Call it an old man’s premonition, if you will. I will be fighting All for One tonight.”

Gran Torino huffed, but it was an acceptance of the truth. “Don’t die, you oaf,” he said, but he tucked the letter into his pocket regardless.

Toshinori smiled.

Katsuki woke to the tingling discomfort of sitting in an uncomfortable chair for an uncomfortable amount of time, and the feeling of restraints pressing into his wrists. He kept his eyes shut for the moment, though he could feel the dull glow of lights against them. There was the soft rumble of voices around him, though he wasn’t quite conscious enough to make out what exactly was being said, not yet.

“…can’t believe…Sensei…this job is so stupid. Why should I get stuck with the grunt work? I just wanted to kill All Might, not spend all my time hunting down some mystery brat.”

“Now, now, Tomura. This one is promising, remember? We’ve ruled out the Todoroki boy, and this one—”

The events of the last few days came back to Katsuki all at once, and he couldn’t help but stiffen, muscles straining against his restraints as he realized where he was. The test of courage, blue fire everywhere, that half-and-half bastard’s face as he blinked out—

“Heads up, he’s awake,” a third voice said, and all other conversations drew to a halt.

Katsuki opened his eyes now, taking in the villains gathered around him. He was at…a bar? What kind of villains made their secret base a bar? Whatever. It didn’t matter. What did fucking matter, though, was the handsy bastard seated at the bar and the misty bastard standing behind it. Familiar faces, if very fucking unwelcome ones. There were other people in the room too—some fuck with a lizard mutation and a shitty Stain cosplay, a hulking blond man in the background, a girl, some Frankenstein wannabe motherfucker, a guy in a body suit, and—

“Did you have a nice sleep?” the masked man asked. Katsuki flinched involuntarily, the memories too recent, the feeling of being trapped in his own mind still all too fresh.

So he’d been kidnapped by villains. He’d been the only one kidnapped by villains, unless some of the other extras in his class were here and being kept in different rooms or some shit, but considering there was a whole fucking gaggle of villains in this particular room, he doubted it. But why?

“Oh, you are awake,” the handsy bastard said, his vocal cords vehemently protesting every word as they scraped against each other unpleasantly. “Did you have a nice trip?”

Katsuki didn’t answer him, just clamped his jaw shut, flexing his wrists where they were tied, palms up, to the chairs of the arm he was attached to. He could make explosions, sure, but granted the position of his hands, they wouldn’t exactly do much. He had to hand it to the League of Assholes—they might have a shitty bar hideout, but at least they knew how to negate his Quirk.

“It’s no matter,” Hand Bastard said, leaning over Katsuki. He tilted his head to the side, studying Katsuki through the fingers of his hand on his face. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. I don’t care what you do, Bakugou Katsuki. You just better hope he does.”

Katsuki strained, his back pressed against the chair. “What do you want with me?”

“Me?” A dry chuckle, a manic grin splitting dry, wrinkled skin. “I don’t want anything, except to see you fall away into tiny pieces of ash, maybe. It would be so…fun.” At this, he raised his hand, fingers pressing against the side of Katsuki’s face, one at a time, until the only finger remaining in the air was his pinkie.

Katsuki remembered Aizawa’s elbow at the USJ. He knew what came next, if that fifth finger made contact with his skin. He refused to be afraid.

“I hope you really are All Might’s successor,” Shigaraki said, inexplicably. “The only thing I can think of that would be better than killing All Might, would be making him watch you die first.”

What the fuck.

“I don’t know what kind of fucking goddamn shit you’re on but—”

A knock rang out through the room, cutting Katsuki off in his tracks. All the villains looked towards the source of the knocking too, curious and wary. When no one moved to open the door, a voice rang out from the other side. “Pizza delivery?”

“Pizza,” Shigaraki hissed, irritated, taking his hand off Katsuki’s face to scratch irately at his neck. Katsuki didn’t breathe a sigh of relief. He didn’t. (He might have wanted to, though.) “Kurogiri, get—”

The door burst open, and then a lot of things happened all at once. Edgeshot burst into the room with a squad of police. Another wall seemed to explode, but it was behind Katsuki so he couldn’t tell what was happening, at least not until wood was curling through the room, wrapping around each of the villains. That was one of the newer pros, Katsuki knew, though his name escaped him at the moment.

“What—” Shigaraki started to say, but he was cut off by the sound of heavy footsteps, familiar footsteps. Katsuki looked up right as All Might stepped into his field of vision.

All Might wasn’t smiling.

“Young Bakugou,” he said, voice booming as he bent over the restraints, undoing them himself. “I am so terribly sorry this happened to you, my boy. You’re safe now.”

Katsuki opened his mouth to speak, to say something, but only a garbled mess came out. Garbled, because there was some sort of liquid pouring out of his mouth. Liquid like that sludge, but worse, worse because it was coming from him instead.

“Young Bakugou?” All Might questioned, his voice worried.

Katsuki gagged. All Might was gone, the bar was gone, everything was just this inky black shit, and then Katsuki was standing, his remaining restraints gone, gagging and coughing as he fell to a knee, trying to brace himself. Trying to recover from the feeling of thick liquid in his lungs.

Katsuki looked around. He was in what appeared to be a mostly abandoned district of a city, with towering buildings all around him. Everything was gray, washed out even before the darkness of the night sky had kissed it, and dismal. And Katsuki was alone in a dusty courtyard with nothing other than the sound of footsteps clacking against pavement and smears of blood.

Smears of blood?

That’s what it was. And they led—there. Was that…?

“Bakugou Katsuki,” a voice said, and it immediately injected itself into Katsuki’s fight or flight system like a parasite. The voice clucked in time with the footsteps, three times, before he the figure it belonged to stepped out of the shadows. Katsuki froze when he saw who it belonged to, a monster of a man in a three-piece suit, black mask obscuring his face. Katsuki knew that this man was an enemy in the same way mice knew to fear cats.

For once in his life, Katsuki was willing to admit that he was fucking terrified.

The man paused, head tilted like he was listening to something. “Ah. Now that I’m this close to you I can see. I was wrong again. And I was so sure it was you. You met All Might before UA after all, didn’t you? And all those articles about the sludge villain attack disappearing…well, it’s no matter, I suppose.” He spread his hands wide, and when Katsuki looked, there were swirls of inky black opening all around him. More portals. Which most likely meant the League of Assholes was on their way here too.

“What do you want with me?” Katsuki asked, discreetly trying to move away from the portals.

“Nothing, anymore.” The man seemed to pause after he said it, though, and then tilted his head to the side. “Tomura, I want you to take Bakugou with you. Uninjured, if you can.”

“Sensei, what—” Shigaraki rasped.

“This particular successor is clever to have avoided me for so long, I’ll give them that. The game is clear now—it’s not hide and seek, it’s war, and you, Bakugou Katsuki, will be my countermove. Keep him, Tomura, for me, and for you. Keep him until the successor reveals themself.”

“Sensei, what are you doing?” There was a hint of desperation in Shigaraki’s voice now. Katsuki could hear it.

But also, Katsuki had all the information he needed. Confused as he was about a lot of things, he knew one thing was true: They were going to try to take him alive, which meant he had a fighting chance, and he was going to fucking take it.

“I’m paving the future for you, Shigaraki Tomura,” the man said, right before All Might crashed into him.

And now for the world’s most dangerous game of keep-away, where Katsuki’s most valuable weapon was range. Frankenstein Wannabe and Misty Bastard were both still out from earlier, and all the others, with the exception of the person with the giant magnet, whose Quirk was an unknown for Katsuki, were close-ranged fighters.

So, threats.

Obviously the blond guy with the muscle augmenting Quirk was a problem—he hadn’t moved yet, but considering the way his muscle fibers were bunching up around him, he was going to be fast and strong. Shigaraki was the least of his worries at the moment, considering his Sensei or whatever had told him not to kill Katsuki. Mask Man was the biggest issue—he had that imprisonment Quirk that he’d used to take Katsuki in the first place, and if he touched him, everything would be over for Katsuki. Lizard Guy seemed to fight primarily with a sword, same thing with the crazy chick who seemed to fight with a knife. Moderate threats, then. Their boss had said to take Katsuki uninjured if they could, but these were villains. Logically, Katsuki knew the longer this fight went on, the more likely it was they wouldn’t mind maiming him to get him to go with them.

Fucking hell.

Everyone sprang into action at once, immediately putting Katsuki on the defensive. He dodged and weaved, trying to get hits in when he could, trying to get farther away when he could.

Katsuki was usually pretty confident in himself. He was the best, and always had been. The flashiest Quirk, the highest grades. He never lost a fight—had yet to lose a fight. But Katsuki also wasn’t fucking stupid, and he could admit when he was outclassed. He didn’t have a lot of time to look at the other fight happening next to him, but when he did…

Katsuki wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t blinded by childhood ideology and hero-worship. He could admit when All Might was outclassed too.

When All Might took a hit and all his muscle fell away, leaving nothing but a thin, emaciated man in his place, all of the fighting around Katsuki paused, even the villains staring in shock. All Might was…weak. All his power was just gone.

Gone, because he was protecting Katsuki.

There was a flash of movement to Katsuki’s left, barely perceptible. None of the others noticed it, too fixated on All Might. Katsuki turned his head, his gaze meeting a mismatched one.

Fucking Icy-Hot.

The bastard in question raised his hands, fingers flicking a little awkwardly over the words. Trust us. Propel yourself up.

Katsuki stared, wide-eyed, as Icy-Hot grimaced and dropped from sight. What felt like an eternity later but was probably only a matter of seconds, the wall Icy-Hot had been behind broke, and ice was bursting out of it, a giant ramp forming out of it. Katsuki continued to stare, making eye contact with Icy-Hot, then Ponytail, who was behind him, propelling their makeshift horse forward with some sort of bazooka. Four-Eyes was on the other side, running in time with Todoroki’s ice. Above them all was Kirishima.

Kirishima.

They wanted him to leave. To run away like a coward, to let All Might die here, alone and weak. They wanted him to leave his hero behind.

Katsuki looked over his shoulder, making eye contact with the hero in question. He smiled. It was a ghost of the smile he wore in his other form, but it was still the smile of a hero. Still All Might’s smile.

And All Might never lost.

“Bakugou, come on!” Kirishima shouted, hand stretched out behind him. An offer.

Run, or fight. And Katsuki already knew he was outclassed.

He straightened his body, palms aimed directly at the ground, and let off his largest blast.

Chapter Text

Izuku woke up to the Vestiges of the previous wielders of One for All crowding around the room he shared with Yoarashi. Izuku startled immediately, falling off his futon and onto the floor, legs tangling with his sheets as tumbled. Despite knowing what the Vestiges were now, it didn’t make them any less terrifying to wake up to at the cusp of dawn, judging by the light pouring through his window.

“Midoriya-kun?” Yoarashi asked, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “You okay?”

“I’m, uh, I’m fine!” Izuku squeaked, sparing him a glance before his gaze snapped back to the eight Vestiges loitering around him. “I just, uh. Bad dream, you know? I’m okay now though!”

Yoarashi blinked sleepily at him for a moment, then apparently decided that Izuku’s dream wasn’t worth losing sleep over. “’Kay,” he murmured, rolling back over. He was snoring in an instant.

Izuku looked between the Vestiges, a feeling of dread slowly settling in his stomach. “Last time, you came because something was happening to Yagi-sensei,” he whispered, careful not to awake Yoarashi again. “He was okay, though. He’s okay now, too, right?”

The Vestiges were silent.

“You talked last time,” Izuku said, fighting to keep his voice even and low. “You talked last time. Why aren’t you talking now?”

One of them reached out to him, and Izuku flinched away. The shadowy mass that vaguely resembled a hand paused in the air, and then settled in his curls, stroking through them in a way that reminded him of his mother. Comforting, soothing, loving. The shade pulled their hand away too soon, though, and when Izuku blinked, they were all gone.

They hadn’t said anything.

Izuku clutched at his shirt, fingers fisting in the fabric.

They hadn’t said anything.

What did it mean?

A soft knock sounded at his door, followed by an even softer, “Midoriya-san?”

Izuku snapped his gaze to the door. Him? Why did someone want to talk to him? What were the odds that whoever was on the other side of that door and the Vestiges were unconnected?

“Midoriya-san?” the voice asked again, very softly. Izuku thought it might be Kinetic, but he wasn’t entirely sure. He scrambled to his feet and made his way to the door before throwing it open.

He was right. It was Kinetic on the other side, rust-colored hair unusually unkempt, bags outlining his orange eyes like he hadn’t slept enough the night before. Any hope that Izuku might have still held that the Vestiges and Kinetic’s appearance at his door were unrelated was dashed as soon as Izuku took in his expression. Lips downturned, eyes mournful, brow drawn together. It wasn’t an expression Izuku had ever seen his carefree teacher wearing, and he didn’t ever want to see it again.

“Is something wrong?” Izuku asked, though he already knew something had to be.

Kinetic’s gaze flicked over to Yoarashi and back to Izuku. He tried for a smile, but the expression landed somewhere closer to grimace. “Step out with me for a minute?”

“Okay,” Izuku said, and he stepped outside of his room, closing the door softly behind him. Kinetic set a hard pace down the hall, but Izuku kept up easily, until they ended up in a large lounge area that must be reserved for the teachers. Kinetic led him to a couch and an armchair, motioning for him to sit.

Izuku took the couch, bunching his pants in his fists as he did. Kinetic took the armchair next to him. They sat in silence for a long moment. Long enough for Izuku to start fidgeting uncomfortably in his seat. Long enough that Izuku almost prompted Kinetic to talk again when Kinetic turned to him instead. “There was a large-scale villain attack in Kamino Ward last night. The villain was apprehended by All Might, thankfully, but there were a lot of casualties.” All Might. No, it couldn’t be— “Your uncle was caught in the destruction and he’s been hospitalized.”

Izuku closed his eyes. That was what he and Yagi had wrote on their emergency contact forms—that Yagi was his uncle, so that if something happened while Izuku was at Shiketsu, he would know…

“A hero got in contact with the school to get in contact with you,” Kinetic said. “They called us on the landline here.” He cast Izuku an extremely sorrowful glance. “You and your uncle are close, yeah?”

Izuku took a deep breath in, held it, and then let it out. “Yeah,” he breathed. “He helped me get into Shiketsu.”

After a moment, Izuku felt Kinetic’s hand settle onto his shoulder, warm over the fabric of his shirt. “The hero that got in contact with us left information for you. Hospital, room, all of that. He even left his number for you to contact him. Apparently he knows your uncle too, so he wants to stay around. Here, Midoriya-san.”

A piece of paper was pressed delicately into his hands and he unfolded it, blinking back tears while he read it. There was a name, a hero’s name—Gran Torino—scrawled across the top, followed by a phone number, then an address, then a hospital room number. Gran Torino, Izuku thought, running his thumb over the name. He didn’t recognize it, but something sounded familiar about it all the same, tickling at the back of his mind.

“Am I—” Izuku took a deep breath, tried not to cry. “Can I go and see him?”

Kinetic looked at him with sad, sad eyes for a long moment. “Yeah, Midoriya-san. I’ll take you back to the school today. Go ahead and pack your things to leave. And feel free to stay gone as long as you need to.”

“Thank you, Kinetic-sensei.”

“Of course, kid,” Kinetic said, and he lifted his hand from Izuku’s shoulder to ruffle his hair instead.

It was on the train to Kamino that Izuku finally watched the news clips. The week had apparently been a fiasco from start to finish, while Izuku and the others had been secluded and training in their mountainside camp.

Ironically enough, most of the attacks centered around the summer training camp that UA students had been at. The League of Villains had attacked with the objective to kidnap Kacchan—and wasn’t that something, villains had wanted to kidnap Kacchan, Izuku’s former childhood friend, and he had known nothing about it—but apparently they were willing to attack and kill anyone they came across. Ragdoll of the Wild Wild Pussycats was missing. Kacchan was missing. A number of other students were injured in the attacks, mostly due to a villain with a mustard gas producing Quirk. A child, under legal guardianship of Mandalay of the Wild Wild Pussycats, was dead.

UA had held a press conference, where they discussed the events of the training camp. UA took a lot of heat, not just for the injured and missing students, but also for the dead child even though the guardianship and protection of said child had not been under their jurisdiction.

Izuku, for his part, cried every time an article mentioned the boy’s name, or showed his face. Izumi Kouta.

It was illogical. It was so illogical, and Izuku knew it, but he couldn’t help but feel…maybe if he hadn’t been hiding. Maybe if he had tried to get in to UA instead of Shiketsu, maybe if he went there…he could have stopped it. He could have saved the boy’s life. The villain that killed him had a muscle augmentation Quirk, after all.

Izuku also had a muscle augmentation Quirk.

Izuku got around to all media regarding All Might last. His fight with the villain had ben broadcasted all over the news networks. The fact that he was in critical condition in a hospital was broadcasted all over the news networks, too, but Izuku had already known that much. The villain responsible for putting him there had been detained but not killed, and he currently resided in Tartarus. The news was having a heyday speculating about his Quirk. Izuku, on the other hand, already knew what it was called.

All for One.

Izuku steeled himself, and he watched the video of the fight last.

At the beginning, All Might and All for One were matched blow for blow. They were both occasionally distracted by the other fight going on between Kacchan and the entire League of Villains—and wasn’t Kacchan really something else, to be able to dodge blows from the entire League of Villains by himself? It was obvious they were trying to avoid seriously harming him, but still, it was impressive. For the most part, though, All Might and All for One fought exclusively with one another, trading blows back and forth, until All Might was out of time with his hero form.

Izuku couldn’t hold back the tears when he saw that—All Might, Yagi, his mentor, standing before the world in his true form, emaciated and weak, all because he had passed One for All along to Izuku. Izuku, who couldn’t even be there to fight at his mentor’s side, because he was too busy being, what? Safe? Did his own safety even matter that much?

But it did. Izuku had chosen Shiketsu. Chosen it because it was safer, and now?

Izuku forced himself to watch the rest of the video with tears in his eyes. He watched as ice crackled into existence on the screen and Kacchan blasted himself into the air. He watched as the League of Villains disappeared into a portal, as All Might, emaciated and frail, continued to take hit after hit All for One threw at him. He watched as All for One put a hole through All Might’s stomach, and then All Might, in turn, smashed him with what looked like the last dregs of One for All.

At the end of it all, All Might stood, one broken hand plastered over the bleeding hole in his stomach, the other hand held high in the air. A fist, thin and frail. A final stand.

The video cut out before the paramedics arrived on scene.

Izuku stared at the blank screen of his phone for a long time after that, processing everything that had just happened. Processing the fact that he was going to the hospital to see All Might, Yagi, his mentor, his childhood hero. To see him as he, quite possibly, took his final breaths.

That wound was serious, after all.

Izuku’s phone rang, and he jolted, fumbling with the device to see who was calling. His mom. Oh, that made sense. She’d probably just woken up and seen his text. He answered it, and was immediately greeted with frantic, motherly screeching.

“Oh, Izuku, honey I’m so sorry! I remember you telling me about the man that was helping you train to get into a hero course and I remember meeting him that one time too but to think that he got caught up in that Kamino business is horrible, just horrible, and of course you can go see him but you have to text me the hospital address and of course also you can stay here tonight and baby—”

“Mom,” Izuku said, his bottom lip quivering a bit. “Please, breathe for me.”

She let out an enormous, shaky sigh that perfectly encapsulated how Izuku felt. After a moment passed, she asked, “So you left your training camp early?”

“Yeah. I’m actually on the way to the hospital now.” Izuku switched apps, opening up the messaging one, and sent his mom the address to the hospital.

“How did you know your teacher was in the hospital?” his mom asked, with an impressive sniffle.

“A friend of his contacted me,” Izuku explained, though not without a small wince for the white lie. “They knew I went to Shiketsu High, so I think they knew to try contacting me through the school.” Izuku hesitated for a moment, then added it on. “They’re a pro hero. You remember how I said my mentor worked as a secretary for different pros?”

That cover story had also been Yagi’s idea, right after they’d first started training together. Izuku had needed a way to explain to his mother where he was spending all of his time without saying that All Might was training him. Yagi mentioned that, officially, he was All Might’s personal secretary when he was in his true form and that the same explanation could be used to appease his mom. (“It also explains why a frail man that looks like he could blow over in a particularly strong breeze would know anything about heroics,” Yagi added with a wink, when they’d talked about it. “Because he works closely with heroes, not because he is one.”)

“Yeah, honey. I remember. Is it one of his hero coworkers that called you?”

“Yeah,” Izuku breathed. It wasn’t that far from the truth anyway. Izuku had looked up the name Gran Torino on the train ride too, and found nothing. But somehow, he felt like he knew the name regardless. Maybe Yagi had mentioned it once?

“Oh, baby. This must be so hard for you. Your mentor and All Might, hospitalized in the same incident?”

“It—” Izuku cut himself off, pinching his nose shut with his thumb and forefinger to hide a sniffle. “It is hard,” he finished in a whisper. Harder than you can know, Mom, considering they’re actually the same person.

“Oh, Izuku,” she said, and Izuku could hear the tears in her voice. He felt tears well up in his own eyes in response. “You…take care of yourself, okay?”

“I will,” Izuku said, voice shaky with tears. “I promise I will.”

“Alright, Izuku. Alright.”

They both cried for the rest of the train ride to the hospital.

The hospital was buzzing with staff, patients, and people waiting on loved ones alike. It was easy for Izuku to slip to the ward the mysterious Gran Torino had directed him to relatively unnoticed, especially since the crowds grew thinner and thinner the closer he got to his destination. In the blink of an eye, he found himself walking down the mostly empty hallway that contained All Might’s hospital room, the only other person in the hall an old man, smaller than Izuku, leaning heavily on a gnarled wooden cane.

The old man looked up as Izuku approached, his gaze piercing beneath the black domino mask resting over his eyes. He commanded a presence instantly, so much like how All Might commanded attention wherever he went, so intense that Izuku couldn’t help but pause, his footsteps slowing before he reached the old man.

“You’re Gran Torino, aren’t you?” Izuku asked. “You’re the one that trained him.”

The old man harumphed. “I see all that boasting Toshi did about your smarts wasn’t all for nothing, at least, Midoriya Izuku.”

“So you are Gran Torino,” Izuku whispered.

“Yeah, I am,” he grumbled. “Now come with me, boy. Some introductions are in order.”

Izuku nodded numbly, following behind when the elderly hero led him into the hospital room. Yagi lay behind a curtain that had been pulled, but a few people appeared around the curtain as Izuku and Gran Torino entered. Some of them were impossible not to recognize—Sir Nighteye, as stern and severe as he always appeared, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Principal Nedzu from UA, too, recognizable for the most obvious reasons (being an animal in a suit, mainly). Izuku mused, for a moment, how grim things were for him to meet not one but three pro heroes for the first time and not fanboy in the slightest, but his musings were cut off as a third man appeared, plain in every way, and completely unrecognizable to Izuku.

The plain man immediately strode forward, offering Izuku a hand to shake. “I hope you don’t mind Western greetings,” he said, his voice gentle and lulling in a way that reminded Izuku of a hypnotist. “I’m Tsukauchi Naomasa.”

“I don’t mind them at all,” Izuku said, accepting the hand. “They’ve always struck me as more familiar, in a way. More friendly. I’m Midoriya Izuku, by the way.”

“Oh,” Tsukauchi said, sounding faintly choked up for some reason. Apparently on an impulse, he dropped the handshake to ruffle Izuku’s hair instead. “I see why you and him got along, Midoriya-kun.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Midoriya-san,” Nedzu said, likewise offering Izuku a paw to shake. After a moment of deliberation on how odd that was, Izuku accepted it. “I’m Nedzu, as you most likely knew already.”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Izuku said. “I guess I should have known you would be here, Nedzu-san. I don’t know why I wasn’t thinking of it before, but Yagi-san works at UA, doesn’t he?”

“Yes,” Nedzu mused, his expression softening slightly. “Though Toshinori-kun and I have been friends for a long time.”

Sir Nighteye didn’t offer an introduction, just gazed down at Izuku with an unreadable expression before adjusting his glasses and looking away. Izuku knew a dismissal when he saw one, but he didn’t mind. He’d come here for someone else, after all, not to meet and greet pro heroes and…whoever Tsukauchi was.

Izuku crossed hesitantly to the other side of the bed, looking down on Yagi as he laid there, thin and frail, connected to a respirator and several breathing tubes, looking worse than he ever had when Izuku had seen him before. He eyed the others first, and when no one moved, he claimed the vacated seat next to his mentor’s hospital bed. After another moment, Izuku took his hand with both of his, too.

A hand landed on Izuku’s shoulder, gentle and warm. Somehow, without even looking, Izuku could tell the hand belonged to Tsukauchi. “We’ll give you a moment alone, if you’d like,” he murmured.

“Thank you,” Izuku said, his voice cracking as he started to lose the battle with his tears.

Tsukauchi squeezed his shoulder before pulling away. There was the sound of shuffling footsteps, and then a door opening and closing, and then everyone was gone.

Izuku broke, tears pouring out of his eyes like his tear ducts were a dam that had just burst.

“Yagi-sensei, I don’t know if you can hear me,” Izuku said, once the crying had abated enough he could talk, “but if you can, please. Please don’t go yet. It’s not fair of me to ask—I know it’s not fair—but I’m just…I’m so lost, Yagi-sensei. I don’t know what I want to be, or who I want to be.” He sniffled rather impressively, wiping tears out of his eyes with his sleeve. “I don’t even have a hero name picked out.”

Izuku paused for a moment, taking a few shaky breaths before he continued. “I know Gran Torino and the others probably didn’t go through all the effort to get me here just so I could see you. I mean, they did, but I know there’s something else too. I don’t think they even need to tell me what it is.” Izuku took another deep breath in, then let it out. “The League of Villains took Kacchan. They attacked Todoroki Shouto and Iida Tenya earlier in the year too. I know they’re looking for me. I know they’re looking for me at UA. All for One might be in prison, but it doesn’t mean they’ll just stop looking. If anything, it means…it means they’ll look harder.

“I don’t know what to do, Yagi-sensei. Hiding out…hiding out was such a great plan, you know? But I guess that’s the problem, isn’t it? No great plan survives contact with the enemy.” Izuku clenched Yagi’s hand a little tighter. “My plan didn’t survive contact with the enemy. I might be safe, but who’s not? Everyone’s survived so far, but for how long? How long until All for One decides to kill someone else on his manhunt for me?”

Yagi, of course, didn’t have any answers for him.

“I don’t know what to do,” Izuku whispered. “I don’t know what to do, Yagi-sensei. I don’t—I don’t want you to die. I can’t—”

If Yagi was somehow listening, he didn’t find out what Izuku couldn’t do, because he never got around to saying it.

“I should have been there,” Izuku whispered through his tears. “I should have been there. I should have…”

Several hours later, Izuku sat in a secluded corner of the hospital with Gran Torino, Nedzu, and Tsukauchi. All four of them were nursing cups of coffee (or tea, in Nedzu’s case) and not saying much of anything. Nighteye had remained with Yagi.

Izuku, for his part, waited for one of the others to talk. They had started this meeting, after all.

“Everyone here knows about One for All,” Gran Torino said.

Izuku nodded his acknowledgement.

They lapsed into silence for several long minutes. “We wanted to discuss the future with you, Midoriya-san,” Nedzu eventually said, heading off the discussion.

Izuku paused, lowering the cup he’d been about to drink from. He clutched it in both hands, staring down into its murky depths. “What about it?”

“Toshinori’s survival is uncertain right now,” Gran Torino said, voice gruff. “Whether or not he pulls through is up in the air. Unfortunately, All for One did survive. He’s incarcerated, hopefully forever, but he’s alive, and his successor is too.”

“We have reason to suspect that UA students are being targeted,” Nedzu continued, picking up right where Gran Torino left off.

“I suspected as much too,” Izuku said, still clenching his coffee in a death grip. “As soon as I saw the news for Hosu, I thought…”

“You thought…?” Nedzu prompted.

Izuku took a sip, barely tasting the coffee as it went down. “Stain was supposedly working with the League of Villains. Even if he wasn’t, there were noumu all over the city that night—Yagi-sensei told me about them, the noumu—which meant that Hosu was likely a targeted area for some reason. Stain targeted three people that night: Native, a pro hero, who was most likely the object of his hero purge for the night; Iida Tenya, the younger brother of pro hero Ingenium and third place winner at the UA Sports Festival; and Todoroki Shouto, youngest son of Endeavour, second place winner at the UA Sports Festival. Both Iida-san and Todoroki-san have very powerful Quirks. If I were All for One, I don’t think it would be too much of a stretch at all to reach the conclusion that one of them might bear All Might’s legacy.”

There was silence following his words, followed only by Tsukauchi’s sigh. “Technically, this information is confidential, but the media already leaked it. In Todoroki-kun’s report, he mentioned some rather disturbing things that Stain said to him. Specifically, Stain had warned Todoroki-kun that he and Bakugou Katsuki—the boy that had been taken by the League of Villains—were targets.”

“I know who Bakugou Katsuki is,” Izuku said, very quietly, still speaking more to the coffee in his hands than the three adults around him. “We were childhood friends.”

Gran Torino made an interested noise. “All for One mentioned something about articles disappearing from a sludge villain attack when he was discussing his logic for why he believed this Bakugou Katsuki could be Toshi’s successor. Know anything about that?”

Izuku looked up in alarm, clenching the Styrofoam cup of coffee tightly between his hands. “He—that—he thought that Ka—er, Katsuki-kun—was the successor because of those articles?”

Gran Torino sighed. “It seems that way.”

“No,” Izuku murmured. “No, it can’t…”

“I know it’s sad,” Gran Torino said, “but you’ve—”

“No, you don’t understand,” Izuku said, shaking his head vehemently. “I asked Yagi-sensei to pull those articles. To hide my trail. I never thought that it would lead him to believe that Kacchan was…”

“That wasn’t your fault, Midoriya-kun,” Tsukauchi said, leaning forward with wide eyes. “You didn’t cause All for One to take Bakugou-kun. He did that of his own accord. It had nothing to do with what you did in the past.”

Izuku knew that was true, in an objective sense. He knew he didn’t control what All for One thought or did. But still, he couldn’t help but think that he was somehow responsible, that if he…

Izuku sighed, circling the rim of his cup with a fingertip. “I met All Might for the first time when I was fourteen. I’d had a rough day at school—” He’d been told to kill himself, actually, which extended a little bit beyond the realm of rough. “—and I took a different route home than usual. I was distracted, so I didn’t notice when a villain emerged behind me. A sludge villain. He tried to take control of my body by entering it through my mouth, and since I had no way to defend myself or escape, I…was sure to die.

“All Might arrived at the last minute and saved me. I was unconscious from oxygen deprivation for a little bit, but when I woke up, I realized I’d been saved by All Might, and I freaked out. A lot.” He awarded his coffee a small rueful smile. “He’d always been my hero, you know, and I wanted to ask him…” Izuku trailed off, looking around the room for a moment before reengaging his coffee in a staring contest. “I was Quirkless. So I wanted to ask him if I could still be a hero, even without a Quirk.”

“That reckless fool,” Gran Torino breathed, though there was an edge of fondness to his tone. “He offered it to you right then, didn’t he?”

Izuku shook his head. “He told me to consider a career in the police force.” Tsukauchi snorted at that, which confirmed the “Tsukauchi is a police officer” theory Izuku had developed ever since he mentioned Todoroki’s police report from the Hosu incident. “He left after that, and I was going to go home—I don’t know if I was going to attempt to be a Quirkless hero anyway or finally look into other careers—but I heard explosions and I went there instead.”

Tsukauchi frowned. “You ran…towards danger?”

Izuku allowed himself a small smile. “I am a teenager, you know, Tsukauchi-san. We aren’t exactly known for our particularly wise decision-making skills.” Tsukauchi snorted again, and Izuku continued. “But, yes, I guess I did run towards danger. I was mostly just intending to observe, I think, take notes on the fight, but when I got there, all the pro heroes were just standing around. Their Quirks weren’t suited to fighting the sludge villain—the same one that attacked me earlier, he ended up escaping—but there was still more they could have done. I…wasn’t going to get involved, but then Kacchan made eye contact with me, and… He looked like he needed help, and I remembered how it felt, and I just…jumped in.” There was silence, so Izuku took a break, sipping his coffee. “I don’t think I accomplished much, but I did help him breathe for a few seconds. Afterwards, All Might saved us both, despite having gone past his time limit that day already.”

Izuku was met with more silence. “He stopped me on my way home and offered me his Quirk then,” he explained, in a quieter voice. “I still…don’t really know exactly why. I don’t know if it was pity, or legitimately seeing something in me that even I couldn’t see at the time, but I’d like to think it was the latter.”

“What made you decide to attend Shiketsu High?” Nedzu asked, after a long moment of silence. Izuku looked over at him. “I’m curious about your reasoning.”

“A couple of things,” Izuku said. “First and foremost was the potential existence of All for One, though.”

“Toshinori told you about him?” Gran Torino asked.

“Yeah,” Izuku said, sipping his coffee. “It was about a month after we started training together. He told me he thought he was dead, though, but that he’d thwarted death before and could do it again, even if it was unlikely. I don’t think he would have passed One for All onto anyone if he legitimately believed All for One was still a threat.”

Tsukauchi nodded at that. “He wouldn’t have.”

Izuku nodded, re-evaluating Tsukauchi’s relationship with Yagi in his mind. He spoke about Izuku’s mentor like they were best friends or maybe even lovers. Maybe, Izuku mused, almost absently, Yagi-sensei told me to consider a career with the police because of his admiration for Tsukauchi-san. “I had other reasons, too. Kacchan—well, Katsuki-kun, I should say—he made it very clear that he was trying for UA. Considering he knew I was Quirkless before, I thought…he would get really suspicious of me, and that could cause problems with keeping the origin of my Quirk a secret.”

“That is a fair assessment,” Nedzu said, nodding as he sipped his tea. “Do you think it would still apply, now?”

Izuku hummed. “His suspicions would still apply, definitely. I like to think I’d be better at handling them, now that I’ve gotten practice doing so with people that are going to be less intense about unearthing my deepest, darkest secrets and all that.”

Nedzu only hummed in response. It was a contemplative hum, which caused Izuku’s eyebrow to rise curiously.

“The final linchpin of my decision,” he continued, deciding to ignore Nedzu for the moment, “was preparation time.”

“Ah, yes,” Nedzu said. “Shiketsu’s entrance exam takes place after UA’s. Wisely, the administration of your school wants to give those that weren’t admitted at UA a second chance at a top hero course.”

“Right,” Izuku said. “The training plan Yagi-sensei worked out for me aligned with me receiving One for All on the day of UA’s entrance exam. Considering I broke my arm the first time I used it, I think it’s for the best that I had already made up my mind about attending Shiketsu instead.”

“You broke your arm?” Gran Torino asked, his voice more like a bark. “One for All broke your bones?”

“Yeah,” Izuku said, before he remembered how bad that sounded. “Only the one time, though! The Quirk counselor at the hospital told me I wasn’t regulating power output at all, which caused the issue! I was really just kind of inexperienced at the time, and I think Yagi-sensei didn’t really know…how to instruct me either? That sounds bad! I don’t mean that to insult him! I just mean, I think it works different for us? And because of the stockpiling factor, the Quirk I have is actually more powerful than his, so it does make sense in a way…”

Izuku trailed off as Gran Torino raised his hand in a pleading way. “As long as you’re not still going about breaking bones, boy, everything should be okay.”

Was he worried about me? Was that why…?

Huh. That was unexpectedly kind for a gruff man that didn’t even know Izuku—well, know him in person—before today.

“No bones are being broken here,” Izuku said, raising his hands as if to say, see? “I’ve got it down. I can even do long-ranged attacks, as of yesterday.”

“As I understand it, long ranged attacks should not be possible with a muscle augmentation Quirk, which is essentially what One for All is,” Nedzu said, sipping his tea.

Izuku laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “So I’ve been told. It’s not like…using the Quirk itself to reach longer distances. What I do is displace air with a lot of force to create wind. Since the displacement is relative to the direction I flick my fingers, or punch, I can simulate long ranged attacks, like I have a wind Quirk. Or, rather, a wind cannon Quirk. I got the idea from Yagi-sensei himself, actually. When he saved Kacchan and I from the sludge villain, he actually displaced the wind enough with the force of his punch that he caused it to rain.”

Tsukauchi and Gran Torino blinked at him. Nedzu smiled pleasantly, setting his tea down. “Do you do well in physics classes, Midoriya-san?”

Izuku smiled pleasantly back at him. “I haven’t taken physics yet, sir.”

Nedzu hummed happily. “I do love how very resourceful the Quirkless can be.”

“I’m not Quirkless anymore, sir.”

“Not in body, no. In spirit, though, you certainly are.” He sipped his tea. “I never said it was a bad thing, Midoriya-san.”

“You’d be the first to say so.”

“Well, it is the bold that write history. And there is nothing bolder than those that dare to rise above the station society sets for them. You and I are the same, that way.”

“Ah, flattery,” Izuku said, considering Nedzu. Nedzu’s eyes glittered dangerously. Here’s to crazy ideas, he thought, while lifting his coffee like it was a toast. They’d gotten him this far, after all. “You don’t need to butter me up, first, Nedzu-san. If you want me to attend UA, you might as well just say so.”

Something in Nedzu’s grin sharpened. “Wonderful,” he said. “Just wonderful. It’s a shame Toshinori-kun found you first. I would have loved to have you for myself.”

“Who says you can’t?” Izuku asked, raising his eyebrows as he sipped his coffee again. “I don’t recall rejecting your offer yet.”

Nedzu laughed. It was a sharp, animalistic sound. Tsukauchi and Gran Torino exchanged horrified looks in the background, but Izuku was in too deep in this game to back out now.

“Very well, Midoriya-san. Here’s the offer I want to make you. Earlier this morning I received an email from a concerned parent, following the events of the summer training camp attack. That parent has stated that, under no circumstances, will their son be returning to UA this semester. Their son has, understandably, decided that the risks that accompany attendance at UA and hero work in general are not worth his life. He’s transferring to another school for the next semester. That means that Seat 19 is open in Class 1-A. I would like for you to fill it.”

“That sounds great, for you,” Izuku said, sipping his coffee. “I earned the highest score on the Shiketsu entrance exam. I’m top of my class at Shiketsu, a class representative... Convincing me to transfer to UA—specifically into that class at UA—would bring great publicity for you. Meanwhile, all this does for me, technically, is put me in danger I’ve thus far been careful to avoid. So why should I stop doing that now to pad your public image?”

“Ooh,” Nedzu said. “It’s not everyday people willingly sit down to debate with me, Midoriya-san. Very well. I can make a convincing argument for you. A man that lives completely alone at the top of the mountain with very few people even knowing he’s there is a very safe man in one sense of the word. Robbers and ruffians alike would have very little business being on his mountain, let alone stealing from or hurting him. However, were something to happen to the man, either a natural disaster or a stray ruffian, who would know?”

“So in your metaphor, I’m the man on the mountain, safe in my shroud of loneliness.” Izuku sipped his coffee in tandem with Nedzu sipping his tea. “A fine metaphor, except I could always…uh, invite people to live with me on my mountain.” He winced slightly. Points off for his delivery, he supposed.

Tsukauchi and Gran Torino, at this point, looked understandably confused. Nedzu sipped his tea and hummed. “Would you be willing to do that, Midoriya Izuku? Being Quirkless and young in this day and age has its consequences. Six out of ten Quirkless people will take their own lives before reaching the age of twenty-five, after all. What circumstances bred you, Midoriya-san? I imagine they aren’t good ones, considering all records of where you attended school before Shiketsu have been suspiciously compromised.”

“That’s the past,” Izuku said, feigning nonchalance. “I’m talking about telling someone at Shiketsu, not someone I once knew.”

“The point still stands,” Nedzu said. “Could you see yourself trusting someone that fully, Midoriya-san? Do you know your friends well enough to know they wouldn’t turn on you with the information? Do you know your teachers well enough? They are pro heroes, yes, but not all pro heroes are good and trustworthy. I, for one, wouldn’t be willing to vouch for anyone teaching at Shiketsu right now. I doubt Gran Torino or even Toshinori-kun would, either.”

“I would trust my friends at the very least not to turn on me randomly.”

“But can you ask them to die for you? Can you ask them to get involved in a brewing war they have no part in when they could stay safe and happy on the sidelines?”

Izuku couldn’t, and judging by the gleam in Nedzu’s eyes, he knew he couldn’t either.

“Can you really be content, remaining safe and isolated at Shiketsu?” Izuku looked away, taking his bottom lip between his teeth, unsure. Nedzu sighed. “It’s taken me a single day to realize something, Midoriya-san. The reason Toshinori-kun chose you—you said you don’t really know what it is—but I can surmise this much: He chose you because he sees the same madness in you that he has in himself. You do have to be a little mad to consider a career as a pro hero, after all.” Nedzu hummed thoughtfully. “Regardless of all the benefits that may come with the job, at the end of the day, those that call themselves heroes are really just martyrs, sacrificial lambs kept well fed and pretty until the day they have to go to slaughter so everyone else can be kept happy. That’s all I am. That’s all you are. That’s why Toshinori-kun is in this very hospital right now.”

Straight for the kill, then. Species aside, one thing was certain about Nedzu—he was a predator. And Izuku couldn’t even be upset, because he’d asked for reasons, and he was getting them.

“The burden that’s been placed on your shoulders isn’t fair. You know that better than most people would.” Nedzu’s voice was softer now. “You know what I mean, don’t you Midoriya-san?”

“I do.”

“Then say it, Midoriya-san. Let’s all be realistic with ourselves here.”

“You’re asking me to protect your students,” Izuku said, taking a deep breath. “The life of any person is forfeit, but no other humans quite understand that truth like the Quirkless do. That’s why you made that distinction earlier when you were talking to me, isn’t it?”

“Nedzu-san, I think this is going too far,” Gran Torino broke in. “He’s just a boy.”

“I’m not,” Izuku said, sipping his coffee. “With all due respect, I’m not just a boy. I gave up the right to claim that a long time ago, when I accepted One for All. I knew exactly what legacy I was inheriting.”

“Still,” Tsukauchi protested. “Isn’t this—you can’t just give up your life because other people are in danger, Midoriya-san! I can’t allow you to do that.”

“I’m not giving up my life,” Izuku said. “I’m giving up my safety. There’s a difference between the two. There has already been at least one casualty on my behalf. Izumi Kouta. A boy, killed because the League of Villains was looking for me. I won’t just sit by and let that happen twice.” The mood in the room instantly darkened, and both Tsukauchi and Gran Torino ceased their protests.

Nedzu nodded gravely, and Izuku eyed him. He considered.

“I’m not altering my plan completely just yet,” Izuku told him. “I don’t want to transfer until next year, for one thing. I was planning on going into underground heroics before, and I’m still going to do that.”

“Most of the wielders of One for All were underground heroes, if they were licensed professionals at all,” Gran Torino said.

Izuku blinked at him in surprise. “I…didn’t know that.”

He scratched the back of his head, expression dour. “Yeah, it was Toshi that started that Symbol of Peace nonsense. Before it was just about stayin’ alive as long as you could then dumpin’ your Quirk on some unsuspecting fool that happened to be in the wrong place and the wrong time. That’s what happened to Nana, anyway.”

Izuku nearly laughed at that. “Would you tell me more stories about them, sir? Yagi-sensei, Nana-san, the others?”

“Askin’ an old man to tell you stories, boy? You got a death wish?”

“I’m beginning to think he does,” Tsukauchi mused softly. “He did go toe to toe with Nedzu in an intellectual debate a moment ago. And wait until Sasaki-kun hears about his underground aspirations.”

Izuku didn’t know exactly who Sasaki was, but he could piece together that it was probably Sir Nighteye. “Well, I wouldn’t want to be underground forever,” he said. “I have plans, after all, if I live long enough to see them through. I can’t enact all of them from the shadows.”

Nedzu’s ears twitched at that. “I have a condition for you also, Midoriya-san.”

Izuku raised an eyebrow. “Imposing a condition upon me after already coercing me into transferring to your school seems a little excessive, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely,” Nedzu agreed cheerily, “but that won’t stop me from doing it anyway. Your free period will be spent in private lessons with me.”

Izuku blinked. “Nedzu-san, under no circumstances would that be an unpleasant condition for me. Actually, I’m really flattered. Do you take on personal students often? You must, you did mention wanting to mentor me earlier. Still though, I would never turn down private lessons from any pro! Especially not you. When it comes to schematics and planning, no one is better than you. Some of the raids you’ve planned are so legendary that—”

Gran Torino cleared his throat, and Izuku snapped his jaw shut with a muffled “sorry.” Nedzu, for his part, though, looked amused. “There’s another reason we wanted to meet with you, aside from UA,” he said, pulling what appeared to be an envelope out of the breast pocket of his jacket. He handed it to Izuku, and he set his coffee down to accept it. Izuku flipped it over, rubbing over the large, slightly sloppy handwriting on the other side. Young Midoriya. Izuku already didn’t like where this was going.

“Toshi wanted me to give that to you,” Gran Torino said. “Handed it off to me before he went to battle with vague instructions and a grim face. Heroes.” He scoffed, and Izuku kindly didn’t point out that he was also a hero. “He wanted me to give it to you if he died. He’s still alive, obviously, but even if he makes it through this—he might not be…fully himself…for a while. You’ve got that Provisional Licensing Exam coming up, right, boy?” Izuku nodded. “Right. Well, I think reading it might bring you some closure. So you can perform at your best and all of that.”

“Okay,” Izuku whispered, clutching it to his chest.

Gran Torino stood, clapping Izuku on his shoulder. “Alright, boy, Don’t read it right now. You might want to be alone. Nedzu-san, a word with you outside, please.”

Nedzu nodded serenely and got up, pausing to pat Izuku on his knee. “I really am sorry, Midoriya-san. I know that I was unfair.”

“I asked you to be unfair, remember?” Izuku said, still clutching the letter close. “It’s not anything I can’t handle, sir.”

Nedzu’s eyes glittered with something akin to sadness and understanding. “All the same,” he said, and then he brushed off his vest and followed Gran Torino out of the door.

“Midoriya-kun.”

Izuku looked up at the last person in the room, as Tsukauchi came to stand over him. After a moment, Tsukauchi gripped his shoulder with one hand, squeezing lightly. “It’s Detective Tsukauchi, by the way. Just so you know.”

“Oh,” Izuku said. “That’s interesting to know. I’d worked out that you were on the police force already, but…a detective. That’s cool.”

“Is it?” Tsukauchi asked, the tired set of his eyebrows lifting slightly in amusement.

“Sure,” Izuku said, nodding with his own assessment. “Yeah! Detectives probably have the coolest job on the police force! I mean, apprehending criminals is probably thrilling, but you get to solve puzzles. You put in a lot of the work that leads to someone eventually being brought down. Wait—is that how you know Yagi-sensei? Through work?”

Tsukauchi laughed, his eyes crinkling at the edges as he did. “Actually, I met Toshinori-kun because All Might wasn’t doing his incident resolution paperwork properly. I was new to work at the time, so I took on the task of tracking All Might down to reprimand him myself. As it turns out, All Might is a difficult man to pin down a meeting time for.” He rolled his eyes good naturedly. “So, I ended up having to talk to his secretary, Yagi Toshinori, instead.”

Izuku laughed softly at that too. “He did tell me once that he posed as his own secretary when he was in his true form.”

Tsukauchi grinned. “It was a fine solution, I think. Except the first time I ever met Yagi Toshinori, the man kept disappearing during lunch then returning minutes later. His disappearances coincided rather coincidentally with All Might sightings in the area.”

Izuku snorted. “Yagi-sensei never did excel at subtlety, did he?”

“Certainly not,” Tsukauchi said, sounding fond. “I am a detective, though. He should have known I would see through it all.”

“He should have,” Izuku agreed quietly, fondly.

A moment of silence passed.

“He’s my best friend, you know,” Tsukauchi said, to break it. “I know that probably seems odd, considering our differing life experiences and professions and ages and everything, but I would trust him with my life. I would do anything he asked of me, as long as I could. The same goes for you, you know.”

“That’s—” Izuku started, but he broke off when Tsukauchi handed him a pristine-looking business card.

“Call anytime, for anything,” Tsukauchi said. “I mean that. You have my support, as long as I can give it.”

“Thank you,” Izuku said softly, clutching the card to his chest too. “You’re all very kind. It—it might be a weird thing to say, but, um. I’m glad. That he had you guys. To help him, especially since…”

Especially since I couldn’t.

Tsukauchi seemed to understand anyway, since he ruffled Izuku’s hair fondly.

(There was a concerning amount of people that regularly ruffled his hair, now that he thought about it. Was it something about his hair specifically? Or were these people that just usually went around ruffling other people’s hair? It was hard to say.)

“Would you like a ride home, Midoriya-kun?” Tsukauchi asked. “I’ll even turn on the lights to get around traffic.”

That startled a laugh out of Izuku, which he then immediately covered up by sputtering and waving his arms. “No—that’s—I couldn’t possibly ask that of you, Tsukauchi-san! I’ll just take the bus! I don’t mind, really!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Tsukauchi said, winking at him. “Public transportation is the one true villain of this country. Come on, Midoriya-kun. I’m driving you home.”

“Ahhh—”

“You can protest if you want, but I won’t listen,” Tsukauchi said.

Izuku didn’t protest further. 

Chapter Text

Izuku said goodbye to everyone at the hospital, including Yagi but excluding Sir Nighteye, who still hadn’t said so much as a word to Izuku (it was okay, really. Izuku understood grief. He wasn’t going to push Nighteye to talk to him, even if Izuku had a thousand questions about his Quirk.) He left in the sleek black sedan Tsukauchi took him to in the parking garage.

“I thought you had police lights,” Izuku said, eying the top of the car.

“I have the super-secret special detective style police lights,” Tsukauchi said.

Izuku raised an eyebrow, but got in the passenger seat of the car like directed. Tsukauchi, completely unprompted, flipped a switch on the roof, and blue and red lights lit up the cabin, flashing through the windshield. Izuku grinned at Tsukauchi. “Impressive.”

“I know, I know. No need to fall on your knees beneath me, or anything,” Tsukauchi said, flipping the lights off and putting the car in reverse.

“No offense, Tsukauchi-san, but isn’t that kind of what the lights are for?”

“Maybe a little bit,” he admitted.

The drive was peaceful, comprised mostly of Tsukauchi telling Izuku old stories about Yagi. Apparently, there was an embarrassing number of times where All Might showed up at a scene, saved the day, and then had to beg clothes off of Tsukauchi to hide his uniform when he deflated.

It was so…characteristic of Yagi. It was so easy to believe he would do something like that it almost hurt.

In turn, Izuku held himself together with Scotch tape and pushpins, and he told Tsukauchi stories about training with Yagi—about how he rode around on a motorized scooter while Izuku ran laps instead of running with him, or the time he’d decided it was a good idea to sit on a fridge in muscle form and have Izuku haul it. Izuku even dragged a laugh out of Tsukauchi describing how Yagi had mother-henned over Izuku after he broke his arm trying his Quirk for the first time.

It was surprisingly easy to talk to Tsukauchi.

(It was less surprising, if one considered how difficult it was to talk about someone with a thousand secrets in the way.)

“Thanks for driving me,” Izuku said, as they pulled up to his mom’s apartment.  

“Don’t mention it,” Tsukauchi said. They sat awkwardly for another moment before Tsukauchi reached out, ruffling his hair again (not that Izuku minded). “I’ll be back in the hospital again tomorrow, if you’re able to stop by again.”

“Actually…” Izuku hesitated. “Would you be willing to update me on the…situation?”

Tsukauchi’s gaze softened. “Yeah. Of course. I’d be happy to, really, Midoriya-kun.”

“Thank you,” Izuku said, offering him a smile.

Tsukauchi nodded back. “Just text me later so I have your cell number. I’ll shoot you a message if anything changes.”

Izuku nodded, reaching for the handle of the door, his bags clutched in his hand. “Thanks for everything, Tsukauchi-san. I guess…I’ll probably see you around?”

Tsukauchi laughed softly. “Hopefully for more pleasant things in the future, but yeah. I’ll see you around, Midoriya-kun.”

Izuku smiled and climbed out of the car, closing the door behind him. He offered Tsukauchi a tiny wave as he slung his duffle over his shoulder. Tsukauchi, in turn, grinned before flashing his siren at Izuku in goodbye. A moment later he pulled out of the rarely used parking space reserved for their apartment, and Izuku took a steadying breath before he made his way up to their unit.

He just knew his mom was probably going to cry as soon as he opened the door, which meant he was probably going to cry too. If he even had any tears left to give.

Izuku fumbled with his keys as he approached the door, until he got to his house key and fit it neatly into the lock before twisting it and opening the door. It was immediately somewhat overwhelming to his relatively sensitive tear ducts—and he’d thought he wouldn’t be able to cry just a moment ago—for no other reason other than that it was home. He should really come back here more often than he does.

“Izuku, baby, is that you?”

Ah, that voice sounded like home too. “Yeah, Mom. It’s me.”

There were some rustling sounds in the kitchen while Izuku hooked the heel of one of his shoes on his finger and pushed it off. It was when he was in the process of removing the other one that his mom rounded the corner to the entrance way, eyes bright with unshed tears and expression pulled tight with worry. Izuku offered her a smile, small but genuine, as he finished tugging off his shoe and opened his arms.

His mom was inside them in an instant, hugging him fiercely. Izuku hunched over a bit to rest his chin on her shoulder, and then immediately burst into tears. Judging by the distinctly wet feeling of his other shoulder, his mom was definitely doing the same.

Some things never did change.

“I’m so sorry about your mentor, honey,” his mom whispered, after they’d both ceased crying. Or, well, mostly ceased crying.

“It’s alright,” Izuku said. “I’m alright. He’s still alive, you know. I still have hope.”

“Well, hope is always on the horizon, isn’t it?” his mom asked, pulling away from the hug with a soft smile.

He knocked his knuckles against her shoulder playfully, wiping at his eyes with his other hands. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you about that.”

“It’s a charming catchphrase, Izuku. You should be proud of it.”

Izuku blushed, rubbing the back of his neck as he did. “I am…but that doesn’t mean I want it used on me.”

His mom laughed softly and pinched his cheek fondly. “It’s the life of a hero, baby. How many times did you run into rooms shouting I AM HERE when you were a kid, after all?”

“Hush, Mom,” Izuku said, knocking her hand away from his face as he did, his cheeks flaming. “We don’t need to talk about what I did when I was a kid.”

“Whatever you say, Small Mighty Boy.”

“Mom.”

She smiled unashamedly at him. “Katsudon for dinner?”

“That sounds great, Mom.”

“Alright,” she said, heading back to the kitchen. Then she paused, returning to squash him in a hug one more time, startling a little laugh out of him. “It’s good to have you home, Izuku. I only wish it was under better circumstances.”

“It’s good to be home,” Izuku said, hugging her back.

“Alright, alright. I’ll let you go get settled,” she said, releasing him. “Go on, set your stuff down. I’ll see you again in a bit, okay?”

“Okay,” Izuku said, though despite her words she hugged him one more time before going back to the kitchen. Izuku trailed over to his bedroom, pausing for just a moment when he saw his nametag on the door.

Right. The majority of his All Might merchandise was in this room, wasn’t it?

And the last time he’d seen All Might was when Yagi was laying prone in a hospital bed, hooked up to tubes and respirators.

Izuku steeled himself, dispelling the thoughts from his mind with a shake of his head, and entered the room. There was a thin layer of dust on most things, a thin layer of All Might on everything else. Izuku took it in for one moment, letting his eyes trail over posters and figurines, letting his mind trail over thoughts of hospital beds and grief and guilt, so much guilt, and then he tucked it all away.

He took a deep breath in, held it, let it out. He set his duffle bag down on the floor, set the letter on his desk, and flicked off the lights before quietly closing the door.

He would help his mom make dinner, he thought. Idle hands and Izuku had never much gotten along.

It was 2:41 a.m.

Izuku was sitting at his desk, knees drawn up to his chest, letter pinched between the thumb and forefinger of each of his hands, the Young Midoriya written in bold letters on the outside tempting him. His mom had gone to bed a long time ago. Izuku was supposed to be in bed, too, technically speaking. Yet here he was, staring at this letter still.

Like he had been, for the last two hours and fifty-two minutes, not that anyone was counting.

This is ridiculous, Izuku, he chided himself. You want to be a hero, and you can’t even work up the courage to open a letter.

He took a shaky breath, and worked shaking fingers underneath the sealed top of the envelope, slowly working it open. One more shaky breath, and he had the letter itself in his hands.

And then he unfolded it.

And now that it was unfolded, there was nothing left to do but take that jump.

Izuku took a deep breath, and then he finally, finally, began to read.

Young Izuku,

      If you’re reading this, I guess that I’ve been seriously injured, or…worse. Here’s hoping for the former, rather than the latter, if that’s the case.

      There is so much I have to explain to you, my boy. There are so many regrets I bear with me, the least of which being the fact that I have to share them with you in the form of this letter. You’re so brave, Midoriya Izuku. So strong and resilient, but some things—I fear there are some things that could even break you, my boy. That’s why I kept this from you until now, because you were my fan, not just my successor. I didn’t want you to know. It’s silly, but I didn’t want to be responsible for that sad look in your eyes, that one you always got when you thought I wasn’t watching, when I asked you about school on those days we used to train together. That’s my mistake, though. Mine and mine alone, for taking the coward’s way out.

      The real reason I was looking for a successor all those months ago was because of Sir Nighteye’s Quirk. You’re a fanboy through and through, so I assume you already know who Sir Nighteye is and what his Quirk does, but, well…it allows him to see the future, and the futures he sees are always set in stone. When he looked into mine following the battle that put that scar on my side, he saw death at the hands of a villain in six or seven years.

      Which, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, my brilliant boy, is right around now.

      It’s why I prepared this letter, after all. I knew what may come to pass this day. I knew that I may be reunited with All for One again when I went to save Young Bakugou. And I knew what that may mean for me. I wanted to be prepared, I wanted you to be prepared, but, well. I think dumping this letter on you is almost worse.

      There’s so much left I need to say to you still, young Izuku. So much more than what I could say in a single page, yet still, I will try.

      In your life, there may be people that tell you otherwise—hell, I was one of them once—but you are meant to be a hero. Whatever path you take, whatever route you choose, you are going to be an amazing hero. In fact, you’ll be the best of them. I only wish I could see it come to pass.

      Young Izuku, my fate may have been decided for me with a touch and a look. It may have even been decided before then, when All for One put this hole in my stomach. But your fate is yours, Midoriya Izuku. You control it. You control who you are, and what you will become. The pressures that have been placed on your shoulders are plentiful, but the strength you carry in a single finger is much greater.

      I told you once you were like the dawn, my boy. Brilliant, shining, a new start to an old cycle. That much is true.

      But so, too, is this. The dawn is a fated thing. A symbol of peace, a symbol of hope. No matter how severe the storm, there will always be hope when it’s done. No matter how broken the horizon, beyond it there is always peace. There is always light. There is always you.

      Fate is a fickle thing, young Izuku. It may have decided I die today, but no matter what, the sun always rises. What is that catchphrase you told me you and your friends came up with, again?

      Hope is always on the horizon, Izuku.

      And that horizon is you.

I will always be there,

Toshinori

P.S. Nana told me once, that should she die, we could meet again inside One for All. The same is true for you and me. Stay strong, Izuku. Remember where you came from, and remember, always, where you’re going.

Izuku folded up the letter, tucking it away safely on his desk, and wiped away the tears that were falling out of his eyes.

“I thought I told you public transportation was the one great villain in this country,” Tsukauchi said, voice light, as Izuku marched into the hospital. If Tsukauchi was bothered by the strangely determined expression Izuku was wearing, he didn’t say anything about it.

Izuku stopped in front of Tsukauchi, who was sitting, rather faithfully, at Yagi’s bedside. Sir Nighteye was there, too. He paused when Izuku entered the room, pushing his glasses up his nose, but otherwise, didn’t say anything. Izuku eyed him for a single moment—to say he wasn’t at least a little bit intimidated by his presence would be a complete lie—before pausing in front of Tsukauchi. He offered him one of the coffees in the tray Izuku held in front of him.

“It’s from the coffee shop down the street,” he told Tsukauchi. “It’s black coffee. I figured you might appreciate something other than the hospital brew.”

“My hero,” Tsukauchi said, not even a little bit sarcastically, as he accepted the cup.

Izuku smiled, in spite of everything, and turned to Nighteye instead. He also offered him a coffee, though considering how things had been going, he didn’t honestly expect him to take it. “It’s also plain black coffee, but it’s yours if you would like it.”

“No, thank you,” Nighteye said, his voice soft. That was all he said.

Izuku awkwardly sat the coffee down on Yagi’s bedside table, then awkwardly sat himself down in the chair next to Sir Nighteye.

Stiff silence reigned amongst them all.

“Well,” Tsukauchi said, in the slightly too loud way of a man trying desperately not to be awkward and failing spectacularly. “I’m going to go to the bathroom. I’ll be back in a bit. Talk to him, Sasaki-kun. You’re going to have to eventually.”

“Yes, yes,” Nighteye said. Tsukauchi pointed at him once, like it was a threat, and then disappeared out of the hospital door with a swish of his coat.

Stiff silence reigned amongst them yet again. Izuku, for his part, sat by Yagi’s bedside and waited to see if Sir Nighteye would break it, like Tsukauchi seemed to think he should, or if Izuku was going to have to do it himself.

After two minutes of silence, Izuku figured he was probably going to have to do it himself.

“Have you ever experienced a Quirk malfunction, Sir Nighteye, sir?”

“Excuse me?”

“A Quirk malfunction,” Izuku said. Nighteye stared at him blankly, gaze cold, and Izuku almost lost his nerve. Almost. “I’ve experienced them before, sir. Quirk malfunctions, I mean. They were more common when I was getting used to it—uh, the Quirk, you know. His Quirk. I was Quirkless before, I don’t know if he told you?”

“Trust me, I am more than aware of your previous status.”

“Right,” Izuku said, biting his lip slightly. He’d been around people that didn’t like him too often not to recognize that tone. But he’d also come too far to lose his nerve now. “I’d struggle to hold it for extended periods of time, or I’d lose control of it and not be able to turn it back on for several more minutes. I know other people that have emotional responses with their Quirks—like my friend, Yoarashi-kun, has a wind Quirk and he accidentally makes breezes when he’s angry, or one of my classmates radiates light when she’s nervous—”

“Your point, Midoriya-san.”

Izuku sighed. He should have known this wouldn’t go well, considering Nighteye’s less than stellar reception of him yesterday and his quiet, all-consuming grief over Yagi’s situation. “My point is that Quirks aren’t infallible. Nobody’s is, not even yours.”

Nighteye’s eyebrows scrunched together in a subtle expression of anger. “Who told you? Gran Torino?”

Izuku shook his head, causing Nighteye’s eyes to spark with a familiar trace of anger. Izuku tilted his head towards the hospital bed they were sitting beside of. The anger in Nighteye’s eyes died as he followed Izuku’s gaze.

“Sir, I’ve never seen your Quirk in action,” Izuku said, “but I’ve done a lot of research on it. I did even more last night, before I came here. A Quirk that sees the future, exactly as it plays out? Sounds more like magic than a Quirk, to me. I’d be willing to bet it’s less about the actual future, and more about futures affected by your own thoughts and perceptions. Did you think that All Might was sure to die when you read his future all those years ago?”

Nighteye opened his mouth as if to respond, but Izuku steamrolled over him.

“Fate is a fickle thing, sir. True fate I think is rare—it’s in this world, definitely, when the sun rises and sets, when the cherry blossoms fall, when the seasons change. Fate, though, when it applies to us—about our lives, our choices…I refuse to believe that it’s decided by you. You should refuse to believe that, too.”

Nighteye was quiet, so Izuku took one of the coffees off of the bedside table and shoved it into his hands. He accepted it, this time, somewhat numbly. Izuku smiled quietly to himself—he was right, then, to assume that he’d wanted one all along. “Yagi-sensei is going to survive this, sir. He’s the strongest person I know. He’s not going to be beat by this. He’s All Might, he’ll always be All Might, and All Might always wins.”

“That’s naïve of you, Midoriya-san.”

Izuku paused, blinked at him, and then smiled. “Maybe so. I prefer the word hopeful, though.”

Several moments of silence passed, and Izuku nodded to himself. It wasn’t perfect, but, well…maybe it would help. Maybe it could.

Izuku stood, taking his own coffee and the remaining one with him. “I’ll let you have time with him alone, sir. It was nice to meet you officially.”

Izuku circled around Nighteye’s chair, pausing for one moment to look at Yagi’s form. He was going to pull through. He had to.

Before Izuku could continue to the door, though, Nighteye’s quiet voice sounded yet again. “You have the Provisional Licensing Exam in a few days, do you not?”

Izuku looked back at Nighteye, one eyebrow raising in an unspoken challenge almost against Izuku’s will. “I do.”

“You plan on taking it, even emotionally compromised?”

Izuku looked back at Yagi. “I’m not emotionally compromised, sir. If anything, I’m more determined to succeed than ever.”

A long enough moment of silence passed after that, Izuku assumed Nighteye was done with the conversation and turned to leave yet again. “Good luck, Midoriya-san. You’re going to need it, if you want to live up to his legacy.”

Izuku paused, glancing slightly over his shoulder at the pro hero. “Thank you, sir. I have little interest in legacies, though. I’ve only ever wanted to help.”

With that, he left the room, letting the door fall closed softly behind him, before he turned to face Tsukauchi.

Izuku raised his eyebrow. “Did you have a nice bathroom break?”

Tsukauchi sipped his coffee shamelessly. “It was a very informative bathroom break, actually.”

Izuku laughed softly. “I’m sure it was.”

“Oh, yeah. Definitely.”

“You know,” Izuku said, raising his own coffee, “few people would admit to eavesdropping as shamelessly as you.”

“I am a detective, you know,” Tsukauchi said. “Eavesdropping is practically in my job description.”

“Not really,” Izuku said, though he smiled. Tsukauchi smiled softly back at him. “Is Gran Torino here? I brought him a coffee too.”

“I’ll take you to him?” Tsukauchi offered. Izuku nodded, and they set off down the hallway.

“So, your investigation,” Izuku said, after they’d walked a few paces in silence. “Did you like what you found?”

Tsukauchi plopped a hand on Izuku’s head, before ruffling the curls there. “I did. If I wasn’t sure before, I am now. Toshi-kun made a good choice with you.”

Toshi-kun, Izuku thought, with a small smile. He called him Toshinori-kun yesterday.

“Thank you, Tsukauchi-san.”

“Sure thing. Here’s your door.” He gestured with his coffee cup, and Izuku nodded his thanks to Tsukauchi before moving to open it.

“Hey, Midoriya-kun.” Izuku startled and looked back at Tsukauchi, who nodded to him again. “Good luck at your provisional licensing exam. Without any of the backhanded compliments Sasaki-kun is so fond of.”

Izuku ducked his head to hide the tears pricking at his eyes. “Thanks, Tsukauchi-san.”

“Anytime,” he said, with a soft smile.

Izuku returned it, before he opened the door.

Chapter Text

“Midoriya-kun?”

Izuku raised his hand in response to the question, and a ripple of energy went through all the second years gathered around the bus.

“Midoriya-kun!” Yoarashi shouted, louder this time, and it was joined with a jovial shout of, “Babe!” from Camie.

Izuku laughed as he approached, a small crowd forming around him. “Hey, everyone,” he said, swinging his costume case back and forth to expel some nervous energy. “It’s not too late to join you all on this Provisional Licensing Exam, is it?”

Camie shrieked in delight, then flung her arms around his shoulders, squashing him rather tightly in a bear hug that could rival his mother’s. It startled another laugh out of Izuku, and he raised his free hand to pat Camie’s arm awkwardly even as he slowly turned bright red from embarrassment.

“I’m, like, totally stoked you’re okay, babe!” she said. “We were all so worried about you when you just left in the middle of the night!”

“Yes, how is your uncle doing?” Mora asked. “Kinetic-sensei informed us that he was injured in the fight between All Might and that supervillain at Kamino.”

Izuku paused for just a moment. He wasn’t aware that Kinetic would tell them, but he supposed it made sense. It wasn’t normal for people to just disappear in the middle of the night without having a reason for it, so the second-years were bound to ask the teachers questions. He was still slightly surprised by their concern, though. They had only known him for about a week, after all.

Izuku’s thoughts rushed out of him with a soft oof as arms closed around both him and Camie, lifting them both off the ground. “I hope he’s okay!” Yoarashi boomed. “I hope you’re okay too, Midoriya-kun!”

Izuku laughed softly. “Yeah, I’m alright. My…uncle is stable right now. The doctors are unsure of if he’s going to make a full recovery or not, but I have hope he will.”

“We’ll hope with you, then!” Camie said, still squished against Izuku, who was squished against Yoarashi.

“Thank you,” Izuku said.

“I’ll do the same!” Yoarashi loudly declared above him.

Suddenly, Izuku found himself blinking back tears. The fact that they’d do this, that they’d be so concerned for someone they’d never met just because he was important to Izuku…it was more than Izuku could have ever asked for.

“Are you sure you will be able to take the exam today?” Shishikura asked, breaking into the conversation.

Izuku nodded. “If anything, I’m more prepared than ever. I owe it to Ya—uh, my uncle, that is—to succeed today.”

Shishikura nodded, and Camie broke away to poke him in the cheek. “What’s that face your making, Izuku? It’s totally scary.”

Izuku honestly had no idea what kind of face he was making to warrant a comment like that, but he turned to her anyway and said, “It’s my determined face. We’re all going to do Shiketsu proud today, I just know it.”

“You sap,” Camie groaned.

“I think it’s inspirational,” Mora offered.

“Of course you would think that. You are the class representative,” Shishikura quipped.

“Alright, alright,” Nagasaki said, interrupting the huddle. “It’s good to see you, of course, Midoriya-san. Let’s all get rolling, though. It wouldn’t do to be late for the exam, would it?”

The second years began filing on the bus after that, Izuku and Yoarashi behind them. Yoarashi nudged Izuku’s shoulder as they walked. “Are you really okay?” he asked.

Izuku allowed his smile to fall ever-so-slightly. “I will be, I think,” he said, looking up at Yoarashi consideringly. “Let’s talk after the exam.”

Yoarashi raised an eyebrow. “Sounds serious. Should I be worried?”

“No, it’s nothing bad,” Izuku said, adjusting his bag on his shoulder. “Just something I think you should know.”

“Alright,” Yoarashi said, though he sounded unsure. “I trust you.”

“I trust you, too,” Izuku said, smiling softly.

And he knew, somewhere deep in his being, that he really meant it. For the first time since he was four, he could say he trusted someone his own age, and really, truly, mean it.

Izuku woke groggily, to a hand on his arm and a rattling in his brain. He blinked sleep out of his eyes, then rubbed it out with a knuckle, then looked over at Yoarashi, who had been shaking him awake and laughing the entire time.

“He’s so cute when he’s sleepy,” Camie said, and Izuku looked up to see she was resting her cheek on the back of her seat and looking at him, much like how she did when they’d first met to go to the summer camp.

“I’m not cute,” Izuku protested groggily, rubbing at his other eye. “What’s going on, anyway?”

“We’re at a rest area,” Yoarashi explained. “Bathrooms and snacks, you know the drill. I need some sugar in my system.”

“I could use a bathroom break, myself,” Camie said, nudging Shishikura until he stood and let her out of her seat. “Wanna walk there together, Inasa-babe?”

“Sure!” he chirped, also rising. “Do you want me to grab anything for you, Midoriya-kun?”

“Nah, I’m fine. Thank you, though.”

“Are you coming, Seiji-babe?”

“Please do not refer to me as Seiji-babe.”

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“...No.”

“Alright, bye, babes. We’ll be back soon.”

“Bye!”

Izuku waved, while Shishikura dipped his head in a polite nod. The other two made their way off the bus, arm in arm, before heading to the rest area. Izuku watched them go with a smile through the window, musing at the way they got along with each other. They could be great friends, he thought, given a bit of time.

Izuku would feel a little less guilty about UA if he knew Yoarashi would have at least…some other friend to look after him here too.

“You seem different.”

Izuku startled slightly—not because he’d forgotten Shishikura was there, but because he hadn’t expected him to speak—and looked away from the other two to fix his remaining companion with his gaze. Shishikura stood now, one knee against his seats, back against the windows. He had one elbow propped up on the back of the seat and his chin resting in his hand, two gloved fingers tapping out a rhythm on his cheekbones. He considered Izuku with his piercing gaze, eyes sharp as always.

“You think so?”

“I do,” he said, fingers drumming, drumming, before stopping. “It is partially as if you are more determined than ever, partially as if you are sadder than ever. It makes you seem sharp, in a way.”

Izuku leaned forward too, though he rested his elbow on his knee instead, looking up at Shishikura through his hair. “Have you ever jumped in a pool, sank to the bottom, and held your breath so long it starts to hurt?”

“I suppose.”

“It’s a little bit like that,” Izuku said, shrugging slightly as he did. “Everything hurts, but everything is achingly clear too.”

There was a moment of silence, where Shishikura seemed to be considering his response. “Does this have something to do with your uncle?”

Izuku took a deep, shaky breath in. “Yeah,” he said, on his exhale, studying his hands. “He…I owe him a lot, Shishikura-senpai. And he helped me see something I was struggling with for so long.”

“What was that, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“It’s cheesy,” Izuku said, averting his eyes and rubbing the back of his neck. “You wouldn’t want to know.”

“All the same.”

“Alright,” Izuku said, covering his cheeks with both his hands. “Well, he just…he reminded me, you know? That it doesn’t have to be bad all the time. There’s good in everything. We just have to be willing to keep putting in our best efforts. Keep pushing forward.”

“It sounds a noble ideology, for an aspiring hero.”

“Sure,” Izuku agreed, hiding his blush behind his arms, though it was quickly interrupted by a series of unnecessarily loud noises that could only be Yoarashi returning.

“Uh-oh,” he said, voice as loud as ever. “Looks like you embarrassed him, Shishikura-senpai.”

“Not that it is a particularly challenging thing to accomplish.”

“Hey!” Izuku squawked, emerging from his arm cage. Immediately after that, a protein bar appeared in front of his face.

“Eat this,” Yoarashi said.

Izuku stared at him for a moment, then, to the confusion of both Yoarashi and Shishikura, burst out laughing. They stared at him for a moment as he collected himself, wiping tears out of his eyes and taking the protein bar. “Uh…” Yoarashi started.

“Sorry, sorry,” Izuku said. His chest ached with his laughter and the memory of Yagi holding a hair out to him on a cold morning on Dagobah Beach, saying the exact same thing. “Don’t mind me. Where’s Camie-san?”

“Oh, she said she’d be a moment longer,” Yoarashi said, sitting next to Izuku and arranging an array of candy in his lap. “I waited on her for a while, but…” He shrugged.

Izuku nodded, completely understanding. He’d spent four days at the summer camp more-or-less with just Camie for company. He knew better than most that she took long bathroom breaks sometimes. He took the protein bar he’d been given instead, absently opening it.

Which was when pain shot through his brain with all the force of a tsunami. All of his senses dulled to background noise except for one, one that was screaming at him—danger. Danger, danger, danger.

And that feeling somehow sharpened when his gaze fell, somewhat unbidden, on Utsushimi Camie, who had just gotten on the bus.

“Ah, Camie-san,” Mora said, standing slightly from his seat further up the bus. “Please try to get back to the bus faster next time, so as not to cause a delay.”

Camie’s eyes flicked over to him, something undeniably sharp and predatory in them for just one moment before any and all emotion bottomed out entirely, despite her eyebrows and lips lifting in some sad imitation of joviality. “Sure!” she agreed, cheerily enough, and a shiver ran down Izuku’s spine.

There was no babe. No like, totally. No dramatized eyeroll and playful wink for emphasis.

Something was very, very wrong.

“Camie-san, sit down already,” Shishikura said, jerking his chin towards the vacant seat next to him. Izuku almost wished he hadn’t. Seeing if Camie remembered where she was sitting would be a good test.

The Camie in question just took her seat with an odd twist of her lips that looked a little like it was supposed to be a smile.

On to a different plan, then.

Izuku pulled himself up over the seat slightly, making eye contact with her. There, a flicker of curiosity in her eyes, which—damn it, Izuku, slow down. That doesn’t mean she’s guilty of…whatever it is you’re thinking. You are acting weirder than normal, after all.  

“Feeling alright?” Izuku asked, trying for one of his brightest smiles.

“I’ve never felt better,” she said, leaning forward slightly.

Izuku noted the speech patterns, the lack of any of the words Camie used regularly. He noted the look in her eyes too, the way she wasn’t quite able to disguise her interest behind a vacant expression, like she’d done with Mora earlier.

“Glad to hear it, babe,” Izuku said.

Camie would pat his cheek and tell him it was a good effort, but he was too adorable for it to really work. She would wink at him and then laugh, or blow him one of her sarcastic kisses, with illusion hearts rising from her open palm. She would flick him in the forehead and reprimand him for stealing her word, like she had a monopoly on the word babe, and Izuku would laugh or blush in response and sit back in his seat, the whole thing abandoned.

“Babe?” the girl in front of him questioned, with a lilting giggle that didn’t really sound like it belonged to Camie.

Izuku’s blood ran cold in conjecture with another prickle of pain trickling through his gray matter.

“I knew she would corrupt you,” Shishikura said, with an eyeroll and a sigh.

Did he not—

“Hey, Midoriya-kun,” Yoarashi said, giving him a vaguely bemused look. “What’re you doing?”

Oh, right. He was acting very suspicious right now, as far as they knew. He considered both of them, the words on the tip of his tongue—this isn’t Camie, something’s wrong, we have to help—but something stopped him.

A lot of things stopped him.

The first was that he could very well be wrong. He knew he wasn’t really himself at the moment. He was under an unusual amount of pressure, he had a migraine—and that was something else to worry about entirely, because it’s sudden presence honestly made absolutely no sense—and he didn’t know Camie that well. He would like to think he did, that spending a few days with her at a training camp gave him an accurate read of her personality, but the truth was…he’d never seen Camie nervous, or sad, or scared. He didn’t really know what she was like. If anyone would know it was Shishikura. They were obviously good friends, at the very least. They were in the same class, they sat together on these bus trips. If he didn’t think anything was suspicious, then what business did Izuku have, bursting in?

The second thing was that even if he was right, and that was a big if, then what would this person that looked like Camie but wasn’t even do? He didn’t even have a clue of what exactly he was dealing with—it could be an imposter, or an illusion of some kind. It could even be possession or mind-control, or even Camie herself, just under the effects of some sort of memory or personality altering Quirk. But if it was the first one, if someone else had a Quirk that was letting them look like Camie right now, then they could be dangerous. They were most likely dangerous. And if he just blurted that out right here on a bus—just announced they were a fake—what would they even do? How many people could they injure or kill on a moving bus with the door shut before someone managed to stop them?

He would let it go.

Trust your instincts.

No, he would let it go. This wasn’t a good time for instincts, it was a good time for reason. He’d denied it to Nighteye at the hospital, and again to Shishikura in front of the bus, but he knew it was true—Izuku was emotionally compromised. He was emotionally compromised, and he was stressed, and he knew it wouldn’t interfere with his exam, but in situations like this? Who was he to say he was anything other than paranoid?

“It’s nothing,” Izuku said, sitting back in his seat. “It just slipped out. I’ve been spending too much time with you, huh, Camie-san?”

Camie—or not-Camie, no it was Camie, that’s what he’d decided—laughed. “Totally,” she said.

For a second, Izuku almost fully believed it, that she was just Camie, no one else.

The key word, there, being almost.

Izuku felt something nudge his shoulder and blinked, shaking himself out of his stupor. “You alright, there, Midoriya-kun?” Yoarashi asked, voice quieter than usual. “You seem a little…out of it.”

For a moment, Izuku wanted more than anything to tell him. Not out loud, maybe, but shoot him a text, tell him he was suspicious of Camie and worried she might have been possessed or impersonated or at least hit with someone’s Quirk. He could try telling the teacher, see if there was something he could do to help or stop what was about to happen. Izuku could tell him, and they would figure it out, and everything would be fine.

In the next instant, Izuku saw Yoarashi’s face in his mind’s eye, bloodied and broken. Trust meant painting a target on someone’s back, one way or another. Trust meant letting others get hurt for you—because of you—and Izuku couldn’t. He trusted Yoarashi, but not…not with this. There were so many things this imposter could do if she found out Izuku was onto her.

Trust was dangerous on this bus. In a lot more ways than one.

Izuku unclenched the fist he hadn’t realized he’d been clenching, forcing himself to relax. “I’m alright,” he said, painting his best smile on his face. It had always been good for hiding his hurt, even better than long sleeves or bandages.“Just a little stressed, you know? With everything going on.”

“Ah, your uncle,” Yoarashi said, nodding along.

“Yeah,” Izuku agreed, a pang of guilty going through him as he just accepted the excuse Yoarashi had offered him. Though, now that he was thinking of Yagi, it wouldn’t hurt to see if Tsukauchi had sent him any updates. Izuku fished his phone out of his pocket and opened his message history with the man when he had a realization.  

Tsukauchi.

He was a detective.

A busy detective, probably, but maybe…

Izuku [12:23 p.m.]:

Random question, Tsukauchi-san, but do you know of any criminals on the loose right now that either possess people or turn into them?

Tsukauchi, like always, responded lightning fast.

Tsukauchi [12:23 p.m.]:

One notable case comes to mind. Why?

Izuku [12:23 p.m.]:

I think my friend is not my friend

Tsukauchi immediately called him, and Izuku immediately declined the call, hoping he caught it before the ringer went through. He checked on Camie, and Yoarashi, but neither seemed to have noticed.

Izuku [12:24 p.m.]:

She’s within earshot, so I can’t talk. It’s mostly just a hunch, but she got off the bus to use the restroom at a rest area and came back acting a little off. Could just be nerves or something, but if it’s not too much trouble, could you maybe see if a police officer in the area could check for any signs of something at the rest area? I feel really bad for asking, I know you’re probably super busy, but I couldn’t just leave it be either, you know?

Tsukauchi [12:24 p.m.]:

Don’t apologize for that. I’m glad you asked.

Tsukauchi [12:25 p.m.]:

What’s the name of your friend, and could you send me the location of the rest stop so I call the right precinct?

Izuku looked up his location on a navigation app, then backtracked to the last rest stop they passed. He sent the location to Tsukauchi.

Izuku [12:28 p.m.]:

I think it’s this one. And her name is Utsushimi Camie.

Tsukauchi [12:29 p.m.]:

Thank you. Please stay safe, Midoriya-kun. If this is some sort of imposter case—and I don’t want to jump to that conclusion just yet, this person could be very dangerous.

Izuku [12:30 p.m.]:

I’ll be careful, I promise!

Izuku tucked his phone away again and turned his gaze to Camie. He hoped it was nothing. He really hoped it was nothing.

But if it was something…he just hoped he’d made the right call.

It wouldn’t be the first time going the safe route eventually got him in trouble, after all.

“Are those first years?”

Izuku tore his mind out of his thoughts at the sound of the second-year’s voice and looked in the direction they were looking. He found himself looking at a group of UA students—all first-years, which they only knew thanks to the Sports Festival. First-years, Izuku realized. Which included Kacchan. Who was in Class 1-A.

The class Izuku was supposed to transfer into next year.

And Todoroki was in this class too, to make matters worse. He looked up at Yoarashi, who stood next to him, worried about what he was probably thinking. To his surprise, Yoarashi was fine, either not having noticed Todoroki (who Izuku knew for a fact he vehemently disliked) or not caring as he chatted excitably with one of the second-years about the difference between centipedes and millipedes.

Izuku checked on Camie out of habit, who was still doing nothing particularly nefarious. That was good, in a way—it meant that if she was an imposter of some sort, she wasn’t here to try and kill as many hero students at the Provisional Licensing Exam as possible, mass-shooter style. Though, Izuku supposed, that didn’t take the possibility of her being there to kill a bunch of hero students off the table completely. It just meant she would likely be more discreet about it.

Except Izuku didn’t know that, just like he didn’t know if this was really Camie or not, which meant he needed to stop assuming she was going to murder people. Keep it in consideration as a possibility, sure, but definitely not assume it was fact.

Besides, he had UA to worry about right now. His future class. Kacchan. Maybe, if he was lucky, he wouldn’t have to interact with any of them? That seemed like all around the best option, until he’d officially transferred and all of that.

Nobody wants to meet their future classmates in a wide-scale exam notorious for pitting schools against other schools in a bloody battle royale with a very low pass-rate, after all.

“We should go say hello regardless,” Mora said, projecting his voice for all the class to hear. “It is important to give our strongest competitors a proper acknowledgement before the exam, and to demonstrate the merits of good sportsmanship.”

Of course. Izuku didn’t know why he ever assumed the world wouldn’t try to throw its worst at him.

Izuku sighed, but he didn’t protest as he followed the second years to the UA students. He stood somewhat behind Yoarashi all the while, his head ducked, trying to hide his face beneath the rim of his hat in hope that Kacchan wouldn’t recognize him. Izuku had already clocked his old friend’s location—a force of habit that not even several months of distance could change. He was at the front of the UA crowd, as spiky and blond as he’d always been. He was also yelling at a student from another school. You know. Like Kacchan did. Some things really never did change.  

Izuku resisted the urge to sigh again. Well, the good news, at least, was that he’d watched and rewatched the Sports Festival, even for their year. He had spent a little more time breaking down the Quirks of the second-year students at UA, just in case he had to fight them here, but Izuku could improvise. Hopefully, though, he wouldn’t have to fight any of them.

…He shouldn’t think things like that. He was going to jinx himself.

He assessed the group of students in front of him—a lot of them were unknowns, due to being overshadowed by their classmates. There was Kacchan, of course. Quirk: Explosion. Todoroki Shouto. Quirk: Half-cold, Half-hot. Uraraka Ochako. Quirk: Zero Gravity. She tried to drop an entire arena on Kacchan in the third round of the Sports Festival, which was honestly terrifying. He spotted the girl with the creation Quirk, the red-head with the hardening Quirk, the girl with the pink skin that had produced some sort of acid. Izuku noted the appearance of the guy with the purple hair who had a brainwashing Quirk of some kind, which was interesting. He had been in general studies at the time of the festival, but there was also an absence of the guy he’d been fighting in the first round, so maybe…

Izuku noted, with mild interest, that several of them were getting ready to shout their school motto. He’d always liked it and had dreamed of doing it as a student at the school one day, even if that wasn’t possible anymore—

Wait. That was possible, though. That was the entire reason behind most of his anxiety at the moment.

And then Yoarashi joined in, shouting it from behind them at ten times their volume.

Izuku had never felt second-hand embarrassment so badly in his life. It was one thing to want to say plus ultra. It was another thing entirely to actually interrupt a UA school huddle to shout it at the students.

Mora cleared his throat beside Izuku and gave him a long look that said, That’s your problem, not mine. Izuku gave him a look back, as if to say, I may be a class representative for the first years, but Yoarashi-kun isn’t in my class. Mora gave him a look back that said, Respect your elders.

Izuku sighed and cleared his throat. “Yoarashi-kun, it’s rude to interrupt another school’s huddle.”

He felt several pairs of eyes land on him all at once, including Kacchan’s. Well.  

“I am so terribly sorry!” Yoarashi shouted, to no one in particular. “I just wanted to say it once! Please forgive me!” Yoarashi slapped his hands to the back of his thighs. Oh, not this, Izuku thought, disparagingly, as Yoarashi’s head collided with the ground with a resounding thud. “I’m sorry for making Shiketsu High look bad, Midoriya-kun!”

“Really, it’s alright and—Yoarashi-kun, you’re bleeding again.”

“So I am!” Yoarashi happily proclaimed, lifting his hat off of his head as he did.

“It’s a pleasure to meet all of you,” Mora said, nodding towards the group of bewildered UA students after the ensuing awkward pause. “We are Class 2-1 of Shiketsu High.”

“Not all of us!” Yoarashi shouted, but Izuku was tuning the murmur of their voices in the background out. He had an exam to prep for, and a potential imposter to worry about, and—

Izuku had not gone through three years at Aldera to not notice when someone was trying to glare a hole through the back of his head. He turned his head slowly, in the direction he was sure the staring was coming from, and met a pair of mismatched eyes, one gray, one blue.

Normally, when people were caught staring, they backed down, averted their gaze, maybe even blushed depending on the reason they were staring in the first place.

Todoroki Shouto only stared on, a stark white eyebrow rising slowly in some sort of challenge.

Izuku was suddenly filled with the urge to break down in hysterical laughter because, really. Yagi was in the hospital, something was wrong with Camie, Kacchan was here, and this guy—this guy was trying to pull some kind of alpha male routine on him, and why? What reason could he possibly be staring at Izuku, of all people?

One for All? No, he couldn’t really know about One for All, even with that leaked police report from the incident. Stain didn’t know about One for All, either, or anything about Izuku. Did Kacchan talk about him? But why would Kacchan talk about him? And even if he did talk about him, why would anyone other than Kacchan be able to recognize him on sight? Was it because of Yoarashi, maybe? Did he recognize Yoarashi from their entrance exam and connect him to Izuku because of that whole bowing debacle? But if he recognized Yoarashi, why would he be staring at Izuku, not him?

Izuku realized all of a sudden that he had been staring back this whole time.

What should he do? Did he look away? No, looking away felt like losing. What should he do then? Keep staring until Todoroki looked away? That didn’t seem likely at this point. Go strike up a friendly conversation? No, no good. He could throw him off in some way? Maybe by—

No, brain, Izuku reprimanded himself, once that thought started to form.

The last time he’d went with the first thought that formed in his head, after all, he’d ended up with a class full of people obsessed with his thighs.

The only other alternative, though, seemed to be standing here and staring at each other.

Izuku honestly didn’t know which was worse.

Before he could second guess himself or think of any other plans, Izuku had found himself standing in front of Todoroki, head lifted slightly to meet his gaze, eyebrow cocked to match his.

Thank the gods he’s at least standing at the edge of his classmates, Izuku thought, and then he let his expression turn into something coy, his smile dimpling on just one side. The change in Todoroki’s expression was subtle, but it was there. Izuku didn’t know what it meant, but he knew he’d cracked the other boy’s exterior in some way, and that was why he was doing this, wasn’t it?

Izuku allowed himself one moment to consider what he was actually about to do, cursed Uwabami’s name for ever putting the idea in his head, and then opened his mouth.

“Like what you see?”

Ah, that’s what that expression was. Alarm.

…Good.

“Excuse me?”

“Pictures last longer,” Izuku said, taking one step closer. “Infinitely creepier, though, don’t you think?”

A little bit more of his façade broke and scattered to the wind. His eyes widened ever-so-slightly, first in shock, and then in realization of what, exactly, Izuku was implying. “I wasn’t looking at you because—”

Todoroki cut himself off with an audible click of his jaw. Why?

Because the UA uniform had a tie.

And Izuku had grabbed his and given it a light tug, pulling the slightly taller boy down slightly so they were really eye level.

Izuku hated himself. He hated that this was actually working even more though, probably.

In the corner of his vision, Izuku could already make out the faintest splotch of a blush on one half of Todoroki’s neck. Did he only blush on one side? If so, that was a really fascinating side effect of his Quirk, though one that made sense. Though that would have to mean his Quirk emitted passively?

Now is not the time for Quirk analysis, Izuku.

Izuku lifted his gaze to Todoroki’s, giving him his most lopsided grin yet. Interestingly enough, Todoroki’s face had gone really and truly blank like it was some kind of defense mechanism. That was good, because it meant Izuku had successfully gotten to him. All that was left now was the finishing move, and before Kacchan got any closer, too—he was working his way through the crowd, headed straight for them. Well, for Izuku. He somehow doubted Kacchan would be marching over here so angrily to say something to Todoroki, who he could talk to any day.

Izuku dropped all hints of anything even remotely flirtatious, replacing it with a bright, friendly smile instead. He released Todoroki’s tie, too, giving the boy a patronizing pat before letting his hand drop back to his side. “That’s why you don’t stare at people, Todoroki-san,” he said, voice bright, already half turning away as he caught the sight of a hand moving towards his shoulder in his peripheral vision.

“Oi, Deku!”

Izuku immediately snapped his hand out of his pocket, fingers wrapping around Kacchan’s wrist and snapping it away from him. A crackle of explosions popped between them, both Izuku and Kacchan glancing at them in surprise.

Maybe I really am emotionally compromised, Izuku thought, with no small amount of horror. He just flirted with someone for the first time (and it worked?!) and then stood up to Kacchan (and it worked?!) within minutes of each other, and Izuku—

Honestly, he wasn’t anywhere near as anxious as he should be. Was this a problem? This was probably a problem.

“Hi, Kacchan.”

It was at that moment that he realized everyone had stopped what they were doing to watch them. Understandable, really, considering Kacchan was still setting off explosions. They were flashy and loud, if nothing else. Kacchan had also decided to shout at him as he approached, which…didn’t help.

Izuku still couldn’t say he was happy with the audience, though.

He bared his teeth at Kacchan. Was that a smile? He wouldn’t really qualify that as a smile. “We aren’t actually in the exam yet, you know, which means using your Quirk out on the street is illegal.”

Kacchan’s face immediately twisted into one of pure rage. “Don’t tell me what to do!”

“Don’t threaten me,” Izuku responded, flinging his hand away. “And I didn’t tell you what to do. It was the government that did that.”

Kacchan started to snarl something when suddenly two hands appeared between them, pushing the both of them a step apart. Izuku looked over, teeth still bared, but immediately dropped the expression when he noticed it was Shishikura—Shishikura? Why did he…?

“That is quite enough,” Shishikura said, straightening his uniform as he lowered his arms back to parade rest. “I do not know who exactly you think you are, here, Bakugou Katsuki, but this manner of behavior is very unbecoming of an aspiring hero.” He eyed Kacchan up and down then, every ounce of his body posture and eyes oozing cold indifference. “Especially for someone that is in attendance at UA, which is, supposedly, the best in the country.” He turned his withering gaze on the rest of the UA students at that, and Izuku noticed several of them seemed to wilt under its pressure.

“Shishikura-kun,” Mora said, voice stern. “Do not threaten UA. We are competitors today, yes, but tomorrow we’ll be working towards a common goal once again.”

“All the same, Mora-kun. They will get what is coming for them, if they choose to be blinded by their arrogance as this one is.” He turned his gaze back to Kacchan, at that, and predictably, it sent Izuku’s old friend and tormentor into a fit of rage.

“What did you say to me, you damn extra?!” Kacchan roared, as he lunged forward, palms crackling. At the same moment Shishikura raised an arm from behind his back, his skin on his arm bubbling and flaring, a surefire sign he was about to activate his own Quirk.

Not good not good not good—

One for All flared to life around Izuku in a blaze of green sparks and wind, almost like a panic reaction. Izuku started reaching for Shishikura, ready to grab him and run before he and Kacchan started a fight with their Quirks on the street outside of the location for the Provisional Licensing Exam like the pair of dumbasses they were currently being.

Then, it felt like someone had dropped a heavy blanket on Izuku’s subconscious, somehow, and One for All snapped out of existence. Shishikura froze with one hand held out, a singular lump of squishy pink flesh falling to a glob on the ground between his feet. Kacchan stumbled at the loss of his Quirk—the sudden lack of explosions causing him to lose momentum in an awkward way, but before he could fall on his face, tendrils of gray fabric wrapped around him.

“Bakugou,” a gruff voice said. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“These—” Kacchan started to say, but whoever asked the question clearly didn’t want an answer, because another gray tendril slapped over his mouth and effectively gagged him.

Wait a minute. No Quirk, gray tendrils…

“Rhetorical question,” the gruff voice continued. “What you were doing was using your Quirk to attack two students from another school, unprovoked, on a public street. I have half a mind to put you back on that bus and send you back to the school at the very least. Unless you’ve already forgotten what happened to your classmate that tried something similar to this?”

Kacchan paled at those words and Izuku took a step back, one hand coming up to grip Shishikura’s arm. Part of that was to take Shishikura back with him, the other part was because Izuku had forgotten, in all the chaos of hospital visits and Camie and coming here, that Eraserhead was a teacher at UA.

That Eraserhead was going to be his teacher, next year.

And it was Eraserhead, too, with his gray scarf and shaggy black hair floating loosely about his head, red eyes boring a hole into Kacchan (though Izuku and Shishikura were not immune from that gaze either).

Eraserhead clicked his tongue, piercing gaze turning to Izuku in full. Izuku tightened his grip on Shishikura’s arm and resisted the urge to squeak in alarm.

It was a close call, though.

“That was a wrist breaking hold you had him in,” Eraserhead said.

Well, that was certainly not what Izuku had been expecting him to say.

“Uh, y-yeah. I—I wasn’t going to break his wrist though! I just, uh, grabbed it like that on reflex.”

Eraserhead considered him for a long moment, and then hummed. “You should have.”

Did he just…

There’s no way he just told Izuku to break his student’s wrist, right?

“Objectively speaking, that is,” Eraserhead continued. “Obviously, I’m glad you didn’t. Next time someone reaches for you with their Quirk activated, though, you break their wrist first and ask questions later. Understood?”

“Uh…yes, Sensei?”

Did I just call him “Sensei?” Really?

“Good. Bakugou. Let that be a lesson for you, too. The shoulder is an easily defensible part of the body. You’re lucky Midoriya decided to be merciful today.”

Izuku blinked. “You know who I am?”

“No.” Eraserhead blinked back at him, and suddenly Izuku felt One for All rush through his body again. Shishikura flexed his hand like he’d just gotten his Quirk back, too. Which made sense, considering Erasure was linked to eyesight, and Eraserhead’s eyes were dark brown now. “Another student said your name earlier. Ah, Nagasaki.”

“Hey, Aizawa-kun,” the second-years’ homeroom teacher said with an awkward chuckle. “I think it’s best I get my kids out of your hair, huh?”

“Yes.”

Nagasaki withered slightly at that and then motioned for Izuku and Shishikura to follow him. Izuku, as much as he would love to ask Eraserhead a thousand questions, took one look at the man’s angry scowl and decided it would probably be best saved for later. If ever. Eraserhead had just told him to break Kacchan’s wrist, after all, while maintaining a perfectly straight face. Which was honestly a bit scary.

Izuku cast one last look over his shoulder as he trailed after the rest of the Shiketsu students, somewhat surprised to find that Todoroki was still staring at him. This one was less alpha male, though. More contemplative. Izuku could live with that.

He made eye contact with Todoroki, gave him his cheekiest grin, and then saluted him.

He rolled his eyes in response before looking away, but he seemed to be fighting with one corner of his mouth like it wanted to smile even if he didn’t want it to. Izuku would count it as a win, he supposed. What he was winning, exactly, he didn’t know, but it seemed like a win all the same.

At least now he knew Todoroki was going to come after him in this exam, even if Izuku was turning gradually redder with embarrassment over what he did the further he got away from the other student.

I should apologize to Uwabami-sensei, Izuku mused. I told her I’d never have a reason to use those flirting skills she pounded into me on day three.

So, Shouto thought, as he flexed his left hand surreptitiously. That was the Midoriya Burnin’ mentioned.

Shouto had not actually expected to meet him, at least not so soon. If he could even call that a meeting. Somehow, he didn’t really think he could. Or should. Honestly, Shouto would almost rather forget the whole experience had even happened. It was embarrassing, to say the least, that Midoriya had gotten under his skin like that.

Shouto pressed out a crease from his tie with his thumb and forefinger. He’d grabbed Shouto’s tie, just to throw him off and shut him up, and worst of all—it had worked. Shouto scowled.

Charming, Burnin’ had called him.

Shouto didn’t see it. But competition? Sure. Midoriya seemed like competition. For a number of reasons ranging all the way from that cheeky salute to that lopsided grin to his stunt with Shouto’s tie.

Shouto’s grip tightened on his suitcase. He would get revenge for the tie thing.

Somebody cleared their throat next to Shouto, and he turned to look at them. His grip tightened infinitesimally on his suitcase. “What, Kirishima?”

“Want to talk about how that Shiketsu dude owned you back there?” Kirishima asked. He grinned at Shouto, one finger raising to point at him mockingly. “Don’t think I didn’t see the tie thing. Pretty hot, you know. And manly.”

“It was just psychological warfare,” Shouto said, narrowing his eyes at Kirishima. “It didn’t mean anything.”

“It doesn’t have to mean anything to still be hot, my dude.”

Shouto glared at him for a moment longer. “We’re not friends,” he said, at the end of the glare. “And it wasn’t hot.”

Kirishima patted him on the shoulder in the most patronizing expression of comfort known to mankind. “I won’t stop you from lying to yourself if it makes you feel better, dude. You’re just lucky most of us were too distracted by the loud Shiketsu guy to notice the smaller feisty one. Did you see his Quirk, by the way? You and I were probably standing closest to him when it flared up for that instant.”

Shouto sighed, conceded that this was probably one of the many, many instances that had arisen since he’d helped Kirishima rescue Bakugou that he wasn’t going to be able to avoid conversing with him, and said, “It’s a localized weather manipulator. It somehow gives him enhanced speed and strength, though.” Kirishima gave him a look, so Shouto raised his eyebrow. “What? Pro heroes keep their eyes on upcoming hero students from other schools than just UA.”

“Oh, right, your dad is Endeavour,” Kirishima said, nodding. “I forget sometimes.”

“I don’t see how.”

“It’s just you’re so chill, man! But Endeavour is so AHHH!” Kirishima struck a pose as he yelled angrily into the void, head thrown back, hands held out in claw shapes in front of him like he was holding fireballs in his palms.

Shouto had to admit it was a good impression, at least.

“I see.”

Kirishima grinned and fell out of his pose, giving Shouto a light punch on his arm. “Sorry, man! Didn’t mean to upset you there. I shouldn’t make fun of your dad in front of you like that.”

“It’s fine. I’m not upset.”

“Aizawa-sensei,” Asui said, potentially saving Bakugou’s life and at least his career as a student with her interruption, since Aizawa had been steadily and logically dressing him down ever since Shiketsu left them. Shouto had seen the fury with which Aizawa had banished Takahashi from the hero course, Quirk activated the entire time and lips curled upwards in a horrifying and vindictive smile. Takahashi, Shouto felt, probably deserved the expulsion—generally speaking, Shouto didn’t interact with his classmates often but that didn’t mean he was clueless to the sorts of things that some of them got up to. Takahashi had struck him as an elitist from the very start, uncomfortably similar to Endeavour in the worst ways, uncomfortably supportive of Quirk marriages in the discussion they had about it in one of their early ethics classes, uncomfortably unreliable in how little control he had over his Quirk even after months of training…

Shinsou was better. At least he was quiet.

“What is it?” Aizawa asked, finally letting Bakugou free with one last glare.

“I was just wondering if you knew who those two were—kero,” she said. “The tall one and the feral one, with the freckles. I remember they said they weren’t part of the class.”

Aizawa sighed. “The tall one is Yoarashi Inasa. He got the highest score on the UA recommended exam, but for some reason, turned down his acceptance at UA to attend Shiketsu instead.”

“The highest score…” Ashido echoed, and Shouto felt a lot of their eyes settling on him. “That means he did even better than…”

Shouto bore their attention with all the indifference he usually did, but the revelation did give him pause. He knew he hadn’t gotten the top score at the entrance exam, but he…huh. He honestly had no idea who had beaten him. He didn’t remember much from the recommended exam, honestly. He knew it was an obstacle race, but all the details had been whited out with the all-encompassing claws of rage that tended to blur all memories that involved his father.

And Endeavour had been at the recommended exam, after all.

“The other student is most likely Midoriya Izuku,” Aizawa said. “I don’t know much about him, other than that he got the highest score on the Shiketsu entrance exam and can execute a bone-breaking grip perfectly. I’ll only say it once—you would do well to avoid combat with both of them as well as the Shiketsu second years going forward. Shiketsu is second only to UA in the hero training business for a reason. And they will most likely be more prepared than any of you, even with all of the long hours you’ve all been logging in the gyms lately.”

Asui ribbitted softly, and a small ripple of fear spread through the rest of the class. Shouto only folded his unoccupied hand into his pocket as his Quirk stirred beneath his skin, uncomfortable, and itching for a fight.

Logically, he knew Aizawa was right. He knew he should probably avoid Midoriya.

But Midoriya had also grabbed his tie and saluted him and had generally been the very opposite of charming, and Shouto had every intention of finding out if the other boy was able to win the fights he picked.

Chapter Text

“I’m somewhat surprised you decided to remain with us,” Mora said, as they ran through the industrial section of the provisional licensing exam. Everyone else was with them, too, with a few notable exceptions. “Of everyone here, you probably have one of the styles of fighting best suited to one-on-one combat, yet the three of us that arguably would do best in a group fight left and you stayed.”

Izuku grit his teeth as he leapt over a pipe. He could do without the reminder that Yoarashi had left immediately, despite being both the best offense and the best defense for himself and them in what was about to turn into a vicious brawl amongst schools. He could do without the reminder that he had, somehow, completely lost track of Camie more, though. And he could do even less with the reminder that, instead of looking for her, Izuku had decided to prioritize passing the exam.

What he said to Mora, though, was, “You needed someone with you that’s good at close-quarters-combat and scouting. I am good at close-quarters-combat and scouting.”

Damn it all, though. He was right, he knew he was right, in that the second years could use him here. Their strongest offense—Shishikura and Yoarashi—had both left the group, which left them slightly outclassed when it came to sheer power. But they would also be fine without him. He should be trying to find Camie, just to keep an eye on her. But if he went through all this effort of tracking down Camie and following her around and then turned out to be wrong and failed the exam because of it—what would he do then?

Damn it all.

“Still,” Mora said, panting slightly as he tried to keep pace with Izuku at the front of the pack. Izuku checked his frustration and slowed down to a more manageable pace for the others—he was fast and had a lot more stamina than average, even without One for All backing him, and he went a lot faster when feelings were involved too. He was going to have to let Camie go, for now. The second years knew her better and hadn’t been suspicious, Nagasaki knew her better and hadn’t been suspicious, and Izuku hadn’t heard anything from Tsukauchi saying she was an imposter or anything before the start of the exam, so he needed to stop worrying about it and focus, damn it. “I’m glad we have you, despite group battles being challenging for you.”

Izuku felt himself relax slightly at Mora’s words. “I’m just glad I can help. Tell me what you need me to do, and I’ll do it.”

“You excel at parkour, yes?” Izuku nodded. “Good. Will you keep an eye out from above for us?”

Izuku nodded again, eyes roaming over the area to chart a path to either higher catwalks or the roofs of some of these factory buildings. He spotted two buildings close enough together to work for what he needed and changed direction, One for All flaring to life inside him and humming beneath his skin. He charged at one wall, using it as a springboard to the next, then back. He grasped the edge of the roof with both hands and hauled himself over it easily, landing with a roll to break his fall somewhat. He proceeded to immediately leap to the next building, keeping his eyes peeled for a flash of movement.

And he caught it. Just behind them there was a flash of navy blue—most likely someone’s hero costume—and then it was gone. The person tailing them appeared again, still following their group as they moved. This time, Izuku caught a flash of red and white.

Izuku wasn’t one to randomly go about swearing in the middle of stealth missions, but he made an exception this time. Izuku thought he’d have more time before he was found. Well, at least it was Todoroki and not Kacchan. Izuku knew a silver lining when he saw one, and not having to fight Kacchan? That was a silver lining.

He snagged a ladder hooked to the edge of a building and slid down it, not even breaking his pace before he landed in the middle of the second years, jogging to catch up to Mora. “I have a tail,” Izuku told him.

“We can lose them,” Mora said with ease. “If it’s just one person, we can easily overpower them, and—”

“It is just one person,” Izuku said, huffing slightly as he said it. “But that one person is Todoroki Shouto, and I may or may not have pissed him off earlier.”

“Pissed him off?” Mora asked, his brow presumably furrowing. It was hard to tell underneath all of the hair. “How did you piss him off?”

“We, uh—well, the how isn’t that important really, as long as—”

“He grabbed his tie,” one of the second years behind them said. Izuku didn’t know their voices well enough to know who exactly said it, but he threw a glare over his shoulder anyway. “Just walked up and gave it a yoink. It was the hottest thing I’ve seen in a while, to be honest.”

“Oh, my,” Mora said, looking like he was suffering from as much second-hand embarrassment as Izuku was first-hand embarrassment, though he at least was covered in hair so it was impossible to tell if he was blushing or not. Izuku was not so lucky. “Well, ah, all the same. If we stay together, we’ll be fine.”

“You think if we stay together we’ll be fine against a pissed off Todoroki Shouto with an area attack from hell?”

“Language, Tanaka-san.”

“She’s right, though,” Izuku said. He vaulted over yet another random pipe jutting out—seriously, he was beginning to think they’d been put here just to trip people and had no other purpose—and landed easily. “Remember his ice attack of doom from the Sports Festival?” Izuku came to a realization immediately after he said it, and then sighed inwardly. This was always the solution, wasn’t it? “I’m the only person that could remotely counter it here.”

“That just means you’ll have to be key to our strategy,” Mora said, huffing slightly with exertion as he ran.

Izuku suddenly dug his heels in, stopping so suddenly that one of the second years behind him almost ran directly into him. “Nah,” he said. “I made my bed. I should probably lie in it, don’t you think?”

Mora ran for a few more paces before he realized Izuku had stopped and skidded to a halt himself. “Shiketsu doesn’t leave our own behind.”

“You’re not leaving me behind,” Izuku said. “If anything, it’s the other way around.”

“Don’t be cocky, there, first year,” one of the second years chided, folding his arms over his chest.

Izuku tilted his head in their direction in acknowledgement, then looked back at Mora. “Think about it. I can guarantee you he’s only here for me.”

Mora sighed. “No, you can’t.”

“Sure I can,” Izuku said. “I yoinked his tie and everything.”

Mora sighed. “Midoriya-kun.”

“If I stay and fight him, I get to decide the fight,” Izuku said. “It gets to be on my terms. Besides, you guys are all great! You’ll all be just fine without me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Midoriya-kun.”

“I’m not being ridiculous, I’m being rational,” Izuku said, unable to keep the edge of frustration out of his voice. “You know this is the best plan. If we all stay and fight him together, we might overwhelm him, or we might all end up iced to the ground with our targets tapped. If I take him on alone, I keep him out of your hair.” Izuku hadn’t won him over yet, though, so he gave him a sturdy, confident smile (despite feeling neither thing on the inside). “Get out of here, Mora-senpai. Unless you want to fail the exam because you’re standing here looking at me, that is.”

All the other second years, at this point, were more than ready to leave him behind. Mora eventually caved, not because he wanted to leave, but because Izuku had backed him into a corner. He eventually shook his head and pointed at Izuku. “Watch yourself, Midoriya-kun.”

“I will.” Izuku waved as Mora turned and left, the crowd of second years following behind him. Some of them wished him luck as they went, though not all of them did. Izuku nodded to them all the same, though, giving them thumbs up and well wishes. And once they were out of sight, he promptly hid himself in the darkness of an alley, fishing one ball out of his pouch to ambush Todoroki with when he got there.

Never one to disappoint, apparently, Todoroki came into sight not too long after that. He was stealthy enough, Izuku supposed, but clearly not to the degree of someone that relied on it. Someone like Izuku, for instance, who had been specifically training to go underground. Izuku watched as Todoroki kept to the edge of the area, his eyes darting around. He knew to look out for Izuku, then.

Not that expecting him to be here would spare him from Izuku’s surprise attack.

Izuku clenched the ball a little tighter, preparing to move in, when a thought occurred to him. He never did find out exactly why Todoroki had been staring at him earlier, had he? And now that he realized that, it was going to bug him forever. Great. Well, he could try to drag an answer out of Todoroki first, maybe?

“I must have left quite the impression on you,” Izuku said, willingly stepping out of the shadows. Todoroki started immediately, whirring to face him, ice already blooming from his right side. Izuku tracked it with his eyes, but there was no need to dodge. He was using it to pin Izuku in, not attack him.

Interesting.

Izuku was here for answers, first and foremost, though, so he smirked at Todoroki. “This takes the phrase, ‘get a room’ to a whole new level, don’t you think, Todoroki-san?”

Todoroki made a sound that was somewhere between a choke and a gasp. Success. “Are you always like this?”

“No,” Izuku said, beaming at him. “It’s a pretty recent development. The activation requirement is being stared down for no apparent reason outside of a testing facility.”

“This again,” Todoroki said, giving Izuku a rather impressive eyeroll. This time he did attack, with a stream of ice coming directly for him. Izuku dodged it easily, without even using his Quirk, and met Todoroki’s analytical gaze with one of his own. So, he was just as wary of Izuku as Izuku was of him, then. That was good. Izuku could work with that. “Listen, I wasn’t staring at you because I was attracted to you or something. It’s because I recognized your name.”

Izuku stiffened. That—that could mean a lot of things. Todoroki had been through several run-ins with the League of Villains. If they knew about him, and that’s how Todoroki knew about him, then Izuku had a problem on his hands. No, that was what they called jumping to conclusions. “Why?”

“Why not?” Todoroki asked. Izuku narrowed his eyes slightly at him at the change in tone. The message was clear. How had Eraserhead put it? Break wrists first and ask questions later? Like teacher, like student, apparently.    

There was a moment, right there, where Todoroki tensed up, his right foot moving ever so slightly. An attack was coming—right side meant ice. Todoroki’s toe was pointed directly at Izuku, which meant a head-on attack. When it landed, Izuku didn’t want to be standing where he was anymore, but he wanted to time it just right where he would disappear from Todoroki’s line of sight for just a moment. Was it safe to assume his vision was probably worse in his left eye? He moved like it was, and he had that iconic scar. Whatever caused the scar causing some kind of vision damage on top of it didn’t seem too unlikely. So, move at the right moment, keep to Todoroki’s left side, hit one of those targets. The one on the outside of his right arm was the weakest point, so that one would go first.

There was the distinct sound of the air crystallizing into ice. Izuku held, held, held—then sprang, shooting towards the ice wall directly behind Todoroki. He kept low, following the trail of the newly developing ice, keeping it between Izuku and Todoroki’s good eye. Todoroki tried to follow his movements, Izuku could tell he tried, but it looked like Izuku had been right about that left eye not being quite so sharp. Izuku collided with the ice wall behind Todoroki with both feet then kicked off, soaring towards Todoroki. Izuku collided with him with a hand on each of his shoulders, flicked his wrist out to tap the target on his right shoulder with his ball, and then flipped over his head, landing in front of him. Izuku gave him a shove as he stepped away, and Todoroki stumbled but caught himself, whipping his head up to give Izuku a look that was both incredibly irritated and incredibly impressed, though he made a valiant effort to hide that last one.

Izuku smiled cheekily at him and tossed the incriminating ball in the air before catching it again. Toss, catch. Toss, catch. Todoroki’s eyes narrowed.

“What?” Izuku said, trying to sound as innocent as possible. “You’re the one that wanted to fight me.”

“You—” Todoroki started, then stopped. “You noticed. My eye. Didn’t you?”

Izuku hummed in agreement. Toss, catch. Toss, catch. Izuku pointed at him with one finger, the ball trapped between the other four. “You should get contacts. Or maybe just one for the left eye? They can probably give different prescriptions for different eyes. I honestly don’t know, though. I’ve only been to an eye doctor…I don’t know, one time?”

Todoroki huffed. “Giving your enemy advice?”

“You’re not an enemy,” Izuku observed. “Just friendly competition and an ally down the line.”

Todoroki blinked, as if this statement confused him, and then rolled his eyes. “You talk too much.”

Izuku grinned.

This time, when Todoroki attacked, Izuku used his ice as a springboard, leaping into the air. He threw the ball he was holding with deadly aim—right for the target over Todoroki’s heart—but Todoroki dodged. Izuku was prepared for that eventuality, though, and grabbed one of the spikes of Todoroki’s most recent ice structure with both hands, using it to swing himself around, a kick aimed directly for Todoroki’s face. He shot backwards a few steps, an ice wall appearing to absorb Izuku’s kick with the sweep of a hand. The ice shattered beneath his foot and Izuku ducked his head, avoiding the worst of it though a shard still nicked him on his cheek. When he looked back at Todoroki, he realized that the other boy had lit himself on fire in order to melt the shards coming towards him.

Izuku landed in a fighting stance, grinning at the sight of the orange flames as they faded out of existence. “You’re using your entire Quirk now?” he asked, because as much as he tried to believe otherwise, his brain to mouth filter was still minimal at best.

A muscle jumped in Todoroki’s jaw as he clenched his teeth. “So what if I am?”

Ooh, I touched a nerve, Izuku noted.

Which was interesting, because the average person had no reason to have any sort of overly personal feelings about their Quirk. Quirk-based self-esteem issues were common, sure, but that expression Todoroki was making implied it wasn’t really, that, so what was it? Anger? Todoroki looked pretty angry right now, now that Izuku had brought up the heating half of his Quirk, but also…something else. Something a little too familiar.

“You’re afraid of your own Quirk?” Izuku said, because, once again. Brain to mouth filter. Minimal at best. Practically nonexistent, at this point.

“Shut. Up.”

Which was as good as an affirmative.

This time, when ice sprang towards Izuku, it was faster, colder, and a lot more powerful than it had been before. Izuku performed a backwards handspring to get out of the range of the attack, but the ice kept coming. Izuku aimed at it and flicked one finger at 15% of his power, shattering the ice into numerous shards. Leftover wind blasted through their makeshift arena, buffeting Todoroki’s oddly distinct hair, causing red and white to mix in the middle.

“Wind pressure,” Todoroki noted. “Wind manipulation of some kind? What exactly is your Quirk?”

“It’s called Inner Storm,” Izuku answered automatically. Then he allowed his brain a moment to cheer and fist pump the air, since that was the first time he’d said Inner Storm without having to think about it first.

“What’s the lightning do?”

“Tingle, a little bit,” Izuku said, grinning sharply at him. Then he adjusted, letting his smile drift a little more to the playful side instead of the dangerous one. “Want to come find out for yourself? Close quarters combat is my domain, after all.”

“That’s a no,” Todoroki said, but the words were unnecessary because he’d also decided to send out another blast of ice as he did. Izuku skirted around it, running straight for Todoroki this time, who caught his fist in his hand.

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re too static as a fighter?” Izuku grunted.

Todoroki kneed him in the gut for his troubles. Izuku took the hit with a soft oomph sound, then flung one of his elbows at Todoroki’s ribs in retaliation. Todoroki grunted in pain, but reached towards one of Izuku’s targets with a ball in hand. Izuku gripped his wrist with his free hand (not the one still being held in a death grip by Todoroki), which left them at a standstill. Todoroki froze Izuku’s feet to the ground, which was cold, even through his boots. Izuku did not like that one bit, so he let go of Todoroki’s wrist to crouch down, wrapping his free arm around Todoroki’s knees and pulled his feet out from under him. He let go of Izuku’s fist with the force of his impact, air whooshing out of his lungs unpleasantly as he hit the ground.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re too erratic?” Todoroki grunted. “You don’t have as much control over your body as you should.”

He threw the ball in his hand at Izuku, who was unable to dodge due to the frozen state of his feet (even bending over a backwards, usually an option, was unwise to attempt with his feet locked down since Todoroki would probably take the opportunity to freeze his hands to the ground too). It dinked against one of Izuku’s targets and fell against the ground. The target in question turned red at the impact.

“You,” Izuku said, looking back at Todoroki. He had his head laid back against the ground, eyes closed, trying to recover some air in his lungs after being launched directly into the ground with the force of One for All.

Todoroki cracked an eyelid, his sharp, storm grey eye fixing on Izuku. “What?” he said, one corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “You’re the one that challenged me.”

“A taste of my own medicine, I see,” Izuku said, upping the percentage of One for All in his feet and flexing. The ice around them shattered with the force. Izuku couldn’t fight off the real, legitimate grin spreading across his face. He bent over, offering Todoroki a hand up. Stupid, probably, but it was what it was. “Get up already, Todoroki-san. We’re not done yet.”

To his surprise, Todoroki accepted his hand, allowing Izuku to haul him to his feet. They were both stupid, then, since now that Izuku had one of his hands in his, it would be all too easy to tap at least one of the targets on the left side of his chest, and vice versa. At least idiocy had company.

“Huh,” Todoroki murmured, voice low and even. “It does tingle.”

Izuku laughed. “I told you it did. Hey, are your hands different temperatures even with—”

He was interrupted by the sound of something large and metallic connecting with one of Todoroki’s ice walls. The sound came again, and again. Izuku let go of Todoroki’s hand, tensing, as the boy next to him did the same. A few cracks appeared in the ice in question, in tandem with the thudding sounds.

“Todoroki-san,” Izuku said, a warning. Whoever was on the other side of that ice, they were a hostile party.

“I know,” Todoroki said back, voice low. He glanced at Izuku, then at the cracks appearing in his ice, then back again. “You said allies down the line, right?”

Izuku felt the side of his mouth quirk in a smirk. “Do you want down the line to be now, Todoroki-san? Is that what you’re getting at?”

“Well, I’d really rather not fight whoever that is and you if I can help it, so…”

In all honesty, he did have a point. As much fun as it would be to finish his fight with Todoroki and see who would really win, Izuku knew that the newcomers on the other side of the ice would target him, too, as soon as they saw him. Todoroki didn’t seem the teamwork type, so Izuku hadn’t honestly expected him to offer, but if he was going to…

“Right, right. I feel the same, obviously.” Izuku grinned at him. “Stab me in the back, though, and I will fight you, regardless of the rules saying we have to stop once all our targets are hit.”

Todoroki rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to stab you in the back.”

“Wow. I didn’t realize I’d grown on you so much, Todoroki-san.”

Todoroki sighed. It was one of those long-suffering sorts of sighs. Completely unwarranted, considering he was the one that had started it, with the staring debacle. Actually, Izuku still needed an answer about that. Later. He’d get it later. “Are you going to help me come up with a plan, or…?”

“Oh! Actually, I have a plan.” Todoroki afforded him a glance, one eyebrow raised slightly, before turning back, his eyes fixed intently on the cracks appearing in the ice by them. Izuku gestured dramatically to the ice wall to their backs. “Do you want to make the back door, or should I?”

Todoroki glanced at the ice behind them, catching on quickly. “I should do it. You’d have to destroy it, which could cause some of the other ice walls to come down.” Izuku nodded along as he spoke. He’d wanted Todoroki to offer to melt it when he proposed the idea, but…Izuku knew better than to ask him to use something he was afraid of, when he knew he could do the job just as well. Todoroki’s eyes flicked back to the under-attack ice wall, unsure. Izuku recognized that look all too well.

He knocked his knuckles against Todoroki’s shoulder. Ironically, over the exact point he’d taken out earlier. “I’ve got your back, Todoroki-san. Trust me. I’m not going to stab you in it.”

He didn’t seem particularly trusting in that moment but he at least seemed to recognize their time was wasting. He turned, raising his left hand to melt a hole through the ice wall behind them. Izuku turned his gaze back to the ice wall under attack. Something else thudded into it heavily, and more cracks spiderwebbed outwards from the impact point. Behind him, there was a sizzling sound as Todoroki set to work melting the ice. Another object thudded into the ice wall.

“The next one they throw is going to crack it,” Izuku warned.

“I’ve almost got it,” Todoroki said, voice terse.

The ice burst, and almost immediately, a blast of sand started towards them.

“Todoroki!” Izuku shouted. It was one part a warning and one part a request for a progress report. More surprisingly, though, was the way they spun around each other as soon as Izuku shouted the warning, trading off jobs as easily as breathing. Todoroki raised his left hand, a blast of fire meeting the sand full-force Izuku looked around Todoroki and up through the flames and the sand, taking stock of the situation. Ten opponents, in unfamiliar but matching uniforms, poised on pipes and work strips around them and above them—the high ground, smart. There were oversized screws and bolts near the ice that had been under attack earlier—those must have been causing the thuds.

“It’s him!” one of them shouted. “Todoroki Shouto, like you said!”

“Shiketsu’s with him, looks like,” another added.

“Ten against two are still favorable odds for us.”

Izuku turned away from them, eying the half-finished hole Todoroki had been melting through his ice. It looked like Izuku was going to have to make their back door after all. Hitting it was absolutely going to make it unstable, though so he had to time it just right.

“Get ready to dodge this sand,” Todoroki murmured. “I can’t keep this up for too much longer.

Izuku, in lieu of a verbal answer, channeled 20% of One for All into his arm and swung towards the ice wall. It shattered instantaneously, jagged around the edges. The rest of the ice structure creaked with the impact, just like Izuku feared it would.

“I’ve got the back door open.”

“On my count we pull back together.” Izuku nodded, and Todoroki, voice still low, began the countdown. “3…2…”

On “1” they sprang into action, Izuku leaping backwards and hauling Todoroki with him by the arm, and then they both turned and started running. Izuku was a little bit too delighted to see that Todoroki could keep pace with him with his Quirk off. “You’re fast,” Izuku noted. “Not many people can keep up with me.”

Todoroki just huffed in response. “What’s the rest of your plan?”

“I counted ten of them. You?”

“Nine.”

“Well, of the two of us, I’m the one that can see with both eyes, so I trust me more.” Izuku dodged the jab Todoroki through at his ribs at that with a laugh. Was it weird that Izuku was so intent on cracking his indifferent exterior? Probably. But it was also a lot of fun. “Anyway. If you activate both sides at the same time, do you make steam or water?”

“I can’t activate them both at the same time.”

Izuku hummed. “That’s okay. Just means we have to go with the riskier plan I was thinking of.”

“Which is?”

“They’re following us,” Izuku said, pointing up to indicate the heavy footsteps in their wake. “Bad at stealth. Anyway, we should try and lose them somehow, so I was thinking of making some dust to do that. ‘Course, that means I’d have to start breaking things. If I make a miscalculation about one of these support beams, it could be bad.”

Todoroki’s eyes flicked around, like he was considering the support beams too. “I’m willing to risk it.”

Izuku took that as permission to kick down a beam as he ran past it. The resulting collapse kicked up enough dust to cover the two of them.

“Then we could ambush them when they lose sight of us,” Izuku added. “They’ve got reduced visibility because of those uniforms, too.”

Todoroki hummed in agreement, like he’d noticed this also. Wearing something that covered the sides of the head and working as a hero could always lead to problems. Even Izuku was at risk, just wearing the Shiketsu hat as he was. It limited upper vision, and his peripherals were already down from his protective goggles. Necessary evils, though, in Izuku’s case.

Todoroki suddenly stopped, and Izuku stumbled a few steps further before stopping too, following Todoroki’s gaze. A tank. In a factory area. Izuku felt like he knew where this was going. “I have a different idea,” Todoroki said. “They told us to pick areas that best suit our fighting style for a reason. Meaning, these environments are probably as close to the real deal as possible.”

“Which means that tank is probably full of the real thing too,” Izuku concluded, as he sent a blast of wind towards another beam, causing another chain reaction of collapse, kicking up even more dust. Their pursuers complained loudly at the lost visibility. “You want to explode it.”

“I want to explode it.”

Izuku chuckled quietly at the declaration, then cast Todoroki a toothy grin. “I’ll put my green tingly lightning to use, then, and use the light from it to draw them to it.”

“Won’t that explode you, too?”

“Trust me, I can handle an explosion or two,” Izuku said. “You just get in position, Todoroki-san. And don’t make me regret trusting you, either.”

“You’ve said that before.”

“I’ll say it again, too,” Izuku said, knocking his knuckles against Todoroki’s arm in what was quickly becoming something of a tradition. Todoroki rolled his eyes. “Alright, I’m off.”

“Be careful.”

Izuku paused for just a moment to look back at Todoroki. He looked like he meant what he said even though he looked distinctly uncomfortable now that he’d said it, which was…surprising. Considering their unwilling and unlikely alliance, considering the sharp indifference they’d talked to one another with before, considering the story Yoarashi had told Izuku about Todoroki long before he’d ever met him…it didn’t line up.

Izuku felt himself blushing (curse his overly expressive face), but he smiled anyway, giving Todoroki a nod of acknowledgement. “You, too.” And then, before he could think about it for too much longer, he was off, the lightning from One for All acting like a flare in the darkness of the rubble. The students surrounding them caught on immediately, shouting and giving chase, leading them directly to the fuel tank.

Izuku grinned as he arrived, upping the percentage of One for All throughout his entire body just so the wind that always surrounded him increased, blowing away some of the dust. Behind him he heard a crunching sound that he knew was ice piercing metal. Izuku ignored it, leaning against the tank with a smile, his arms folded across his chest.

“There he is!” one of their pursuers—in a blue costume—declared, pointing at Izuku.

There he is, indeed, Izuku thought, right as he leapt directly into the air at the sound of a flame roaring to life behind him. Izuku caught on to a pipe over his head then used it to swing himself up and out of the blast zone, winds from the explosion buffeting him as their enemies screamed and flew in random directions. Izuku watched the chaos unfold for a moment before moving again, swinging and leaping from pipe to pipe until he landed by Todoroki’s side with a laugh and a slightly over-dramatized bow. Todoroki raised a dubious eyebrow at him, ever the picture of indifference, but it was too late. Izuku had already seen his concern before and knew it was still there now.

“My costume is reinforced with body armor,” he explained, “and I’ve spent a lot of time training my maneuverability in air currents I have no control over.”

“You could have said that instead of ‘trust me I can handle an explosion,’ you know.”

“I know,” Izuku said, beaming at his unlikely partner in crime. “I prefer keeping you on your toes, though.”

Todoroki opened his mouth to say something, closed it, and opened it again. “You’re a menace.”

Izuku laughed awkwardly, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “You see, I think that’s an insult, but you also sound sort of impressed, so I’m not sure.”

“Well,” Todoroki said, bracing his arm against a pipe and looking over at Izuku, “considering the plan worked and neither of us betrayed the other, I’d say it’s a compliment.” He swung down onto the path below them using the pipe he’d grabbed earlier, willingly turning his back on Izuku for the first time since they’d started this whole thing. It was a sign of trust, a big one, and Izuku couldn’t help but beam when he noticed it. “Let’s go collect our prize, then.”

Izuku dropped down beside him, their boots crunching against gravel in sync with one another. They probably made for an ominous picture, this way, walking side by side through clouds of rubble and smoke. They paused, in unison, before the ten people in front of them. Izuku winced sympathetically at the sight of their half blown-off costumes.

“You’re crazy, you know that, right?” one guy said. “Both of you are crazy to attempt something like that.”

“I really am sorry,” Todoroki said. Izuku cast him a sidelong glance at the somber note in his voice, watching closely as he fished a ball out of his pouch. He leaned down, tapping the targets of their nearest opponent. “I simply can’t afford to fail this test.”

Todoroki tapped his targets solemnly while Izuku did the same to someone else’s, and then another person’s. He straightened as Todoroki tapped his final target, and they looked at each other as the targets on their own bodies turned blue.

“For those of you that have completed the first part of the exam, please head to the ante room to await further instruction,” a voice chimed, from the targets on both of their bodies. Izuku folded his hand into a fist, placing it against one of the blue targets on his chest. He looked at Todoroki again, and then, like it was a silent agreement, they fell into step with one another as they walked away from the scene of the disaster they caused.

They walked in silence for a few steps. Izuku thought about what Todoroki said as he pressed in the other guy’s targets, about how seeing Hosu happen on the news had resulted in Izuku petitioning the school to let him take the provisional licensing exam a year early. If his frustration at lack of action half a country away resulted in that, what had Todoroki, who had actually been there, been going through since? As much as Izuku blamed himself for the death of Izumi Kouta—and it was, in part, his fault—he hadn’t actually been there, watching as someone died in front of his eyes. Todoroki had.

Izuku thought about Yoarashi’s story, too, about the cold boy at an entrance exam that was so focused on the top that he viewed people as nothing more than obstacles or tools. But Izuku also remembered the tense, sad line of Todoroki’s shoulders during the Sports Festival when he melted his own ice, the heavy look in his eyes during the awards ceremony that had only grown heavier since then. For some reason, Izuku also remembered lonely days at Aldera, lunches eaten in bathroom stalls instead of at a table, of nights spent alone in his room, doing nothing other than watching old hero videos loop over and over and trying to glean new information about someone’s Quirk while watching them.

And Izuku knew all too well how to read other people’s body language, even the people that were trying to be subtle about it. He knew that Todoroki, though he’d likely never admit it himself, liked the way Izuku bantered with him. It was in the way his lips twitched and his eyebrows rose. And he knew, looking at Todoroki right now, that he could use a little bit of cheering up.

So Izuku smiled at Todoroki, teasingly, and said, “You were really worried about exploding me back there, huh? You should have seen how wide your eyes got.”

“Shut up, Midoriya.”

There was a smile trying to crack through that somber, icy façade, though. Izuku could see it, like it was an afterimage, ghosting across his eyelids when he closed them. “No, really,” he continued. “You were out for blood just a moment ago, trapping me in an ice arena and tapping one of my targets, but as soon as we team up out of necessity, I’m worthy of not being exploded with everyone else? I’m flattered, really.”

Todoroki’s lips twitched. “We could be talking about why you didn’t just decide to destroy my ice walls sooner, since you were clearly capable of it the entire time.”

“Right, that,” Izuku said, with a small laugh. He realized he was still wearing his protective goggles, so he pulled his Shiketsu hat off for a moment to finagle them off of his head. He scrubbed a hand through his sweat-slicked curls as they sprang free, pushing them off his forehead and back. “To be honest, I was a little curious about why you were staring at me earlier. I figured it was an opportunity to find out why. Besides, the walls made good terrain for me to fight in, as you saw, and just destroying them right off the bat could have caused more problems than it solved.” Izuku placed his hat back on his head and looped his goggles on his wrist, scrubbing at his eyes for a moment instead while his vision adjusted. Todoroki was silent, so Izuku blinked at him. The other boy was staring at him, eyes slightly wide, which was enough to give Izuku pause. “Todoroki-san?”

Todoroki seemed to snap out of whatever it was in an instant (and with a full-body jerk). “One of my father’s former sidekicks is one of your teachers at Shiketsu, apparently,” he said, shrugging slightly. “He passed your name along to Burnin’, who passed it along to me. She’s leading the Flaming Sidekickers now, if you don’t know.”

“Oh, uh, I know who Burnin’ is,” Izuku said, scratching the back of his head. “I didn’t realize Kinetic-sensei was talking about me, though.” Izuku wondered if he’d stop, if he asked him nicely.

That was probably a negative, considering Kinetic had forced him to be class representative.

Todoroki considered him for a long moment, so Izuku hurriedly dropped his hand from the back of his head under the other boy’s scrutiny, looking away quickly lest he start blushing up a storm, as per usual.  

“You don’t seem happy about it,” Todoroki ventured, somewhat hesitantly.

He said it, Izuku noted, like someone that was used to getting shut down whenever they said even remotely prompting things. Izuku’s heart twinged at his tone. After all, it hadn’t been too long ago that Izuku spoke around what he was actually trying to say the same way.

“I’m not, really,” Izuku said. “I’m mostly interested in underground heroics at the moment.”

“An unusual choice.”

“So I’ve heard,” Izuku said, smiling sheepishly at Todoroki. He quickly looked away.

“Why?”

The question caught Izuku off guard, and when he looked back at Todoroki, he found the other boy was gazing at him intently, something sharp and calculating in his mismatched eyes. “I want to help people,” he told Todoroki, smiling softly as he did. “Underground heroics is the most direct way to do that.”

“A higher ranking means better pay,” Todoroki said. “It means you’d touch a wider audience, get pulled for bigger jobs. Theoretically, you’d save more people. You’d even have a higher life expectancy, funnily enough.”

“I know,” Izuku said, waving his words away with one hand before he ducked under a pipe and stepped out of the factory zone. The ante room was in sight now, and Izuku charted a path there. “I don’t need money. Or fame. I like to believe that I was given the Quirk I have for a reason, you know? Beating up villains in showy ways is the least of it. I want to save people. I need to save people. And, I’m willing to do whatever it takes to accomplish that goal.”

“Whatever it takes,” Todoroki echoed, something strange about his voice as he said it.

Izuku smiled at him, holding open the door to the ante room. “Whatever it takes,” he agreed, as he followed Todoroki inside. When Todoroki looked at him again, Izuku offered him a bow. “It was a pleasure to work with you, Todoroki-san. I hope I succeeded at bringing pride to my name, famous as it seems to be, and to my school.” Izuku straightened with a mischievous grin, out-of-place as it was with the formal parting words from Shiketsu.

Todoroki let out a huff, scratching at his cheek as he did. “You were—”

“Midoriya-kun?”

Yoarashi’s voice.

Shit. That was Yoarashi’s voice.

Izuku turned towards Yoarashi as he hesitantly approached. He looked—he looked a lot of things Yoarashi didn’t usually look. Betrayed, angry, cold, eyes flicking over Izuku and then Todoroki. Todoroki seemed to pick up on Yoarashi’s attitude as well, his shoulders stiffening imperceptibly. Izuku buried his hands in his pockets, thumb clicking over the fidget cube in his left one reflexively. He silently whirred a dial.

“You…” Yoarashi said, looking at Izuku and then Todoroki, his expressions flickering again. Yoarashi’s gaze settled on Izuku, ultimately, something hardening in his eyes. “You were talking to him. You—”

Izuku held up his hand, the one not occupied with his fidget cube, and Yoarashi’s words stopped at the silent request. Izuku glanced over to Todoroki, who was watching the exchange, all cold analytics. His gaze snapped to Izuku’s as soon as he looked at him. Some sort of understanding flickered there, and Todoroki bowed his head in acknowledgement before turning and striding in the other direction, leaving Yoarashi and Izuku alone.

“So, you’ve transcended words for communication,” Yoarashi said, folding his arms across his chest. “And I told you. I told you what he said, what he did.” Yoarashi looked around, then scoffed. “All that about staying with the group, too, and you went off on your own anyway.”

Izuku blinked at him, not fully comprehending what was happening here. “You’re angry at me?” Izuku asked, incredulous. Izuku was going to dismiss Todoroki, words or no, so he could talk Yoarashi down from having seen him, but this…Izuku had never accounted for Yoarashi being angry at him. Why was Yoarashi angry at him? Just because he’d come in with Todoroki?

Yoarashi scoffed, and it burned through Izuku’s veins. That wasn’t…that wasn’t a sound that Yoarashi was supposed to make. Especially not at him. They’d never…they always… “You have the gall to ask me if I’m angry at you, seriously? Like you weren’t the one that just ran off to prove you really are better than me in every way? I know you, Midoriya-kun. You and your stupid need to rise to every challenge. I know you just wanted to find him so you could prove you could befriend him, to succeed where I failed. That’s just like you, isn’t it?”

Izuku flinched, but Yoarashi wasn’t done yet. If anything, he was picking up speed. “Nothing’s ever enough for you,” he said, voice dark in a way that froze Izuku’s veins. “You have the most powerful Quirk I’ve ever seen, so you use it the hardest way possible. Getting into Shiketsu? Done the hardest way possible. The final exam, just an opportunity for you to show off, because you’re Midoriya Izuku. You’re the best at everything. You can make friends with anyone. You can destroy the ground with one swing of your fist. You’re the stealthiest, the fastest, the strongest, the best. Always the goddamn best. And the worst part is that it doesn’t even matter to you! It doesn’t matter that you’re the best already, because you’re going to be better. You’re going to be better, and you’ll leave anything—anyone—behind to get there! Nothing is enough for you, not even your best friend.”

This last part was punctuated with a shove. Not hard enough to knock Izuku down, but definitely hard enough to send him backwards a few steps. Izuku careened into another person and bounced off of them, but he couldn’t even bring himself to utter an apology, because Yoarashi was right in front of him, breathing heavily as he finished his tirade. His words hung heavily in the air between them.

Something in Izuku snapped.

It was true, wasn’t it? It wasn’t. But it was. Izuku was striving for the top. The top of what, he didn’t know, but he was striving for it anyway. Wiggling and reaching, fingers splayed, always trying to be better, to be everything, to be worthy of that mantle All Might had placed on his shoulders, to be…to be more than just Midoriya Izuku.

But he would never…he would never just discard people to get to where he needed to be. He would never just…discard people’s feelings. Especially not Yoarashi’s. Yoarashi was his first friend. His best friend. He wouldn’t.

(Except he already had, hadn’t he?

Whatever it takes, he’d said to Todoroki, like it was a vow.)

After a moment, Yoarashi scoffed again. “You don’t even have anything to say for yourself? Fine. I’m sick and tired of always chasing after you, anyway. Come and find me when you want to talk. Really talk.”

He turned with a swish of his cloak and a dark expression, striding off in a different direction. Izuku stood there, mind blanking out at the edges, old fears descending onto his shoulders tenfold.

Useless.

Not enough.

Never enough.

Stupid.

Shitty, worthless Deku, why—

Something tugged on his arm. Something warm and vaguely familiar, though not necessarily in a comforting way. It tugged again, but Izuku couldn’t make it out through his blurring vision. It was then that he realized, somewhere along the way, that he’d started crying.

It had been a while since Izuku cried in public, oddly enough.

There was that tug on his arm again, and suddenly Izuku was moving, following the tug. His back hit against something firm and cold a moment later. A wall, he realized. He slid down it gratefully, automatically pulling his knees up to his chest. He buried his face in the fabric there, the world whiting out around him. Someone settled near him, clinking slightly as if they had heavy gear on as they did.

Izuku came back to himself faster than he used to, his tears drying and his gaze clearing, though he still didn’t lift his head from where it was buried in his knees. The person that had brought him here was still sitting next to him, and, judging by the faint smell of burnt sugar wafting from their general direction, Izuku had a feeling he knew who it was.

“Why did you stay with me, Kacchan?” Izuku asked, though he still didn’t look in the other’s direction.

There was silence for a moment, then shifting, like Kacchan was changing positions, and then a huff. “Because I need to fucking talk to you, you damn nerd.”

Izuku laughed weakly. That was Kacchan, alright. Some things could never be forgotten, like the smell of nitroglycerin and the grating voice of his childhood best friend. Izuku turned his head slightly, finally opening his eye to take in Kacchan. His hero costume was black and orange, with green gauntlets styled to look like grenades and smaller actual grenades adorning his belt. He had a mask on, though it had been pushed up to his forehead, knocking some of his spiky blond hair out of the way in turn. He had his arms folded across his chest and his legs stretched out in front of him, looking angry and tired.

(This Kacchan, Izuku noted, seemed very different from the Kacchan he’d known before, though. It was especially clear now that Izuku was closer to him and not trying to break up a fight between him and Shishikura. Izuku wasn’t sure what exactly the difference was—maybe it was the slight eyebags under his eyes or the unusually thoughtful depths of his red irises—but he was different.)

“Was it you that I bumped into?” Izuku asked.

Kacchan grumbled and shifted again, folding his right leg over his left instead. “Yeah. Pretty fucking annoying.”

“W-well. I’m sorry…?”

Kacchan let out an enormous sigh, looking up at the ceiling as he did. “It’s not like it’s your fault, idiot.”

Was that…the nicest thing Kacchan had ever said to him? It probably was. Oh, this was too weird. Way too weird. “S-sorry, but, uh…what are you—what are you, uh, doing?”

Sparks danced across Kacchan’s palms, but he silenced them by closing his hands into fists. Izuku eyed him warily, all the same. “I heard what that loud guy said to you,” Kacchan said, quietly, after a long moment in which he seemed to be collecting his thoughts.

Izuku sighed and looked away. He realized that they were keeping company with a toilet and a sink, sitting on the floor in a bathroom stall. Distantly, he wondered how long they’d been here. He also hoped it had been cleaned in recent history. “What about it?”

He knew, though. The only reason Kacchan would have brought him here was just to remind Izuku of what Yoarashi had already said, in less words.

Useless, worthless, Deku. I’ll show you your place!

“He said your Quirk could destroy the ground with just a swing of the fist,” Kacchan said instead.

Izuku blinked. “What?”

Kacchan made a frustrated growling noise and looked over at Izuku, red eyes burning. “He said you can destroy the ground with just a swing of your fist. Is it true?”

“I…uh…yeah? If I—if I want…to…”

“You don’t even have a Quirk.”

Oh. Yeah, this whole interaction made more sense now. “I do! I have—”

“No,” Kacchan said, interrupting swiftly. He looked away, contemplating his lap instead. “You don’t have a Quirk. You have the extra toe joint. You went at least fourteen years without the faintest glimmer of a Quirk. You don’t have a Quirk, yet somehow you have one anyway.”

Izuku tensed, apprehensive. Some part of his body—his intuition, probably—was screaming at him to get ready for a fight. “A Quirk that destroys the ground,” Kacchan continued, his grip tightening on his arms. “A nice, flashy one—I saw that weird green lightning, earlier. A Quirk that got you the top score on Shiketsu’s entrance exam. All you ever wanted was a Quirk so you can be a hero.” Kacchan turned his head, and suddenly, Izuku was pinned under his gaze. “You got your Quirk from that boss villain in Kamino, didn’t you? You’ll do anything to make your dreams a reality, just like Baldy back there said.”

Well.

Izuku was in some deep shit, wasn’t he?

And also in a bathroom. With only one door. And Kacchan was between him and said door. It had to be intentional.

Izuku reached out, ever-so-slowly, to settle his hand on the base of the sink next to him. He could probably burst the pipes, if it came to that. Water was something of a weakness for Kacchan’s Quirk, though Izuku would much rather not fight Kacchan in a bathroom in the middle of a provisional licensing exam.

Kacchan’s eyes tracked the movement, too. He knew what Izuku was doing, what he was preparing for. If the tensing of his shoulders was anything to go off of, he was preparing too.

“I didn’t get my Quirk from a villain,” Izuku said, voice low and surprisingly steady.

“Interesting phrasing,” Kacchan said, narrowing his eyes at Izuku. “That implies that you got your Quirk from somewhere.”

Izuku gritted his teeth. Stupid, stupid, stupid—

“I just got a Quirk later than usual,” Izuku said. “I was a late bloomer. My Quirk had a conditional activation.”

“A Quirk, huh?” Kacchan shifted, so his shoulders were facing Izuku. “Not your Quirk.”

“Clearly, you’re just going to read into everything I say to get the answers you want,” Izuku said, his voice low. “So I don’t know why you even bothered bringing any of this up in the first place.”

“You were not a late bloomer,” Kacchan said. Despite his deceptively relaxed posture, he looked wound as tight as a spring, ready to lash out at Izuku on a moment’s notice. Izuku couldn’t see himself, but he didn’t doubt that he probably looked the same.

“Is there any reason why I can’t be one?” Izuku asked, his grip tightening on the sink he was still gripping. He forced himself to relax, even if it was only marginally. “Other than the toe joint. It’s possible to have a Quirk and an extra toe joint, you know. Rare, but possible.”

“Damn it, I know I’m fucking right!”

Izuku closed his eyes for a moment. He took a deep breath in, and let it out, and braced himself to say the only words that were left to say.

“You just want to be right,” Izuku said, the edges of his voice soft. Kacchan’s expression was already hardening into one of extreme fury at either Izuku’s words or the tone of them. “I don’t live under a rock, Kacchan. I know what UA has gone through this year. I know every turn of your academic career is one threat after another. I know that you, in particular, have been in the most danger of everyone in school. But you’re looking for threats in places where there aren’t any, Kacchan!”

“Then what’s with the fucking sink, Deku?”

“I’m protecting myself!”

“Why would you need to protect yourself if you aren’t guilty?”

“Because it’s you!” Izuku yelled, surprised by the volume of his own voice. “Because it’s you, and I’m me, and things always end with your fist in my face no matter what I try or what I say! Because you’re you, and as long as you’re in front of me, I’m never enough! Just stupid, useless, Quirkless—”

Kacchan punched him.

Izuku reeled, one hand pressed against the side of his face where Kacchan’s knuckles connected. He looked up, meeting red eyes, slowly widening after being narrowed in fury, as Kacchan realized he’d hit him. Just like Izuku had said. Kacchan, at least, looked like he regretted it.

Which was great and all, but Izuku had lived ten years as Kacchan’s favorite punching bag. He’d gotten a break, almost half a year long, and now? Now, Izuku was decidedly not interested in going back.

So he did what anyone would do, really, and he let go of the sink only so he could punch Kacchan directly in the nose.

“Motherfucker!”

And then they were on each other, all knuckles and knees and elbows, grasping for purchase on the floor of a bathroom stall and failing miserably due to the fact that there was not enough space for two teenage boys to pummel one another on this bathroom floor. There was no real rhyme or reason to the pummeling either—just both of them venting their frustration with the other in a series of blows.

It ended with Izuku’s knee pressing painfully on Kacchan’s sternum, his hands clasped over both of Kacchan’s elbows in a grip that had to at least be bruising him, and Izuku commanding Kacchan to give up as a stream of blood dribbled off Izuku’s busted lip and onto the front of Kacchan’s costume.

Surprisingly, Kacchan did give up, the fight going out of him in a rush. His face was covered in blood and his eye was blackened, and there were several bruises littering arms. From the way Izuku’s body was quietly protesting existing, he probably didn’t look much better.

“You broke my fucking nose,” Kacchan said, voice garbled and strange. Probably because Izuku had, indeed, broken his nose.

“I can’t really say I’m sorry,” Izuku confessed, but he did wince in sympathy.

“Yeah?” Kacchan glared at him, but the effect was greatly reduced by the blood and the black eye. “Well, get the fuck off or whatever. We’re done here.”

Izuku got off of him and got up, Kacchan doing the same. Both of them winced as they stood, and then, now standing, regarded each other warily. Izuku hadn’t realized before, but he was actually the same height as Kacchan now. It put things in a different perspective, somehow, being able to look directly into Kacchan’s eyes without looking up at him. It was like, in a way, they were finally equals. Something changed in Kacchan’s gaze the longer they stared at each other, though what that look was, Izuku couldn’t say.

At the end of that look, Kacchan scoffed, flicking out his wrist. Izuku noticed, belatedly, that Kacchan was holding his Shiketsu hat. Izuku accepted it from him, fidgeting with the rim of it. He wondered when it had been knocked off his head, but then again—given the nature of his fight with Kacchan—he was neither surprised that it had fallen off of him nor surprised that he hadn’t noticed it had fallen off of him.

Kacchan turned away abruptly, flinging open the door to the bathroom stall and striding out like nothing had happened. Izuku trailed after him, wondering if he should even bother with putting the hat back on. Probably not, since he could feel several bruises developing on his face, and Kacchan was blazing a trail to the first-aid section of the room. The other examinees parted for him like he was Moses and they were the Red Sea.

Being covered in blood and looking ready for murder had that effect on people, believe it or not.

“Oh, my,” the medical professional on duty at the first aid station said as they walked up to her. “What in the world happened to you two?”

Kacchan grunted, which wasn’t an answer, so she looked to Izuku. He shrugged, which also wasn’t an answer, but she seemed to get the idea anyway. She cleaned out their wounds for them (including the ones they’d had before they beat each other up), splinted Kacchan’s nose with an apology for the fact that he would have to take the rest of the exam like that, gave Izuku an icepack for what was apparently an impressive bruise covering half his face, and sent them on their way.

Released from the medical station, Izuku made awkward eye contact with Kacchan, who glared back at him. Then Kacchan pointed at him. “Don’t think your school is better, or some shit. I beat two of you Shiketsu extras already today, and I can beat your ass too. Just not in a fucking bathroom stall.”

Was that…?

No way. No fucking way. If only Izuku had known years ago that breaking Kacchan’s nose was the answer to earning his respect…

Well, Izuku still probably wouldn’t have broken his nose before now. He would have liked to have known it was an option, though.

Izuku huffed a laugh. “I know. But you were the one that picked the arena.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Kacchan growled, shoulder checking him as he walked past. “You’re so fucking annoying.”

Izuku laughed awkwardly as he watched Kacchan walk away, grumbling all the while. He was not looking forward to Kacchan’s reaction when he realized Izuku was transferring into his class next year.

Izuku turned away himself. He just needed to find the rest of the second years now to check in. And maybe Yoarashi while he was at it? Izuku should apologize for upsetting him earlier, now that he was thinking a little more clearly, and maybe explain why he’d been with Todoroki earlier. Besides, Yoarashi was pretty easy to spot in a crowd because of his height, so it shouldn’t be too hard to find him and talk to him while they waited on the second part of the exam to start…

Izuku sighed.

Well. The good news was that he’d found Yoarashi.

The bad news was that he’d also found Todoroki.

Chapter Text

Maybe it was stupid, but for whatever reason, Shouto couldn’t shake the feeling that parting with Midoriya had been a bad idea. The tall guy from Shiketsu—Yoarashi?—had seemed incredibly pissed, either at Shouto or Midoriya (or both), and leaving Midoriya to deal with it alone felt like…leaving him behind. But also, Shouto was just being stupid. Midoriya had clearly not wanted him there. Except that Midoriya hadn’t actually said that, so Shouto could be wrong.

Shouto scowled at the row of water bottles neatly lined up on a table in front of him. No, this was stupid. He was stupid. Midoriya was not his friend—Shouto didn’t have friends, anyway, and he’d only just met Midoriya—and even if he was his friend (which he wasn’t), he had proven that he was more than capable of taking care of himself.

“You’re holding up the line,” the worker behind the table of snacks and water bottles gently reminded Shouto.

He snapped up a water bottle, gave the man a bow as a silent apology for taking up his time, and stalked off to a couch where he could sit by himself and prepare for the next part of the exam quietly, in the peace of his own mind.

“Todoroki-san!” a loud voice sounded from above him.

Or not.

Shouto resisted the urge to sigh. He looked towards the voice, perfectly unsurprised to find that it was Yoarashi (was that his name?). He was looking at Shouto the same way he had been earlier, right before Midoriya had sent him away. It was the look of someone that was ready to pick a fight with the world.

Shouto would know.

Shouto also knew there were a lot of reasons people at this exam would want to pick a fight with him, too. He’d seen the way they gave him a wide berth. He’d read the articles connecting him to Stain. He knew what they said, what they implied. He knew why those students had come for him, specifically, earlier. Shouto was many things, but unobservant wasn’t one of them.

It was honestly a miracle Midoriya had been willing to work with him, all things considered. Even then, he’d probably only recognized it was their best option, too.  

“What is it?” Shouto asked, not bothering to look at him.

There was a hard edge to Yoarashi’s voice when he responded. “I’m looking for Midoriya-kun. You haven’t happened to see him anywhere, have you? I figured you’d be a good person to ask, since you’re so friendly now.”

Shouto took a long drink from his water bottle. “Haven’t seen him. And we’re not friends.”

He chuckled dryly. “You and I seem to have that in common, then, huh? And here I was, thinking I’d never be able to relate to you.”

Shouto was about to take another drink but paused, looking up at Yoarashi. “What’s your problem?”

“What’s my problem?” Yoarashi asked, scoffing. “That’s rich, coming from you of all people.”

Shouto took a deep breath in, held it for four counts, and let it out, just like Hound Dog had told him to in one of their many therapy sessions. That had been a thing Aizawa mandated after Hosu. Not that it wasn’t helpful in some way, though.

“Look,” he said, keeping his voice perfectly even. He felt ice prickling under his skin, but he wouldn’t let it out. Tight lock, tighter key. No repeats of the Sports Festival were going to happen here. “I don’t know what I did to upset you, but I’m sorry.”

“Oh, I see,” Yoarashi said, voice dripping with venom. “You’re too good to even remember.”

“I don’t remember, no. If you would just tell me, then—”

Yoarashi sneered. “You’re just like him, you know that?”

“Just like who?”

“Endeavour,” he spat. “Both of you, with your cold eyes and your disrespectful demeanors. You only care about winning and not at all about people. About how they might feel.”

Shouto flinched before he could stop it, his head and his heart reeling at the comparison. So that’s what this was—Endeavour, at some point, had done something to this guy. That couldn’t be all, though—Yoarashi seemed convinced that Shouto had done something too, something similar.

And wasn’t that the most fitting thing Shouto had heard all day? It always came back to him. Shouto always ended up like him, no matter how hard he tried to not be like him. To be better than him. It never worked. It never would work.

“I bet you’re proud of it, though,” Yoarashi continued. “I bet you’re proud to be like him, proud to be—”

“Yoarashi-kun.”

Midoriya?

Shouto pulled himself out of his thoughts, looking back to the conflict happening in front of him. It was indeed Midoriya, even if his back was turned on Shouto and he sounded both angrier and more fatigued than he had minutes ago. What was more intriguing, though, was the fact that Yoarashi now looked extremely panicked about Midoriya’s presence.

“Midoriya-kun, what happened to your face? Are you alright? Are you…?”

Midoriya looked over his shoulder at Shouto, not revealing anything abnormal about his face, then back to Yoarashi. It was almost like he was trying to decide something. A moment later, his shoulders straightened out, and he said, “Please just go, Yoarashi-kun. We can talk later.”

Yoarashi’s gaze flickered from Midoriya to Shouto. “You—” That flicker again, like Yoarashi couldn’t decide who he was talking to. “You’re defending him. You’re actually defending him.”

Midoriya shifted his weight from foot to foot, in that way people did when their ribs were hurting them very much. Another thing Shouto knew all too much about. Except, when Shouto had left Midoriya with Yoarashi earlier, he had been completely fine. Not even injured, other than the scratch Shouto’s ice had left on his cheek.

“This is what I do, Yoarashi-kun,” Midoriya said, voice quiet but somehow still steely. “This is who I am.”

“What do—” His gaze flickered between them again, before settling on Midoriya. “What do you mean?”

Midoriya was quiet for a long moment, and when he finally spoke, it was so quietly that Shouto almost didn’t hear it. “I stand up for the people that need someone to stand up for them. Even if they don’t want it. Even if they don’t care. Even if I have to stand against someone I care about to do it. So Yoarashi-kun, please.” Midoriya’s voice broke slightly on the please, and Shouto, vaguely alarmed, realized he was close to tears. “I—I don’t know what I did or what to apologize for. I know you’re hurting right now too, but…Don’t be the person I have to stand against. Please.”

There was a long, pregnant silence. Shouto wondered if he should say something—point out that he didn’t need Midoriya to fight his battles for him, ask what the hell was going on, point out that he didn’t need Midoriya to fight his battles for him and also that he had no idea what was going on—but before he could, Yoarashi seemed to deflate. And then his entire demeanor changed completely—he drew himself up, puffed out his chest, slapped his hands onto the back of his thighs then slammed his head into the ground in the world’s most forceful bow. Shouto raised an eyebrow. Apparently, that was a regular occurrence for this guy, considering this was the second time he’d done this in one day. “I’m very sorry for everything I said to you, Midoriya-kun! It was unfair of me to spring this on you, especially when you’re going through plenty already. I’m also sorry for what I said to you, Todoroki-san!” And then he straightened and turned, marching in the direction of a small crowd of other Shiketsu students. Shouto was left with Midoriya.

Midoriya turned a little to the side, and Shouto finally got to see for himself why Yoarashi had sounded so panicked at first. At some point between arriving at the ante room and now, Midoriya had been beat to absolute shit. He had a black eye, swollen and very painful looking, a busted lip, a bandage over his cheek. If Shouto wasn’t mistaken, there were flecks of blood on his uniform, too. “Midoriya, what—”

Midoriya waved one hand through the air while he brought the other one up to his face. Shouto realized, for the first time, that he was holding an ice pack. “It looks worse than it is,” he said, like that was somehow supposed to make it better.

“What happened?” Shouto asked, raising his eyebrows.

Midoriya sighed. “I may or may not have gotten into a fight with a student from a different school. Do you, um, mind if I sit, maybe? I don’t want to intrude, or make you uncomfortable, or, I don’t know—oh! You might be saving that seat for someone else or something, or just want to be alone right now, or whatever might be—you know what, forget I asked! I’ll just—”

The rambling painted such a stark contrast to how Midoriya had acted before that Shouto couldn’t help but wonder if whoever did that to his face had also given him a concussion.

Midoriya started to turn away, which, Shouto, frankly, was not allowing as long as Midoriya looked like this, so Shouto leaned forward slightly, seizing Midoriya’s wrist to halt his movements. Midoriya looked back, eyes somewhat wide. Shouto looked at his hand, and then at Midoriya, realizing what he’d done. He dropped the other boy’s wrist like it had burned him. “Sorry. Sit. It’s fine.”

Midoriya eyed him dubiously, but he sat. Shouto cleared his throat somewhat awkwardly as Midoriya settled into the couch next to him, shifting around a lot more than what was probably strictly necessary. Shouto glanced over at him to see what he was doing, exactly, and then immediately regretted it.

Midoriya had removed the hat, for one thing, resting it on one knee instead. Shouto maybe could have taken this if it weren’t for the fact that Midoriya had also decided to lay his head back against the cushions of the couch, the line of his throat stretching out, exposed to the air, his Adam’s apple bobbing with every swallow, his impossibly curly hair fanning out on the cushions behind him, one leg stretched out in front. Something about the pose spoke of absolute trust, trust in Shouto.

He didn’t deserve it.

Shouto looked away abruptly. “You said you got into a fight with a student from a different school?” he prompted.

“Don’t worry, I won,” Midoriya said, his eyes still closed, his lips barely moving around the words.

Shouto looked away again, slipping into silence as he lost inspiration for what to say. So he didn’t say anything, just sipped his water, letting the conversation die. Surprisingly, the silence between him and Midoriya was a comfortable one, not something that needed to be filled.

“I’m sorry for stepping in earlier, by the way.”

“It’s…fine,” Shouto said, testing the words out as he said them. They felt true enough. “I wasn’t exactly in distress, but I don’t care that you stepped in. He seemed just as upset with you as with me, so I feel like it was in part your fight too.”

Midoriya was silent for a long moment, before letting out a quiet, “Yeah.”

Shouto sipped his water, and they descended into silence again.

“Why did you want to stay?” he finally asked.

Midoriya made a contemplative sound. “I don’t really know. You just…seemed like you could use the company. And my ribs hurt.”

Shouto huffed, and he noticed the edges of Midoriya’s smile at the corner of his vision at the sound. “Well, I’m glad this terrible couch can help your aching ribs. You look like shit, by the way. Are you even going to be able to do the next round of the exam?”

Midoriya made an exaggerated gasping sound. “You wound me, Todoroki-kun. Have you so little faith in my abilities, even after our adventures in the industrial area together?”

Shouto raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m Todoroki-kun now, am I?”

“You’ve been promoted from Todoroki-san,” Midoriya said, with a half-shrug. “See, now I know you’d let an injured man sit on a cheap couch with you. How could a person like that not be ‘kun’ worthy?”

“Wow,” Shouto said, unable to stop the corner of his mouth lifting. “You have very high standards, I see.”

“The highest.”

“Are you always this…cheeky?”

“No. Just when I’m talking to you, apparently.”

Shouto blinked at him. “What?”

“You’re kind of fun to tease. I never saw the appeal in teasing before, I think? But you’re just so stoic it’s kind of funny to watch your face twitch. It’s like a game, where the prize is an annoyed eyebrow twitch every time I make a terrible joke.”

Shouto stared at him. “Are you…concussed right now?”

Midoriya blinked rapidly, expression turning thoughtful. “I don’t think so. I mean, it’s possible? But I feel like I would know at the same time. Hm. The standard symptoms of a concussion include a headache, improper pupil dilation, and haziness. I don’t feel hazy, or like any of my thoughts are hazy. And I don’t have a headache. At least I don’t think I have a headache? My head does ache—my face, more specifically—but I don’t think my brain actually hurts.” Shouto blinked as Midoriya continued to speak, rapidly, documenting all possible symptoms of a concussion and whether or not they seemed to apply to him. He noticed that the ice pack Midoriya had been holding was beginning to melt. Curious to see if it would disrupt the rambling or not, Shouto tugged it off his face and out of his hand. Amazingly, Midoriya just kept talking—he’d moved onto pupil dilation, now, and how he couldn’t see if his own pupils were strangely dilated. Shouto refroze his ice pack for him while he listened and then tapped him with it to get his attention.

Midoriya’s gaze snapped over to him, suddenly sharp. He looked down at the icepack held between them, his cheeks suddenly turning pink with embarrassment.

Good, Shouto thought. It served him right for grabbing his tie earlier.

“You refroze my ice pack?” Midoriya asked, his voice several pitches higher than it was before.

“I did.”

“You, uh—you didn’t have to…do that.”

“It’s fine.”

“O-okay,” Midoriya said, taking the ice pack gingerly with both of his hands like it was going to explode and pressing it against his own face. “I was muttering, wasn’t I?”

“You were.”

“I—” Midoriya broke off with a forced laugh. “Gods, I’m sorry, this is so embarrassing. I haven’t done that in front of someone else since I was in middle school.”

“Wasn’t that one of your points, though? That abnormal behavior could indicate you’re concussed, that is?”

“You were listening?”

“Sure,” Shouto said, sitting back and drinking his water. “You’re probably going to get stabbed one day, if you zone out that much whenever you’re thinking about something, though.”

Midoriya blinked at him. “Uh, thanks for the advice?”

“Or you could give away important information to the enemy.”

“There’s a reason I haven’t done it in front of anyone since middle school, Todoroki-kun.”

Shouto shrugged placatingly, Midoriya put his ice pack back over his eye, and they lapsed into silence again. Shouto, however, was contemplating this reveal. It felt a lot like trust, yet again, but what reason could Midoriya possibly have for being willing to trust Shouto with anything, especially after only just meeting him? It was so…frustrating. Frustrating, just like everything else Midoriya had done today.

“Hey, Todoroki-kun,” Midoriya said, voice quiet and genuine and a little bit nervous. Shouto eyed him suspiciously. This felt like a leadup to one of those moments where Midoriya threw Shouto off his game—either by grabbing his tie or sincerely declaring he had Shouto’s back—and Midoriya did not disappoint. “Would it be weird to say that I sort of admire you, in a way?”

Shouto had been expecting something, sure, but never anything like that. His first thought was that Midoriya couldn’t possibly mean it. His second was that there was no way Midoriya didn’t mean it, with how he was shuffling nervously in his seat like he was presently regretting every decision in his life that led up to this point. So, as all great men do in the face of utter bafflement, Shouto just said, “What?”

Midoriya chuckled nervously. “I guess it would be weird to say. Forget I mentioned it, then, Todoroki-kun.”

Shouto did not want to forget he mentioned it, thank you very much, so what he said was, “No.” A moment later, he realized that was rude even by his standards and he added, “What do you mean, you admire me?”

Midoriya laughed nervously, still bright red. He looked away from Shouto as if he were desperately searching for a lifeline in the crowd. “I just…well! You know, it’s kind of silly, since I don’t even really know you, but I, well, I, um… Do you know, I watched the UA Sports Festival this year? I don’t really—gah! This is so stupid to say, but I just, when I watched that, I noticed that you weren’t using your fire for anything and I was sort of worried that there was something…I don’t know, wrong?” He waved the hand not occupied with holding ice on his face around nervously. “But anyway! You’re using it now! I don’t know why you weren’t before, but I think it’s good that you are! I like to think it means you’re strong in some way, or something along those lines. Besides, I saw…um…I read. About Hosu, and I know that you were attacked by the Hero Killer, and that he also attacked your father, and, um. That would be hard, probably, and, ah…anyway, you’re still here! And I think you’re doing well in spite of that. Being strong, you know? So I admire you in that way! That’s, uh. That’s all.”

Shouto stared. Midoriya grew redder and redder under his gaze, shifting uncomfortably the longer it continued, but still, Shouto couldn’t bring himself to look away.

“Todoroki-kun?” Midoriya asked, his voice several pitches higher than it had been a moment before.

“You mean that,” Shouto said, his tone unnecessarily accusatory for someone that had, by all means, just received a compliment.

“Erm, yeah…? Yeah, I, uh. I mean it. Are you…?”

“You actually mean that,” Shouto said, more so to himself than Midoriya, as he finally turned away. He glanced back at Midoriya, though, before looking away again. “I hunted you down as soon as this exam started, just because I wanted to test myself against someone with a Quirk that sounded vaguely like All Might’s and I was feeling petty because you called me out about the staring thing, and you actually mean that.”

“Um. Yes. I do. Uh, Todoroki-kun…”

Shouto leaned back until he hit the back of the couch. He looked over at Midoriya, who was still bright red with embarrassment. “I can’t tell if you’re really kind or really stupid,” he confessed, rather bluntly.

Midoriya laughed, though, and looked away, apparently immune to Shouto’s rudeness. “I think I’m probably…both.”

Shouto gazed at him for a moment longer, then looked away. As was quickly becoming standard with this conversation, they slipped into companionable silence, though this one was made slightly more awkward by the persistent shuffling sounds of Midoriya’s awkward fidgeting. Shouto survived about a minute of this before he closed his eyes and sighed. “Just say it.”

“Wh-what?”

“Whatever it is you’re here to say, just say it.”

“Oh, um. You’re perceptive. But, uh, I’m actually trying to think of a way to…not be rude.”

“Midoriya,” Shouto said, opening his eyes just so he could raise one extremely judgmental eyebrow in the other boy’s direction. “I am a very rude individual myself, since you seem to have forgotten. Just say it.”

“You flinched!” Midoriya blurted, his face scrunching up as he did.

There was only one thing he could be talking about, and Shouto had hoped he hadn’t seen.

“Oh.”

“You flinched,” Midoriya repeated, much quieter, “when Yoarashi-kun compared you to Endeavour. You told me to shut up, earlier, but you didn’t deny it when I asked if you were afraid of your own Quirk. There’s only one thing that doesn’t add up, though.” Shouto didn’t interrupt, and Midoriya seemed to take it as permission to continue, albeit nervously. “Your scar isn’t a scar from an open flame. Those…look a lot different than that one.”

This was a great moment for Shouto to lie his ass off, deny all of Midoriya’s claims, tell him to butt out, and leave it at that. For some reason, though, it didn’t feel…right. “Most people think it’s a birthmark.”

“Is it?”

Shouto took another sip of his water, but he didn’t answer. A tense, awkward silence settled between them, broken only when a strange, slightly unhinged-sounding laugh bubbled its way out of Midoriya’s throat.

“I’m sorry, Todoroki-kun,” Midoriya said. “I’m way out of line. Forget I said anything.” He made to stand up, so Shouto stopped him, the same way he had before, with a hand on his wrist. Midoriya jolted, surprised. “Todoroki-kun…?”

“Stay,” Shouto said. “If you want. You did say you were going to be rude beforehand, didn’t you?”

“I…did.” Midoriya looked slightly dazed as he gazed at Shouto, expression unclear. “Are you sure you want me to sit here after that?”

Shouto shrugged. “It’s fine. I have something I want to ask you anyway.”

“You do?”

“Your…friend,” Shouto started.

“Yoarashi-kun?” Midoriya supplied, cocking his head to the side curiously. His curls bounced with the movement, which Shouto found to be a strangely adorable detail.

Odd. The word adorable wasn’t usually in Shouto’s vocabulary, period.

“Him.”

“Oh,” Midoriya said, a bit of clarity working its way into the green of his eyes. “I’m sorry for what he said to you. I know it might not look it, all things considered, but the majority of us at Shiketsu really do want to be on good terms with UA.”

Shouto blinked. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I feel like it might be, at least in part,” Midoriya said. “He’s frustrated with me, though I don’t really know why. I think he might have been taking it out on you, a bit.”

Shouto sighed. “Don’t blame yourself, or whatever. For either case. I’m pretty sure I did something to piss him off in the past and just don’t remember it.”

Midoriya stiffened instantly, which was almost never a good sign. “You don’t know?”

“No.” Shouto looked at him, considering. “That’s what I wanted to ask you. You know what it is, don’t you?”

“Um…” Midoriya looked at Shouto before his gaze flickered to where Yoarashi was standing with the other Shiketsu students. “Yeah. But…it’s not really my place to tell you, I don’t think. If you really don’t remember.”

That just about confirmed it, then. “I guess we probably did meet at the recommended exam for UA.”

“I thought you didn’t remember…?”

“I don’t,” Shouto said, scowling at his hands. “Aizawa-sensei just mentioned that he got the highest score on it earlier.”

“Eraserhead!” Midoriya shouted, unexpectedly, which was enough to make Shouto jolt in surprise. “That’s your homeroom teacher, right? The Erasure Hero: Eraserhead? Underground hero? He has a Quirk that erases other Quirks, which means he practically fights Quirkless!”

“That’s him,” Shouto said, amused by the outburst though he’d never admit to it out loud. “How do you know that, though?”

“I like to think I know every hero,” Midoriya said, smiling widely as he did.

“Doubtful.”

“Test me then.”

“Alright.” Shouto considered him out of the corner of his eye for a moment. “Native.”

Midoriya sobered instantly, apparently recognizing the name from the news when the hero had died. “Native,” he intoned. “The Indigenous Hero. His Quirk was called Spirit Flow. It was a physical enhancer that gave him increased strength and speed at the cost of his own vitality. He could channel it into others too, if he wanted. He started his career as a freelancing sidekick, using his Quirk on various different heroes when they needed it, before he eventually split off from that route to work on his own, mostly using his Quirk on himself. Six months after he made that decision was when he was targeted by the Hero Killer.”

Shouto looked away, because he might not know what expression his face was making, but whatever it was, he knew he didn’t want Midoriya to see it. “Consider me mildly impressed. Most people don’t even know his name.”

Midoriya was quiet for a moment. Shouto looked over at him as he shifted, throwing his head back against the cushions like he had earlier, laying the icepack against his face and folding his arms across his chest. He closed his eyes. “I saw Native fight once. Back in his freelance sidekick days. It was pretty cool.”

“I never had the pleasure,” Shouto said, simply. He could hear the hollow note in his own voice, though.

Midoriya hummed. “Yoarashi-kun tried to befriend you at the entrance exam and you told him he was nothing more than an obstacle in your way.”

Not for the first time in this conversation with Midoriya, Shouto was completely thrown off. “What?”

“That’s why he doesn’t like you,” Midoriya said. The edges of his mouth quirked. “I won’t lie Todoroki-kun, that’s a pretty rude thing to say to a person. But people change, you know. People can change a lot, if they put their mind to it, and if the circumstances are right.” Midoriya cracked his eye open, his iris sliding over to Shouto before he closed it again. “You aren’t your father, Todoroki-kun. He’s your father and you’re his son, so I think that people like Yoarashi-kun will always see similarities between the two of you. But it doesn’t mean you are him. It doesn’t mean that you have to be anything like him if you don’t want to be.”

Shouto felt his eyebrows creeping up his face in bewilderment. All he could think was how? How had this person, this person who he’d never met before, accurately assess every aspect about an overheard conversation that bothered him? And then, how had he known exactly what to say to counteract those doubts?

“It’s harder than people give it credit, sometimes,” Midoriya continued. “It’s hard to remember your past. It’s easier to forget. It’s hardest of all to let it go.”

“You talk like someone that’s lived for a hundred years, not fifteen,” Shouto said.

“Sixteen,” Midoriya corrected with a rueful smile. “Those extra months make a difference on wisdom levels, trust me.”

Shouto rolled his eyes. “Sure they do.”

“Ah, a nonbeliever, I see.”

Shouto only sighed in response to that.

A small smile graced Midoriya’s lips. “Seriously, though, Todoroki-kun. It’s about letting the words roll off of you. If you let them stick, you’ll never get anything done.”

“Words comparing me to Endeavour, you mean?”

“Correct.”

Shouto considered him for a long moment, the darkness in the depths of his eyes, the way his brow crinkled a bit with some unknown sorrow when he thought he was alone. “You would know something about letting things go, wouldn’t you?”

Midoriya’s smile faltered for just a moment before it returned full force, brighter than it had been before. “You really are perceptive, Todoroki-kun.”

It wasn’t an answer.

Shouto opened his mouth, ready to ask him for more, when he was interrupted by a soft, “Todoroki-san?”

Shouto and Midoriya both turned in the direction of the voice. Shouto was unsurprised to find that it belonged to Yaoyorozu, Asui in tow. He inclined his head to them both in greeting, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Midoriya do the same. “Oh,” Yaoyorozu said, her gaze landing on Midoriya and lingering for perhaps a moment longer than it needed to. “I’m sorry. Am I interrupting something?”

“Not at all,” Midoriya said, at the same time Shouto said, “Yes.” Midoriya shot him an unimpressed look, one eyebrow raised slightly. Yaoyorozu and Asui looked between both of them, clearly unsure which of them was to be believed here.

“You’re not interrupting anything,” Midoriya asserted, looking back at Yaoyorozu. The message was clear to Shouto, who knew his own tactics when he saw them—absolute evasion. Give the enemy as few opportunities to ask questions as possible, and you would rarely have to come up with ways to answer them. Shouto would be impressed if he weren’t so frustrated at Midoriya being so much better at it than him at the moment.

“As long as you’re sure,” Yaoyorozu said, hesitantly, still looking between Midoriya and Shouto.

Midoriya seemed to take it as the distress signal it was, since he stuck his hand out for Yaoyorozu to shake. “I’m Midoriya Izuku.”

“Oh,” Yaoyorozu said, taking his hand and shaking it hesitantly. “Admittedly, I am not used to the American greeting. It’s very nice to meet you, though, Midoriya-san. Yaoyorozu Momo.”

“The American greeting feels more familiar, in a way,” Midoriya said, fidgeting with the edge of his icepack with his other hand. “My father works in America, so I see it used a little more. I like it better, though! It feels a little more friendly and less formal. And, well, UA and Shiketsu…we’re supposed to be friendly.” He cast a bemused look in Shouto’s direction. “For the most part, anyway.”

Shouto didn’t give Midoriya the satisfaction of watching him react to the jab.

“That makes a lot of sense—kero,” Asui said, shaking Midoriya’s hand next. “Asui Tsuyu. You can call me Tsuyu, though.”

“Did you two need something?” Shouto asked.

“We’re just doing our duty, as class representative and vice representative,” Yaoyorozu said. “I suspect that the next half of the exam will most likely require extensive teamwork, so I would like to gather everyone to go over our options before then.”

Shouto nodded in agreement, which seemed to satisfy Yaoyorozu well enough. A bit of amusement glinted in the green of Midoriya’s eye, and his lips quirked ever-so-slightly. “You two seem like a good choice for class leadership,” he said. “You both seem very put together. Much different from the class rep in my class.”

“What’s your class rep like—kero?”

“Chaotic,” Midoriya answered, but the way his eyes lit up as he said it made it seem like some sort of private joke. “He forgets about his duties all the time, doesn’t sleep enough, spends all his free time training. If it weren’t for Watanabe-san, our vice representative, I don’t think he’d get anything done.”

“I’m sure he can’t be all bad,” Yaoyorozu remarked.

“He’s not,” Midoriya said, still looking bemused. “He could probably stand to remember to take attendance more often, though.”

“I suppose that’s fair,” Yaoyorozu said. “I too forget to take attendance sometimes.”

“It can even happen to the best of them, apparently,” Midoriya said with a soft smile, drawing a bit of color to Yaoyorozu’s cheeks as she blushed in embarrassment.

Shouto watched his expressions, noting something. He had changed again, acting more like how he had been acting in the entrance to the exam, or even when they’d been fighting earlier.

It took him a moment to realize what it was. Shouto hid his feelings behind indifference, not expressiveness. He had his reasons for that—namely, Endeavour believed emotions were a weakness and had done his best to beat them out of Shouto whenever he could—so it wasn’t surprising to him that he’d never realized before now that using emotions to hide was also an option. And Midoriya, apparently, was pretty damn good at it.  

But that only begged the question Shouto had started to ask earlier—what would Midoriya have to hide?

“Ah, thank you,” Yaoyorozu said. “You’re very kind.”

“Of course,” Midoriya said, fishing his hat off of his knee and rising swiftly. He ran fingers through his hair—Shouto couldn’t help but track the motion, for some reason—and then pulled his cap back over his head, tucking his curls out of sight. “I’ll leave you to your preparations. I’m being flagged down myself, anyway.” He bowed at the waist to both of them, his back more or less to Shouto from where he’d just stood from the couch.

Which wouldn’t have been an issue, except for the fact Midoriya happened to have a very tight hero costume, and Shouto…noticed certain things. Things he really shouldn’t be noticing. Or thinking about.

Shouto looked away abruptly and took a swig out of his water bottle to distract himself.

“It was a pleasure to meet both of you,” Midoriya said, a faint clicking sound emerging from his pocket. “And you too, of course, Todoroki-kun. Here.” He dropped the ice pack he was holding into Shouto’s hands. Shouto blinked at it, confused, until Midoriya gave him that same lopsided smile he’d had when he’d grabbed Shouto’s tie. “A little something to remember me by. I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again, though.”

And then he turned and walked off, leaving Shouto with Asui and Yaoyorozu, both of whom were giving him rather knowing looks that he didn’t entirely like. “What?” he snapped.

Asui opened her mouth, but Yaoyorozu beat her that time, probably by design. “Nothing, Todoroki-san. We’re meeting over there, whenever you’re ready.”

Asui just ribbited in affirmation and followed Yaoyorozu when she left.

Shouto, well. Shouto stayed there for a little while longer. Midoriya had given him a lot to think about, after all.

“I was surprised to see that you and Todoroki-san both made it through the first round,” Mora said as Izuku approached the Shiketsu huddle.

Izuku gave him a small smile. “We ended up joining forces. It was one of those ‘an enemy of my enemy is a friend’ things.”

Mora cleared his throat. “Was that before or after he did that to your face?”

“Oh, no, that’s from something else.”

Mora blinked at him, which was a particularly odd expression on him, considering only one eye was exposed under all his hair. “Do you…care to elaborate?”

“I would rather not if I don’t have to,” Izuku said. Mora continued looking at him, so he shrugged.

Mora eventually gave up, turning to the collective group. “Well, all in all, we only lost Camie-san and Shishikura-kun in the first round. Since we have Midoriya-kun and Yoarashi-kun still, that means we’re at an even twenty still, so not too bad.”

“How did Camie-san and Shishikura-senpai get eliminated?” Izuku asked, raising his hand like he was in a classroom.

Mora sighed. “Well, Shishikura-kun went after Bakugou-san from UA. Camie-san I’m not sure about—right after she was taken out, she apparently got sick and asked for a cab to take her home.” Izuku stiffened. Camie’s strange behavior had, admittedly, slipped to the back of his mind in all the chaos of the last round. Her going home early on top of everything else couldn’t be a good sign. He just wished he could check in with Tsukauchi, but his phone was in his bag with his school uniform so it didn’t get broken while he took the exam. “Anyway, though this is a blow, the good news is that the second half of the exam is almost always group-based rescue exercises, and we at Shiketsu excel at teamwork. You are all going to do amazing in the next round.”

Izuku made eye contact with Yoarashi across their huddle, but Yoarashi looked away, astutely avoiding Izuku’s gaze.

Izuku took a deep breath, held it, let it go.

Rescues next, huh? He needed to focus. He’d worry about Camie later, just like how he’d talk to Yoarashi later.

If Yoarashi would still talk to him, that was.

Chapter Text

Izuku was carefully lowering a child into one of the second year’s arms while hanging upside down from a precariously balanced piece of rubble when the alarm sounded. He and the second year he was with both looked towards the source of the chaos.

“It’s Gang Orca,” she said, her eyes glowing red as she focused on a point through the wall. She had one of the most fascinating Quirks for rescues, of the second years, since she could see through any structure within a certain radius. Excellent for search and finds, not bad for combat, especially working with an ambush style of some sort, though she should probably learn some variety of weapons-based martial arts at— “And several henchmen. They’re attacking the first aid shelter.”

Izuku nodded, lowering himself to his feet. “I’ll take that message back to Mora-senpai. We should send someone to fight, to stall Gang Orca while the injured can be evacuated from the treatment area. At least until we get some backup.”

The second year nodded, then to the HUC member in her arms, she said, “Don’t worry, we’ll still get you somewhere safe.”

Izuku offered them both a bright smile before dashing towards where Mora was spearheading operations at the front of the group. Yoarashi, unsurprisingly, was already there, fighting with Mora.

“Send me to fight the villain!” Yoarashi said. “I’m the fastest and the strongest here. I can hold him off to help evacuations!”

“I get that, but I could really use your Quirk lifting this rubble—”

“I don’t have time to argue! I have to go there now!”

Yoarashi started to lift off the ground, so Izuku sprang forward, clutching at his friend’s wrist. “Yoarashi-kun, listen to him, please!” Izuku turned to Mora. “Send me. I’m not the fastest, and I’m certainly not the strongest, but I’m enough until reinforcements can arrive.” He looked at Yoarashi, pleading with him with his eyes. Trust me, I don’t know what’s wrong and we still haven’t talked but trust me, help me, please. “The lives of the people here matter just as much as the lives of the people over there. You can save them better than I can. Please, Yoarashi-kun.”

He looked like he wasn’t going to agree, like he was going to tear his arm out of Izuku’s grasp and fly off anyway.

To Izuku’s surprise, Yoarashi landed. He nodded at Mora, who in turn nodded at Izuku.

That was all he needed.

He arrived to the first aid station in what was probably record time for him just as Gang Orca shattered a wall of ice with a sonic blast. Ice most likely meant Todoroki was here and—yep, that was his red and white hair over there. Izuku scanned the area for other students actively fighting Gang Orca—none, but there was a student in a neon green costume passed out nearby. That wasn’t necessarily good, but Gang Orca and the thirty or so henchmen around him were more focused on Todoroki, and if he didn’t get backup soon, he was going to be overpowered too.

Izuku was backup, luckily.

More ice shot out, and Gang Orca reared up—sonic attack again, which meant Izuku had a few seconds to get there and redirect it. Izuku barreled through the henchmen, using them as bracers he could push off of for speed boosts, until he eventually reached his target right as he was about to unleash his attack. Izuku sprang, using his One for All powered momentum to barrel into Gang Orca. Izuku caught his arm and hauled himself onto Gang Orca’s shoulders, gripping his neck with his legs as he spun them both off-kilter right as another one of Gang Orca’s sonic attacks sounded. It shattered a corner of Todoroki’s ice wall and caused several of Gang Orca’s own henchmen—the ones heading towards the evacuating civilians—to pause and cover their ears.

Izuku couldn’t have planned it better if he tried.

A noise sounded behind Izuku and he turned his head—one of the henchmen had shot something at him, something gray and goopy. He didn’t know what it was, but he was fairly certain he didn’t want to get hit with it, so he flipped over Gang Orca’s head, using the momentum to redirect their bodies again, so that Gang Orca was in between Izuku and the gray goop. Gang Orca grunted as he took the hit with one shoulder, but he recovered fast, reaching for Izuku’s throat with his other hand.

Izuku bent backwards, and Gang Orca’s hand passed harmlessly through the air where Izuku’s head had once been. Izuku put his hands flat on the ground, supporting himself in a handstand, swinging his legs up to aim a hearty kick at Gang Orca’s outstretched hand. Gang Orca hissed as it connected.

Izuku bent his elbows, then sprang up into the air, twisting so his feet were on the ground when he landed. He took in Gang Orca, the way he was squaring his shoulders, and the henchmen in Izuku’s immediate vision range who were levelling their devices at him to shoot more gray sludge at him. Izuku immediately sprang into the air and took a deep breath. He hadn’t really tried to use Air Force this way yet, but, theoretically, there was no reason it shouldn’t work.

Izuku aimed his fingers, poised to flick, and then let off a blast of Air Force directly at the ground. In the air as he was, Izuku also shot himself backwards, flying towards Todoroki’s last known location.

Izuku skidded to a landing rather gracelessly beside Todoroki and stumbled. Todoroki caught his arm with one hand, steadying him, and threw up an ice wall in front of them both. A glob or two bounced against it as soon as it was erected.

Izuku beamed and looked up at Todoroki. Todoroki met his gaze, a little bit of some unknown emotion sparking in his mismatched eyes. He really did have unfairly pretty eyes, especially when they looked like that, whatever that was, but Izuku would have to think about that later. For now, he had a reputation to uphold.

“Come here often?” Izuku asked, making sure to wag his eyebrows in an appropriately suggestive way.

Todoroki snorted—laughed? Had Izuku finally gotten a laugh out of him? A moment later, four cold fingers pressed against his cheek, pushing Izuku’s face away in a way that could only be described as teasing. The fingers were gone as soon as they’d appeared, though the coolness was still there. Izuku raised his hand to his cheek, surprised when his fingers met a thin coating of frost.

“You iced my face for me?” he asked.

“Your eye is swelling,” Todoroki said, shrugging. “And we can’t fight Gang Orca if we’re both half-blind.”

Thank goodness he iced his face, since it helped mitigate some of the violent blushing that was suddenly happening. “Thanks.”

Todoroki glanced at the ice they were hiding behind, then back at Izuku. “I’m guessing you have some sort of plan, right?”

“A rough one.”

“Better than mine, which is presently nonexistent.”

Izuku laughed softly. “Alright, well, we work well together when I draw fire and you support me from behind. Why fix it if it’s not broken, right?”

Todoroki squinted at him for a second. “Fine.” Over his shoulder, a henchman appeared to fire more gray sludge in their direction, so Izuku tugged on the arm Todoroki was still holding, pulling Todoroki behind him. Izuku punched in the direction of the goop, using about 20% of One for All distributed throughout his entire arm. The henchman that shot it screeched as his own attack pelted him instead.

“I want to…try something, actually.”

Izuku hummed curiously, throwing a look over his shoulder at Todoroki, prompting him to continue.

“Your wind attack. It moves in a straight line, right?”

Izuku raised an eyebrow. “That’s pretty random, but yes.”

“My fire blasts. Can you use it to correct the trajectory of the flames towards Gang Orca?” Izuku gave him a look. “What? I fought you. I know you specialize in mix-ups. He’s too good, he’d just dodge direct blasts.”

He had a point, but Izuku was still suspicious of something else. He would circle back to it later, though, when they weren’t about to get attacked by a high-ranking pro hero and his swarms of henchmen. “It’s risky, and you’re probably putting a little too much trust in a person you’ve barely fought with, but I can do it.” A high-pitched frequency began to sound on the other side of their ice barricade, signaling their strategizing time was almost up.

“Then let’s do it.” The ice barrier burst apart, and Izuku was off.

He bounced off of one henchman, kicking them square in the chest—which served the function of both knocking them down and shooting Izuku towards his next target. He caught them with a heel to the face before grabbing their arm and spinning them around to block a shot of cement fired at him with their body. A wall of ice sprang to life on Izuku’s other side blocking another tirade of goop, and Izuku shot Todoroki a grateful smile. He rolled his eyes.

Izuku was definitely growing on him.

Izuku leapt at the wall, running sideways along it for a few paces before springing off, tackling another henchman to the ground before getting up immediately afterwards. Izuku dodged to the right jerkily, narrowly avoiding a glob of green goo before charging towards the henchman that shot it. Their faces were covered, but Izuku was fairly sure they were at least a little bit terrified of him.

Izuku sprang forward, throwing a right feint before spinning around and clocking the henchman with his left fist. He stumbled backwards, one hand coming up to his still covered face. Izuku pressed his attack, falling onto his hands to spring up and grab the man around his shoulders with his legs instead. Izuku pulled himself forward, tightening his thighs around the henchman’s throat as they both toppled with Izuku’s weight situated firmly on the guy’s upper half. On the ground, Izuku immediately made a grab for his cement gun, wrestling him for it.

“Oh my gods,” the guy wheezed, giving the gun a tug. “Why is it always you?”

“What?” Izuku asked, pausing on his tugging to look at the henchman sandwiched between his legs. Said henchman pulled up his mask, exposing a straight nose, brown eyes, dark hair. It took Izuku a second, but he recognized him eventually. “Oh, hey! I didn’t know you worked for Gang Orca too.”

The man—who also worked for the stunt group that did the Shiketsu exams and had been guarding the civilian during the entrance exam—sighed, closing his eyes in a very defeated way. Izuku took advantage of it to tug the cement gun out of his grasp. “It’s my full-time job. I do the stunt stuff on the side.”

“Hey, that’s cool though!” Izuku offered, fiddling with the gun. It really should just have a trigger somewhere—ah. The man grunted as gray goop shot out of the end and directly on his thigh. “Sorry about that.”

“Really,” he said, sounding ready for the world’s longest nap, “don’t worry about it.”

Izuku released him, springing to his feet with gun in hand. “Good to see you again! Thanks for the gun!”

He just groaned in response, and Izuku shot off again, dodging three globs easily. He fired off three shots of his own, nailing each henchman square in the chest with each one.

Izuku grinned. This thing was way more fun than a Nerf gun.

Another sonic attack sounded, and Izuku covered his ears reflexively, looking towards Gang Orca. His attack was focused on Todoroki, who had hidden himself behind another ice wall. An ice wall that was about to shatter.

Izuku recovered quickly, aiming the cement gun directly at Gang Orca. He fired off shot after shot, hitting the large back of the hero with two before he realized what was happening and started dodging, his attack on Todoroki forgotten. Izuku continued approaching, keeping Gang Orca under a steady stream of fire from the cement gun.

“It’s clever to use one of those against me,” Gang Orca said. “But you left your back wide open for attack.”

Oh my gods, Gang Orca called me clever!

“I didn’t leave my back wide open,” Izuku said, grinning at the tell-tale sound of goop hitting an ice wall behind him. “I just trusted my ally to watch it for me, instead.”

All Gang Orca responded with was a contemplative “hm.”

Izuku’s gun jammed, and Gang Orca seemed to notice it, reeling up to shoot a sonic attack directly at Izuku this time. Izuku launched the gun at him (he dodged), gearing up go on the defensive, when flames burst in between him and the hero. Gang Orca, predictably, dodged out of the way with ease.

Izuku glanced over at Todoroki. He had his jaw set, his hand outstretched. Izuku could see him shaking, even from here.

Todoroki met his gaze, just for a second, and Izuku smiled.

He flicked his fingers.

Gang Orca dodged a second time as the flames changed course, heading directly for the spot he’d just dodged to a moment ago. Izuku glanced at Todoroki and jerked his chin slightly to the right, receiving a nod in return.

They split up, Izuku darting to the left, using fifteen percent of One for All, Todoroki to the right on an ice slide. Gang Orca considered both of them, ultimately seeming to decide that Todoroki was the bigger threat as he turned more to the right, preparing for an attack.

A big mistake.

Izuku sprang forward, just as Gang Orca lunged for Todoroki, grabbing the pillar of ice Todoroki had erected for him and using it to swing himself around, just as he’d done earlier. Gang Orca’s attack was interrupted as he was forced to dodge Izuku’s kick instead. Izuku pressed forward, jabbing at Gang Orca twice. In turn, Gang Orca blocked both hits, forcing Izuku back. Izuku flicked towards him, and he staggered backwards with the pressure.

“Midoriya!”

Izuku skirted to the left as Gang Orca skirted to the right, ducking as flames roared towards him. He flicked towards the flames, redirecting them towards Gang Orca, who dodged again.

“Again!” Izuku called to Todoroki. “We can keep him on the ropes this way!”

Todoroki nodded, immediately setting off another blast as soon as the other one ended. Izuku ran to the proper position to redirect it once Gang Orca dodged, then did it again, and again. It wasn’t a perfect strategy, since going on the offensive like they were left them practically defenseless. A few other students had arrived to the fight, helping to pick off some of the waves upon waves of henchmen, but Todoroki and Izuku were the only people fighting Gang Orca at the moment.

Izuku pressed closer and closer to Gang Orca, trying to take advantage where he could. If he could just get one opening, just an instant, he could get Gang Orca down, get him pinned, trap him with Todoroki’s ice. Just one opening, like—

There!

Midoriya!”

Izuku glanced towards Todoroki. At some point he’d gotten hit with one of the cement guns. It covered his left arm, effectively pinning it to his side. Even with that, he was sending a wave of ice to protect Izuku from the globs of cement coming for him, just so that Izuku could have his opening.

The only problem was that he was about to take several hits just to do it.

Izuku forgot about Gang Orca, changing direction instantaneously to get to Todoroki’s side instead. He slammed into Todoroki at full speed, knocking him out of the line of fire (and simultaneously knocking the wind out of his lungs. Izuku defended against a second volley with an 18% powered One for All punch, preparing himself to defend them both from another attack when a blare sounded through the air. Everyone stilled immediately, looking at one another awkwardly as the fight drained out of them. Izuku noticed that the student in the neon green uniform had returned to the fight at some point. Mora and Yoarashi had arrived at the end of the fight, too, and were standing near each other at the outskirts, talking to Asui, the vice president from UA with the frog mutation.

Izuku glanced back at Todoroki, laid out on the ground behind him. He offered him a brilliant grin, but Todoroki only groaned and laid his head back, his eyes closed. “You’re crazy,” he said, voice hoarse.

“I’m crazy? Me?” Izuku laughed, offering him a hand up. He accepted it and Izuku hauled him to his feet immediately, reaching out with his other hand to grip the bit of cement still encasing his arm. He shattered it easily with a good bit of One for All, then finally let his Quirk go. He rolled his shoulders to alleviate a bit of the strain—it had been a while since he’d run One for All for so high for so long.

“Yeah, you,” Todoroki said, voice quiet. “You should have gone for Gang Orca. You had the perfect opportunity.”

“Not perfect,” Izuku said, tightening his grip on both Todoroki’s arm and his hand to make sure he understood. “I don’t know what they teach you at UA, but sacrificing an ally for the sake of a victory isn’t much of a victory at all.” Izuku let go of him and stepped away, dipping into a slight bow. “It was a pleasure to work with you, Todoroki-kun. I hope I succeeded at bringing pride to my school yet again.”

Todoroki huffed out a breath, looking away for a moment before glancing back at Izuku. He didn’t quite smile, but there was something a little softer about his expression than before. “Thanks, Midoriya.”

He had absolutely no business sounding as sincere as he did saying that with as pretty of a face as he had, honestly.

“Sure,” Izuku said, fighting harder than usual to keep a stutter out of his voice. He knew he failed at keeping a blush off his face, but at the very least he could blame that on physical exertion from the fight.

“Your hat’s gone,” Todoroki observed, lifting one hand to touch the place where hats usually go, cool fingers brushing against the edge of Izuku’s undercut. They both stiffened afterwards—Izuku’s blush darkening considerably, Todoroki glaring at his rogue hand like it was a criminal worthy of Tartarus.

Get it together, Izuku. Just keep your hero persona together for one last act.

He didn’t know exactly how he did it (maybe it was the spirit that had given him the strength to grab Todoroki’s tie earlier returning for an encore performance), but he somehow worked together the strength to grab Todoroki’s wrist. He guided it gently out of his hair, stepping closer to Todoroki all the while. Izuku pulled his lopsided smile from somewhere, one cheek dimpling. “It was a good effort, but you need a little more confidence to follow through.” He raised his own hand, pausing for just an instant before he brushed it through red strands—why were they so soft—before tucking them behind Todoroki’s ear.

Izuku was pretty sure neither of them was breathing.

“That’s how it’s done,” Izuku said, stepping back with an easy smile as he let go of Todoroki’s wrist. He courteously ignored the splotchy blush rising on the left side of his neck again. “I’m going to look for my hat now.”

He turned away, making sure his expressions were completely hidden from Todoroki, and then he did what any sane man would do.

He freaked out. Inwardly, of course, and only for a moment, but he let himself have it.

His gaze fell on Gang Orca (after he was done questioning all of his life choices, of course) as he bent over to pick up something—Izuku’s hat, he realized—and then, all of a sudden, it hit him. He just fought Gang Orca. The current Number Ten pro hero on the Japanese Hero Billboard Charts.

And that was awesome.

From that moment onwards, his inner fanboy took the wheel.

“Gang Orca!” he shouted, approaching as the hero straightened with Izuku’s hat in his hands. “That was so amazing, I’m a huge fan of yours! Thank you for picking that up for me!”

Gang Orca chuckled, extending the hat to Izuku as he did. “You do my alma mater proud, Midoriya Izuku. And that is not something I say very often.”

Izuku took the hat in his hands, feeling his face get redder and redder with each passing moment. “Ahhhh—” he said, very eloquently.

He was starting to think that his theory that the Shiketsu cap kept his thoughts from scrambling was very, very true.

Gang Orca chuckled again and started to turn away.

“Wait!” Izuku shouted, and when he paused to look at him again, he blurted, “Can I get your autograph?”

Gang Orca laughed outright. “Sure,” he said, “but I’m not carrying a pen with me.”

“Don’t worry!” Izuku said, slapping his hat haphazardly on his head and rooting around in one of the pouches on his belt to produce that very thing, along with a travel size notebook, which he handed over to Gang Orca readily.

Gang Orca accepted the objects and started writing, albeit amused. “Do you always carry this with you in your hero costume?”

“Yes,” Izuku answered, a little too quickly. Gang Orca shot him a questioning look, and he reddened. “Well, you never know when you might…”

“Need to ask a hero for their autograph?”

“Exactly.”

He chuckled again, finished the signature, and handed Izuku’s pen and pad back to him.

Izuku was so going to buy a poster of him for his wall as soon as he got back to his dorm room.

Chapter Text

Shouto was standing in the main hall of the testing location, a sheet of paper clutched in his hands and a weird feeling in his chest that he thought was maybe pride. The important thing, though, was that he had done it—for once, he had succeeded at something. He hadn’t done awful, either. He ended up with seventy-five points. The twenty-five missing from his score were from not working great with his classmates to complete rescues, not being overly reassuring to victims, and coming up with very reckless plans.

These were all fair assessments.

He felt something bump into his shoulder softly and turned, fully expecting to see Kirishima, tactile as he was. Instead he saw the side of a Shiketsu hat, then a pair of bright green eyes. Midoriya offered him a smile, wide and friendly, begging for Shouto to return one of his own. He did not.

“Congratulations,” Midoriya said. His voice had taken on that soft quality it had before. This was the Midoriya that sat next to him on the couch, then, not the one that grabbed his tie or fought him or fought alongside him. Or stroked his hair, though Shouto suspected that one, much like the tie, was his own fault more than it was Midoriya’s.

“You as well,” Shouto said, tilting his head slightly. He was curious, if he was being honest with himself, because the other boy seemed to have a lot of layers. Shouto felt like, underneath them, he might find someone that looked a lot like himself.

“Thank you,” Midoriya said, his smile turning a little sharper at the edges. He flicked his sheet in front of him, tilting it so Shouto could see the 86 circled in red marker at the top. “I got points taken off for going along with your crazy fire redirecting idea, though. Apparently, it was reckless.”

Shouto huffed once. “I got points taken off for the same thing. Sorry about your score, for what it’s worth.”

Midoriya laughed softly. “Believe it or not, Todoroki-kun, I’m a reckless person. I probably would have gotten those points taken off anyway, with or without your assistance on the matter.”

“I believe it,” Shouto said, turning back to his own score. A moment of silence passed between them, until Shouto looked back at Midoriya. “I’m sorry about the hair, by the way.”

Midoriya crinkled his nose, waving his hand through the air. “Don’t worry about it. Everyone touches it.”

“It seemed to…bother you.”

He laughed softly. “That wasn’t me being bothered.”

“What was it then?”

“Wow. You know what, I’m not answering that.”

Shouto stared, and stared, and stared, and— “You don’t mean you actually…mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“The, uh. Flirting.” Shouto coughed into his hand, hoping to hide the awkward way he said the last word.

Midoriya snorted, covering his mouth with one hand. “Oh my gods. Alright, I guess I will explain it. For one thing, I meant the fact that I was blushing the entire time you were…you know. Petting me. That was because I l—uh—liked it.” Midoriya coughed into his hand at the admission, cheeks turning pink. “I wasn’t talking about my retaliation to the petting. Which brings me to my second point—flirting. It’s part of my hero persona.”

Shouto wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Why would you choose to flirt as part of your hero persona?”

“Three reasons,” he said, holding up his fingers to tick off his points as he said them. “One, it throws people off. Imagine you go to fight a villain, and you say something like, this takes the phrase ‘get a room’ to a whole new level—”

“Familiar,” Shouto interjected.

“Right. It threw you off, though didn’t it?” Shouto started to say it didn’t, but in all actuality, it…had. It had, at the very least, prevented him from launching an immediate attack against Midoriya when he said it. Judging by the way Midoriya softly laughed, he knew it had, too. “The second reason is that, when used in small doses, it’s actually a great way to convince people to trust you.”

“That’s not true.”

Midoriya gave him a long look, then said, “It helped you trust me, didn’t it?”

Shouto blinked. He reevaluated things. He realized, to no small amount of horror, that Midoriya was right. Judging by his grin, he knew Shouto knew he was right too.

“My third reason is that it’s a good defense mechanism,” Midoriya finished, putting his fingers down. The smile fell off of his face, leaving behind something that seemed incredibly sad instead, at least to Shouto.

Shouto cocked an eyebrow at him. “How?”

“It just does,” Midoriya said, studying his review sheet with all his attention instead of meeting Shouto’s eyes.

“Midoriya.”

“It makes you unknowable,” he said, tilting his head up to meet Shouto’s gaze. He smiled a sad little smile. “You become less than what you are, just the hot guy from Shiketsu, and that means people underestimate you. And if you really go for it—portray yourself as flirty but unobtainable—you’ll manage to keep people an arm’s length away from you too. A valuable skill for a hero, no?”

“Do you really believe that?” Shouto asked, shifting his position so he was looking at Midoriya dead-on instead of out of the corner of his eye.

“I think I do. Don’t you?” Midoriya asked. He held Shouto’s gaze for a moment before looking pointedly around them. Shouto looked with him, observing his various classmates, who had grouped up together to cheer and shout with each other, for those of them that passed. Shouto was, admittedly, an island amongst them.

He looked back to Midoriya, and chose not to answer. “Shouldn’t you be with Shiketsu right now, by the way?”

“Not necessarily,” Midoriya said, shrugging. “There’re no rules about where we have to stand.”

Shouto tilted his head, considering him. “You don’t feel like you belong.”

It was a guess, and Midoriya’s face—expressions as controlled as they were—never gave anything away. But then he tilted his head slightly in an affirmative anyway, giving Shouto the answer to his question all the same. Shouto had learned to expect a lot of things from Midoriya, but complete honesty about himself…that wasn’t one of them. “I’m friends with only two of the second-years,” Midoriya said, “and they were both eliminated the first round. And Yoarashi-kun is…well, you met him. So I figured it would be best if I went elsewhere.”

“So you came here?” Shouto asked, raising his eyebrow. “We’re not exactly friends, you know.”

Midoriya laughed softly. “Of course we’re not friends, we’ve only known each other for a few hours. You’re still pleasant to be around, though, believe it or not.”

“Doubtful.”

“Doubtful,” Midoriya echoed, in a surprisingly good imitation of Shouto’s voice. “Todoroki-kun, if it’s so doubtful, why would I be standing here talking to you?”

Shouto cast about for some sort of answer that would also make sense. Mostly, he just didn’t want to admit Midoriya was right any more times in this conversation. “Because that’s also part of your hero persona.”

“My gods, you’re hopeless,” Midoriya said, looking vaguely bemused.

“I have…plenty of hope.”

Midoriya snorted, then made a strangled sound, then erupted in a fit of giggles, covering his mouth with one hand.

Shouto had to admit, it was a nice sound.  

Friends, as the situation stood, were a weakness that any villain would be willing to exploit. A villain had exploited it—Shouto wouldn’t have called Iida a friend when he fought Stain in that alley, but Shouto did have a connection to him. And that connection caused him to save one life and forsake another. Shouto didn’t regret his choice to save Iida, definitely not—but he did regret his choice not to save Native, to not have tried harder to find a way to save both.

Trust was dangerous, especially for him. His past, his story…it wasn’t something he could let anyone see.

Midoriya’s giggling fit slowly died off and he gave Shouto a look that was almost fond, instead, the deep green of his eyes glittering prettily in the bright light. He offered Shouto a smile—a soft but blinding thing—and for once, Shouto returned it (though his was much smaller).

Midoriya tapped his knuckles against Shouto’s arm, just like he’d done twice now. Shouto didn’t bother to shake him off or roll his eyes this time, though. “Well, I should probably go line up to get my license printed. I’ll see you around, Todoroki-kun.”

Shouto wiped all traces of a smile off his face, returning instantly to the blank impassivity it had borne before. “Doubtful,” he said, with the same exact intonation as he’d said it before. It pulled another laugh out of Midoriya, though it didn’t take off into a giggling fit quite like it did before. “We go to schools on opposite sides of the country, after all.”

Midoriya’s lips quirked, like he knew something Shouto didn’t. “You never know, Todoroki-kun. You never know.”

Shouto watched as he disappeared into the crowd with deft movements. He was gone from Shouto’s sight in a matter of minutes.

He was someone that was used to making his presence as small as possible. Someone used to hiding in plain sight, used to blending in with a crowd. In all honesty, considering how strong his Quirk was and how magnetic his personality, it made no sense.

But then again, it didn’t exactly make sense for Shouto to be able to walk as quietly as he did, either, to the average person.

“Smile,” the photographer said.

Izuku obliged, though smiling off into the distance felt extremely awkward. He didn’t expect his picture to turn out good—he had yet to take a picture for something like this that looked good, actually—but the picture wasn’t the important part. The important part was the forms he had just filled out. Most of the questions had been easy to answer. Legal name, height, weight, blood type…but the hero name. That question…

Izuku had almost left it blank. He hadn’t had one picked out beforehand, after all, but…today was a day for rash decisions. His whole…thing…with Todoroki was probably proof of that.

“Here you are,” the photographer said, handing Izuku the printed out license. As expected, he looked terrible in the picture—not that he really cared that much, but still, he would be lying if he said he hadn’t had hopes he wouldn’t look like he was reliving all of his childhood trauma in a single photo for once.  

Izuku’s gaze stuck on the name printed at the bottom of the card.

“Thank you,” he said, giving the photographer a small bow before exiting the line. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, frowning yet again when he saw there’d been no news from Tsukauchi about Camie. He hoped he’d get some sort of affirmative soon, that Camie had really been herself or that she hadn’t been.

Until then, though, Izuku had something else he needed to accomplish while he was here.

“Eraserhead!”

Shouta paused, turning immediately to look for the source of the call. It was odd, definitely. It wasn’t one of his own kids’ voices—not that any of them would call him Eraserhead anyway—nor was it Fukukado.

“Eraserhead!”

There. He found the culprit in an instant, that time. Curiously enough, he found himself looking at Midoriya Izuku.

There was quite a bit to Midoriya Izuku. Shouta had lied to his students before, when he’d told them he didn’t know who he was—nobody scored that high on Shiketsu’s entrance exam and escaped the notice of the pro hero world, after all. He was an oddity, in a lot of ways—seeing as he was the bearer of a Quirk that made very little sense. He registered it in February, too, so considering he was a late bloomer his score was even more impressive. It didn’t end there, either—top of his grade at Shiketsu, a class representative—Shouta cared little for class representatives, which was why he let his students choose them, but he wasn’t so ignorant as to not realize what it meant to be a class representative at Shiketsu. And, the most curious thing about Midoriya Izuku—the rumor that he wanted to be an underground hero, of all things.

Midoriya took a deep breath. “My name is—”

“Midoriya Izuku,” Shouta said. He had a feeling he knew what this was about, and he wouldn’t waste an opportunity to test how Midoriya reacted when he lost the upper hand. “The shining star of Shiketsu High.”

Midoriya tilted his head to the side, his eyebrows and lips lifting in something that looked a little like amusement. “I thought you didn’t know my name.”

Hm, good. An eye for detail and a good memory. All important things for someone that was interested in the underground. “A logical ruse,” he said. “Never reveal your full hand at the beginning of the game.”

“And here I thought advice was never free.”

Shouta snorted. A little bit of snark could go a long way, in the world of underground heroics. “Think of it more as a life lesson.” He folded his hands into his pockets, considering this kid. “Did you come over here looking for an apology for my student’s behavior at the entrance?”

“I think we both know I didn’t come over here for that,” Midoriya said, raising an eyebrow ever-so-slightly in a silent challenge.

He was doing surprisingly well. Shouta himself had to learn to talk circles around people the hard way (the hard way, of course, being Nedzu). Time to put the kid on the ropes, though, as fun as this was. “What is it you want, then?”

“A job,” Midoriya said, giving Shouta a grin that screamed danger.

Feral. Asui had excellent word-choice.

“I don’t take interns,” Shouta said, shrugging tiredly. “Ask someone else.”

He didn’t expect the kid to give up. Thankfully, he didn’t disappoint—just straightened his shoulders with fire in his eyes. “With all due respect, Eraserhead, I would be hard-pressed to find an underground hero that does. That’s not going to stop me from trying, though.”

“Then tell me why. Give me one good reason to hire you, and maybe we can talk.”

“Why not hire me?” Midoriya asked, his green eyes glinting. “I’m sure I don’t need to read you the statistics, of all people, but underground heroes are more likely to die than any other profession, including professional villains. The most common cause of death for them, ironically, is the thing that defines them—underground heroes work alone. Most of them, including you, are freelance heroes that choose their own patrol routes, areas, and cases. They remain unattached to an institution, and therefore, untraceable. Of course, this is less of a concern for you considering your affiliation with UA, but still—you could most likely use the support in a confidante, at least.”

“I hope you’re getting your worst points out of the way first,” Shouta drawled.

Midoriya’s eyes sharpened into two dangerous points. “Of course I am. That’s the first rule to persuasive speaking, isn’t it?”

“Hm. Continue.”

“Gladly. Here’s my second point.” He held up two fingers, as if to punctuate it. “Underground heroes, generally speaking, are severely understaffed. They have a unique skill set including acting, intel-gathering, and even combat, and fill a unique niche in society thanks to their willingness to forego fame and fortune. However, because underground heroes are also underpaid, and, like I mentioned earlier, extremely likely to die, not many up-and-coming heroes are interested. For those that are, because underground heroes don’t take interns, they’re more likely to have to learn the ways of the underground the hard way. What’s the hard way, Eraserhead? How many knives did you take to the back, metaphorical and otherwise, before you were able to navigate informants and battlefields to get to the truth?”

He raised a third finger. “You teach at UA, so I know you’re concerned about society’s future in some way. I think you probably care about your students too, even if it is minimally. I watched your press conference, though, so I doubt that it is. Besides, if you weren’t invested in your students’ futures, you would have sent Bakugou-kun packing earlier for illegal Quirk usage. But, you’re intuitive. You know for someone as driven as him, an expulsion from UA wouldn’t stop him. It wouldn’t even slow him down, just push him towards vigilantism or worse. I’m a first-year, like your students. I can spend the next three years interning with various limelight heroes, getting as much experience as I can, and then go underground following my graduation. I can learn to navigate all those knives in my back, too, just like you did. The only difference is that I might not survive one of them. So, if you think about it, shouldn’t you be leaping at the chance to train me instead of pretending you aren’t interested for the sake of this debate?”

Shouta considered the kid. He considered Shouta, eyes glittering.

Nedzu would like this one.

“What else?” Shouta asked, jerking his chin towards Midoriya. “Why you, specifically? You could be in the top ten one day, with your Quirk and your skills. That’s a lot of money, kid. A lot of opportunities to help people. You don’t seem shy about putting in the work for your dreams, so why not reach for the top while you’re at it?”

“I used to want to,” Midoriya said. He cocked his head slightly, expression pensive. “In all honesty, I still do. Here’s my question for you, though—what’s the point in standing at the top if you don’t know what it’s like at the bottom first? Underground heroes don’t battle natural disasters or super villains. They help people—real people—with all their real problems.” There was a pause where they simply studied each other. Midoriya was clearly debating something with himself, and Shouta was intent on finding out what it was.

“The Erasure Hero: Eraserhead,” Midoriya said, after concluding his inner debate. “Assisted in busting a drug ring responsible for administering lethal doses of Trigger to impoverished communities. Infiltrated a human trafficking ring alone and rescued thirteen children that had been taken for the villainous potential of their Quirks. Infiltrated another human trafficking ring, though that one was for Quirkless children that were being taken so they could be sold into prostitution. Nobody else would take that case because the Quirkless aren’t worth much to society, right? Well, they aren’t worth much outside of the red light district, anyway.”

“Midnight helped me with the last one,” Shouta corrected. “But you’re right. Nobody else would take it.”

“I like to think that I was given the Quirk I have so that I can make a difference,” Midoriya said. His expression shifted again, from something less sharp to something incredibly hopeful. “It would be great to be able to save a hundred lives at once, like All Might did. But it would also be great to save just one life—the life of the person that’s crying out for help but buried so deep by society that only those that are already underground can hear them. That’s how you really keep hope alive, isn’t it? By bringing it to the least hopeful places?”

This kid…

“License,” Shouta commanded, holding out his hand. Midoriya coughed it up without a word and Shouta read it over, taking extra care to memorize everything on it. He felt his expression soften slightly when he saw the kid’s hero name. It fit him, he thought. Better than most hero names fit kids when they picked them when they were sixteen.

Shouta fished a business card out of one of his pockets and handed it and the provisional license back to the kid. “Email me. There’s a lot of details I’ll need to iron out, so this isn’t a definite thing. I’ll give you a chance, though.”

“Thank you, Eraserhead,” the kid said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Don’t mention it, kid. Get back to your class now, though, before they leave without you.”

He nodded vigorously, already turning to go.

There was quite a bit to Midoriya Izuku. The mysterious late bloomer that got the high score on Shiketsu’s entrance exam. First in his class, a class representative, a member of the minority that got a provisional license in his first year of high school. A kid with a bright smile and a flashy Quirk that wanted to go underground just because he wanted to help people.

He reminded Shouta of someone he knew once.

“Horizon,” he called out.

Midoriya stiffened at the sound of his name and then turned to look at him over his shoulder, eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise or acknowledgement. Shouta smiled slightly at the face he made, though he hid it in his capture weapon. “I’ll look forward to working with you, one way or another.”

Midoriya smiled, bright and wide and exactly like Shirakumo Oboro used to. He offered Shouta a little salute, completing the illusion. “You too, Eraserhead!”

And then he was off, disappearing into the crowd of students milling about, leaving Shouta with the ache of a wound that never really healed.

This time, Shouta thought, as he turned to the bus with his kids on it. So many of them had so much potential, despite what they’d been through. He’d look after them, as long as he could. He’d look after all of them. This time.

Chapter Text

Izuku stared at the rumpled business card Eraserhead had given him as he walked, committing the email address listed on there to memory just in case he dropped the card or forget it in his pocket before he did his laundry. He looked up as he approached his bus, though, and blinked as he caught sight of a tan trench coat, dark hair, white gloves—

Tsukauchi. And if Tsukauchi had come all the way here, that couldn’t mean anything good. A second look revealed that Tsukauchi was talking to Nagasaki, as well as the tired official from the HPSC. The other second years and Yoarashi were crowded around them, too, looking nervous and anxious, which was even more foreboding.

Tsukauchi made eye contact with Izuku and broke off whatever he was saying to the other men mid-sentence, his eyes brimming with concern. He crossed to Izuku immediately, dropping both hands on Izuku’s shoulders. Izuku tensed looking at his face, at the lines of worry etched there. Something had happened. It hadn’t just been paranoia. Camie—

“I’m going to use my Quirk on you, okay?” Tsukauchi asked.

“O-okay.”

“Who are you?”

“Midoriya Izuku…?”

Tsukauchi breathed out a sigh of relief. “It’s you. Thank goodness it’s really you.” He turned, addressing the others. “It’s him.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” Nagasaki breathed, clutching his chest.

“You…” Izuku started, looking between everyone.

“You idiot,” Tsukauchi said, then, inexplicably, he flicked him on the forehead.

“Ow! Hey, what—”

“Where were you?”

Izuku rubbed the tender spot on his forehead. “I was chasing down an opportunity.”

“You knew, or at least suspected, that there was a dangerous criminal on the loose and you just went wandering off on your own?” Tsukauchi asked, his voice raising in pitch as he went on.

“She left in a cab,” Izuku said, blinking. “Wait, does that mean—”

“You idiot,” Tsukauchi said, flicking him again. “Why the hell am I the only person you told? It was a good idea to tell me, don’t get me wrong, but why didn’t you tell Nagasaki-san? Or the commission officials?”

“I didn’t want her to get suspicious,” Izuku said, feeling his gaze widen. “She didn’t hurt anyone while she was here, did she? And Camie-san? Is she alright?”

Tsukauchi sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Midoriya-kun, I swear.”

“Tsukauchi-san, is Camie-san alright? Please?”

“She’ll be okay,” Tsukauchi said, glancing back at Nagasaki and the official. Several people relaxed visibly at that, including Shishikura, Mora, and Yoarashi. “We found her chloroformed and stabbed in one of the bathroom stalls at the rest area you sent us too. Thankfully the stab wound wasn’t too serious, and she’s being patched up in the hospital now. As soon as I heard back from the officers that went to investigate, I came straight here.” Tsukauchi rubbed a palm down his face, then turned his gaze back to Izuku. “Midoriya-kun, seriously. You telling me when you did may have saved Utsushimi-san’s life, but please, for the love of all things holy, tell other people too in the future. Do you realize that if Nagasaki-san had known to be suspicious of her and not to let her leave, we might have had a dangerous criminal in custody today?”

Izuku…hadn’t thought about that. If he was being honest with himself, the thought to tell Nagasaki about his suspicions about Camie hadn’t occurred to him once. On the surface level, Izuku knew that he’d been focused on keeping it to himself so as not to raise suspicion, but on a deeper level…

Izuku hadn’t thought to tell Nagasaki because he was a teacher, and teachers, in his experience, never helped.

And that prejudice could have cost someone their life today, if the imposter had decided to kill someone while she was off being completely unattended.

Izuku had to do better. He would do better.

Izuku hung his head in a bow, clutching the strap of his bookbag tightly with one hand. “I’m terribly sorry for causing you trouble, Tsukauchi-san. I should’ve known better.”

“Don’t beat yourself up, Midoriya-kun,” Tsukauchi said, voice soft. “Nobody died today, and nobody was seriously injured either, so even though the perpetrator got away, I would count today as a win.”

“Excuse me, Detective?” Mora asked, raising one hair covered hand. Tsukauchi looked at him and nodded. “Camie-san ran off early on in the first round. Do you have any idea where she went?”

Izuku froze, words from earlier flowing into his brain unbidden. Don’t think your school is better, or some shit. I beat two of you Shiketsu extras already today, and I can beat your ass too.

“We’re looking through footage right now to see if we can track her,” the official said, sounding just as tired and bored as ever. “We should have her location for the entirety of the exam pinpointed in a few days.”

“Bakugou Katsuki,” Izuku said. Everyone turned to look at him. “She probably went to Bakugou Katsuki.”

“The Bakugou Katsuki?” the official asked, blinking slowly at Izuku. “The one that was abducted by the League of Villains not too long ago?”

“Midoriya-kun, are you sure?” Tsukauchi asked, looking pale.

“He told me he beat two people from Shiketsu,” Izuku said, “and the only two people that didn’t make it to the second round were Shishikura-senpai and Camie-san. It might be a good place to start, regardless.”

Tsukauchi nodded to the official. “Start by tracking Bakugou Katsuki. Email me the recordings you have once you get them organized, please.”

“Detective?” Yoarashi asked suddenly, raising his hand. Tsukauchi nodded to him. “The imposter helped me clean some blood off of my face earlier. I don’t know if that’s important in anyway, but just in case it is…”

“Thank you for telling me,” Tsukauchi said, with a weight to his voice that indicated it was of the utmost importance that he had. “What is your name?”

“Yoarashi Inasa, sir.”

Tsukauchi recorded it on a pad. “As far as any of you know, did the imposter collect DNA matter, particularly blood, from any of the rest of you?”

Nobody came forward, so Tsukauchi just sighed and lowered his legal pad. “Thank you all for your time. I may be in touch with some of you in the next day to collect more detailed statements, but for now I want you all to head home and get some rest. Midoriya-kun, you need to come to the station with me, though.”

“Okay,” Izuku said.

Tsukauchi looked to Nagasaki, who nodded. “Oh, yeah. That’s alright. I understand, since he’s the one that noticed Utsushimi-san was acting oddly, anyway.”

Tsukauchi nodded once and then strode away, beckoning for Izuku to follow him with one hand. Izuku glanced at the second-years and offered them a spectacularly awkward wave before adjusting his bag and his case and following after Tsukauchi.

“Everyone’s going to ask me why I know you,” Izuku said, as soon as they were out of earshot of the others. “And more specifically why I know you so well you flick me on the forehead for being stupid.”

Tsukauchi laughed. “Well, who did you tell them Toshi-kun was?”

“My uncle,” Izuku said, wincing slightly as he did. “It’s honestly not the most defensible cover story…”

“Why’d you use it then?”

“I didn’t!” Izuku said, squawking slightly with indignation. “That was Yagi-sensei’s idea. He listed me as his nephew in his emergency contact forms, since it would be a little strange to have a random teenager as your emergency contact if you weren’t related to them. I guess Gran Torino thought it would be the best way to get me to the hospital quickly, too. You call a school to tell a student that a friend of the family was injured and they’d probably tell you to wait, but if it’s family…” Izuku shrugged.

“I get it,” Tsukauchi said, humming thoughtfully. “You could just tell them I’m a friend of your uncle’s, then.”

Izuku cast him a sidelong look. “Just a friend?”

Tsukauchi, usually unflappable man that he was, spluttered. “What?”

“I hope you’re not in the friendzone,” Izuku added, grinning teasingly. “I could put in a good word for you if you are, you know. Once Yagi-sensei wakes up, of course.”

Tsukauchi spluttered again, his hands rising to fidget with his tie only to fall again. “How—”

“Tsukauchi-san, please,” Izuku said, nudging the detective with his elbow as they walked. “You’re more subtle than Yagi-sensei, but more subtle than Yagi-sensei isn’t necessarily subtle.”

Tsukauchi sighed, fidgeting with his tie again, then cast Izuku a small smile. “What gave me away?”

“Well, for starters, you almost cried when you met me,” Izuku said, “and that’s kind of suspicious, Tsukauchi-san. Especially since most people—myself and my mother excluded—don’t cry unless they have a really good reason to, like meeting their dying boyfriend’s successor, for instance.”

Tsukauchi averted his gaze somewhat awkwardly. “Ah, I suppose that’s true.”

“Not to mention you both seemed to know the most about him—and made multiple assertions about what he would do in given situations—and you were like the glue trying to hold everyone else together. That one’s more you-specific than significant other-specific, but still.”

“I don’t know why I still get surprised by your cleverness,” Tsukauchi said, “but I still get surprised by your cleverness.”

“Ahah, I’m not that clever,” Izuku said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I do have a final piece of evidence, though.”

“Oh yeah?” Tsukauchi asked, a faint smile on his lips. “What is it?”

“Always suspect the best friend,” Izuku said, raising a finger into the air with his final point.

Tsukauchi laughed fully. “Always suspect the best friend? Where did that come from?”

“Any novel in existence,” Izuku said. “Not to mention any movie, song, fanfiction—”

“Alright, I get it.”

“The best friend always has feelings for the protagonist,” Izuku finished. “Even if it’s just subtext. In the best stories, though, the protagonist chooses the best friend in the end instead of the super obvious love interest type.”

“Are you trying to tell me you have a thing for your own best friend?” Tsukauchi asked, laughing slightly as he did.

“What? No. I’m telling you that you have a thing for your best friend. I’m a free spirit, here. Feelings, who? I don’t know them. Besides, I’m more the obvious love interest type, don’t you think? Isn’t that why everyone reminds Camie-san and I that dating is strictly prohibited at Shiketsu?”

“Trying to tell me you have a thing for Utsushimi-san instead? You are on a first-name basis, I noticed,” Tsukauchi said, wagging his eyebrows at Izuku.

Izuku rolled his eyes. “I don’t have a thing for Camie-san, no. Besides, everyone calls her that! I’m not special.” Izuku paused for a moment, then sighed. “I should have done more, Tsukauchi-san.”

“I told you not to beat yourself up,” Tsukauchi said, squeezing Izuku’s shoulder comfortingly. “You did well by telling me. The fact that the officers knew to look for her sooner than they would have otherwise means she’s guaranteed to make a full recovery.”

“It was stupid to just keep it to myself,” Izuku said, his hand finding the fidget cube in his pocket.

Tsukauchi sighed. “Yes, it was.”

Izuku blew out his lips, then glanced at Tsukauchi. “Lie-detecting Quirk, right?”

Tsukauchi laughed softly. “Yes. Before you ask: yes, it does get people into trouble a lot.”

“Can I dodge it if I talk around things, or do half-truths still trigger it?” Izuku asked.

“You can talk around it if you really put your mind to it, but it’s hard,” Tsukauchi said. “If a particular interrogation is giving me trouble, I switch to yes and no questions only. It backs people into a corner exceptionally well.”

“Hm,” Izuku said. “I want to try.”

“You just want to get out of telling me why you kept your suspicions to yourself.”

“I mean, yes,” Izuku said. “But your Quirk is also very interesting, and I could use the distraction?”

Tsukauchi looked at him for a long moment, then sighed. “Alright. Toshi warned me you were a Quirk fanatic, you know?”

“The heart wants what it wants,” Izuku said, smiling sadly. “And some things never change.”

Tsukauchi considered him for another long moment before breaking off eye contact to cross to the other side of his fancy detective car to get in the driver’s seat. Izuku packed himself into the passenger side a moment later. “It’s a long ride to the police station we’re going to,” Tsukauchi said, as he put the car in gear. “So you have plenty of time to talk circles around me.” He sighed, deeply and dramatically. “It’s going to be a long trip, isn’t it?”

“Probably,” Izuku confessed, fishing a notebook out of his backpack to keep track of what he learned.

Tsukauchi only sighed again.

It was nighttime when Izuku finally returned to the dorms at Shiketsu. Filling out all of the various police reports had taken a lot of time, but Izuku had also decided to take the train over to Camie’s hospital too. She was asleep and he couldn’t visit her, but he scrounged up enough pocket change to buy her a tiny Hawks plushie holding a sign that said, “Soar back to health!” It was cheesy, granted, but it was hero merch and therefore valid. Besides, Camie had called Hawks a “hottie” on at least four separate occasions, so Izuku figured she would appreciate it.

Izuku felt his nerves grow more and more until he stopped in front of Yoarashi’s door, hesitating for just a moment. Ultimately, Izuku turned away, quietly punching in the code for his own room instead and walking in. Izuku changed quickly, hanging his uniform hat on a hook by the door and stripping out of the rest of his uniform, replacing it with a shirt that said flannel shirt on it and a pair of black joggers. Izuku texted his mom to let her know he was back at school and then slid his phone in his pocket.

And then he just stood there for a moment longer before he sighed, rubbed his eyes with both his hands, and then marched next door.

He knocked softy three times on the door before it opened to reveal Yoarashi, also dressed down, looking slightly bedraggled and extremely guilty. “Midoriya-kun,” he said, voice strangely quiet.

“Can I come in?” Izuku asked.

Yoarashi nodded before shuffling to the side, opening the door even wider so that Izuku could go in. Despite being in Yoarashi’s room a hundred times, he just stood awkwardly in the middle of it, not sure what to do with himself. Yoarashi took notice and gestured to his desk chair before sitting on his bed, arms folded across his chest, gaze fixed on his kneecaps. Izuku sat in the desk chair.

A long moment of silence passed between them.

“Do you have any updates on Camie?” Yoarashi asked.

Izuku tilted his head. “Yeah. I stopped by the hospital before I came here. She’s getting discharged tomorrow. She’ll be completely fine.”

“She’s lucky you’re you,” Yoarashi said, a bitter little smile stretching across his face.

“Yoarashi-kun?”

“I really am sorry,” Yoarashi said suddenly, at a volume much closer to his normal one. “I shouldn’t have said all that to you, back at the exam. To be honest with you, I don’t know why I’m so worked up about it to start with.”

“What do you mean?” Izuku asked, pulling his legs up onto the chair with him and hugging his knees to his chest.

“Since the summer camp, I’ve been thinking things about you,” Yoarashi said. “Unfair things. Like I don’t matter to you, despite you being the first real friend I’ve ever had.”

Izuku felt a pang of guilt work its way through his chest. “Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know.”

“You do know,” Izuku pressed, hugging his knees tighter. “Tell me what I did, Yoarashi-kun, or I’ll do it again and not realize it.”

“It’s all in my head!” Yoarashi shouted, frustration seeping through his voice. “You’re just so withdrawn about your past sometimes, and other things, and I just started taking it personally for no reason! I was just frustrated because I felt like I wasn’t a good enough friend for you to trust me. And you’re so insane, Midoriya-kun. I’ve never seen anyone as passionate about heroics as you. For some reason, I got it in my head that you weren’t really my friend, and I took it out on you. When I saw you with Todoroki-san earlier, I just…snapped. I’m sorry.”

Silence fell again while Izuku considered his words, picking through them one by one. Something stuck out to him and he felt a jolt of energy run up his spine as he realized something. “My past. You’ve asked me about my past before, haven’t you?”

Yoarashi huffed. “Yeah. It was kind of stupid, you know. You clearly don’t want to talk about it, so it was rude and inconsiderate of me to continue pushing it anyway.”

“You…why do you want to know so badly, Yoarashi-kun?”

“Just…because. Because I don’t understand you.”

Izuku took in a sharp breath.

His past?

Izuku shifted his position so that he was no longer hugging his knees to himself, but hugging his shoulders instead. He slotted his own fingers over the scar on his right shoulder, a habit that he’d been sure to never perform in front of others before now. Izuku was usually so careful about scarring. The trick to avoid it was most often time—get home, get burn cream on whatever mark Kacchan left on him, get it wrapped. Most of his scars were faint, minimal at best, because of that.

This one, though. Time had not been kind to Izuku the day he got this one, between fishing for his notebook in the school pond, getting attacked by the sludge villain, left on the roof of a building, saving Kacchan, and being offered One for All. By the time he’d finally gotten home that day, he’d forgotten all about the burns, and, well...

Izuku dropped his hand. Yoarashi didn’t need to know everything, but some of it…

“I was a late bloomer,” Izuku said.

Yoarashi’s gaze snapped up to him, wide-eyed and confused. “What?”

“I was a late bloomer,” he repeated, hugging his knees again and shrugging. “I didn’t get my Quirk until February. About a month before the entrance exam at Shiketsu. I was Quirkless before that.”

“You…only had your Quirk for a month before you took the entrance exam? And you got the top score?”

Izuku laughed softly, burying the sound in his pants as he hugged his knees again. “Yeah. I’m still baffled by that, too. I’m still baffled by a lot of things. I think I’m 90% luck at this point—like, I just rush into everything, panicking, with my guns blazing, and it still somehow works out.” Izuku shrugged. “I had a lot of help, too, when I got my Quirk. It’s somewhat similar to my…uncle’s. He showed me how to use it.”

“The same uncle that’s in the hospital right now?”

“That’s the one.”

“He must mean a lot to you,” Yoarashi said, considering Izuku. “You’ve never talked about him before now, though.”

Think of something Izuku, something that makes sense, lying sucks but you can’t tell him about All Might—

Wait.

“He has a job that requires a lot of confidentiality, so I don’t talk about him much,” Izuku said. “I can’t tell anyone details about him or anything like that, so it seems silly to bring him up.”

“Oh.” Yoarashi hummed. “That makes sense. I’m sorry I asked about him.”

“It’s okay. You didn’t know not to ask.”

The best lies were half-truths, after all. If he’d learned anything from talking circles around Tsukauchi’s lie-detecting Quirk for the entire car ride to the station, it was that.

The two of them fell into silence again. Izuku picked at the hem of his pants, considering. “Hey, Yoarashi-kun?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you know anyone our age that’s Quirkless?”

Yoarashi blinked. “Oh. Uh, no, actually. It’s extremely rare, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Izuku said. He paused while he considered what he was about to say. “They don’t exactly get treated well by their peers.”

Yoarashi gazed at him, his eyes slowly widening as realization dawned on his face. “You were presumed Quirkless. That’s what you said earlier, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Izuku said. “Before I met you, I hadn’t had a friend since I was four. I don’t want to make excuses for myself, but I’d say that probably has some…bearing on my ability to be a good friend. I’m sorry, though. I really am. I realize now that I should have been better to you.”

Yoarashi scrubbed a hand over his face. “Don’t apologize to me, Midoriya-kun, please. I’m the one that yelled at you during an exam, even knowing your uncle was in the hospital. Gods, you were probably worried about Camie that whole time too…”

“You couldn’t have known about Camie-san,” Izuku said. “I’m a chronic secret-keeper, that’s not on you.”

Yoarashi huffed a laugh. “Why did you keep that a secret? I understand not blurting it out on the middle of the bus, but why not pull anyone aside to inform them?”

“Well…” Don’t be ridiculous, Izuku. You already told him you were Quirkless once and you’re still sitting here having a normal conversation. “In my…past…telling a teacher that something was going on only made it worse.”

Yoarashi’s face darkened. “You don’t mean that you were picked on and teachers just let it happen, do you?”

Well, technically speaking, the teachers joined in more often than not, but Yoarashi probably didn’t need to know that either. “They did.”

“I need to hunt down everyone you went to school with and give them a piece of my mind, apparently,” Yoarashi said.

Izuku hid a smile in his knees. It was strange, being defended instead of harassed. A small part of him still wondered, though, if it would be the same if Yoarashi had met him when he was Quirkless. He liked to hope it would.

“How bad was the bullying?” Yoarashi asked, after a long silence.

“It wasn’t anything I couldn’t take.” That much was true, too. Izuku knew, objectively, that the fact that the other kids used their Quirks to inflict physical harm on him was pretty bad. He also knew that suicide baiting him was bad. That everything was bad, really, but he’d taken it. He’d gotten through, and one day, he’d stop it from happening to anyone else.

“Hey, Midoriya-kun,” Yoarashi said. It was the most hesitant he’d sounded all night, and Izuku stiffened in preparation. “I notice that you’re…weird…about your given name. Does that…”

Does that have anything to do with this bullying?

Izuku turned around, lifting Yoarashi’s math notebook and a pencil off of his desk before crossing over to him and dropping down next to him on the bed. He flipped to a blank page. Yoarashi watched, rapt and curious, as Izuku wrote out his given name. Right below that, he wrote it the other way.

They really were so similar. Izuku had to give it to Kacchan—even at five, he’d known how to craft a good insult.

“Deku?” Yoarashi read. “Like…useless? Wait, isn’t that what that one guy called you? The explosive guy?”

“Everyone called me that,” Izuku said. “At some point, I think, the two names got tangled up in my mind. Having Camie-san call me Izuku has been…interesting. But I think I should take my own name back eventually, don’t you?” Izuku dragged an eraser through Deku, smudging it out of existence until it wasn’t legible anymore. “You can call me Izuku if you want to, Yoarashi-kun. We’re friends, right? That’s what friends do.”

Yoarashi huffed a laugh. “You can call me Inasa, you know. It’s what friends do.”

“Alright then, Inasa-kun,” Izuku said, standing. He sat the notebook and pencil back on Inasa’s desk. He let his eyes linger on his name for a moment longer before he snapped the notebook closed. “By the way, about Todoroki-kun—”

“Oh, he’s Todoroki-kun, is he? Not Todoroki-san?”

Izuku bit his lip to hide his smile. “He’s not so bad. He’s definitely a bit of an ass, I’ll give you that, but he’s alright. I came into the ante room with him because we ended up fighting and passing together in the first round.”

“How’d that happen?”

“Well, he singled me out before the exam, then hunted me down in the first round, and separated me from the second-years to duel me one-on-one.”

“The worst way to duel you,” Inasa interjected with a laugh.

“I know, but don’t tell him that,” Izuku said, laughing along. “I definitely toyed with him a bit more than I should have because I wanted to see more of his Quirk—” Izuku shot Inasa a betrayed look, when he said his Quirk at the exact same time Izuku did. “—but then, another school interrupted the duel so we forged an unlikely alliance, exploded all those guys with a fuel tank in the industrial area—that was Todoroki-kun’s idea, by the way, so don’t give me that look—and then went to the ante room together afterwards. I didn’t…specifically hunt him down to try and befriend him just to slight you, or…anything like that.”

Inasa sighed. “I know. I know you wouldn’t do that. Even if you did specifically hunt him down to befriend him, I know it wouldn’t be because you were trying to one-up me. That was a stupid thing to say to you.”

“You meant it somewhere in your heart if you said it,” Izuku said, looking away. “So I wanted to apologize, anyway, for making you feel that way.”

“I won’t accept your apology because I don’t deserve it,” Inasa said, shaking his head. “Frankly, I should just be happy that someone in this world can get along with that prickly bastard. Everyone deserves a friend.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Izuku said, looking away to hide his laughter. He leaned against Inasa’s desk, folding his arms across his chest. “You, uh, aren’t completely wrong about one thing about me, that is, though. So you really should accept the apology.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m transferring to UA next year,” Izuku said.

“What?!” Inasa stood with the force of his shout, and Izuku winced.

“The principal contacted me about it,” Izuku continued, unfolding his arms as he looked up at Inasa. “I agreed to transfer.”

Inasa’s gaze flicked over his face, that same look of betrayal he’d had earlier written in his eyes. “Why?”

“My biggest reason?” Izuku sighed. “UA is a lot closer to my uncle than Shiketsu is. But, it’s also a really good opportunity. How many people can honestly say they learned from both top schools in this country?” Izuku broke eye contact with Inasa. “I don’t want it to mean we can’t be friends anymore, though.”

Inasa stared at him for a long moment before looking away and sighing. When he looked back, a grin split his face. “Of course not. Distance doesn’t matter to friendship, at least not in my book.”

Izuku smiled softly. “I’m glad.”

Inasa laughed before ruffling Izuku’s hair. “C’mon, cheer up. You got your provisional license today, man! I bet you’re proud.”

“I am,” Izuku answered, ducking out of Inasa’s grasp to spare his hair the tangles. “I’m sorry you failed, though.”

Inasa shrugged. “I got what was coming to me, to be honest. I’m just glad I get a second chance.”

“I’m glad, too,” Izuku said. “Hey, maybe they’ll let Camie-san take the remedial courses as well since she wasn’t able to take the exam itself?”

“That’d be nice,” Inasa said, smiling softly as he sat back down on his bed. “I wouldn’t mind the company.”

“You and Camie-san get along well, huh?”

“Oh, I know what you’re implying,” Inasa said, pointing threateningly at Izuku despite the faint pink tinge to his cheeks. “Stop while you’re ahead, Izu-kun. Dating isn’t allowed here.”

“You know what they say about rules, Inasa-kun.”

“Don’t finish that phrase. Please, I beg you.”

“They’re made to be broken.”

“You’re horrible. Why are you a class representative, again?”

“I ask myself that on the regular,” Izuku said, laughing as he sat on Inasa’s desk. “Besides, I didn’t imply anything about dating. It was you that drew that conclusion.”

“Hey!” Inasa shouted, shooting off the bed to grab at Izuku. Izuku rolled off the desk and onto the floor to dodge him, laughing as he came up. Inasa lunged for him again, but Izuku staved him off this time by holding up his provisional hero license for examination. He grinned as he did.

“When’d you take that out of your pocket?” Inasa asked, taking the license from Izuku’s hand.

“I’ll never tell.”

“This is a horrible picture of you.”

“All pictures of me are horrible.”

“That’s fair.”

“Wow. You weren’t supposed to agree.” Izuku sniffled pathetically. “And here I thought we were friends.”

Inasa didn’t respond, though, just blinked at the license before looking up at Izuku. “Horizon?”

“Horizon,” Izuku agreed, giving him a nervous smile. “What do you think?”

Inasa laughed, handing the license back to Izuku. “I think that’s gotta be one of the most badass hero names I’ve heard. It suits you, too. It makes you think of the sky, which makes you think of weather, so it’s like a subtle nod to your Quirk, but not too heavy-handed, which is good since you want to go underground. What made you think of it, though?”

“Just something someone told me, once,” Izuku said, tucking his license back into his pocket. “Heroes and villains are like a cycle. Old ones fall, and new ones rise. You and I—and all the other hero students out there—are going to be part of that cycle soon. We’re going to have a chance to make a difference, you know? It’s on the horizon. We’re on the horizon. And I think we’re going to do amazing things, when the time comes.”

“Yeah,” Inasa said, smiling softly. “Yeah, I think we are.”

Chapter Text

Izuku was quietly walking to class for the first time in several weeks on Monday morning, feeling a little bit nervous to be returning. The nervousness was strange but understandable—for all the other kids in his class, they had a relatively normal if socially jarring summer due to All Might’s fight and then his injury. Izuku, on the other hand, was only just now coming out of the most stressful couple of weeks of his life he’d ever lived.

But he had a provisional license now, so that had to be worth something.

At least campus was peaceful, this early in the morning. Izuku could use the time to himself to just be Izuku, not All Might’s successor or the shining star of Shiketsu High or Horizon. Moments like this were rare, and Izuku wasn’t naïve enough to not realize they would only get rarer as time went on.

“Izuku!”

He paused at the sound of his name, turning immediately to look for Camie—because that was Camie. She was several paces behind him, jogging towards him with one hand raised in greeting. She was coming from the direction of the dorms too, and quickly, like she’d been chasing him down. But she was also beaming and had tears in her eyes and looked so much like Camie that Izuku wondered how he’d ever thought whoever was at the exam in her place could ever be her.

Just as he finished that thought, Camie caught up to him, pausing for a moment to catch her breath with her hands on her knees. Izuku hovered awkwardly over her for a moment, hands held out, not quite touching her but ready to if he needed to. “Camie-san! Are you alright? Should you even be run—oof!”

He broke off as she barreled into him, the brim of her Shiketsu hat knocking uncomfortably against his chest before she turned her head to the side. “Thank you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you.”

Oh.

“I should have done more,” Izuku near-whispered back. Camie shook her head against his chest, her arms tightening around his waist. She hadn’t let go yet, though, so Izuku slowly brought his arms up and rested them loosely around her shoulders.

“Don’t say that. Please don’t say that. You’re the only one who—”

She broke off with a strangled sounding sob, at such contrast with her usual bright joviality that Izuku felt his heart break into a million pieces at the sound. He didn’t have any experience in hugging pretty girls, and he definitely didn’t have any experience in comforting them, but tears? Tears, he knew.

He rested his cheek against the top of Camie’s hat, hugging her a little tighter just like his mom would for him. “I’m just glad you’re alright, Camie-san.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice strange and muffled by her tears and Izuku’s shirt combined. “I’m sorry. I was just—I just—”

“It’s okay,” Izuku said. “You don’t have to say anything. I know what it’s like.”

“What?”

“I know what it’s like,” Izuku repeated quietly. “Almost being murdered by a villain, I mean. I know what it’s like, and it’s okay to still be afraid, even after the threat has passed.”

Camie shuddered, but she didn’t question him or say anything else. She just turned her face slightly into his shirt and cried like a dam had broke.

It was a good thing they were both going to classes thirty minutes early today, for Camie’s sake. Izuku doubted she wanted anyone else to see this.

It was a good minute after the tears finally stopped that Camie told his shirt, “The dumb little Hawks plushie was from you, wasn’t it?”

Izuku laughed softly. “Yeah. I thought you would like that.”

Camie didn’t let go of him, but she did use one of her hands to smack him on the back. “You only got that one because it was hero merchandise, didn’t you?”

Izuku laughed again. “I did.”

There was a moment of silence, then she said, “Thank you. I loved it.”

“Of course.”

“I’m also sorry for using you as a tissue.”

Izuku gave her a squeeze. “Don’t worry about that, Camie-san.”

“Just Camie.”

“Huh?”

“Just Camie. Not Camie-san. Please? You saved my life, you should just call me by my name.”

Izuku huffed. “Technically it was Tsukauchi-san that saved your life, but alright, Camie.” Izuku had come a long way since his middle school days, but he definitely blushed a bit getting through her given name without an honorific.

“That’s the detective, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Is he your…dad, or something?”

Izuku spluttered. “What?! Why in the world would you think that?”

Camie laughed softly. “He, like, totally gave off dad vibes, babe. Afterwards he came to get my statement and he was telling me about how Midoriya-kun was so smart, and Midoriya-kun acted so quickly, and Midoriya-kun made such a great call—”

“There’s no way he said all that.”

“—and Midoriya-kun is so handsome, don’t I think—”

“There’s definitely no way he said that!”

Camie laughed. “No, I added the last one. But babe. He was being a complete dad.”

“Well, he’s not my dad,” Izuku said, wrinkling his nose even though Camie was still buried in his shirt.

“Who is he, then?”

“My uncle’s boyfriend.”

“So, totally your dad.”

“Gods, I missed you,” Izuku said, since arguing Tsukauchi’s status as not-his-dad seemed to be a lost cause. “I can’t believe I ever thought someone else was you.”

Camie was silent for a long moment, before giving him another squeeze. “You didn’t believe someone else was me, though. That’s why I’m here, babe.” She finally stepped out of the hug, raising one sleeve to wipe at the wetness still around her eyes. Izuku fished a tissue out of the side pocket of his bag (he cried a lot, after all, and it paid to be prepared) and handed it to Camie. She gave it, then him, a weird look before smiling and taking it, dabbing at her eyes.

“Are you alright, though, really?”

Camie gave the tissue in her hand another strange look, then tucked it into her pocket. She smiled up at Izuku. “I’m totally okay, babe. I just needed a good cry. You and I are, like, platonic soulmates now, so you’d know if I wasn’t.”

Izuku laughed, throwing his head back with the force of it. Gods, he missed Camie. “Platonic soulmates? Is that what we are?”

“Totally!”

“Is that even a thing you can just declare to the world? Isn’t it supposed to be decided by fate?”

“Fate did decide, babe. Look—you went through a near-death experience—we’re coming back to that later, by the way, babe—I went through a near-death experience. You were the only person that knew I wasn’t me. I cried on you.  We’ve even done aerial yoga together. If that doesn’t make us platonic soulmates, then I don’t know what does.”

“Alright, we’re platonic soulmates then,” Izuku said, crooking his arm to accept the elbow Camie suddenly hooked through it. She began walking towards the school again with him in tow, and if it weren’t for the red around her eyes, nobody would probably be able to guess that she had been crying. Actually, Izuku noted, she was using her Quirk to mask over that redness.

That seemed useful. He wondered if she could do it for other people too…? He could certainly use a little touch-up after a good crying session every once in a while after all.

“Hey, babe,” Camie called softly, and Izuku hummed in acknowledgement. “Not that I’m complaining, since I had my totally sick crying session and no one noticed, but why are you here so early? Don’t you need to, like, catch the train over?”

“I live in the dorms,” Izuku said, “so no. And as for why I’m going to class early—I need to pick up paperwork from the principal’s office.”

“Lit,” Camie said, her eyes sparkling as she looked up at him. “I live in the dorms too. Oh, but what kind of paperwork, babe?”

“Uh,” Izuku said, scratching his cheek with the hand that wasn’t presently occupied with holding Camie’s arm. “Transfer paperwork.”

She stopped dead in her tracks. “Transfer paperwork?”

Izuku stopped a few paces in front of her and turned to face her, both of them dropping their arms as she frowned at him. “Y-yeah. Transfer paperwork. For next year.”

“You’re leaving Shiketsu?”

“I got offered a seat at UA,” Izuku explained. “It’s—well, it’s a good opportunity! I, uh, could benefit from learning from the other top school in this country, and it’s closer to home, and closer to my uncle, and I just, well…”

Camie smiled, relinking their arms. “It’s totally okay, babe. You don’t have to explain yourself. I was just, like, surprised, is all. I would transfer to UA too if I got an offer.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, babe,” Camie said, making a face at him. “The people at UA are hotties.”

Izuku feigned a gasp. “Are you saying I’m not also a hottie?”

Camie laughed. It was a much better sound than the broken sob she’d made just a few minutes ago, and Izuku felt a swell in his heart at having put it there. “You’re funny, babe. Of course you’re a hottie, but you’re my platonic soulmate, and I’m looking for a hottie to date.”

“Oh, I see,” Izuku said, laughing softly. “Maybe I can hook you up with a nice UA hottie, once I transfer?”

“Babe,” Camie said, with feeling. “I would love that.”

“Consider it done, then,” Izuku said, holding out his fist. She bumped her own knuckles against his with a chuckle.

“Thank you, Izuku,” Camie said, voice sincere.

Izuku knew he was being thanked for more than just offering to wingman for her, and he offered her a smile in kind. “You’re welcome.”

He should have done more, but at least he had the time to make up for it now.

“Midoriya-kun!” Nakamura squealed, as soon as she spotted him sitting at his customary spot in the cafeteria at lunch. She’d just seen him in class so the squealing wasn’t necessary, but Izuku still appreciated the gesture, grinning like an idiot as she put her tray down in the seat next to his and squished him in a hug from behind, shaking him slightly as she did it.

“Hey,” he said, feeling his face flush at the contact.

“We missed you so much over break! How did your summer training camp thing go? What about your exam? Wait, do you have your provisional?”

Izuku just silently held out his license for her examination in response. She squealed again as she took it, letting go of his shoulders to take her seat. Another arm took her place, the person responsible lightly slapping his shoulder as they put their arm around him. Izuku reached around with his own arm, giving Arakawa a slap on the back as he returned the half-hug. “Hey, man,” he said.

“Hey, Class Rep,” Arakawa said, releasing him to take the seat across from him, grin sharp. “Whatcha got there, Nakamura-san?”

“His hero license!” she said, eyes gleaming.

“Provisional hero license,” Izuku corrected.

“Oh, wow,” Arakawa said, incredibly white teeth gleaming as he turned his smile on Izuku. “Dude! That’s incredible! You have to be one of the only first years in history to take the exam and pass it!”

“Nah,” Izuku said, shaking his head. “UA’s first-years took it this year too. Bunch of ‘em passed.”

“Midoriya-kun, it’s good to see you again,” Watanabe said, squeezing his shoulder lightly as she passed. Izuku gave her a smile as well as she took her customary seat next to Arakawa.

“It’s good to see you too,” Izuku said. “How have all of you—”

“Guys,” Nakamura said, her tone oddly somber. Izuku cast her a curious glance, surprised to find she was staring at his hero license with a strange expression on her face, one hand rising to cover her mouth before she lowered it again. “He chose a hero name.”

“Pardon?” Watanabe asked. She glanced at the license in Nakamura’s hand, then at Izuku. “Midoriya-kun, is that a provisional hero license?”

“Y-yeah, actually, um, it’s really not a big deal, guys—”

“Let me see!” Arakawa shouted, leaning across the table to grab Izuku’s license out of Nakamura’s hands. She relinquished it easily, and Arakawa stared, his pale green eyes getting a little glossy.

“Don’t tell me you’re about to cry,” Izuku said, staring in surprise.

“I’m already crying!” Nakamura exclaimed, burying her face in her arms with an impressive sniffle.

“What—” Izuku started to say, completely baffled.

Watanabe tugged the license out of Arakawa’s hands, staring at it for a moment before looking up at Izuku. “Horizon?”

“Uh, yeah,” he said. “Horizon.”

Watanabe ran her thumb over the name, then passed it back to him. She smiled softly. “Hope is always on the horizon.”            

Arakawa started crying. Izuku reached across the table to pat his shoulder, still baffled. “What’s going on, you guys?”

“Nothing,” Nakamura said, wiping her eyes. “We’re just glad you picked one. We’re glad you picked that one. It’s like we helped you find yourself in a way, you know?”

Oh, Izuku thought. Oh.

“You did,” he said, offering them all a smile. “Everyone did.”

“Aw, man,” Arakawa said, sniffling. “I think it’s group hug time. Anyone else?”

“Seconded,” Nakamura said, throwing an arm over Izuku’s shoulders. He threw one of his own around her, then the other around Watanabe when she crossed to his other side. Arakawa dropped his arms around all three of them.

Izuku laughed softly, feeling happier than he’d felt in a long time.

And of course, he cried a bit himself, too.

“Morning, Eraser.”

“Morning,” Shouta grumbled, making his usual morning beeline for the coffee pot. Then he stopped, looked at the person that had spoken, and groaned. “Fuck.”

“You seem so happy to see me,” Tsukauchi said, voice unnaturally bright compared to the eight shots of espresso that were undoubtedly in that cup he was holding.

“Why are you here?” Shouta asked (after double-checking to make sure he was actually in UA’s breakroom and not the Musutafu police station). “Aren’t you supposed to be glued to a hospital bed like a distraught and mentally unstable widow?”

“Ha,” Tsukauchi said, saluting Shouta with his coffee cup. “That’s a new one.”

“Thanks, I try.”

“I know you do.”

“How is the idiot?”

Tsukauchi sipped his hell-potion and hummed. “He’s doing well. He should wake up in a few days, even.”

“All the more reason for you to not be here,” Shouta said, clapping a hand on Tsukauchi’s shoulder. “Take a break, Tsukauchi. Whatever work you’re here for can wait. It’s irrational to do otherwise.”

Tsukauchi closed his eyes, letting out a long, quiet sigh. “Can’t. It’s about the League.”

Shouta paused. “The League?”

“Yeah, there was—”

“Ah, Tsukauchi-kun, I’m glad to see you’ve arrived,” Nedzu said. “How is Toshinori-kun doing?”

“He’s well,” Tsukauchi said immediately, noticeably going into less detail about Yagi’s condition than he had when Shouta asked. Whether that was to save time or because he didn’t like Nedzu as much, Shouta didn’t know. The bitter part of his soul that was fueled by spite and spite alone hoped it was the latter, though.

Anything to beat Nedzu. In any kind of competition, really.  

“I’m pleased to hear it,” Nedzu said. “Ah, Aizawa-kun, you’re here as well, that’s good. Would both of you like to come with me to the office to discuss the matter at hand?”

Shouta raised an eyebrow. “Me too?”

“It concerns your class,” Tsukauchi said.

“We have multiple things to discuss that concern your class, actually!” Nedzu chirped.

Shouta felt a spike of cold fear shoot down his spine. It was never a good sign hearing the words League and his class in the same sentence.

He followed Tsukauchi and Nedzu to the chimera’s office, a little more awake than he had been before.

Once inside, Nedzu motioned for everyone to take seats. “Tea?” he asked.

“No,” Tsukauchi and Shouta said at the same time.

“That’s a shame,” Nedzu said. “I’d rather fancy a cup myself. Tsukauchi-kun, why don’t you go ahead and start briefing Aizawa-kun for me?”

Shouta shifted his gaze to Tsukauchi, who sighed, retrieving files from his briefcase. He handed one over to Shouta easily. “Here’s the situation. Shiketsu High student Midoriya Izuku—” Really, him again? “—put in a tip with the police on his way to the Provisional Licensing Exam. He’s a first-year at Shiketsu, but he petitioned the school to let him take the exam a year early, and got thrown in with a class of second-years to do so. Apparently, one of the second-years he’d befriended, Utsushimi Camie, was acting suspicious following a trip to the restroom in a public rest area. That’s her right there.”

Shouta thumbed the picture of the student further out of the folder, committing her face to memory out of habit. Brown eyes, tawny colored hair, soft features. She smiled lazily at the camera. Below her was a picture of Midoriya Izuku himself, looking just as horrible as he did in his hero license, with a wobbly smile and too-wide eyes and his Shiketsu hat knocked slightly askew.

“How did he know?” Shouta asked.

“He has one hell of an intuition,” Tsukauchi said. “I took his statement too, and it all checked out. I can see what you’re thinking, Eraser—he wasn’t working with the League.”

“No, I believe you,” Shouta said. “I met him. He’s sharp.”

“You met him?” Tsukauchi asked, sounding vaguely surprised.

“I, too, would like to hear more about this supposed meeting,” Nedzu said, settling himself with a cup of steaming tea.

“He asked me for an internship after the exam,” Shouta said, leaning forward to look at Nedzu. “I was actually going to ask you about approving it, today.”

“Oh?” Nedzu said, practically vibrating with excitement. “Well, I would approve it, certainly. I must admit I am quite curious about Midoriya Izuku.”

A chill ran its way down Shouta’s spine, at that. Nedzu showing interest in someone…was almost never a good thing.  “He asked me for the internship,” Shouta said, because he felt like he needed to clarify these things with Nedzu sometimes. “He’s mine. Keep your paws off of him.”

Tsukauchi snorted then sipped his coffee inconspicuously as if that would hide it. Nedzu shot him a look all the same, and Tsukauchi raised one eyebrow, not offering any sort of explanation.

Nedzu just smiled on, expression unchanging. “I suppose that’s fair. I will get him all to myself next year, anyway.”

Shouta blinked at that, a feeling a sense of dread slipping into his bones. It wasn’t any particular dread, just the regular Nedzu dread. “And…what do you mean by that?”

“I offered him Seat 19 in your class, following Mineta Minoru’s withdrawal.” He sipped at his tea, cradling the cup delicately between his paws. “He accepted. I actually received his formal application today, as it stands! How I adore efficiency.”

Shouta tried very hard to not be exasperated with his boss.

He failed.

“And when were you going to tell me this, exactly?”

Nedzu blinked. “Today. Though, you clearly already approve of the boy, so I’m sure you don’t mind.”

Shouta pinched the bridge of his nose. It was way too early in the morning for Nedzu, in general. “Well, it changes my approach. Does he know I’m going to be his homeroom teacher?”

“He’s quite intelligent, Aizawa-kun. I’m sure he’s put two and two together. To be frank and candid, I would be surprised if that wasn’t part of why he approached you in the first place. I’ve only spoken to Midoriya-san once, but he has the potential for great deviousness within him.”

Shouta stared at Nedzu for a moment, and then drained his coffee while making eye contact.

He thought Nedzu got the message.

“Anyway,” Tsukauchi said, with a loud throat clear. “Midoriya-kun’s future academic career aside, I need to talk to some of your current students, Eraser. We suspect it might have been Toga Himiko of the League of Villains responsible for impersonating Utsushimi-san. I want to talk to the three students that encountered the perpetrator during the exam—Bakugou Katsuki, Kirishima Eijirou, and Kaminari Denki, as well as Todoroki Shouto.”

“And why is that problem child separate from the other three problem children?” Shouta asked. Todoroki Shouto, in particular, had probably given Shouta the second-worst of all of his student induced migraines this year. The worst had belonged to Takahashi, who he’d expelled following the third instance of blatant Quirk discrimination he’d exhibited. Todoroki was a different beast, though, since his issues weren’t of the expulsion-worthy variety.

“Todoroki-kun was supposedly with Midoriya-kun for basically the entire exam,” Tsukauchi said. “That’s according to Midoriya-kun’s report, obviously. I just have to check all my boxes.”

“What was Todoroki doing with Midoriya?” Shouta asked. He hid his surprise behind a blank face, but he was surprised. Todoroki Shouto, notorious lone wolf, had yet to work together with someone to any degree of adequacy. Considering he and Midoriya had both passed the exam, that would have to mean they did so…together.

“Uh,” Tsukauchi said, as he searched for his answer in Midoriya’s report. “They teamed up in the first round, talked in-between rounds, then happened to team up again in the final round. Midoriya-kun said they fought Gang Orca together, that time.” Tsukauchi dropped the sheet he was reading from, then looked up, gaze flicking between Shouta and Nedzu. “Why? Is that surprising?”

“Todoroki-san isn’t known for his teamwork skills, here at UA,” Nedzu said.

“Heh,” Tsukauchi said, grinning at his file. “I don’t know Midoriya-kun that well, but he seems like the sort that could convince anyone to work with him.”

“Indeed. I’m quite jealous of you, Aizawa-kun. Do you think when he gets here to do whatever nonsense you have planned for his introduction to interning with you I’ll be able to steal him away by extending an offer of my own?”

Shouta grunted. “I wouldn’t want him anyway, if he were swayed to the dark side that easily.”

Tsukauchi laughed softly, turning to the chimera. “Tough luck, Nedzu-san. He has an iron will.”

Shouta rolled his eyes. “So, the other three.”

Tsukauchi hummed. “Yes. Well, specifically, we’re looking at Kirishima this time.”

“Why primarily Kirishima?”

“Looks like she might have scratched him from the footage the HPSC provided.”

“Huh,” Shouta said, blinking. “You would think he would be the last person to get scratched by someone else, with his Quirk.”

“She got the jump on him,” Tsukauchi said, shrugging. “I’d like to get Todoroki-kun out of the way first. Are you good with that, Eraser?”

Shouta grunted. “That’s fine. Homeroom starts soon, anyway.”

“You just lead the way, then, Eraser.”

Shouto was on his way to his desk when he paused, backtracked, and stared, blatantly and quite rudely. Considering who he was staring at, he did nothing to mitigate the rudeness.

“Do you have a fucking problem, Icy-Hot?” Bakugou snarled, his voice sounding stuffed up and nasally, probably due to the crooked, purple nature of his nose.

“You broke your nose,” Shouto said. He was never one to mince his words.

“You only noticed just now?” Bakugou sneered. He flipped him off in the next breath, though, which was just…too true to character. “Go to hell.”

“Did that happen at the provisional licensing exam?”

“Fuck you.”

“Get this,” Kirishima said, because Kirishima was a helpful soul (especially when it came to translating Bakugou). His eyes glittered with humor as he held up a finger. “First half of the exam, he was fine. I think he’s too embarrassed to admit it, but he must have brained himself on a pole or something between exams, because next thing I knew? He looked like that.”

Bakugou only snarled at him in response, looking very much in need of a rabies shot.

“I think he got into a fight,” Kaminari chirped, because he was also a helpful soul (though he was a helpful soul with a death wish). “And he just doesn’t want to admit that he lost.”

“Do you want to say that to my fucking face, Sparky? I’ll show you just how likely me losing really is.”

“Ah,” Shouto said, as it clicked into place. “You’re the one that Midoriya got in a fight with.”

“Midoriya?” Kirishima echoed, perking up slightly. “Pretty Midoriya? From Shiketsu? Tie guy?”

Shouto shot Kirishima a glare and silently rescinded what he thought about him being helpful.

“Tie guy?” Kaminari echoed, at the same time Bakugou roared, “How do you know Deku?”

“Yeah, dude, get this,” Kirishima said, turning to Kaminari and effectively ignoring both Shouto’s glare and Bakugou’s sparking palms. “Remember that hot Shiketsu dude that almost broke Bakubro’s wrist?”

“Dude,” Kaminari said, sounding vaguely affronted. “Who could forget that guy? He just—” Kaminari struck a strange karate pose, making a series of sounds that sounded more like they belonged in a fighting game instead of a classroom. Shouto wasn’t sure what it all meant, but Kirishima seemed to catch on.

“Yeah, dude, that guy. Guess what else he did?” Kirishima paused for dramatic effect, then splayed his hands. “He grabbed Todo-bro’s tie, here. And he said—Todoroki-kun, what was it he said to you?”

“He said a lot of things to me.”

“Like what you see!” Kirishima said, pumping a fist in the air. “That’s what he said. It was so manly.”

“Kirishima. Bro. I love you, but please try to come up with another compliment besides manly someday.”

“Alright, then it was hot,” Kirishima said, grinning sharply.

“Un-fucking-believable,” Bakugou said. “Fucking Deku. Hot. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Hey, I thought he was hot too!” Kaminari said. “Two words, Bakubro. Bubble. Butt. Lady Shiketsu, though? She was hotter. Totally had a thing for Kirishima, though, which is too bad because he’s gay.” Kirishima blushed fiercely at that, though he soldiered through the embarrassment valiantly all the same.

“Why do you call him that?” Shouto asked. He hadn’t started this conversation with Bakugou with the intent of pressing him for information about Midoriya, but, well. Shouto had never been one to mince his words.

“That’s none of your fucking business, asshole.”

“Are you just salty because you got your nose broken by someone that’s prettier than you?” Kaminari asked.

There was a beat of silence, where they all stared at him. Sometimes, sometimes, even Shouto wondered about the complete disregard Kaminari had for his own safety. He was…he was something else.

A moment later, the other shoe dropped. “What the fuck?” Bakugou screeched, flying out of his seat. Kaminari probably would have died that day, had Kirishima not intervened when he did.

Shouto decided his work there was done, beating a retreat to his seat (which was crowded by several of the girls in the class, who were talking to Yaoyorozu in the back. He didn’t say anything to them, but he couldn’t help but overhear their conversation as he sat.

“I, for one, am glad to see him gone,” Yaoyorozu was saying, glaring at the empty seat in front of her. Shouto blinked, then looked at it. Right, Mineta left.

Oh well.

“Me too!” Uraraka cheered, bumping into Shouto’s desk accidentally as she did. “Oh, sorry, Todoroki-kun.”

“It’s fine.”

“I wonder who will take his place?” Ashido said, practically vibrating. “Another general studies kid? We really lucked out with Shinsou-kun, after all! He’s so great! Aren’t you, Shinsou-kun?”

“No,” Shinsou said, not lifting his head off of his own desk.

He did not contribute anything else.

“Ooh!” Hagakure exclaimed, wiggling with excitement. “What if it was someone from another hero school?”

“Transfers between hero schools aren’t very common,” Yaoyorozu reminded her. “Especially not into UA. Principal Nedzu operates UA transfers on an offer-only basis, so students can only transfer into his hero course from another school if scouted by him specifically. And, unfortunately, there are probably only two people in our grade and another hero school in the country that would warrant that sort of attention.”

“Really?” Uraraka asked, drawing out the l’s. “Who?”

Yaoyorozu blinked. “Those Shiketsu first years we met at the provisional licensing exam, obviously.”

“Didn’t one of them already turn down their acceptance at UA, though?” Hagakure asked.

“Oh, yes. I suppose that’s true. That would really only leave one option then.”

“The feral one,” Uraraka said, with a little more intensity than that statement warranted.

“Bubble butt!” Ashido agreed happily.

Shouto made a strangled sound, then cleverly and smoothly disguised it as a sneeze. He could do with less reminders about Midoriya’s…butt. And subsequently less reminders that he’d been in the gutters with the rest of his classmates when it came to it, apparently.

“I didn’t know you could get sick, Todoroki-kun!” Hagakure said, bouncing up and down.

Shouto schooled his features into perfect neutrality. “I can.”

It was true. It was a rare day he actually got sick, thanks to his body being naturally temperature regulating, but it could happen. But, Hagakure didn’t need to know that.

“Oh, I’m dreadfully sorry,” Yaoyorozu said, giving Shouto a small smile. “It slipped my mind that you and Midoriya-san were close.”

“What!” Ashido said, slamming her hands on his desk. “You know Bubble Butt?”

“It’s rude to call people names, Ashido-san,” Yaoyorozu gently chided.

“We’re not close,” Shouto said, fixing the girls with a chilly look. A few of them, including Uraraka and Ashido, took a step back. “I don’t know anything about Midoriya, really.”

Of course, no sooner as he said that, Aizawa flung the door open in the way only he did. He stalked inside, the same detective that had investigated the USJ and the summer training camp following behind him. Aizawa locked eyes with Shouto across the room and opened his mouth.

It was one of those moments where Shouto got a feeling something not-good was going to come out of this.

“Todoroki. Detective Tsukauchi needs to ask you questions about Midoriya Izuku. Go with him, please. The rest of you better be in your seats in the next thirty seconds.”

Shouto stood, feeling a strange sort of fuzziness in his head as he did. Why would a detective need to ask him questions about Midoriya?

A moment later. Shouto realized with a pang that the feeling in his head was there because he was actually, legitimately worried about Midoriya.

Well. That was just great.

“Not close, huh?” Ashido said with a little giggle as she retreated to her desk.

Shouto ignored her. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, don’t worry,” Tsukauchi said, offering Shouto a calming smile. “Midoriya-kun is fine. This is more of a precautionary thing. Kirishima-kun, I’m going to need to talk to you next about Utsushimi Camie.”

“The Shiketsu girl from the provisional licensing exam, right?” Kirishima asked, blinking vapidly. “How come?”

Tsukauchi sighed, looking over to Aizawa as if searching for some sort of guidance. Aizawa just shrugged into his yellow sleeping bag, giving Tsukauchi a blank look. “She was being impersonated by someone else during the exam.” He looked to Shouto. “Midoriya-kun caught on to that and tipped off the police. All you need to do is verify his whereabouts for me, Todoroki-kun. It’s a perfunctory thing, more than anything. Will you be okay with that?”

Shouto nodded, then followed Tsukauchi out of the classroom when he jerked his chin.

“Babe,” Camie said, as soon as Izuku opened the door to his dorm room.

“Camie…?”

“I’m here too,” Shishikura said, tone somewhat miffed, from Camie’s other side.

Izuku blinked, rubbing a bit of his afternoon-stress-crash-nap out of his eyes, then smiled. “Hey, Shishikura-senpai.”

“Hello.”

“Babe,” Camie repeated, with feeling. “Your hair is so adorable. That hat is honestly, like, totally a shame.”

Izuku blushed from his neck to the roots of his aforementioned hair, quickly running fingers through it with the hopes of taming it somewhat. “Sorry. I have some exceptionally bad bedhead.”

“Babe. I just called it adorable, not bad.”

“She has a point,” Shishikura chimed in, as intense and direct as ever.

Izuku flailed his arms, once, then twice, then settled on wrapping his arms around his head. “Why are you guys even here?”

Shishikura made a soft humming noise. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so discomposed.”

“Aw, are you like this when you first wake up?”

“No!” Izuku slapped his hands over his cheeks. “This is my natural state, I just…normally…”

“Normally he uses his hero persona to get himself through social interactions!” a familiar voice boomed from behind the two of them.

“Inasa-kun?”

“Hey!” Inasa shouted, appearing in the doorway too. He had to shove Shishikura into Camie to do so—a fact Shishikura looked less than happy about—but Izuku couldn’t help but beam at the three of them all the same. “I’ve been here the whole time too! The three of us just didn’t really fit in the doorway!”

“What are you guys doing here?” Izuku asked.

“We’re totally taking you out,” Camie said. “Because you, like, really deserve it.”

“What?”

“You helped my friend,” Shishikura said, nodding solemnly. “Even when I didn’t know anything was wrong.”

“You helped me figure out myself even though I was an ass to you and you were going through a lot already!” Inasa shouted.

“And you totally saved my life,” Camie added. “Not to mention, you, like, got your provisional license!”

“You guys…” Izuku started to say, but he didn’t get it out because he started getting choked up on tears instead.

“Don’t mention it, babe!”

“It was my idea!” Inasa said.

“This much is true. Camie-san and I were unaware that the two of you lived in the dorms as well before today, but once Yoarashi-kun informed us, we took it upon ourselves to fill out forms supporting a group outing.”

“Thank you,” Izuku said, wiping tears out of his eyes and giving them a wobbly smile. “Thank you so much.”

Tsukauchi [11:29 p.m.]:

He’s awake.

Chapter Text

Standing across from Togata Mirio of UA’s Big Three, Shouto can’t help but think that he owes Midoriya thanks. Why? Because Shouto, by himself, would have never come up with any sort of strategy for countering whatever the hell this guy’s Quirk was, but Shouto, after watching Midoriya fight several people and Gang Orca at once, could come up with something.

And that something? Move around like a madman and try to encase Togata in ice before he could move again. Honestly, it’s a terrible strategy, considering Togata could walk through his ice like it was nothing and Shouto isn’t about to unleash his fire willy-nilly when his classmates are strewn about at his feet. But, then again, his classmates were strewn about at his feet whilst Shouto was on them, so, some thanks were certainly still owed to Midoriya.

But then Togata landed a pretty solid punch on Shouto’s gut, and he joins his classmates on the floor of the gym.

“What are you, useless? You goddamn Icy-Hot piece of trash!”

Shouto would very much like to remind Bakugou that he’s the one standing on the sidelines because he didn’t pass the provisional licensing exam. While he was at it, he’d like to issue the same reminder to Shinsou, who stood next to Bakugou, stifling his laughter, but it actually sort of hurt to breathe. And Shouto had taken hits from Endeavour in his lifetime, so may his wheezing be a testament to Togata’s strength, he supposed.

Togata laughed good-naturedly and offered Shouto a hand up. “Don’t listen to him, that was a pretty good effort! You were trying to counter my surprise attacks with erratic movements, weren’t you?”

Shouto huffed out some of the stored-up air in his lungs. Togata had definitely bruised his ribs, at the very least. “Yeah.”

“You would have won that way, if I hadn’t changed up my strategy,” Togata said, with a bright smile and a small nod. “Coming up with that must have taken some forward thinking, yeah?”

Shouto accepted his hand and let him haul him to his feet. He grunted. “Not really. I was just trying to keep you from tracking my movements.”

Togata made a thoughtful sound, and then stepped away to help some of the others up too.

Not long after that, they were all gathered in front of him and the other third years, listening intently as Togata gave a speech about how important the experience gained from internships was. It was good as far as speeches went, inspirational, but not overbearing. Honestly, it reminded Shouto a lot of All Might. Actually, he wouldn’t be surprised if the two were related.

Maybe they were. All Might was only human, after all. It was definitely possible he had an affair or two, and even more possible he could end up with an illegitimate son from that. It wouldn’t be the first time something like that happened.

Maybe All Might had taken the teaching job at UA to reconnect with his long-lost son?

“Todoroki.”

Shouto jolted himself out of his thoughts, both surprised and wary that Aizawa was addressing him as the class filtered out of the gym. It wasn’t that Shouto distrusted Aizawa specifically. It was that Shouto distrusted everyone that wasn’t himself or Fuyumi, and he especially distrusted them if they were an adult.

“You learned those moves from someone else, didn’t you?” Aizawa asked.

Shouto blinked. So that’s what this was about. With hindsight, it seemed obvious that Aizawa would be curious about why Shouto went from mostly standing in one place in a fight to running around an entire gymnasium trying to battle a particularly difficult third-year. Aizawa was lots of things, but an idiot certainly wasn’t one of them. “Yes. I modeled them after the Shiketsu student I battled Gang Orca with.”

Aizawa hummed. “I would like to be frank with you, Todoroki.”

Shouto nodded his assent. He liked it when people were frank with him. Everything was easier that way.

“You have never excelled at teamwork in any heroics class I have observed. Yet you supposedly worked perfectly with Midoriya Izuku when you fought with him at the exam. Can you tell me why that is?”

Shouto felt himself getting angry at the question, even though there was really no good reason to. Aizawa was right, after all—Shouto wasn’t great at teamwork. He wasn’t bad at it, but he certainly wasn’t great. It was odd that he’d snapped into perfect synergy with Midoriya at the exam despite that. It was odd enough that Shouto had lost sleep thinking about why.

He had an answer. He just didn’t really want to share it with Aizawa.

But his teacher was also looking at him, half-expectant, half-bored, and Shouto couldn’t just storm off and ignore the question like he wanted to. And he didn’t have enough time to prepare a convincing enough lie, either. His homeroom teacher had always had an uncanny knack for seeing right through those.

“He didn’t seem to have any preconceived expectations about me. It’s a…common problem, given who my father is. I just figured out his Quirk and preferred fighting style, he figured out mine, and then we just…came up with something that worked.”

Aizawa blinked once, and when he spoke, it was with a certain amount of hesitance Shouto had never heard from him before. “I observed the footage from your fight with him, following the investigation. I noticed that when you fought with him, you fought more as a support while he took the lead. It’s the opposite of how your team-ups usually go.”

Ah. There it was—the reason Shouto was always cautious around Aizawa. He may look scruffy and sound gruff, but he was smart, and incredibly so. “As you probably know from the detective, we fought together in the first half of the exam, too, so the Gang Orca fight wasn’t our first time working with each other.” Shouto shrugged, not knowing what else to really say. “Midoriya was just…adaptable. Or worked well with my Quirk and fighting style from the start. Or just really, really good at understanding how to work with people.”

Aizawa looked at him for a long moment. He wore an artfully blank expression on his face—a more masterful version of the look that Shouto himself was slowly perfecting—and he was incredibly hard to get a read on sometimes. As to what he was thinking right now, it was impossible to say.

“Do you feel like your classmates force you to take the lead in fights because your Quirk is strong?”

Shouto considered that question, the implications behind it.

The funny thing was this: Shouto hadn’t even honest to goodness known that he’d preferred the way he fought with Midoriya to the way he’d fought in every other fight he’d ever been in until he was on the bus headed back to UA. Because it was the first time that anyone had ever been on a team with him, figured out that he operated best at mid-range (Endeavour couldn’t grab him if Shouto learned how to keep him away), and understood that it meant Shouto was better at not facing opponents head-on (Endeavour always wanted Shouto to face him head on).

And the reason that Shouto had lost sleep thinking about this?

Midoriya had a very powerful Quirk. It was honestly probably as powerful as Shouto’s, but Shouto didn’t know that for sure because he’d only seen Midoriya use it like that a few times in all the minutes they fought alongside each other. Midoriya chose not to fight villains head-on, but when he did fight them head-on, he could send them flying five meters away with a single punch. By all logic, Midoriya should be a brawler, like Kirishima, or All Might, or even Togata—but Midoriya had decided he was going to be a thinker, an ambusher, and a mobility expert instead.

Endeavour was a brawler. Endeavour wanted Shouto to be a brawler, had trained him to be a brawler. UA had done the same—both the teachers and his peers had taken one look at his incredibly powerful Quirk and decided for him that he should be a brawler too.

Shouto wanted to be a little more of a thinker.

“I think that they do,” he said, in response to Aizawa’s question. “But I don’t think that they mean to.” He flicked his gaze over to his teacher, then away again. “Is that all, Sensei?”

Aizawa made a soft, thoughtful noise, but he nodded. Shouto walked past him, heading back to the locker room to change without another word.

Izuku quietly entered the hospital room he was all too familiar with after rushing over as soon as school ended in the hopes he’d arrive before visiting hours were done. Thankfully, he did.

Unsurprisingly, Sir Nighteye, Gran Torino, and Nedzu were all gone, most likely busy with hero work, but Tsukauchi was sitting at Yagi’s bedside, one of Yagi’s large hands, clutched tightly in both of his while they conversed quietly, Yagi’s already quiet voice (and wasn’t that odd, to see Yagi, to see All Might, so quiet) muffled by his oxygen mask. Izuku almost didn’t want to interrupt the moment, but, well. He already had. And it would be weird to leave now.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” he said softly as he walked into their line of sight.

Yagi blushed and flailed—which was eerily reminiscent of Izuku’s own embarrassed blushing and flailing, which was, uh, odd—while Tsukauchi just laughed softly. “It’s alright, Toshi. He worked it out on his own already.”

“Oh,” Yagi said, voice strange and distorted.

“He seemed happy when he did,” Tsukauchi continued, giving Yagi a meaningful look. Witnessing it made Izuku’s heart swell inside his chest.

“I was happy,” Izuku said, finding an armchair in the corner of the room and pushing it closer to Yagi’s bed. “I just want to see you happy, Yagi-sensei. Hopefully for a long time.”

“My boy,” Yagi said, with tears in his eyes.

Izuku sat in his arm chair, taking Yagi’s other hand in his own when he was offered it. Izuku wiped the tears in his eyes on his shoulder, cleaning them off his face. “I’m so glad you’re awake.”

Yagi managed a weak sounding chuckle. “Me too, young Midoriya. Me too.”

“Izuku.”

Yagi blinked. “What?”

“You called me Izuku, in your letter,” Izuku said, nodding decisively. “You should keep doing that.”

“Oh,” Yagi said, his tears spilling out of his eyes. “The letter. My boy, I never…”

“It’s alright,” Izuku said, shaking his head as he interrupted. “I mean, it’s not alright, that you were planning on dying and just left me a letter instead of telling me about Nighteye’s predictions sooner, but it’s alright, because you lived, and you’re here, and that’s all that matters.”

The tears were a little too much to continue conversing for a while after that, but eventually they eased enough for conversation to begin again. It began this time with Tsukauchi, who gave Izuku a soft smile. “Did you bring your provisional license with you, Midoriya-kun?”

Izuku blanked for a moment, then nodded rapidly, letting go of Yagi’s hand to fumble around in his pockets for a moment before he shakily produced his wallet and then shakily produced the hero license after that. He fumbled it as he pressed it into Yagi’s hands, too.

Yagi looked at it for a moment, then smiled softly. “Horizon?”

“I, uh.” Izuku laughed a wet, somewhat nervous laugh. “I was thinking about that letter, and the final line was stuck in my head, you know? Oh! You might not remember. It’s the one where you said, ‘And that horizon is you.’ And I was just thinking about that, and horizons, and I always wanted to pay homage to you with my hero name one day. Anything too obvious was out, obviously, but that—that was, uh. That was the best way I could think of doing it.”

“My boy,” Yagi breathed, holding the license with a tight enough grip that his knuckles went white. “Izuku. I think that’s a perfect hero name for you. I’m so proud of you, my boy. So, so proud.”

“That’s, uh, that’s not all,” Izuku said, wiping more tears from his eyes. Gods, but he never seemed to run out of those, did he?

“Oh?” Yagi asked, looking excited.

“I actually got two internship offers,” Izuku said.

“Two?” Tsukauchi asked, raising his eyebrows. “It’s only been a few days.”

“Y-yeah,” Izuku said, hiccupping with his tears halfway through the words. “Can you believe that? Well, one of them I kind of got myself—”

“Is that the one from Eraserhead?” Tsukauchi asked, eyes glittering with mirth. He still hadn’t let go of Yagi’s other hand, Izuku noted.

Izuku hiccupped again, then gave Tsukauchi a smile. “How’d you know that?”

“Naomasa knows everything,” Yagi whispered conspiratorially.

“More like I know everyone,” Tsukauchi said with a soft laugh, giving Yagi an unbearably dopey look. Izuku averted his gaze, blushing at the fondness in that look alone. “Eraserhead told me about it.”

“I didn’t know you knew Eraserhead.”

Tsukauchi laughed again. “Oh, do I know him. Eraser and I go way back.”

“Naomasa is in high demand, in the detective business,” Yagi said, sounding incredibly proud. Izuku couldn’t help but smile at that tone in his voice.

“Just because of my Quirk,” Tsukauchi said, with a playful roll of his eyes. It reminded Izuku a bit of all of Todoroki’s many eyerolls from the provisional licensing exam.

And then he promptly blushed, again, at the implications of that particular thought.

“That’s not true!” Yagi said, somehow sounding both affronted and proud at the same time. “It’s because of your incredibly high case resolution rate, too!”

Tsukauchi gave him a tired but fond look, then smiled at Izuku. “It’s because of my Quirk. It’s very useful, in my line of work.” Then he hummed thoughtfully. “Though, it’s incredibly useful in Makoto’s line of work, too. She can always sniff out a story once she sets her mind to it.”

“Makoto…?”

“That’s his sister,” Yagi supplied, shuddering as he did. “Frightful woman, she is.”

Tsukauchi let out an exasperated sigh. “You think all women are frightful, Toshi.”

“That’s because they are!” Yagi said, flailing with the arm that wasn’t being held down by Tsukauchi. “I have the utmost respect for women, of course, but they’re tough as nails, all of them. Never cross a woman, young Izuku. If you do, you’ll never be the same again.”

Izuku laughed softly, both at the advice and the overwhelming joy flooding his entire system at seeing his mentor like this, bantering with his…well, his Tsukauchi, sitting up in bed, looking alive instead of like a pale corpse. “Noted.”

“Oh, Midoriya-kun,” Tsukauchi said. “You said you got two offers, not just one.”

“Oh, right!” Yagi exclaimed, grinning at Izuku. “Sorry for interrupting you, my boy! Who was the other offer from, if not Aizawa-kun?”

“O-oh,” Izuku said, blushing with his full face under both of their fond gazes. He didn’t feel like he really deserved that, since he was the one intruding on their moment, but it would be rude not to answer them too. “Gang Orca requested me too, apparently. Kinetic-sensei pulled me aside today to hand me the paper and I cried, right there in front of the whole class.”

“That’s amazing, Midoriya-kun,” Tsukauchi said. “Gang Orca is in the top ten on the charts right now. It’ll be hard to pick where to go.”

“Oh, I kind of already picked,” Izuku said. “I bothered Eraserhead for the position, and he’s underground while Gang Orca isn’t, so I’m going to take his offer. Maybe Gang Orca’s offer will still stand later, though, because it really would be great to learn from him too. He’s so cool, you know, and his Quirk has so many possibilities. I’ve always wondered if he can breathe and function in underwater environments too, like Selkie can, or if he’s limited to land operations only, since that’s how he primarily fights. It would also be fascinating to see how he mitigates property damage up close—for someone with a Quirk as destructive as his could be, he’s got extremely low property damage rates—”

Izuku broke off when he heard a soft, somewhat strained chuckle, blinking at Yagi like a deer in the headlights. To his surprise, Yagi lifted his hand, plopping it down on top of Izuku’s curls, and giving them a hearty ruffle. “It’s not as satisfying with the sides gone,” he bemoaned, and Izuku let out an apologetic laugh at that. “I’m very glad I made it, young Izuku. If I hadn’t, I would have never gotten to hear you ramble about various Quirks or pro heroes again.”

“It would be very tragic indeed,” Tsukauchi agreed, with a breathless, somewhat teary laugh.

“I’m glad you made it, too,” Izuku said, surging forward to grip Yagi around the shoulders, mindful of his injuries. They stayed like that for a while, the railing of the hospital bed pressing into Izuku’s abdomen uncomfortably, one of Tsukauchi’s hands landing somewhere in Izuku’s hair at some point, one of Yagi’s resting gently on Izuku’s back

And for just a moment, that weight that had settled onto Izuku’s shoulders that day he read about the USJ attack and stayed there for every moment afterwards was gone, gone as sure as if it had never been there at all. It was easier, he thought, in the quiet way he always thought of these things, to carry a burden with someone else, rather than alone. It always had been.

“Hey, Sir, have you ever considered taking on another intern?”

Mirai blinked at Mirio’s oddly intuitive question, shuffling papers around on his desk in a way that was meant to look purposeful. In reality, he was hiding his half-filled out offer from view.

“I have had the thought,” he said. Midoriya Izuku’s form seemed to scream at him from where he had just buried it. Midoriya… He was an odd young man, Mirai thought. He had been nothing at all like what Mirai had expected, and as to if that was a pleasant occurrence or not, Mirai was still unsure.

I have little interest in legacies, though. I’ve only ever wanted to help.

“Ooh,” Mirio said, smiling brightly as he sat his bag down at his desk. “Anyone in particular?”

“Ah, yes,” Mirai said. “I have my eye on a student from Shiketsu, actually.”

“Staying true to your alma mater, I see!” Mirio said, voice bright, smile brighter.

“Of course,” Mirai said, tilting his head in his protégé’s direction. “Though it is extremely unlikely that he would accept. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, no particular reason,” Mirio said. “I just had a thought, is all. About having a kouhai, and all that.” He laughed, after that, soft and bright.

Mirai hummed, intrigued. “Do you have someone in mind?”

“Yeah,” Mirio said, his smile softening as he pulled some paperwork to him, already starting on it. “Todoroki Shouto, actually!”

“Todoroki Shouto?” Mirai echoed, incredulous. “Why him of all people, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“He held out against me the longest when I fought his class earlier today,” Mirio said. Mirai smiled softly, overfilled with pride for his chosen successor. Mirio was strong and skilled, and had grown so very much since Mirai had first extended him an offer. It only made sense that he would grow to be able to take on an entire class with ease, too. “And, he reminded me of myself, too.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Mirio said, sincerity flooding his eyes and voice and smile. “He reminded me of when I was first starting out. He seems like he’s trying to find himself, you know? I think you’d be great at helping him with that, Sir. You helped me, after all!”

“I’ll consider it,” Mirai said, and Mirio beamed at him, smile radiant and breat.

“That’s great, Sir!”

The office doors opened and Bubble Girl entered, a bright smile on her face as well as she entered. “Hey, hey!”

“Hey!” Mirio said, giving her a bright wave.

“What is it?” Mirai said, offering her a nod in greeting.

“Centipeder noticed one of the Shie Hassaikai members out on his patrol breaking patterns, so he requested backup, just in case something goes down! Do you want me to head out?”

“No. Mirio, you will go.”

“Yes, Sir!”

“Too bad!” Bubble Girl said, pouting slightly as she followed Mirio out of the room. “You really are his Golden Boy, aren’t you?”

“Ha!” Mirio said, though the rest of his response was lost behind the closed door.

Mirai waited for a moment still, just to be certain they were gone, and then he pulled Midoriya’s form out again, considering it. Mirai had always had every intention of offering the boy an internship once he got his provisional license, once All Might had told him of the boy’s existence and status as his chosen successor. Originally Mirai’s intent had been convincing him to give his One for All to Mirio—and a part of him still ached, because Mirio was more than deserving of such a mantle—but he had no such intent, now. As much as the country needed a new Symbol of Peace, he had to admit that Midoriya—or rather, whoever held One for All—needed to maintain the element of surprise more.

(Besides, Mirio was incredible, and strong. Endeavour had earned accomplishments equal to All Might’s without One for All on his side, and Mirai had no doubt that Mirio could too.)

No. Mirai couldn’t offer Midoriya an internship right now. Even if he did, Midoriya—paranoid, as he was—would never accept it, not even if, by some miracle, it was the only offer he got (Mirai had seen his scores at Shiketsu, as nearly all pros that kept an eye on all such things had. They weren’t anything to scoff at.).

Todoroki Shouto, on the other hand, was a possibility he’d never considered. He was aware enough to know that All for One suspected at one point that the youngest son of Endeavour held the sacred torch of All Might’s power. Mirai had seen his performance at the Sports Festival, had critiqued his over-reliance on brute force as he watched it. He had to admit that Mirio was right in one regard—there was a lot more a student like Todoroki could stand to learn from a hero of Sir Nighteye’s caliber, rather than one of Endeavour’s.

And, extending an offer to him would protect Midoriya, in a way. Mirai’s previous connections to All Might meant that his movements were most likely being watched by the League of Villains, too. Were he to up and extend an offer to Midoriya, a seemingly random student that he should really have no particular reason to have interest in, it would most likely draw attention to him. However, offering an internship to Todoroki, who had more than likely been ruled out as a candidate for possessing One for All following Hosu…it was unduly dangerous, but it would serve as a red herring, of sorts. And if Midoriya was going to pull off whatever scheme he was attempting to pull off, he could use a little misdirection from an outside source.

Mirai tucked Midoriya’s internship request form away. He would consider Todoroki, then, for Mirio’s sake, for All Might’s sake, even for Midoriya’s sake. He would request Mirio brought him to the agency for an interview, and he would decide from there.

Though, he had to admit, the odds of him actually approving of the Todoroki boy were slim at best.

Chapter Text

Shouta sighed, scanning the common room of Heights Alliance as he entered, registering the four students he had messages for among them. That was good—it was irritating enough to have to do this when he also needed to meet with Midoriya outside of UA in fifteen minutes, he didn’t want to add a game of hide and seek to his to-do list on top of that.

“Tokoyami,” he said, since he was the one he’d spotted first. Tokoyami turned to him in acknowledgement, quiet and polite, as per usual. “You received a work study experience request from Hawks’ agency.”

Tokoyami’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, though he hid it well. “I accept his offer with the utmost gratitude and honor.”

Shouta nodded, already moving on to his next target. Targets. Those two were always together, anyway, and they didn’t disappoint today either, thankfully. “Uraraka, Asui. Hadou Nejire of the Big Three would like to speak with you.”

Asui ribbited softly, somewhat nervously, but Uraraka bounced in delight. “Oh my gosh! That’s so cool! When?”

“Calm down, Ochako-chan,” Asui said. She turned her gaze to Shouta. “Though I think when is a good question—kero?”

Shouta shrugged in response, already turning to his fourth target. “Kirishima. You have your own summons from a member of the Big Three, Amajiki Tamaki.”

“Wow, awesome!” Kirishima said, pounding his fists together again. “I wonder what it’s about?”

Shouta knew what it was about, but he shrugged in response anyway, turning to look at the rest of his kids. He spotted Yaoyorozu, thankfully, and made eye contact with her. “I’m going to be busy the rest of the night. Yaoyorozu is in charge. If there’s an emergency, contact Present Mic first.”

“Busy doing what, Sensei?” Kirishima asked at the same time Kaminari said, “No Big Three summons from Togata-senpai?”

Shouta grunted noncommittally in response to the first question, then muttered a, “No, at least not yet,” in response to the second question. He had a feeling Togata would most likely administer a summons eventually, though he knew for a fact Nighteye was going to be much stingier about his work studies offers than Fat Gum and Ryukyu were. Shouta suspected, too, that Togata was most likely going to choose Todoroki—Togata wore his heart on his sleeve and his emotions on his face, and Shouta had seen the amount of curiosity he’d regarded one of Shouta’s most problematic problem children with after their battle and subsequently knew what it meant.

As if Todoroki sensed Shouta was thinking about him—it was quite possible he did, the kid had rather impressive instincts—his eyes fell on Shouta from across the room, analytical and mismatched. Shouta, as usual, met his gaze with a perfectly even, perfectly neutral one of his own. It was a gaze meant to encourage Todoroki to say what he needed while not making him feel too pressured to do so. As per usual, it flopped, and Todoroki dropped his gaze to feign interest in a speck of dirt under his nails.

Shouta sighed inwardly as he turned away, double checking his pockets to make sure he had Midoriya’s visitor pass with him as he left the dorms. He’d started scrounging together information on Endeavour immediately after the test he gave his students on the first day of class. It had been an instinct, at first, more than it was anything else—just a lot of different things that wouldn’t have been suspicious on their own but were a little odd when considered together, like the mysterious mark on Todoroki’s face, his reluctance to use half his Quirk, the way he watched the classroom door even back then like he expected a villain to suddenly burst through it. Shouta had compiled some things, sure, and he had a vague idea about what Todoroki’s home life might have been like based on what he could find in his secret investigation, but admittedly, he was stuck.

Just like how he was stuck on his investigation into Bakugou’s past, too.

Though, Shouta mused, as he reached UA’s gates, I have a feeling this new intern of mine may be able to shed some light on that one, considering their interaction with one another outside of the exam site.

Speaking of new interns, Midoriya had already arrived. He was sitting just outside of UA’s gates and writing furiously in a notebook, at least ten minutes early (though considering how comfortable he looked sitting on the ground, Shouta expected he’d been there longer). Midoriya looked up at him as soon as he left the gates, snapping the notebook closed with one hand (defensively, Shouta noted), and climbing to his feet.

“Midoriya,” Shouta said in greeting, as the kid dipped into a bow in front of him. “You’re early.”

“Eraserhead!” he said, sounding a little too happy about it. “Thank you so much for agreeing to meet with me, again! I really appreciate this opportunity!”

Shouta hummed, considering his choice of clothing. He’d followed instructions well enough, he supposed. He wore black athletic leggings with dark blue gym shorts over it, as well as a black t-shirt that read polo shirt. Shouta raised his eyebrow at that, and then at the only violation of Shouta’s “dark clothing” rule, the bright red sneakers.

Midoriya shuffled awkwardly under his gaze, one arm coming up so he could rub the back of his neck while his other disappeared into his pocket. “Sorry, Eraserhead, but they’re the only shoes I own. Well, the only casual shoes. I have dress shoes too? But you said, uh, athletic wear, so…”

Shouta hummed, softening his expression. Considering the kid followed all of his other requests, and considering shoes could be quite expensive and a lot of people only owned a few pairs, he shouldn’t be surprised. “It’s fine. Here.”

Midoriya accepted the visitor pass Shouta just shoved under his nose with grace, taking a moment too long to study it. Shouta studied him, in turn. He suspected Midoriya wasn’t actually this fascinated with his visitor pass, just using it as an excuse to collect himself. Considering when he was done studying it he looked up at Shouta with a bit more steel in the green of his eyes, Shouta figured he was right.

“So, what is it you would like me to do today, Eraserhead?” Midoriya asked.

Shouta jerked his chin towards the gates. “Let’s walk and talk. It’s more efficient that way.”

Midoriya nodded, following along behind Shouta as he led his way to UA. Shouta fell into step next to the kid quickly though, taking it upon himself to watch his reactions as he walked. He gazed around him with wide eyes, as people often did when observing UA for the first time, but there was a pattern to it, too. He wasn’t just staring at everything, he was cataloguing threats, and, if Shouta’s memory served him right, Nedzu’s cameras as well.

Huh. That was something people usually learned only after years in the field, not less than a year in a hero course. Except…actually, that was a possibility. Midoriya’s middle school records had been mysteriously fudged, after all, so he could come from any sort of background. Considering it was a relatively common practice to rehabilitate teenage vigilantes at hero schools, Shouta wouldn’t rule the possibility that Midoriya had been a vigilante before reform.

It would explain his interest in the underground, after all.

“How do you know Bakugou?” Shouta asked.

“Our moms are friends,” Midoriya answered smoothly, tilting his head. “Why do you ask?”

“Just curious,” Shouta said, humming slightly. “You two didn’t go to the same school?”

Midoriya laughed softly, giving Shouta a look out of the corner of his eye that seemed to say I know what you’re doing, Eraserhead. “We did, yeah. At one point.”

“Middle school?”

“You still haven’t told me what you want me to do today, Eraserhead.”

“That wasn’t a very artful redirect, so I’ll take that as a yes,” Shouta said. “By the way, though, don’t call me Eraserhead when we’re not on patrols or missions together.”

“Aizawa-sensei, then?”

“Shouta-san,” Shouta corrected, which caused Midoriya to blink rapidly at the same time that he slowly began to flush. Shouta sighed. “I know the first name address is very improper, but think about it logically, Midoriya. This is one of those knives in the back you mentioned when you convinced me to take you on.”

“Oh,” Midoriya said, voice faint. “Oh, that makes sense. Heroes in general benefit from keeping their real names out of the media’s hands, but it’s especially useful for an underground hero to do so. And surnames are easier to track, and clearly indicate relatives, so it’s best to use given ones instead. There could be a thousand Shoutas in Japan, for all we know, so if a villain with a vendetta against you overheard me calling you that while you were in civilian clothing, they wouldn’t be able to find you just based off of your name.”

“It’s important that you don’t call me Eraserhead when I’m in civilian clothing too,” Shouta said. “Just as I won’t call you Horizon while you’re in civilian clothing.”

“Will you call me Izuku, then?”

“If I officially hire you after today, then yes. For now you’re Midoriya, though, and that’s that. I wanted to give you the opportunity to start practicing now, though, since I know calling me that will make you uncomfortable.”

“I probably won’t get it right away,” Midoriya said. “I’ll try my best, though.”

Hm. That was something else that Shouta could admire—a bit of realism. “Just to be clear, I wouldn’t normally request someone call me by my given for a random team-up, or even if we’re just friends. You’ll be working with me, and often, and pairs are twice as recognizable as a singular person.”

“I understand, sir,” Midoriya said. Shouta found himself slightly amused at how quickly Midoriya had found a suitable supplement to not using any name at all. “Your students here, for instance, call you Aizawa-sensei, but the odds of you walking down the street collecting intel and potentially being recognized with one of them are next to nothing. It’s not the same story with me, if I end up working with you.”

“Correct. And when you transfer into my homeroom class next year, you will call me Aizawa-sensei as well. Do you think you can keep up with that?”

“I’ll have to get used to calling people lots of different names like its second nature eventually anyway, won’t I?” Midoriya said, with a slight quirk to his lips.

“You will,” Shouta said, secretly pleased that he was catching on. “It was very sneaky what you did, by the way.”

“What do you mean?”

“Convincing me to give you a chance at an internship before Nedzu had the chance to tell me you’d be joining my class next year. I would have never agreed to it prior if I had known.”

“Oh, that,” Midoriya said, the corners of his mouth twitching. “It wasn’t that well thought out, I promise. I just saw you after the exam and thought I would take my chance. What can I say, I’m quite the opportunist, it seems.”

“That’s a word for it,” Shouta said. “Overachiever is a better one.”

Midoriya, the little shit he apparently was, gasped dramatically. “You barely even know me, Shouta-san.”

Shouta raised his eyebrow, hoping to convey the perfect amount of sheer judgment with the expression. “I know you well enough to be on a first name basis with you.”

“His ulterior motives come to light,” Midoriya said, making a rectangle out of his hands and peering at Shouta through it. Gods, kids were weird. “Anything to say for yourself, Shouta-san, professional villain, he who spends his free time tricking high schoolers that just want a job?”

Shouta blinked at Midoriya, and then pushed his hands down. “No. And to get back on topic, what I want you to do today is a series of fitness tests, to see where your starting line is.”

“Alright,” Midoriya agreed readily, though an almost wary set had fallen on his shoulders.

“You can use your Quirk for them.”

Midoriya nodded, and, interestingly enough, didn’t look any more excited about that proclamation than he had been before. He’d only seen that almost bored acceptance of the news from one other student before in his entire time teaching, and ironically enough, it was Todoroki Shouto, problem child of the hour, who had somehow managed to miraculously work with Midoriya at the provisional licensing exam. Shouta didn’t know what he was going to do with this information, but he was going to do something with it, if he could.

Maybe he could set Midoriya loose on befriending Todoroki? He had people skills, that much was clear, and if Midoriya—or rather, Horizon—was his intern then he could bring him in on the Endeavour case in good confidence, tell him to earn Todoroki’s trust, then use that trust to convince Todoroki to tell Shouta why the hell he used to always look like a reanimated corpse rather than a student on Mondays before they moved into the dorms…

Or maybe Shouta was getting ahead of himself, and he should just unlock the gym so he could do the kid’s fitness tests.

“You can do whatever warmup stretches you’re used to,” Shouta said, and Midoriya nodded, setting his bag down and getting to it, lifting his arms over his head in a fairly typical starting stretch. Shouta moved away for a moment, double checking to make sure everything was still set up properly (including the sparring mat in one corner), and when he turned back, Midoriya was doing the splits, one leg bent behind him as he leaned backwards, gripping his ankle with both hands, his back bending into an effortless C.

Shouta had to admit, he was impressed. He had a fighting style relatively dependent on flexibility, after all, but this was something else. “Kid. How flexible are you?”

Midoriya relaxed his stretch so he could look at Shouta, blinking at him. “Pretty flexible. I always have been.”

“Why?”

“Hide and seek.”

“What?”

“Hide and seek,” Midoriya repeated, like it made perfect sense. “Easier to hide if you can fold yourself up into a tiny little ball, don’t you think? I almost always won, anyway.”

Shouta tilted his head slightly, studying Midoriya’s face. He had an impressive mask, but not quite as impressive as Todoroki’s (and Shouta was working on cracking that one too), so for just a moment, if he looked closely enough, he could see the history of pain written in the twitch of the kid’s eyebrow as he tried to keep his expression even.

“Describe your hero costume to me,” Shouta said.

“I’ve got a picture of it on my phone, if you want to just look,” Midoriya said, pulling his legs together and practically laying flat over them. Shouta had a feeling he was going to excel at the seated toe touch, for some odd reason.

“That would be logical,” Shouta agreed, and Midoriya straightened to fish his phone out of his pocket. He tapped it a few times then passed it to Shouta, then wordlessly went back to his stretch. Shouta lifted the phone—noticing it had an All Might themed case on it—and observed the costume.

It was an interesting costume, to say the least. Honestly, it looked a little bit like Shouta’s hero costume and All Might’s hero costume had a baby and then dyed it green, between the goggles Midoriya wore pushed up on his forehead in the photo and the skin tight, dark green spandex with black accents and a highly practical red utility belt.

“It’s a tight fit,” Shouta commented, raising an eyebrow.

Midoriya’s face turned red, and he pretended to be extra focused on his stretching so that he didn’t have to look at Shouta. “Um. It has to be. Stretchy stuff is best.”

Shouta eyed him. The kid was built like a brick shithouse, but there were a few clues in his build despite the fact that he was presently bent completely in half—slightly more muscle mass in his legs compared to his arms, a slender waist despite his broad shoulders— “So, you’re an acrobatic fighter. Like the assassin class in your average video game, instead of the bruisers.”

Midoriya laughed. “Assassin class. I didn’t take you for a gamer, Shouta-san.”

“I’m not. I just…brushed up on my gaming lingo recently.”

“I see,” Midoriya said, though he still sounded amused by the concept. “Well, yeah. I’m more of an assassin class. I can be a bruiser if the need arises, though.”

Which was a perfect segue into Shouta’s next question, oddly enough. “So, your Quirk is listed as Inner Storm. What exactly does it do?”

“It’s a power converter that harnesses my emotions into the strength of a storm.”

Shouta hummed. “Emotion Quirks are tricky to control.”

“I won’t lie to you, Erase—er—Shouta-san, I mean. It’s a volatile Quirk. Uh, but I’d say I have…pretty good control? And I haven’t had a problem with activating it since I first—uh, noticed I had it, I guess, so I’m not worried about it. It runs off of my determination, mostly, it seems, and I have a lot of that, so…”

“If it runs off of your determination, does that mean it could potentially have other forms based on other emotions?” Shouta asked.

Midoriya tilted his head, like he was considering it, then said, “Potentially. I haven’t experienced anything like that, though, so I don’t know.”

“I noticed you didn’t register your Quirk until February when I checked it in the registry.”

Midoriya shifted his stretching position again, an artful and effective way to delay answering the question. “Yeah. I didn’t know I had a Quirk before then.”

Nobody else would take that case because the Quirkless aren’t worth much to society, right? Well, they aren’t worth much outside of the red-light district, anyway.

Easier to hide if you can fold yourself up into a tiny little ball, don’t you think?

Shouta felt his heart break, just a little bit, as he put the pieces together. It was better for people his age and older, being Quirkless, but it was such a rare occurrence for someone Midoriya’s age that there was no doubt in Shouta’s mind that Midoriya likely faced some form of discrimination at some point in his life for being presumed Quirkless.

Shouta…well, Shouta just wished he saw less kids with tragic backstories in hero programs. He knew the truth of it, though—the job and life of a hero wasn’t an easy one, and the people that were drawn to it the most were the people that knew from first-hand experience what it meant to need one.

“Do you feel warmed up enough, Midoriya?”

“Yeah,” Midoriya said, voice soft and even but shot through with steel. Shouta wasn’t afraid to admit he was beginning to call it Midoriya’s determined voice in his head.    

“They’re the same physical tests you would have done in middle school,” Shouta reminded him as they headed over to the area he sat up. “But use your Quirk and do your best. Your internship is on the line.”

Midoriya nodded, the determined set to his brow not changing in the slightest, and they set to work. The scores that Midoriya got were exceptional in every category—he threw the softball 701 meters, which was about as far as Bakugou (the next highest score, after Uraraka) had thrown it. He finished the meter dash in about the same time as Iida, the highest score there. He got just as high as Asui did, in the standing long jump, settled just behind Shoji in the grip test, and would have placed fourth out of his class in the side-step.

“Remember how we were talking about that acrobat thing?” Midoriya said as he was sitting down on the ground to do the seated toe-touch.

“What about it?”

“I’m going to show off now, Eraserhead,” Midoriya said, which was an odd thing to say, because Shouta had arranged this whole thing essentially just for him to show off. “But I figure this will help answer your question a little bit?”

And then he did the toe touch, resting his palms flat on either side of his feet, which was an impressive show of flexibility, and Shouta noted it in his records alongside all of the other impressive shows of flexibility Midoriya had demonstrated. But then Midoriya continued moving, lifting his body off of the ground so that his weight was supported entirely by his arms, curling his legs beneath him then flipping them up over his head so that he was in a handstand. Then, he fell softly, on his back, on the other side.

Which was—even Shouta, who had always specialized in flexibility and agility, had never been able to do anything close to that.

Midoriya grinned up at him in a way that made Shouta question if he had been staring. “Does my body length get added, since it’s technically past where my toes were now?”

Shouta decided that it did, which put Midoriya in fourth place for this test behind Tokoyami, who had used Dark Shadow, Asui, who had used her tongue, and Jirou, who had stretched her earphone jacks out to their maximum distance. Midoriya pulled a similar stunt with the pull ups, vaulting up and over the bar, body completely extended into the air, which gave him the highest score there. And he hadn’t even used his Quirk for that one.

When all was said and done, if Midoriya had taken this test with his first year students at the beginning of the year, he would have ended up with the highest cumulative score, beating out both Yaoyorozu and Todoroki, the students that had gotten in on recommendation. Granted, all of their Quirks had grown since then and Midoriya’s probably had too, but still, it was an impressive caliber.

“Alright, kid, here’s your final test,” Shouta said, as he tucked away his clipboard. “You and I are going to spar, no Quirks, and if you can take me out in under five minutes, you’ll have a job.”

Midoriya looked at him, eyes glinting. “So, a challenge.”

More of a logical ruse, since Shouta had every intention of taking him on regardless of the results of this spar, but, sure.

“A challenge,” Shouta agreed, looking him dead in the eye.

They faced off against one another on each side of the sparring mat Shouta had set up earlier. Midoriya fell into a loose but defensive pose, his eyes sharp as they landed on Shouta. His grin fell somewhere between All Might and Midnight; which was to say, it was uncomfortable, and decidedly dangerous. Midoriya didn’t move immediately, just scanned Shouta with a pair of green eyes, picking him apart.

Shouta opened the fight with a punch, watching Midoriya’s reactions. Midoriya dodged like it was as easy as breathing, his eyes never leaving Shouta even though he didn’t bother countering. Intriguing. He must be testing Shouta, seeing what he was capable of before he struck.

Shouta wouldn’t give him something to calculate, then. He had no problem running the timer out and letting Midoriya fail.

As soon as Shouta had that thought and fell back, Midoriya’s grin sharpened. He pressed forward, striking to Shouta’s right then redirecting to his left. Shouta blocked both hits easily, but suddenly found Midoriya’s heel descending towards his face. He rolled to the side, and Midoriya’s leg whooshed harmlessly through the air. Shouta aimed a kick of his own while Midoriya was off-kilter, but Midoriya folded over him easily, pushing himself up on his hands before he sprang away like his body was a tightly wound coil. They were on opposite sides of the mat again, both of them breathing slightly harder than usual.

Shouta struck first again, not interested in seeing what Midoriya would do if he was given the upper hand. He went for a grapple, but Midoriya was as slippery as he was bendy, and ducked it easily. The little shit followed up with a jab directly between Shouta’s ribs that he failed to block. Shouta grunted with the impact and swung his elbow into Midoriya’s gut for revenge. The problem child tensed his abs at that exact moment though…taking the hit with next to no problem. Midoriya pressed forward again, one hand darting out to grab Shouta’s shoulder. Shouta dodged it easily, by ducking down and sweeping Midoriya’s legs out from under him. It worked, but Midoriya recovered unfairly quickly by converting his momentum into an upwards kick, using his arms, again, as a springboard.

Shit, Shouta thought as he dodged, for probably the first time in a while. Something had become abundantly clear to him throughout this fight—Midoriya was not someone that relied on his Quirk to get him through a fight at all, and Shouta had gotten sloppy because he’d learned to rely on people feeling off-put by the loss of their Quirk in fights like this. Even mutant types built their fighting styles around their Quirks, because they had to, making their movements easier to counter.

Something else was clear, too, though. Midoriya was moving too much. He had serious stamina, but if he fought every opponent like he was fighting Shouta right now, he was going to wear himself out.

Midoriya struck again, this time with a series of fast blows aimed at pressure points. Shouta blocked all of them one after the other, but when Midoriya turned that grin on him again, Shouta couldn’t help but feel like he was playing right into his hands.

The other shoe dropped when Shouta went to block another hit and Midoriya faked him out, grabbing his arm instead. He hauled Shouta around while essentially climbing him. Shouta tried to roll as they both fell so neither got hurt, but Midoriya wasn’t having that. He controlled the fall instead, his body tightening around Shouta’s shoulders, until they were both on the ground. Shouta’s head was pinned in a triangle choke, and Midoriya held the arm he’d grabbed in a tight grip. Shouta tried to peel Midoriya’s legs off of him with his spare hand by twisting his ankle, but Midoriya just tightened his grip and resisted.

Shouta tapped out right before the timer he’d set beeped the five minute time limit. Midoriya relaxed his hold and fell backwards with a triumphant noise. Shouta sat up, rubbing the back of his head, and looked back at Midoriya. It wasn’t often that his students were able to beat him in a fight, and it definitely wasn’t often that they did so in under five minutes. He noted the heave of Midoriya’s chest and the sheen of sweat on his entire body and reconsidered—he’d been beaten, but Midoriya had to go to extreme lengths to do it.

…It was still mildly impressive.

“Do you always fight like that?” Shouta asked.

“Well,” Midoriya began, sitting up now himself. He looked incredibly proud of himself. “Usually I hold back a little.”

Shouta nodded. “It was okay this time, since it was a practice scenario, but you’ll need to work on pacing yourself. Not every takedown is going to be a quick one, and if you use up all your stamina in the beginning of a fight, you’ll get yourself in trouble later.”

“Agreed, endurance isn’t my strong suit.”

Shouta raised an eyebrow. He taught kids Midoriya’s age for a living. It was rare to see one so realistic about their weak points in a fight so early. “As long as you know, and you’re willing to work on it.”

Midoriya nodded, rolling to his feet, while Shouta considered him. If Midoriya was in his class, he would probably pair him up with Ashido for a spar, since she could counter his stamina and punish him for getting too close. Or Todoroki, for the same reasons. Both of them would benefit from fighting someone like Midoriya too, honestly. He would push their weaknesses. Hm…actually, Midoriya would eventually be in his class, wouldn’t he?

“Here,” Midoriya said, and when Shouta looked back up at him, he was holding out a plastic water bottle to him. Shouta accepted it, arranging himself so he wasn’t sprawled out on the floor so much as sitting relatively poliltely instead. Midoriya sat next to him, cracking the lid on his own water bottle and taking a drink. When he was done, he recapped it with deliberation and an unnecessary amount of focus, his eyebrows drawn close over his eyes. “So, do I get the job, Shouta-san?”

Shouta huffed in exasperation, feeling a small smile gracing his lips. “Yeah, kid, you get the job. Do you have your contract with you?”

Midoriya beamed at his water bottle, and then at Shouta. It was a bright smile, absolutely radiant, and so, so familiar. “Yeah, I’ve got it,” Midoriya said, and he stood and crossed to his bag to get it out.

Shouta couldn’t help but feel like he’d gotten himself into something, with this one. Good, maybe. Bad, possibly. But definitely something.

He sighed as he signed Midoriya’s contract.

Chapter Text

Izuku left the gym he’d been with Eraserhead in, making his way towards the UA gates with only Nedzu’s cameras for company, feeling particularly satisfied with himself for once in his life. He kept an eye on his surroundings as he walked, because caution was necessary usually but especially after leaving a meeting with an underground hero. It felt like a disgrace to be anything less than vigilant.

All the caution in the world couldn’t prepare him for the speed with which Todoroki Shouto slammed directly into him, like a trope in a romance movie. Izuku refused to be reduced to full troupe, though, so he did not, he’s quite proud to say, fall over or do anything of the sort. Instead, he just caught Todoroki with one hand, and caught the bag he’d knocked off of Izuku’s back with the terminal velocity with which he’d been hit by the other.

“Hey, Todoroki-kun,” Izuku said, as he helped straighten the other boy by the forearm he’d caught him by. Todoroki looked at him then, then stared—understandable, really, because as far as Todoroki knew Izuku went to Shiketsu and therefore had no business walking through UA.

“Midoriya…?”

Izuku chuckled slightly, letting go of his arm. “Fate really has something out for us, huh?”

“What the hell are you even doing here?”

He chose that moment to make eye contact with Izuku, and as per usual, Izuku panicked himself directly into his hero persona in order to deal with it and immediately said, “Catching you when you fall for me, apparently.”

Todoroki, aided by the fact that he’d just been running, immediately started doing that splotchy blushing thing on one half of his neck that Izuku was oddly fond of despite how truly unattractive it really was (not that unattractive blushing really mattered, considering, well, the rest of Todoroki). Todoroki, though, kept it together a little better than with the tie incident and the hair incident. “No, seriously. What are you doing here?”

Izuku grinned, looking around at UA’s campus pointedly, and said, “You mean you don’t ever just visit Shiketsu for no particular reason?”

Todoroki was quiet for a moment, until he seemed to realize Izuku actually wanted him to answer. “No…?”

“That’s a shame. I’d be more than happy to give you the grand tour if you ever wanted to stop by, you know.”

“Midoriya,” he said, rather pointedly, raising his right hand to his neck to cool his blush out of existence. Wow, what Izuku wouldn’t give for a Quirk like that, honestly. It would be so much easier to hide when he was blushing if he could just auto cool himself. “Please be serious, for once in your life, and just tell me why you’re here.”

Izuku hummed thoughtfully. “Right now? I’m leaving.”

“Right, and before that?”

“That’s not really your business, Todoroki-kun.”

Todoroki leveled him with an unimpressed look. “You could be an imposter, or be here for nefarious purposes, or something along those lines.”

Izuku winced involuntarily at the word imposter—it was still a little too soon, a little too close to home—but he raised his fist to lightly bump his knuckles against Todoroki’s arm anyway. Todoroki’s expression eased a little bit at the familiar gesture, in a way that someone only would if they were legitimately worried about an imposter infiltrating their school. Which meant that he probably knew about what happened to Camie. It would make sense, after all, considering not-Camie had targeted UA students.  “It’s me, I promise. I’m not up to anything nefarious, just…” He ruffled around in his pockets until he found the visitor pass Eraserhead had given him earlier and presented it to Todoroki. “See—I’m official and everything.”

Todoroki considered the visitor pass, then narrowed his eyes at Izuku. “Just scoping out the school for when you transfer here?”

Well, and if that wasn’t accurate enough to shock Izuku right out of his Horizon skin and back into his Izuku skin. He spluttered, then flailed, then spluttered and flailed at the same time. “What even—what—why do you think that?!”

“Ah. There you are.”

“What?”

“There you are,” Todoroki repeated. “Now you’re Midoriya, not hero Midoriya.”

Izuku spluttered nonsensically one last time, giving in to the urge to cover his face with his hands. “Was that what you were trying to do?”

“Yes and no,” he said, tilting his head. “I have legitimate reasons to suspect you might transfer here eventually, and considering you’re here, it would certainly explain your presence. But I also would just…rather not talk to your hero self, if it’s all the same to you.”

Izuku laughed softly, even though it was mostly at his own expense, and peered out at Todoroki through his fingers. “I suppose that’s fair. I do put you through a lot that way.”

“I imagine you put everyone through a lot that way.”

“I do. I definitely do. You get the worst of it, though.”

“And what a joy it is,” Todoroki said, voice dry.

Izuku laughed again, scrubbing his hand through his hair nervously. “It’s Horizon, by the way.”

“What?”

“Hero Midoriya,” Izuku explained, feeling his lips twitch slightly with amusement as he reused Todoroki’s phrasing. “My hero name is Horizon. You ought to know, since, you know. It’s such a joy.”

Todoroki made a humming sound, nodding his head once with it. For some reason, a bit of the splotchy blushing had returned. “That makes sense.”

“Yeah,” Izuku said, his fingers twitching towards his pocket where one of Uwabami’s fidget cubes resided. He closed his hand into a fist instead, though, and forced himself to meet Todoroki’s gaze. He gave him his more lopsided smile. “So, what about hero Todoroki-kun? Does he have a name?”

Todoroki huffed out a breath through his nose. “It’s Shouto.”

It took Izuku a second to figure it out, but when he did, he couldn’t help but laugh. “So hero Todoroki-kun’s name…is just Todoroki-kun’s name?”

“Yeah.”

Izuku laughed again, though this time he covered his mouth with his hand in the interest of being polite. “Alright. Okay, yeah. You know what? I think your name makes sense too.”

Todoroki blinked at him, once and deliberately, which Izuku thought might be his way of expressing confusion. “Do you?”

“Yeah,” Izuku said, blushing slightly at what he was about to say but saying it anyway. “You just…you’re not the sort of person that needs to be this larger than life…thing…when you go out to save people. You’re more than enough as you are. Besides, you’re already a celebrity, so it’s not like your identity is secret anyway—or subsequently has any hopes of suddenly becoming a secret.”

“My classmates think it’s a placeholder name because I can’t come up with something better,” Todoroki said, with a tiny huff. It seemed to indicate minor annoyance.

“Is it?”

“No.”

Izuku trilled out a short laugh. “I didn’t think it was.”

“Well,” Todoroki said, shrugging slightly.

It seemed they’d reached an impasse. “I have a train to catch back to Shiketsu,” Izuku said, starting to move past him. To his surprise, Todoroki shifted, looping his earbuds around his neck and shoving his hands into his pockets. He walked alongside Izuku instead, gaze fixed resolutely on the ground. Izuku gave him a questioning look, and he sighed.

“I don’t really have anything better to do,” he admitted.

Izuku grinned, as lopsided as he possibly could, and nudged Todoroki’s shoulder with his own. “I’m growing on you, aren’t I?”

“No.”

“Just admit it, Todoroki-kun, life is so much easier if you do!”

“You’re a menace.”

“So you’ve said.”

“So I have.”

“You meant it as a compliment, last time,” Izuku said, giving him a teasing smile. “What is it this time?”

Todoroki lightly shoved him a step out of his space, huffing as he did. “It’s still a compliment.”

“Well, thank you, Todoroki-kun,” Izuku said. “Now all you have to do is admit to yourself we’re friends.”

“We barely know each other.”

“Todoroki-kun, Todoroki-kun.” Izuku tsked. “Is it really about the quantity of time spent together, or is it about the quality of that time?”

“Would you really call fighting people and sitting on a cheap couch quality time?”

“Sure,” Izuku said. “I got a friend out of it, didn’t I?”

Todoroki was silent—it was okay, Izuku had decided they were friends already and Todoroki refusing to admit it out loud didn’t change that—until he asked, “Did you fight Bakugou between the exams?”

Izuku laughed, swiping a thumb across his nose (since he knew that was probably how Todoroki had pieced it together). He didn’t bother denying it. “How’s his face?”

Todoroki huffed. “Uglier than it used to be.”

“I don’t know. I think I did him a favor, honestly. I mean, I haven’t seen it since he was covered in blood but I always thought he could do with a crooked nose to really sell the bad boy aesthetic.”

Todoroki snorted. “What did you just say? Bad boy aesthetic?”

Izuku beamed at him. “Yeah, you know! Bad boy aesthetic!” He cleared his throat, rearranging his features into something distinctly Kacchan-esque, and pointed at Todoroki. “I only wear dark clothing and never smile because I’m so fucking awesome, more awesome than all you fucking extras. Especially you, you—” Izuku considered for a moment. There was no way Kacchan didn’t have some sort of name for Todoroki, considering his genuinely distinctive features and bizarre Quirk, but the better question was what. “—Freezer Burn bastard!”

To Izuku’s absolute delight, the corners of Todoroki’s mouth curled into a smile almost unbidden. He turned away to hide it into his hand, though, and Izuku beamed. “I’ll admit, your impression was good. It’s Icy-Hot bastard, though. Or Half and Half bastard, if he’s particularly pissed off.”

“I gave him too much credit, apparently,” Izuku said, laughing. “Half and Half, really? That one’s so obvious.”

“You’re right, Freezer Burn is more original.”

“Why, thank you. But you see what I mean, right? Kacchan’s not bring home to meet the parents for dinner material. He’s secretly hook up with behind the bleachers material. At least, appearance and outward personality wise, that is. And that, Todoroki-kun, is bad boy aesthetic, now aided by his broken nose.”

Todoroki didn’t seem to know exactly what he wanted to do with that information, which was fair. Izuku didn’t really know why he said all of it either. “Why do you call him Kacchan?”

Izuku blinked in surprise at the subject change. “No particular reason, other than two-year-old me couldn’t say Katsuki and it ended up sticking. I could stop now if I wanted to, but I think he would like that too much, so I don’t.”

A corner of Todoroki’s mouth twitched upwards like he found that funny before he remembered to school his face again. He pinned Izuku with a gaze out of the corner of his eye instead. “And why does he call you Deku?”

Izuku sobered, tilting his head slightly in Todoroki’s direction. “Probably,” he said, “for the same reason.”

“You have a bizarre friendship.”

Izuku smiled slightly. “Not really.” It wasn’t much of a friendship at all, honestly, and hadn’t been for years. In any case, Izuku had no desire to talk about it beyond this point. “It seems our time together has come to an end, though, Todoroki-kun.”

“Right,” Todoroki said, eying UA’s gates warily. “Well. I’ll see you around, yes?”

“Yeah,” Izuku said, lips quirking. “You’ll see me around. And, hey, good luck with whatever you’re worried about.”

Todoroki blinked at him, then tilted his head to the side. “How do you figure?”

Izuku laughed softly. “You almost ran me over, you know! I don’t think you would do that if you weren’t distracted about something, even with bad eyesight. So, good luck, with whatever it is.”

Todoroki looked like he was going to protest the point, but eventually he just sighed. “Thanks, Midoriya.”

Izuku knocked his knuckles against his arm in response, steeping through UA’s gates with a grin. “Anytime, Todoroki-kun. Anytime.” Izuku gave Todoroki a tiny wave as he turned away.

The smile—whether it was from getting his internship or talking to Todoroki—didn’t fall off his face until he went to sleep that night.

“So, was that a friend of yours?”

Shouto should, perhaps, be a little more concerned about a disembodied face appearing through a wall to talk to him. Alas, years of Endeavour’s “reflex training” had more or less eradicated Shouto’s ability to feel surprise altogether, so all Shouto managed was a vague, “Oh.”

Togata Mirio, the owner of the disembodied face, just blinked at him. Shouto blinked back. “So?” Togata eventually asked, voice prompting.

“Oh,” Shouto said, thinking back to his question. “Right. You probably mean Midoriya, yeah?”

“Midoriya,” Togata repeated, with a chuckle. “How on the nose.”

“Because he’s green?” Shouto asked.

“No, because he’s purple,” Togata said, completely serious. Then his face broke out in a grin. “Totally because he’s green, actually!”

“Okay,” Shouto said, blinking. To be honest…he wasn’t really sure what to say from here. “And he is a friend of mine, I suppose.”

Togata hummed, then disappeared. Shouto considered moving on, but before he could move, Togata’s face reappeared where it had been before. “Sorry about that! I ran out of breath.”

“Okay…” Shouto said. “You know, you could just come out here, if you want to talk.”

“Oh, yeah!” Togata said, way too bright. “That’s a good idea! Stay right there, Todoroki-kun!”

Shouto stayed, and Mirio disappeared. He heard the sound of a door opening and closing, and then footsteps, and then Togata appeared in front of him, smile bright and hand waving excessively through the air. “Todoroki-kun! Hi!” he shouted, like they hadn’t just been having a conversation a moment before.

“Hello,” Shouto said.

Togata stopped in front of him, then dropped a hand on both of his shoulders. “Running into you was actually really serendipitous, because I need to talk to you.”

Shouto blinked at him. “Ironically, I’ve also been meaning to talk to you.”

“Maybe we want to talk about the same thing!”

Shouto hummed, and decided not to beat around the bush, as per usual. “I was wondering if you would introduce me to your work studies mentor.”

“Wow! We did want to talk about the same thing!” Togata laughed, a bright, cheery sort of sound. Shouto squinted at his upperclassmen, at the unnecessarily boisterous laughs, the yellow hair, the bright smile…

He and All Might had to be related. Somehow. Could All Might be his uncle, maybe?

“A few of my classmates talked to the other upperclassmen to get internships,” Shouto said, adjusting the loop of his headphones around his neck. “I was going to attempt the same with you. I’ll be the first to admit that I have no idea who you work for, though.”

“Oh! I work for Sir Nighteye. I probably should have mentioned that, yeah?”

Shouto narrowed his eyes. “The Sir Nighteye that used to be All Might’s sidekick?”

Togata laughed. “That’s the one!”

He and All Might were definitely related.

Which, in Shouto’s opinion, was even better. What better way to spite his father, than by getting an internship with All Might’s sidekick, with the help of All Might’s son or nephew?

“Now, I know that Sir is a lot lower on the rankings than Endeavour is, so I understand if you don’t want to get an internship with him now that you know that’s who I work for. You’re super skilled, though, and you were able to hold out in our fight for a while! So I really wanted to offer to help you out, you know? Besides, I think you and Sir would have a lot to learn from each other!”

Shouto hummed thoughtfully. Togata wasn’t wrong, actually. Sir Nighteye worked more in the strategic side of heroics, not in the heavy-hitting powerhouse side. Shouto, overly used to the latter and not the former, would benefit from exposure to a hero that operated very differently from Endeavour.

Besides, this fit. This worked. Endeavour’s way—and by extension, Shouto’s way since Endeavour taught him nearly everything he knew (whether he liked it or not)—wasn’t enough. There were better ways to do things. More…Midoriya ways to do things. Level-headed, reasonable, strategic.

“I agree,” Shouto said, shifting his headphones again. “I would like to have the experience to learn from Sir Nighteye, if he’ll have me.”

“Well, he’s on the fence about that,” Togata said, wincing sympathetically.

Shouto hummed. He would expect that much from any pro that wasn’t his father, honestly.

“He’s willing to meet you, though!” Togata said. “And you convinced me, so convincing him shouldn’t be too hard!”

Shouto wasn’t so sure, but he nodded along anyway. “Right. Well…when are we having this meeting?”

“Saturday?”

Shouto furrowed his brow. “I have to go to the eye doctor on Saturday after classes, actually.”

Togata winced sympathetically. “Oof. Oh, but that’s alright! I’m heading there for my work study Sunday too, so we could do it then?”

“Sure.”

“Great!” Togata released his shoulders and gave him a hearty slap on the back. Shouto reacted about as anyone would expect him too—which was to say not at all. “Hit the showers, Todoroki-kun! You’ve been exercising, huh?”

“Oh. Yes.” Shouto hooked one earbud back in his ear, unsurprised to find it was still playing music. “I was just…running off some nerves before I went to talk to you.”

“And your friend?”

“Ran into him along the way,” Shouto said. Literally. Come to think of it, Shouto had never gotten an answer out of him about why he was there. Hm. Damn, Midoriya was good. Sometimes, Shouto was honestly tempted to ask him for a lesson in deflection. Shouto hadn’t thought he was bad before, not necessarily, but when compared to Midoriya, he definitely found his skills on that front wanting.

Shouto pushed thoughts of Midoriya—strange, curious, Midoriya—out of his mind, and bowed to Togata before he made his departure. “Thank you for agreeing to help me with this, Togata. I appreciate it.”

“Hey, no need to be so formal,” Togata said, shooting Shouto a very All Might-esque thumbs up (more evidence for the pile, in Shouto’s mind). “It’s no trouble, really! I do To-gotta-go back in though!” He laughed again, waving at Shouto over his shoulder as he departed.

Shouto blinked in confusion—but being confused at something someone said was in no way a new feeling for him—then shook his head slightly to clear it before he plugged his other headphone back into his ear too. And then, he started to run.

He paid a little more attention to where he was going this time, though.

“I know you probably wanted to go on patrol on your first day,” Shouta said, as soon as he’d closed the door to his tiny office behind himself and Midoriya and could therefore guarantee their conversation wouldn’t be overheard. “We’ve got a lot we need to go over before that, though.”

“That’s okay, Shouta-san,” Midoriya said, casting around for somewhere to set his stuff down on. Shouta silently wished him luck in the endeavor—his office was a first-class disaster, after all, with both stacks of papers to grade and papers to review for cases. The kid eventually settled on setting his bag down on the floor next to the nap couch (and settled himself into the nap couch a moment later, mostly because it was the only place to sit, but also because Midoriya had good taste). “I didn’t expect to start fighting bad guys on my first day.”

Shouta hummed. How mature of him, actually. The kid had done well with the “inconspicuous civilian clothing” rule again, though this time he was wearing dark grey joggers and a navy blue t-shirt that said shoulder mittens (what?) on it. Shouta stared at the shirt for a moment longer than necessary, then at Midoriya’s face. He decided it was best to just ask. “What’s with the shirts?”

Midoriya chuckled to himself. “Oh. I think it’s funny to mess with people. Sometimes people get legitimately offended and it’s hilarious.”

“You seem very…chaotic.”

He rubbed the back of his neck somewhat awkwardly. “Yeah. That’s fair.”

“…Where do you get the shirts?”

“I make them. T-shirt press. Why, do you want one?”

Shouta felt the corner of his lips twitch. “Yes, please. As horrible as possible, if you can.”

“Color preference?”

“Hot pink.”

Midoriya snorted, then broke down in uncontrollable belly-laughter. “My gods. Who hurt you this bad, Shouta-san? There’s no way this isn’t a revenge plot.”

“Oh, it’s not so much a revenge plot as it is something that will likely incur a revenge plot against me afterwards,” Shouta said, shuffling through some of the folders on his desk to find the right one. “I have a friend that harps on me about my fashion sense all the time. You have cursed taste in clothes, apparently, so it would be illogical to waste that resource.”

Midoriya laughed quietly. “You should get it on video when you wear it around them.”

Shouta considered. Actually, yes. Yes, he should get that on video. Yamada would be more than happy to assist in that department, anyway, and Kayama’s reaction would definitely be worth immortalizing, anyway. “I’ll try, kid. Oh, here it is.” Shouta pulled the file in question out of its stack, rifling through it to make sure it really was the right one. “So. What do you know about the kinds of jobs underground heroes take?”

Midoriya hummed contemplatively, pinching his bottom lip between his thumb and his forefinger as he seemed to think his answer through. “Not as much as I would like to know, I’ll admit. I know that the jobs tend to be highly specialized, and will vary significantly from person to person. For instance, an underground hero with a Quirk that sharpens one of their senses in some way would most likely work in reconnaissance and not in fighting. I know underground heroes are often tasked with infiltration—busting up crime rings from the inside, and all of that—and dirty business. For PR reasons, limelight heroes tend to actually keep their nose out of the really grimy stuff that happens, like gang violence, sex trafficking rings, underground fighting rings, stuff like that. I know you, for instance, tend to be set on people that have some sort of Quirk that allows them to evade capture, too.”

“That’s all true. Though, there’s a specific type of job underground heroes are tasked with that not a lot of people realize we’re responsible for.”

Midoriya’s eyes lit up with curiosity. “What is it?”

“We,” Shouta said, handing him the file, “take down other heroes.”

“Corrupt heroes,” Midoriya said, nodding as he took the file. “That makes a lot of sense. Especially lower level heroes and new heroes—they tend to take money from people they shouldn’t, or make horrible mistakes, or—”

He cut off abruptly as he opened the file, and Shouta watched his face carefully for a moment, the way his brows furrowed, and his eyes widened. “I take these kinds of cases a lot, because of my Quirk. You’ll be asked to take them a lot too, because of yours. You have a powerful Quirk, and when you get your hero license, you’ll be able to stand toe to toe in a battle with another pro.” Midoriya’s hands tightened imperceptibly around the file, his knuckles whitening. Shouta gave him a moment before he continued. “You asked me not to baby you when I took you on. This is me not babying you. If it’s too much though, say so. I’m not going to be mad at you in any way. You’ll still be my intern—you just won’t be my intern on this particular case.”

Midoriya was silent for a long moment, running his thumb along the page on the top of the file. “Endeavour?”

Shouta nodded. “I understand you and Todoroki Shouto know each other from the licensing exam.”

“We do.”

“Are you friends?”

“As much as we can be, I suppose,” Midoriya said. “We get along.”

“If you agree to this, I intend to ask you to use that connection to convince him to give me a statement. You understand, correct?”

Midoriya’s eyes flickered up to him, surprise clear in their depths. “Me? Why?”

Shouta shrugged. “He doesn’t trust adults. He might trust you. No babying, remember?”

“No babying,” Midoriya agreed, quietly, before his grip tightened. “Alright. I want to help. I have to help. If this is true, and Endeavour really did abuse Todoroki-kun and his siblings and his mom, then we have to take him down.”

Shouta felt a twinge of sadness, aching and bone deep. He pushed it down, though. He always pushed it down. “That’s the spirit, kid. Read everything in that file. Be thorough, but be quick. I’ll spend the next five hours on that case alone if I have to, but I’d really like to brief you on at least two tonight.”

Midoriya nodded, already setting to it with a determined look. Shouta found all the other files he could that were related—case specifics, like the profiles for each individual Todoroki, and piled them up next to Midoriya. He went to his desk, silently researching while he waited.

It took Midoriya three hours to finish reading everything Shouta had given him. He laid the last file down—Shouta noticed it was all the information he’d gathered on Todoroki Shouto specifically—and stood, stretching his arms over his head and then bending completely backwards, his shoulders popping. Seriously, the kid was flexible. Shouta would wonder if that flexibility was part of his Quirk if he already knew it wasn’t.

“What does it mean for me, now that I’m in on this case?” Midoriya asked, once he’d straightened.

“It means that you’ll help me with research, and with coming up with possibilities. Of course, you’ll be responsible for trying to convince Todoroki to talk to you too, though I suspect you probably won’t make any headway with that until second year. You won’t work for me anymore by then, but I’ll trust you’ll still try, right?”

Midoriya chuckled. “Yeah. I’m not known for giving up on things. Besides, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious about Todoroki-kun before, anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“At the provisional licensing exam, I saw him flinch once when another student compared him to Endeavour. Then there was the whole—” Midoriya frowned. “Well, there’s not a great way to explain it, but he has this thing with his flame Quirk—”

“He’s afraid of it,” Shouta said, nodding along.

“No!” Midoriya said, then cringed at his own volume. “I mean, no. There’s an important distinction there. He’s not afraid of it. He’s afraid of using it on people.”

Shouta blinked, because, holy shit. That was an important distinction, and he hadn’t even been thinking of it before, since he was focused on the fact he was afraid of it at all… “What do you mean?”

“He didn’t say it to me directly,” Midoriya said, “but I noticed he has a tell for when he’s afraid. His eyes jerk to the side, I mean. He also trembles, but with that one it’s a little harder to be sure because I’m fairly certain using his Quirk affects his internal body temperature a lot more than he lets on.” This kid… “So, anyway, I started paying attention to the eye jerks. If he’s using his fire on an inanimate object, he’s fine. No fear, no expression shifts at all. Every time there was a person at the other end of the fire though—” Midoriya imitated the eye jerk he was talking about, a quick flicker to the left, like he was checking for something. It was something Shouta had seen Todoroki do often enough to recognize it as distinctly him. “And if it comes down to shooting his flames directly at a person, for any reason, he won’t do it. Actually, when we got into the fight with Gang Orca he suggested something to me that sort of sold the deal in my mind anyway. He asked me to use my Quirk—I can do a long-distance attack that just sorta whoosh, wind, you know, I didn’t tell you that—but he asked me to use my Quirk to redirect the flames and then shot them purposefully slightly off target and relied on me to correct them. But, yeah. That’s the only way he would use them against a person that whole day.”

“You got all that from one fight?” Shouta asked.

“I got it from two,” Midoriya corrected, holding up two fingers. “We fought each other in the first half, then joined forces when another school found us. I was being extra cautious when I fought him because, really, his flames would counter me in general very well, but the only time he used that half of his Quirk during our fight was to clear ice. Then when the other school found us, he only used it twice—the first time, to counter a sand Quirk—” Smart move. Fire was a bad match for sand, after all. “—and once to explode a fuel tank. You should have seen, though, because he was very worried he hurt me after the fuel tank stunt.”

“How do you know?” Shouta asked.

“Todoroki-kun doesn’t emote with his face,” Midoriya said. “He does, however, emote with his eyes.” Midoriya pointed at his own eyes for reference. “He wears his heart on his sleeve if you know where to look.” Midoriya paused for a moment, thinking. “He did admit to that one, though, too. He didn’t want to, but he did.”

Shouta blinked at Midoriya, who didn’t notice, because he’d opened one of the files and was flicking through it. “You got all of that from two interactions?”

“Five,” Midoriya corrected, looking up at him and blinking away whatever he’d been reading. “I’ve met Todoroki-kun on five occasions. Six occasions, sorry. Outside the entrance to the exam, during the first half, between the first and the second half, again during the second half for the Gang Orca fight, after the exam concluded, and then the other day, when I was leaving here.” The tips of his ears reddened as he ducked his head. “Some interactions were more meaningful than others, obviously.”

“Kid,” Shouta said. “You have wild people skills.”

Midoriya laughed softly. “You have to know how to read people if you want to be a hero, don’t you?”

“Not like that,” Shouta said. “But by all means, go beyond, plus ultra, all that. It works for you and right now it works for me too. Any other insights about Todoroki?”

“Just one that’s helpful really,” Midoriya said, voice somber. “The scar on his face—”

“It’s a birthmark,” Shouta said, blinking at Midoriya. “If it was a scar, the incident that caused it would be logged in his medical records somewhere.”

“It’s a scar,” Midoriya said, with the utmost confidence. “I’m pretty sure.”

Shouta set his work aside, peering at Midoriya intently. “Okay. Why?”

“For one thing, he admitted to me that he has a vision problem in his left eye.” He has a what. “For another thing, I directly asked him about his scar and he said, and I mostly quote, most people assume it’s a birthmark. The keyword, there, is assume. Anyway, though, that’s not a scar from an open flame. I haven’t researched it as much as I want to yet, but it actually closely resembles a grease burn.”

“Why would he have gotten a grease burn like that on his face, though?” Shouta countered.

Midoriya grimaced and mimed the action instead of saying it, and Shouta stiffened in horror because…because Midoriya was right. The drooping, rippled edges of the birthmark—if it was a birthmark and not a scar—were fairly consistent with the way liquid would spread if it was poured over him.

“We don’t know if that’s what happened to him,” Shouta said. “He still doesn’t have any medical records for it.”

“If I were the number two hero,” Midoriya said, flipping a page in his file, “I would probably have no problem hiring a private doctor that kept an injury like that off the books for me. Of course, it could easily be from some sort of villain attack too. It’s not helpful to jump to conclusions about its origin yet.”

And wasn’t that the whole point of this investigation?

“You,” Shouta said, “are too smart for your own good.”

“It’s not being smart so much as it’s being good at reading people,” Midoriya said, his face going bright red at the praise. “What’re these other cases you’re working on?”

Shouta silently handed over a file.  

Chapter Text

“How’s petitioning the school board going?” Izuku asked.

The question was directed towards Camie, who made a face in response. “It could be better. The commission is being, like, super uncool about it.”

“The commission, really?” Izuku asked. “They gave a speech about wanting more heroes and everything at the end of the exam.”

“I know, right? That’s what Yui said.” Camie sighed. “They’re checking to make sure I’m not, like, connected to that villain chick—but she literally stabbed me, which is totally not a beneficial arrangement for me at all—so, I don’t really know what the holdup is.”

“I guess they have to go through due procedure,” Izuku said, though unwillingly, because he thought it was kind of stupid too.

Camie made a dark face at the comic book she was holding up. “Babe, I love you dearly, but I will totally fight you if you take their side on this.”

Izuku laughed softly. “There’s no need for violence. I wasn’t taking their side, just looking at things from their perspective. Their stupid perspective,” he added, for good measure. “Is that the new comic about Star and Stripe?”

Camie laughed and held it up. “Yeah, babe. This one has All Might in it.”

“There might be need for violence still if you don’t let me look at it right now.”

“It’s plastic wrapped, dummy.”

“I can still admire it from afar,” Izuku said, making a grabby motion at the comic with one hand. Camie smacked him with it, to which he gasped dramatically. “Sacrilege! Don’t use hero merch like a weapon!”

Camie stuck her tongue out at him petulantly. “Hands off, fanboy. I have, like, a super-duper hard time finding merch for American heroes over here without you making it worse.”

“Fangirl,” Izuku retaliated. “There’s no reason you can’t share.”

“Izu-kun!” Inasa bellowed, his head suddenly appearing over the top of the shelves lined with hero merch, effectively interrupting Izuku’s and Camie’s squabbling. “Check out what I found!”

“I won’t forget this,” Izuku threatened, as soon as Inasa turned away.

Camie rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. There were two the whole time, babe.”

And then she slid the second into Izuku’s basket which was, admittedly, already half-full with all of the post Kamino Limited Edition All Might merchandise he had found and subsequently hoarded, not to mention all the Gang Orca stuff he came here to pick up initially.

“Marry me,” he said to Camie, overly dramatic and not at all serious. Well, maybe a little serious. Being married to a fellow hero nerd sounded like a great idea. Horrible for his wallet, definitely, but otherwise great.

She patted his cheek consolingly, crossing to the next aisle over, where Inasa had appeared from. It was good, Izuku thought. It was nice to have friends, real friends, that knew at least a little bit about who he was before he was the Shining Star of Shiketsu High and didn’t hate him for it.

“Look, look,” Inasa said, and Izuku blinked at him. He was holding up what was, quite possibly, the cutest little plushie he’d ever seen of—

“Is that Todoroki-kun?”

“It totally is,” Inasa said, holding it out for Izuku, who took it gingerly and held it with both hands.

The Todoroki doll stared at him with mismatched eyes. Whoever had made it had done a remarkable job matching the storm grey and blue-green of his right and left eye to the real deal. The same was true of his white and red hair. Plushie Todoroki was in his hero costume too, and Izuku lifted up one of his arms, examining the remarkably rendered temperature regulating device on his back. “I have to have him,” Izuku said, without really thinking it through.

“Do you?” Inasa said, sounding like he was trying to hold back laughter. “Do you want him, Izu-kun? Do you need—hey!”

“Sacrilege,” Camie said, picking up the Todoroki—or well, he was in his hero costume, so more accurately, Hero Shouto—doll up from the ground where it had fallen after Izuku launched it at Inasa’s face. She squished it against her cheek, pouting at Izuku. “I thought we weren’t supposed to use hero merchandise as a weapon, hm?”

“Don’t worry, Todoroki-kun would have approved of being used as a vessel for violence in this scenario,” Izuku said, glaring at Inasa.

Camie gasped softly. “Ooh. Do you know this Todoroki-kun? Personally?”

“He knows him so personally,” Inasa said, slinging an arm over Camie’s shoulders and, generally, being a nuisance. “You should have seen them at the Provisional Licensing Exam. In fact—” Izuku saw his death flash before his eyes as he suddenly and violently remembered that Inasa had been there right after the Gang Orca fight, that he’d probably seen— “—after he fought Gang Orca, he just lovingly caressed his hair and everything.”

Camie whooped loudly, drawing the ire of the single shop employee present in the store, not that she cared. “Get it, Izuku. You’ve totally been holding out on me, babe. You’ve had your own hottie in the bag this whole time, and you never thought to mention it?”

“It’s not—” Izuku started, before that sentence, whatever it was destined to be, failed him. “We’re not—it’s just—he’s just—you see—”

“That’s not all,” Inasa said, pretending to whisper in Camie’s ear though Izuku could clearly hear what he was saying. “He also shirked all of us Shiketsu folk on not just one but two occasions, just to go talk to Todoroki-kun.”

Camie whistled, long and low, while Izuku sputtered and flailed, desperate to come up with some sort of defense for himself before Inasa said anything else condemning. “Damn, babe. You must have been on your A-game that day, to seduce the Todoroki Shouto, legendary good-looking son of Endeavour.”

“It’s not like that,” Izuku said, faintly.

“It was absolutely like that,” Inasa said.

Izuku gave up and made a faint keening noise before setting his basket of merch on the ground and slowly melting into a puddle on the floor, concealing his face with the maximum amount of limbs possible.

“Aw, he’s shy,” Camie said. A moment later, he felt something pushing against an exposed bit of his face, and he turned away from it reflexively. “Don’t be like that, babe. Todoroki-kun just wants a kiss.”

“He can wait.”

“Oh, do you and Todoroki-kun have big plans for later?” Inasa asked.

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Izuku mumbled, from between his arms and one of his legs.

“It does make sense, and you know it.”

“Kiss him, babe,” Camie said, prodding Izuku with the Todoroki doll again. “Just give him one good smooch.”

“I refuse,” Izuku said, curling tighter around himself. Camie continued to prod him.

“Kiss him,” Inasa said, and then apparently decided the words were worthy of chanting, because he did just that. “Kiss him. Kiss him.”

“Kiss him,” Camie agreed, happily joining in on the chant.

“This is assault,” Izuku cried. “I’m being assaulted!”

“Aw, but babe,” Camie said, and Izuku could hear her pouting. “Plushie Todo—wait. Plushie Shouto just wants a kiss!”

Izuku peeked one eye out of his limb cage. “You know, calling him Plushie Shouto is actually politically correct, considering he’s in his hero costume.”

“I don’t follow, babe.”

“Shouto is his hero name,” Izuku explained, mostly just because it was halting Plushie Shouto’s assault attempt. “I think he chose it because…well, I’m not sure, but did you know the characters for fire and ice are in his name already? I noticed it, when I saw it written out on the billboard at the provisional licensing exam. I think he just figured he would use his name as a hero name. I mean, he’s famous anyway, so it’s not like he’ll keep his name out of—”

“Hold on,” Camie said, her eyes glittering with delight. “You know him well enough to know his hero name? And why he chose it?”

“Oh no,” Izuku said, and promptly hid himself within the comforting darkness of all his limbs once again.

“This is news to me!” Inasa said, slapping Izuku heartily on the back for no apparent reason.

“Inasa-babe, hang on for a moment. I think there’s something we’re missing.”

“Oh?”

A moment later, Izuku felt one of them grab his foot, which sent a spike of panic through him. It was enough to jolt him out of his limb cage, even though he reasonably knew he wasn’t in danger. It took everything he had to keep from kicking (the other kids liked to hold him down, they grabbed his legs, they grabbed his arms—) as he looked to see who it was. It was Camie, holding his foot gingerly and comparing the red of his shoe to the red of Plushie Shouto’s hair. When she was done, she looked up and smirked at Izuku.

“So it might be my favorite color,” he said, because he was caught anyway. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Is that why you caressed his red hair instead of his white hair?” Inasa said.

“No. I caressed his hair because he caressed mine first and—”

“Ooh, a shocking development!” Camie said, laughing maniacally. “Looks like the feelings are mutual, Inasa-babe.”

“Looks like,” Inasa agreed, grinning wickedly at Izuku.

“I was getting revenge!” Izuku exclaimed. “It didn’t mean anything!”

“Oh, are you transferring to UA for revenge, too?” Camie asked, smirking all the while.

“Gah!” Izuku yelled. It was half frustration, half war cry. There was only one way out of this now, and they all knew it. He snatched Plushie Shouto out of Camie’s hand, sent a silent apology to the real Todoroki, wherever he may be, and then planted a kiss right on Plushie Shouto’s mouth. Afterwards, he dunked Plushie Shouto into his merch basket with a victory yell, and promptly glared at his two friends. His best friends, actually, who he loved more than anything and also hated very, very much right now.

“Wow,” Inasa said, after a few seconds of Izuku’s glaring. “That was inspiring. There’s a Bakugou one too, do you also want it?”

“Yes, please,” Izuku said meekly, the fight rushing out of him all at once.

Inasa sat the Plushie Kacchan—oh, actually, if it was Plushie Shouto this one should be Plushie King Explosion Murder—in Izuku’s basket with what looked like the appropriate amount of wariness. Camie started laughing so hard she fell over, and stayed there, until Izuku eventually corralled her into leaving twelve minutes later.

All in all, it was a very productive trip, even if Izuku had to secretly return the next day to buy a second Plushie Shouto that hadn’t been weaponized, thrown on the floor, and kissed. He hesitated for a moment, then bought a second Plushie King Explosion Murder (that name was actually pretty long. Maybe he would abbreviate it?), too. Just to keep up appearances.

The store clerk definitely recognized him, though.

Shouto wasn’t particularly nervous as he walked with Togata up to Sir Nighteye’s agency. He felt like most people probably would be nervous, should be nervous, but Shouto had long since grown immune to the outward glamour of a hero agency.

“A word of advice,” Togata said, as he opened the door for him. “If you want to impress Sir, just make him laugh! He seems really severe and serious, but there’s nothing he values more than humor.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Shouto said.

And he would, just not in the way Togata expected him to. Shouto knew better than to attempt humor, which meant, if that was true, Shouto had decreased chances of success here.

He tried not to let that bother him too much, but at the same time…he felt like there were plenty of qualities that were just as valuable as humor. An uncontested poker face came to mind, for instance.

“Alright, here we are!” Togata said, pointing to a door directly down the hall. “Through that door is your next step to becoming a hero. Do you think you’re ready?”

“I suppose so.”

“Ha! You’re unflappable. Alright, Todoroki-kun, shall we?”

Shouto very sedately opened the door, Togata behind him, and was greeted with one of the strangest sights he’d probably ever seen.

Sir Nighteye was a tall man, slender, with three distinctly gold stripes in his hair, glasses, and a slim gray suit. He didn’t look like much more than the average, unassuming businessman, and would probably still look like an unassuming businessman if it weren’t for the fact that he was looming over a woman with blue skin and an illogically skimpy costume. She was tied, upright, to a pink table, laughing until she cried as various feathers tickled her sides.

A name came to Shouto a moment later. That was Bubble Girl. Shouto had taken the time to look over everyone employed at the agency before he came here.

Sir Nighteye adjusted his glasses and cast them a glare once they’d stepped fully into the room. As far as glares went, it was a pretty good one—if Shouto were to rank the glares he’d received over the years, this one would sit somewhere above Yoarashi’s and below Bakugou’s. That being said, though, it meant it was nowhere near as intense as Endeavour’s—which also meant it didn’t affect Shouto very much.

He looked first at the table, then met Sir Nighteye’s gaze, his own expression carefully blank. And then he did as he did best, and said the first thing that came to mind. “I didn’t realize you kept your agency stocked on torture devices, Sir.”

There was silence (other than the poor sidekick’s laughter), and then Togata behind him tried and failed to stifle laughter. Sir’s lips twitched up, too, as if he were fighting off a smile.

Shouto blinked. Had he…actually succeeded in being funny anyway? Well. Hopefully they didn’t ask him to do it again.

Nighteye turned away from him for a moment, something slightly softer in his expression, and flicked a switch on the table his sidekick was tied to, and then undid her restraints. Togata crossed the room to help, but Shouto remained where he was. Three would probably be a crowd, anyway.

Once the sidekick was free, Nighteye crossed to where Shouto stood, and offered him his hand to shake.

Shouto eyed it, then looked up at Nighteye. “Let me guess. The Western greeting feels more familiar?”

Nighteye made a thoughtful sound. “I suppose that it does. The tactile component of this greeting does make it a little less formal in practice.”

Shouto took his hand, bowing his head slightly as he shook it. “That’s something that someone said to me, recently.” He straightened, considering. He always preferred to be direct, honest, and as succinct as possible. “That same person is, in some ways, the biggest reason that I decided to pursue an internship at your agency, Sir.”

“I see,” Nighteye said, peering into his eyes for just a moment before letting go of his hand. “I must admit that I was surprised when Mirio informed me that you desired an internship with me, Todoroki Shouto.”

“You should call me Shouto. It’s my hero name, and it’s also important to me that, going forward, I conduct this meeting as myself and not as the Number Two hero’s son.”

“Most would say that Endeavour is the Number One hero, now.”

“He’s not,” Shouto said, glancing at the plethora of All Might posters scattered around this office. They were comforting, in a way. “He’s the presumed Number One, yes, but that’s not official. Nor—” He paused for emphasis, making sure he looked Nighteye directly in the eye for this. “—is he a suitable replacement for the current Number One hero.”

“And you think that you will be, one day?” Nighteye asked, sinking into his desk chair and steepling his fingers in front of him.

“No,” Shouto said, without needing to think very hard about it at all. “It’s not that I don’t want to be the Number One hero. I have ambitions and dreams, just like any other aspiring hero. I would just prefer to prioritize saving people over whatever rank I happen to have.” That was the real way to break out of the mold Endeavour set for him, wasn’t it? Endeavour had only really cared about his ranking, not the people he was saving, and Shouto—Shouto didn’t want to be shackled to his father’s dreams and expectations any longer.

“This is what I think, Shouto,” Nighteye said, picking a stamp up off the desk and twirling it through his fingers. “I think that you could be a promising young hero, under the proper tutelage. Your performance at the Sports Festival more than demonstrated your strength. However, there are several reservations I have in regards to accepting you as an intern at this agency.”

Shouto nodded. He had expected as much.

“My first reservation is this: you more than demonstrated half your strength, at the Sports Festival. That means that myself, and other pros, would be endangering ourselves by agreeing to work with you, since we don’t have a full understanding of what your Quirk can actually do.”

Shouto did his best not to bristle at that. “In all fairness, Sir, I don’t know what your Quirk can actually do either. Also, using only half of my power at the Sports Festival was foolish, and I’ve since come to realize that. My control with my flame Quirk is lesser than my control with my ice one, but I can safely use it.”

“Very well,” Nighteye said, pursing his lips. “My second reservation is this: you had an altercation with the Hero Killer earlier this year.”

There was no sense in denying that. The scars would be on full display whenever Shouto wore short sleeves, after all. Like right now, since he hadn’t worn his blazer to the agency. “I did. During my week long shadowing experience, I was separated from my supervisor during an attack on Hosu city. I happened across where the Hero Killer was attempting to take the lives of a pro hero and one of my classmates, and I…attempted to save them.”

“And that is exactly why I would have reservations about taking you on.”

Shouto failed to stop himself from bristling at that one. It was like being told he shouldn’t have acted just because he didn’t have a license by the chief of police all over again. “I wasn’t going to just stand by and watch people die because I didn’t have a provisional license at the time,” he said, fighting to keep his voice even. He didn’t quite win the battle, but he got close.

“That’s not what I meant,” Nighteye said, waving off his concern. “You watched a person bleed out in front of you that day, correct?”

Shouto deflated, giving Nighteye a quick nod. He still saw Native’s slumped body, sometimes, burned into the backs of his eyelids when he closed them.

“Have you received the proper counseling for that?”

Shouto clenched and unclenched his left fist at his side. “Yes. UA mandated that I attend counseling, afterwards. I passed the psych evaluation I was given at the hospital, too, and was cleared to continue my hero training at the school. Is that satisfactory?”

Nighteye was silent for a long moment, before he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a sigh. “It is. However, if I were to request that you attended them again in the future, for any reason, would you?”

Shouto resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Of course I would. I didn’t come here expecting to half-ass my way into getting an internship.”

A moment later, Shouto’s mind caught up to his mouth. Giving an adult attitude was never really a good idea, but it especially wasn’t a good idea when you wanted a favor from said adult. Shouto dipped into a slight bow. Well. At least he could attempt to do some damage control, but his already slim chances were looking slimmer by the minute. “I apologize.”

“No, there’s no need to apologize,” Nighteye said, frowning at the stamp in his hands. “You are determined, and determination is a necessary trait for hero work.”

Shouto straightened, his tongue feeling like lead in his mouth. “Well, aside from the counseling, are there any other reservations you have?”

“Just one.” Nighteye brought a stamp down, full-force, onto his desk. It made a much louder noise than a stamp of that size probably should. “My agency is running just fine with one pro, two sidekicks, and one intern. Why should I consider adding you to the team as well?”

Ah, now on to one of the reservations Shouto had anticipated him having. He was careful to think his answer through before he spoke this time, though. “To be frank with you, Sir, I think that this would be a beneficial partnership for both of us. I want to improve my strategic skills, primarily, but I also want to gain experience, in a general sense. As for how I could benefit you, well…” Shouto grimaced inwardly, because this was exactly the sort of thing that his father would value, exactly the sort of thing Shouto didn’t want to be defined by. “I looked into those working at your agency. Everyone, with the exception of Togata, doesn’t have a highly combative Quirk, but I do. And it is, for better or for worse, a very powerful Quirk. I would round out your team. You, the strategist, moving the pieces behind the scenes. Bubble Girl and Centipeder, who have Quirks that specialize in one-on-one fights and captures. Me and Togata, the powerhouses. You could use my strength, and I could use your experience.”

Nighteye considered him for a long moment, eyes boring into him, fingers turning white at the knuckle where he was gripping his stamp so tightly. “Do you have your contract with you?”

Shouto produced it from his bag, and silently handed it over.

Nighteye stamped it. “Welcome to Nighteye Agency, Shouto. You will start Monday.”

“You’ll never believe what I found,” Izuku said, as he entered Yagi’s hospital room.

Yagi chuckled softly, oddly mechanical sounding where he was still hooked up to an oxygen mask. “What is it, my boy?”

“First edition,” Izuku started, rooting around in his bag, “likely to one day become limited edition, highly rare, exclusive merch for not just one, but two of your students…” With that, he pulled Plushie KEM—who he had grabbed first—out of his bag with a triumphant yell. “Plushie King Explosion Murder, and—” He sat Plushie KEM down on the edge of Yagi’s bed and produced Plushie Shouto instead, brandishing him in the air just like he’d done with Plushie KEM “—Plushie Shouto!”

Yagi laughed, one of those deep laughs that came right from the heart. “You did well, my boy,” he said. “Though, as I recall, Midnight vetoed that name when young Bakugou tried to claim it the first time.”

That startled a laugh out of Izuku. “I bet Kacchan was mad.”

“I wouldn’t know, I only heard about it through the teacher gossip chain,” Yagi said, with a soft chortle. “He didn’t end up picking one, though, so I think it’s safe to assume that he was still attached to his original idea.”

“Oh, that’s tragic,” Izuku said, fiddling with the enormous gauntlets on Plushie KEM’s wrist. “I don’t know what to call him, now. Plushie Bakugou? Since if you don’t choose a hero name, it defaults to your last name…”

Yagi laughed again, reaching for Plushie Bakugou himself. Izuku handed him over without a problem, fiddling with Plushie Shouto’s radiator in his absence instead. “Why not Plushie Kacchan?”

“…Plushie Katsuki,” Izuku decided. “Just so he matches Plushie Shouto. It’ll be his interim name, until he chooses one! One that Midnight doesn’t veto, that is. Oh! Is Midnight the PR teacher at UA? I thought she was art history, actually, if I remember right from reading the roster.”

“UA doesn’t have a designated PR teacher,” Yagi said, shrugging. “We’re all heroes and because of that we’ve all dealt with the press, so we all tend to teach that class from time to time.”

Izuku nodded along at the logic. “It does make sense. Not for Eraserhead, though.”

Yagi laughed again. “That’s why Eraserhead dumps his PR classes on Midnight or Present Mic.”

“Oh!” Izuku declared, snapping his fingers. “I had a theory they were friends. Thanks for confirming it.”

Yagi chuckled. “No problem, young Izuku. Though I am curious how it is you know young Todoroki’s hero name.”

“Fate has it out for me when it comes to Todoroki-kun, Yagi-sensei.”

Yagi laughed so hard he choked—to which Izuku patted him consolingly. “What on earth makes you say that?”

“I don’t know, really,” Izuku said, sitting back in his armchair. “I see him everywhere, though. I guess it’s one of those things where, like, do you know when someone you know buys a specific model of a car? And then all of a sudden you see that same model of car everywhere just because you know to look for it?”

“Ah,” Yagi said, nodding along. “Young Todoroki does make it into the news quite often.”

“No,” Izuku said. “No, it’s not that! I see him everywhere, Yagi-sensei. I met him outside the Provisional Licensing Exam, and then inside the Provisional Licensing Exam—four times, mind you—and then I ran into him again, the other day! I was just leaving my internship with Eraserhead and I bumped into someone, and you know who it was? Todoroki Shouto. Anyway, that’s when he told me his hero name. It came up as a discussion point.”

“Fate does seem to have it out for you when it comes to young Todoroki, then,” Yagi said, looking way too amused about such a thing under his oxygen mask. “The pro hero world is quite a small one, though, so I’m not necessarily surprised.”

“Not that small,” Izuku mused, sitting back. “I swear, if I bump into him somewhere completely unexpected again, I’m going to riot.”

Yagi laughed. “Rioting isn’t very heroic, young Izuku.”

“Crimson Riot would probably disagree,” Izuku said, grinning cheekily at Yagi, who laughed. Izuku had been surprised, at first, to learn that All Might had such a dorky sense of humor. Now, he couldn’t imagine it any other way, honestly.

“What would this riot entail, though?” Yagi asked, sounding bemused. “Hopefully not a fight.”

“Ooh, maybe it will be a fight,” Izuku said easily. “Fighting Todoroki-kun again would be fun. In all honesty, though, my riot will probably consist of something incredibly stupid and embarrassing.”

“Oh?” Yagi prompted, sounding increasingly bemused as the conversation went on. “What sort of incredibly stupid and embarrassing things would you be doing, pray tell?”

Izuku couldn’t possibly say anything like “flirting mercilessly with him” to his mentor, so what he said was, “I don’t know. I tend to fly by the seat of my pants on these things, you know. Who plans a riot, anyway? A riot is supposed to be full of passionate feelings, loud disagreements, and, and—chivalrous spirit!” He was inordinately proud of that last one.

Judging by the way Yagi laughed, he was too. “Well, I’ll look forward to this riot, should it ever come to pass.”

“As you should,” Izuku agreed.

“Though, this talk of young Todoroki and riots reminds me…how is your internship with Aizawa-kun coming?”

Izuku barked out a laugh. “I don’t know how you got from riots and Todoroki-kun to my internship, but—”

“Well, it was because young Todoroki is in Aizawa-kun’s class, you see, and there’s another student in that class that has chosen Red Riot as his hero moniker, which further enforced the point…”

“Oh, in that case, carry on,” Izuku said. He felt his eyes crinkle in amusement as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on Yagi’s bed railing. “It’s going well, though. We’re going on our first patrol tomorrow, which I’m somehow both really nervous and really excited for. So far, it’s just been investigative work and Eraserhead explaining things to me.”

“That sounds like Aizawa-kun,” Yagi mused. “It would be illogical to not be prepared.”

A moment passed, and then Izuku snorted, and Yagi did the same. “You do a good impression of Eraserhead, Yagi-sensei.”

“Ah, well. One picks up on things when they work with someone.” He was silent for a moment, seemingly contemplating something, until he asked, “Have you heard anything from Nighteye?”

Izuku crinkled his nose slightly. “Nighteye? No. Why would I?”

“Ah, it’s nothing,” Yagi mused. “I just thought he might extend an internship offer to you, knowing him.”

“Why?”

Yagi smiled faintly. “He was involved in the successor choosing process—he put forward a candidate, you know, before I met you. I had a thought he might want to test your mettle.”

Izuku creased his brow. It had somehow never occurred to him before—that Yagi had other candidates in mind, that he’d been actively looking for a successor before he stumbled across Izuku. It…well, he was getting ahead of himself there. “Who was it? Nighteye’s candidate, I mean.”

“Hm? Oh. A third year at UA, actually. He interns with Nighteye himself at the moment. Togata Mirio.”

“Hero name?” Izuku asked softly.

“Lemillion,” Yagi answered, giving that same faint smile as before.

“That’s an interesting name.”

“I’m afraid I’ve never had the pleasure to ask him about it,” Yagi said. “I’ve never taught him either, just heard about him here and there. According to the staff at UA, he’s quite the underdog himself, you know.”

“He sounds amazing.”

“He does,” Yagi agreed quietly.

There was a momentary lapse in silence, where Izuku picked up Plushie Shouto again, mindlessly worrying at the radiator on his back. “I’d like to meet him one day, I think.”

Yagi, unsurprisingly, settled his hand on top of Izuku’s head and left it there. Izuku blinked and looked up at him, his fingers stilling on Plushie Shouto. “I don’t have a single regret,” Yagi said, ruffling Izuku’s hair. “If someone were to line up the fifty most promising hero hopefuls out there in front of me and ask me to choose my successor from them, I would still choose you, my boy. Even if, somehow, you weren’t amongst those fifty, I’d choose you. As far as I’m concerned, though,” he broke off here to give Izuku a brilliant smile, “Horizon is going to be an amazing hero, whether it be underground, in the limelight, at Shiketsu, or at UA. I mean it when I say that you’re the best possible choice I could have made.”

Izuku sniffled, then, unsurprisingly, burst into tears. He was grateful for Yagi’s kind laugh and the way he knowingly tugged Plushie Shouto out of Izuku’s hands before he got snot all over it. He used the hand on Izuku’s head to drag him closer to Yagi in an odd half-hug, which Izuku raised one arm to awkwardly return.

“Young Izuku…” Yagi began hesitantly. Izuku stilled at his tonal shift, looking up at him. Yagi seemed to steel himself, then continued. “It might not be best to do this now, but since you’re already crying…there’s something you need to know.”

Izuku hiccupped, then did his best to wipe some of his tears out of his eyes. “Wh-what is it?”

“My injuries…Well, they are much worse than…last time.”

“Last time you lost your stomach and one of your lungs, so forgive me for being very concerned by that statement, Yagi-sensei.”

Yagi barked a laugh out. “Well, more has been lost, I’m afraid.” Izuku immediately started scanning his body for potential signs of what organs were gone now, which drew another laugh out of Yagi—Izuku wanted to scold him for laughing about such things, come to think of it, but before he could— “It’s my legs, my boy. All for One hit a nerve in my spine, right as I finished him off. Or, well, finished him enough. He’s in Tartarus, now, which…that’s not exactly comforting.”

Izuku clenched at Yagi’s bedsheets. “You’re paralyzed.”

“I…my boy,” Yagi said, and Izuku looked up to realize his eyes were misting over now. “I hope Tartarus holds him, because—this, my boy. You were never supposed to fight him on your own. I was never supposed to—”

“Hey,” Izuku said. He took a page out of Tsukauchi’s book and flicked Yagi on the forehead, a gesture which seemed to bewilder him enough to shock the words right out of him. “Stop that. You didn’t fail me, Yagi-sensei. You could never fail me.”

“Did you just flick me?” Yagi asked, raising one hand to rub at the spot on his forehead. “Did you just do the Naomasa Flick?”

Izuku laughed, almost bitterly, then scrubbed both hands over his face (successfully smearing his tears all over the place like moisturizer in the process). “Yes, and I’ll do it again if I have to. Don’t say you failed, Yagi-sensei. Don’t say you didn’t do enough. You fought…him, All for One…twice now. You won twice, for all intents and purposes. And he’s in Tartarus, so…”

“He’s escaped death before,” Yagi whispered. “I…I want to be realistic, and don’t flick me, please, but…I suspect he’ll escape prison too.”

Izuku let out a sigh, long and exaggerated and extremely tired. “I suspected the same, when I saw the news, honestly. That’s why I went through with it.”

“Went through with what?”

“Transferring to UA,” Izuku whispered. “Effective next year.”

Yagi was silent for a long moment. “My boy, your plan—”

“I know,” Izuku said. “I know. My plan went to shit a long time ago, though, so…”

Yagi choked on air. “My boy! Don’t swear.”

“You swear,” Izuku said, accusingly. “You swear all the time!”

Yagi raised a threatening finger. “Don’t imitate me on that, my boy.”

“Yagi-sensei, honestly. I’m sixteen-years-old and I’ll swear if I want to.”

Yagi spluttered, then laughed. “I suppose that’s fair.” They fell silent for another moment, both of them contemplating things…Yagi’s paralysis, All for One’s most likely inevitable escape…the weight of the seven people before them that rested heavily on their shoulders…

“I can’t let All for One keep targeting UA students because of me,” Izuku said eventually. “Todoroki-kun and Iida-san at Hosu, Kacchan…I can’t just stand by any longer. It’s about moving where the action is, I suppose. I’m not foolhardy enough to entertain any sort of notion that my presence would protect them in some way, but…at least there would finally be a target painted on the correct back.”

“Martyrdom, my boy…” Yagi started, before breaking off with a sigh. “You can’t…I don’t want to watch you die in my stead, young Izuku. You have to promise me you won’t do that, run off to UA, draw his attention, die…you have to promise me that’s not what you’re intending by this.”

There were several moments of silence, during which Izuku picked at his nailbeds, a habit he hadn’t had since middle school—well, since Uwabami gave him the fidget cube, that was. Eventually, he looked up. “Those that call themselves heroes are really just martyrs, sacrificial lambs kept well fed and pretty until the day they have to go to slaughter so everyone else can be kept happy.”

“My boy—” Yagi started.

“That’s what Nedzu said,” Izuku said, “when he was convincing me to transfer. I wasn’t in the best headspace, back then, because you…well. At the time, I thought Nedzu was just saying what I was thinking anyway, to convince me to transfer, but…it’s not that. At least, I don’t think it’s that.”

“What is it then?” Yagi asked, voice soft.

“I think it’s about…I think it’s about breaking the pattern,” Izuku said, going back to worrying at his nailbed. “I think it’s about finding a different way to do things.” He paused, his gaze drifting over to Plushie Shouto. Suddenly, he looked up at Yagi. “You know, at the provisional licensing exam, Todoroki-kun tried to sacrifice himself for me.”

Yagi blinked, clearly taken off guard by the subject change. “What?”

“Yeah,” Izuku said, a little breathlessly now that he remembered it. “You know what he did? He was about to get hit with all this cement—Gang Orca’s goons had cement guns, by the way—and he could have blocked it with his ice or something, but instead, he tried to support me so I could get a final hit in on Gang Orca. And you know what I did? I stopped him. I gave up on defeating Gang Orca, completely gave up on fighting him whatsoever, and I knocked Todoroki-kun out of the way. And I said…well, I don’t remember exactly what I said, but I told him it wasn’t worth it. That a victory won with the blood of your comrades wasn’t a real victory—ooh, you know what, that’s absolutely not what I said but it sounds awesome and I kind of wish it was—”

“Young Izuku,” Yagi interrupted gently, because he knew that if he let Izuku get off on a tangent he would probably never find his way back to the point. “Why does this matter?”

“Because I just said it, Yagi-sensei. I said it, and I meant it, like it was absolute truth, because it was.”

“And…what does that have to do with Nedzu?”

“It has to do with Nedzu,” Izuku said, somewhat frantically, “because I was wrong. I was wrong, the first time, when we were talking…He doesn’t want me to die for his students, he wants me to—to—” Izuku broke off with a sigh. “Oh, I’m an idiot, Yagi-sensei. Dying is always a possibility, when you’re a hero, but it’s not about the death. It’s about the fight, about kicking, screaming, biting, scratching…go down if you have to, but go down swinging—that’s why he said the thing about being Quirkless—”

“I’m afraid I’m not following, my boy,” Yagi said, sounding vaguely concerned.

“That’s okay,” Izuku said, reeling himself in. “I’m just—I just—you don’t need to worry, Yagi-sensei. I have no intention of dying at All for One’s hand. I’m gonna live, instead, if I have to fight him. And if I can’t live, I’ll make sure he can’t either. A wolf, not a sacrificial lamb. What do you think?”

“I think,” Yagi said, tilting his head to the side, “that that’s probably the best news I’ve heard all day.”

“Yeah?” Izuku asked.

“Yes, my boy,” Yagi said, nodding. “Very much so.”

Izuku felt his eyes misting again, so he laughed wetly to keep the tears down. And then he desperately changed the topic. “Once you get fitted with a wheelchair, I’ll push you around in it with One for All activated.”

“Will you?” Yagi asked, letting out a wet laugh of his own.

“Yeah, for sure,” Izuku said, swiping at his eye with his knuckle. “It’ll be epic, Yagi-sensei. Epic.”

“I’m sure it will be,” Yagi agreed. “Maybe I can start a club with Ingenium I. Retired heroes in wheelchairs have to look out for one another, after all.”

“You should,” Izuku said, because he was fully behind this idea. “Can I meet Ingenium I if you do? Wait, why is he Ingenium I?”

“Young Iida took his hero name, actually,” Yagi said. “Per his request.”

“Oh,” Izuku said. “I didn’t know.”

“There’s something to be said for a legacy, you know,” Yagi mused, ruffling Izuku’s hair yet again. Izuku leaned into his touch slightly, unashamed.

“I suppose there is,” Izuku said, with a thoughtful noise. He looked at Yagi, meeting his piercing blue gaze, and for just a moment he was All Might again, tall and strong, standing at the forefront of Izuku’s mind. He would always be All Might, after all. Nobody would ever fill his shoes, not even Izuku, who had his Quirk. Nobody should. “What are you going to do, Yagi-sensei?”

“Teach, I suppose,” Yagi said. He lifted Plushie Shouto and Plushie Katsuki with one hand, wiggling them at Izuku. “I’ve got a generation of heroes to help raise, after all.” He rested his other hand in Izuku’s hair once again, though he didn’t ruffle it. “And that includes you, Horizon. Especially if you’re going to be at UA next year.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it does include me,” Izuku said, laughing softly. “I’ll look forward to learning from you in particular, All Might.”

Afterwards, Yagi called him a crybaby. He cried just as much, though, so Izuku took it in stride.

When Izuku slept that night, he dreamt of anger and unfamiliar cities, of the feeling of wind on his skin as he clung to the tops of a building, of darkness and danger and the careful compartmentalization of deeply ingrained fear.

He was a hero in his dream—he didn’t know how, but he knew that much—and he was on the run.

There was something coming, he felt. It was like a dark speck on the horizon, bitter and spiteful and desperate for blood.

When Izuku raised his arm, inky black tendrils shot out, rage coiling carefully around them and into them. The anger was always there, humming under the surface, buried deep in his bones, in his smile.

It was, unfortunately, a feeling that was all too familiar for Izuku.

When he woke, he was sweating, and One for All hummed under his skin.

Izuku pushed himself up on trembling limbs, and he thought—it meant something. It had to. But what—

That was the question, he supposed.

Chapter Text

“Ever been on patrol before?” Togata asked, as he and Shouto walked down the street side by side on a Monday afternoon.

“Officially? Once,” Shouto said, fiddling with his wrist brace slightly as he spoke. “Unofficially, because I have a hero father? A few times.”

Togata hummed thoughtfully. “Well, how’d your one official patrol go, then?”

Shouto sighed. “Not to be that person, but it got crashed by Noumu and the Hero Killer murdered someone in front of me, so I wouldn’t exactly call it a smashing success.”

There was a moment of silence, and then, inexplicably, Togata erupted into laughter. “Wow, you have a dark sense of humor.” That wasn’t meant to be humorous, Shouto thought, but didn’t say. It’s not like it mattered. “By the way! We should call each other by our hero names when we’re in costume, so is Shouto fine?”

“It’s fine,” Shouto said. “You can call me that out of costume too, if it’s easier for you.”

“It’s not weird for you?”

“No. It’s actually the other way around.”

“Oh, well cool!” Togata said, as happy-go-lucky as ever. “My hero name is Lemillion, by the way.”

“Lemillion?” Shouto questioned.

“Yeah! I want to save a million people, hence the name!”

“That’s very noble of you,” Shouto said, right as something bumped into his legs.

He turned instinctually, reaching out with one hand to steady whoever it was that bumped into him. He was confused for a moment until he looked down and spotted a little girl, flat on her bum, gazing up at him with wide, fearful eyes. It was an expression Shouto recognized all too well, having worn it on his own face so often in the past. It was an expression that spoke of trauma, even if the bandages peaking out from her dirty smock didn’t already say the same.

Shouto got angry first, before he forcefully shoved it aside. If this little girl was anything like he was, and he suspected she was, the absolute last thing she needed was his anger. What did she need, though? What would he have needed, back then? Back before…

“Are you alright?” Shouto asked, crouching down to be closer to her height. Tall things were frightening, after all. He reached for her slowly, making sure to keep his hands in her line of sight at all times while he moved. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bump into you.”

The girl’s breath hitched as she threw a wild-eyed look over her shoulder, and then, almost too quickly for Shouto to track the movement, she had pushed herself up off of the ground and flung herself against his chest. She grabbed two fistfuls of his jumpsuit in a death grip, the horn on her forehead poking against his collarbone. Shouto felt himself blinking in surprise—it had been a long time since he’d been hugged, but he could remember something at the back of his mind, if he tried…he could vaguely recall a time when he was this big himself and crawling into somebody’s lap. If he tried, he could remember the ghost of fingers in his hair.

Hesitantly, Shouto brought the hand that he’d been reaching towards the girl with up to rest it against the back of her head. Her hair was absolutely filthy, grimy and stringy under his fingers. She shuddered, violently, when Shouto touched her, and for a moment, he thought he’d done something wrong. “Please,” she whispered, and then there was the feeling of her nose burrowing into his chest. “Please, I don’t want to go.”

Shouto, almost unbidden, looked up to Togata for guidance. Togata just stared back, for a moment, before he seemingly collected himself. “We should—” he started.

“Oh, there you are,” a new voice said, male and probably on the young side of adult. The little girl in Shouto’s arms shuddered anew at the sound, and Shouto felt the anger return. It was okay this time, though, because she wasn’t looking at him anymore. “Looks like you found my daughter. You know kids these days. They just don’t take discipline well.”

The man speaking finally stepped fully out of the shadow of the alleyway, and Shouto felt his heart stop for just a moment. It was him, the leader of the Shie Hassakai. Chisaki Kai, with the same dark brown hair and toxic yellow eyes, even if he hadn’t been wearing that ridiculous plague doctor mask to drive it home.

A moment later, what he said caught up to Shouto, and his heart started pumping again with the force of his anger.

“You wouldn’t happen to be one of those Shie Hassaikai guys, would you?” Togata said, and Shouto marveled for a moment at the way his tone hadn’t changed at all. It was a bit like what he’d noticed about Midoriya, too, the ability to hide his real emotions behind a smile, but definitely different. A bit more professional, a bit less personal. “I recognized the mask. You guys are pretty popular in this area, huh?”

“Yeah,” Chisaki said, scratching at his temple. His gaze fell rather heavily on Shouto. “You two look like heroes. Any association to a particular agency?”

Mirio laughed easily. “No way! We’re just students, out on our work experience study. We can’t claim allegiance to any particular agency.”

“I see,” Chisaki said, his eyes sliding over to Shouto and the girl tucked in his arms again. “Thank you for retrieving my daughter for me. You know how children are—throwing tantrums over the smallest things. Come now, Eri. I think you’ve bothered the heroes enough.”

Yeah. Yeah, Shouto knew. He hadn’t lived in the dorms so long he’d forgotten how people like this could explain everything away as disciplining a child throwing a tantrum.

“Please,” the little girl whispered, and Shouto tightened his arms.

“I don’t think she wants to go with you,” Shouto said, meeting Chisaki’s gaze dead on. There was a spark of rage, there, familiar and glacial. Eri shuddered in his arms.

One of Chisaki’s eyebrows twitched ever-so-slightly. He was going to fight for this little girl, then.

Good. Shouto was bred for violence. He was good at it.

Chisaki sighed. “Well, you are heroes, I suppose. Let’s not air my family’s dirty laundry out in the public though, at least.” He turned at that, striding back into the alleyway he’d come from.

That was also fine. Shouto was good at fighting, but he sure could run the hell away with a scared child too if Chisaki was just going to turn his back on him.

He was stopped from doing that, however, by Togata’s hand on his shoulder. Togata seemed to be attempting some form of silent communication with him—gaze long and hard. Shouto added several degrees of shittiness onto his own meaningful look and gave it back to him, hoping it conveyed the proper amount of there’s no way in hell I’m following him into that alley when I could just take this kid and run.

Togata shook his head ever-so-slightly, and when Shouto stubbornly dug his heels in and refused to move down the alley, he was more or less gently shoved there instead.

Shouto forced himself to calm down. Togata was his superior, he knew what was best, Shouto would not pick a fight with him when Chisaki was right there. He took a deep breath in, then let it out. Togata was his superior. He knew what was best. Shouto would not pick a fight.

“Now,” Chisaki said, one hand absently reaching for his glove. Shouto tensed—he was still carrying this girl, but he could ice Chisaki with his foot. “Let’s talk. Eri.”

Eri stiffened in Shouto’s arms, then loosened her death grip on his costume, shoving him away from her with all the force she could muster. She landed roughly on her feet and stumbled down the alley towards Chisaki before Shouto could reach out and grab her again.

“Oh? Done with your tantrum now?” Chisaki said, casting a sidelong glance in Eri’s direction. “Come along, then.”

“Wait,” Shouto said, because he had to—he had to do something, other than just hug an abused kid and otherwise be useless. This was why he was still going along with his old man’s shitty plan, why he was trying to become a hero. “Eri, we can—”

“Don’t,” she said, her voice barely audible. “I’m okay. I don’t need help.”      

I’m okay, Nee-san. Don’t worry about the bruises, he’ll just be mad if he finds you in here.

Shouto started forward, but Togata stopped him with a firm hand on his upper arm as their backs faded into the distance. “Shouto,” Togata murmured, once they were out of earshot. “We can’t help her if she won’t let us. You have to—”

Shouto jerked his arm out of Togata’s grasp, mostly just because he was petty. “She had bandages on her arms, Lemillion,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “And we let her go back with him. A known criminal.”

Togata, for his credit, grimaced. “It would—” he started, voice quiet and pained. “We can’t tip Chisaki off now, or it would throw off the entire investigation.”

Shouto sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face, his fingers lingering at the edges of his scar. He was right, of course he was right—but still. Still, there was no excuse for leaving a child in…that…

“One million,” he said, voice low, “starts with one.”

It was petty, and it was a low blow, but it was the truth. It was the Endeavour way, to prioritize the case, the facts, to carefully choose the best option before acting. It was why Endeavour was Number Two. He shouldn’t be taking it out on Togata, though. He…Togata hadn’t really done anything wrong.

There was a moment of silence, long and drawn out, broken only when the skies swelled and then spilled, splatters of rain falling on and around them. “I,” Togata started, and when Shouto glanced it him, he was stiff and pale. “I need to call Sir. I need to report this.”

Shouto sighed, a bit of frost coming out with his exhale. Heh. He was still never as in control as he thought he was, was he? “I’m sorry. You’re right, we need to talk to him.”

“Okay,” Togata said, already retrieving his phone.

There was a heavy set to both of their shoulders as they walked out of the alley.

Midoriya was excited. He was from Shiketsu, and Shiketsu was diligent in their discipline, so he wasn’t showing it as outwardly as one of Shouta’s own students—who tended to buzz and hum and wiggle, grinning and stretching with gleaming eyes—would be, but it was still there.

Midoriya’s excitement was quiet. He stood at perfect parade rest—Shiketsu’s discipline really was intense (though, Shouta supposed, dignity and unity was to Shiketsu as plus ultra was to UA, so he really shouldn’t be surprised)—hands tucked behind his back, and eyes roaming intently across the landscape. Shouta couldn’t help but wonder how Midoriya would hold up when he transferred next year, or how his kids would hold up when Midoriya transferred next year. Midoriya brought a certain intensity that most of them lacked, with the intense gleam of his too-intelligent green eyes, the hard set to his smile, the knowing tilt of his chin.

It was something about Shiketsu in general that let them produce heroes like this, but it was something about Midoriya that was completing the look. There was a gleam in the almost toxic glow of his eyes that seemed to say this species is dangerous. It was something that Shouta had seen very rarely on full-fledged heroes, let alone hatchling ones.

It was presence, he thought, as he strolled casually down the street. Midoriya followed silently behind him, eyes almost glowing in the sunset, arms clasped loosely behind his back.

It was the seesaw between All Might and Yagi Toshinori, the bold line drawn between Present Mic and Yamada Hizashi, the razor blade thin edge between Midnight and Kayama Nemuri. It was a hero persona, and it was a damn well refined one, if Shouta wasn’t wrong (and he wasn’t). No, the person trailing behind him wasn’t really Midoriya. This was Horizon.

When Shouta had first noticed it, he’d questioned why Midoriya bothered with a hero persona at all. Most students didn’t, at least not this early. They definitely didn’t if they were considering the underground, since they would be operating under the assumption they’d never have to see a media camera in their life, like Shouta was when he was a kid. It wasn’t true—underground heroes got roped into scandals and testified in courtrooms just as much as any other hero did. The only real difference was the expectation—nobody in the media heard the term underground hero and thought they would be clean cut and pretty, so they didn’t bother raising a stink over it when said underground hero, inevitably, wasn’t.

His first question was explained easily enough. Midoriya had already demonstrated that he liked to be prepared for everything, and Shiketsu was more of a stickler about teaching students the ins and outs of public relations early on than UA was. His explanation came with a strict reminder to himself to stop thinking Midoriya was one of his students. Well, he was, but he wasn’t. He was Shiketsu spawn, after all, and even if he wasn’t—

Shouta felt his eyes slide discreetly over to Midoriya again, studying him. He looked completely at ease, not even bothered by the tightness of his hero costume, like Shouta feared he might be. His eyes flicked over to Shouta’s, catching him in the act, and Midoriya’s smile widened in an almost predatory way as his eyebrow lifted upwards slightly, his eyes burning like twin neon lights.

Even if he wasn’t Shiketsu spawn, Shouta had a feeling he would still be different.

“Do you have your Quirk activated right now?” Shouta asked.

“I do,” Midoriya said. “Only barely, though.”

“It makes your eyes glow in the dark.”

“Does it? That could be problematic for stealth. I imagine it’s intimidating, though.”

“It is.”

Midoriya chuckled lightly, a sound that managed to strike the delicate balance between threatening and amiable, and he left his Quirk on.

It was a hero persona that got better by the minute. It was one constructed in layers, with minor tweaks made depending on the scenario and the opponent. Shouta knew this, of course, because he’d dealt with Horizon before—he was willing to bet he’d been dealing with Horizon for, perhaps, the whole time, just as Midoriya had been dealing with Eraserhead and not Shouta. That Horizon, the one that had asked for a job and earned it, that had sat quietly poring over case files with Shouta, was sharp and witty, with the perfect dash of charm to compliment his intelligence. That Horizon was good for dealing with people—regular people—civilians, his boss, his allies—not villains.

This Horizon was the one reserved for villains.

Shouta, for the life of him, could only think of one other person in the world that achieved a balance like this between hero and self, and, well, Yamada had only figured out how to accomplish that in the wreckage of their high school memories and the aftermath of a lost friend who they never found. People only accomplished this divide when they had to, when there was something they had to keep close to themselves in order to keep it safe.

For Yamada it was Oboro.

What was it for Midoriya?

“You’re thinking awful hard about something, there,” Midoriya called, voice soft. “Is it something I should know?”

“No,” Shouta said. “I suppose not. I was just thinking about you.”

“Hopefully good things,” Midoriya murmured.

“Mm. Some of them were. You’ve got presence, Horizon.”

“Thank you,” Midoriya said, voice quiet. “I developed my hero persona early.”

“What for?”

“Well, I always wanted to be a hero. Though that’s on par for the course for people that end up in hero schools, isn’t it? At any rate, well…I had this fascination with All Might as a kid—I liked other heroes too, but All Might is the absolute best—” Shouta snorted at that, and Midoriya shot him a scandalized look before he continued. “—and I always thought there was something incredible about his smile. It was inspiring and warm, like a safe haven.”

“All Might has presence, too,” Shouta agreed quietly. “But yours is nothing like his.”

“That’s not true,” Midoriya said, shaking his head slightly and solemnly as he did. “Mine is mine and his is his, so it’s true in a sense, but you don’t spend so long wanting to be a hero like All Might and not have him influence you at least somewhat.” He was quiet for a moment, seemingly considering something. “I still try to smile like him. Not all the time, of course—I think we have a tendency to forget that baring one’s teeth is a threat on any other species, and can be on us, too. But when I’m saving someone or talking to an ally, I want to them to feel safe. I want them to feel like I’m trustworthy.”

“That’s smart,” Shouta agreed. He considered Midoriya again, the soft curve of his curls around the goggles on his forehead—he’d told the kid the Shiketsu hat was an absolute no, as it was far too recognizable for underground work—and thought about it again, the whatness, the skeleton Shouta was almost sure was stuffed in his closet. “What changed?”

“What do you mean?”

“You said you wanted to be a hero like All Might. Well, news for you, kid—going underground is the exact opposite of All Might.”

Midoriya laughed softly. “I know.” He sobered again after a moment. “Things change sometimes, Eraserhead. People change. Priorities…they change too. There’s not any specific reason for my motivation I can tell you that I haven’t mentioned already.”

“Is it because of your Quirk?” Shouta asked.

“My Quirk?” Midoriya echoed, blinking at him, and there. That was Midoriya Izuku for just an instant, not Horizon, unsure and hesitant and afraid.

“Yes,” Shouta said, tilting his head. “We’ve been working on it for a week now. I can’t help but notice it’s similar to All Might’s.”

“Oh,” Midoriya said, and he was Horizon again. It was for that reason that Shouta wasn’t surprised that what came out of his mouth next was— “I’ve been told that before.” –a deflection, done expertly, with pretty vagaries.

“I don’t blame you,” Shouta said, because if his theory was right, this kid needed to hear something from him, even if he’d heard it before. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with wanting to carve your own path, but there’s nothing wrong with staying true to yourself, either. If you want to be a limelight hero, Horizon, you should be one. Don’t let the pressure of standing in the same ring as All Might because of your similar Quirks keep you from doing it. You said it yourself, just in a more roundabout way—you’re you and he’s him, so it shouldn’t matter.”

There was a moment of silence, at the end of which Shouta risked a glance at Midoriya again. His face was doing complicated acrobatics like he was— “Sorry,” Midoriya whispered, bringing one hand to his face. “I’m just trying not to cry.”

Well. This was unexpected.

“…Kid?” Shouta prompted hesitantly, after another moment of standing there while Midoriya covered his face. It was a good thing it was a quiet night, and there were only a few people on the streets. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Midoriya said, then shook his head no a second later, his hand still over his eyes.

Shouta, despite himself, huffed in amusement. “Did it really mean that much to you?” Midoriya nodded, and Shouta sighed. Yamada and Kayama were right, he really was getting soft. “Well, it’s true, kid. The only standard of measurement you need to use for your skill and strength is yourself.”

Midoriya made a noise, then lifted his hand off of his eyes just so he could slap both over his cheeks. It was an odd focusing method, Shouta supposed, but Midoriya was looking up at him with tearless toxic green eyes and a wild smile, so he supposed it worked. “Thanks,” Midoriya said, and he looked more like the Midoriya Shouta knew again. “That’s just not something I’ve heard before. But I’m more than happy with being an underground hero, Eraserhead. What I said to you at the provisional licensing exam still stands.”

There was a ferocity to Midoriya, when he said that, something that clued Shouta in to this being some kind of moment between them. He thought, maybe, that Midoriya might be testing him in some way, and Shouta, despite all the years he’d taught kids at UA—this was actually the first time he’d found himself in this kind of situation, in a bonding moment with just one kid who he definitely didn’t have a growing soft spot for—

“You any good at parkour?” Shouta asked.

Midoriya laughed, and, inexplicably, Shouta thought he passed the test. If it was a test. Gods, this kid was something else, honestly. “I’m pretty good at it, yeah. You’ll be better, though—I’ve never practiced in a live environment.”

“Alright,” Shouta said, nodding decisively. He could work with that.

Midoriya fell quiet again as he followed Shouta up a building. He actually had really good form, bouncing from wall to wall until he could pull himself over the edge of their chosen building behind Shouta. He followed easily when Shouta leaped to the next rooftop. “You’re not going to use any more of your Quirk?” Shouta asked.

Midoriya shook his head, letting out a huff of stored breath. “Not unless I need to.”

“Mm,” Shouta agreed. He hooked his capture scarf around a telephone pole, using it to swing to the next rooftop. It was a little too far to jump, so this was a moment to test Midoriya’s resourcefulness. Unsurprisingly, the simplest option was often the best one and Midoriya seemed to recognize that too, considering he just flared up his Quirk and leapt across the buildings. For just a moment, it looked like Midoriya was floating there, suspended between the buildings, and then he hit the roof of the next with a soft thud and a roll to break his fall. Good form, once again.

“Are you disappointed we’re not punching bad guys?” Shouta asked.

Midoriya shook his head again, which was the right answer. “No, the point of patrolling isn’t really punching bad guys. It is, if you happen across someone committing crime, but mostly it’s about reassuring the public by having someone on standby in a specific area. That’s why we’re sticking to the east end of Musutafu, right, instead of going west? Someone else is over there tonight?”

Shouta felt the corner of his lips lifting in a smile as he leapt to the next building. “Yeah, there is.”

“I read that underground heroes tend to use their patrols to gather information more often than not, too,” Midoriya said, his voice wavering like he wanted to ask a question.

“We do,” Shouta agreed. “I’ll show you the ropes for that next time. I wanted to start you with the standard hero patrol that applies to both limelight heroes and underground ones—walking around for a few hours, and not doing much else unless a call goes out for us to report.”

Midoriya made a huffing sound. “Well, there’s nothing wrong with that. Better than working a desk job, right?”

Shouta barked a laugh. “Kid, half of heroing is a desk job.”

Midoriya gave him a cheeky little smile. “I’m aware. I’ve certainly spent enough time at your desk to know that.”

“Any regrets? Us undergrounders have more of a desk job than limelight heroes, you know.”

“Stop trying to convince me to be a limelight hero, Eraserhead,” Midoriya said, with a small laugh. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Well, that was good. Shouta didn’t really want rid of him anytime soon, anyway.

They passed the rest of their patrol mostly in silence, until, at the very end, as Midoriya ran his hand through sweat sticky curls and drank water at Shouta’s office, he said, “I’ve got an idea for how you could use your capture weapon to improve mobility, wanna hear it?”

Shouta raised his brow. “Next time, Problem Child,” he said. The moniker felt right, on Midoriya. “Show me next time.”

Midoriya grinned.

No, Shouta certainly didn’t want to get rid of this one.

Mirai, for all that he had plotted and planned, had never expected he would actually enjoy having Todoroki Shouto at his agency.

His reasons for this belief were numerous and well founded—the boy was Endeavour’s son, and that brought about a myriad of issues including but not limited to increased media exposure and the potential wrath of the notoriously hot-headed Number One hero. The boy had also been attacked by the Hero Killer and seen a pro die—the details of the incident were classified, but anyone with eyes and half a brain would suspect the boy to have psychological trauma from it. And then, of course, there was the issue of the boy’s attitude, so clearly on display for the world to see during the UA Sports Festival—he had resorted to unnecessary brute force to overcome his opponents on multiple occasions, while only using half of a Quirk to do it.

So, no, Mirai was not thrilled about hiring him. But Mirai was not cruel, so he would have still done his best to train Shouto, regardless of personal feelings.

And then he had met him, and he had not been anything Mirai expected—and Mirai was so rarely surprised by anything.

Shouto had been full of surprises, actually, producing one after the other the longer Mirai spoke with him. It started with the wry joke he made, when he entered the room, lingered in the sad way he called Western introductions less formal (like Midoriya had, Mirai noted—it was not lost on him that it seemed they had somehow met.) Mirai had agreed all the same, though in truth he’d only offered a handshake instead of a bow so that he could use Foresight on the boy. Mirai had been curious—not to see any further into the future than a few minutes—to see what would come of their meeting. Mirai had been surprised, again, to see that he forewent any sort of physical test for Shouto and accepted him on his words alone. The surprises continued after that—the longing look Shouto cast at some of his All Might memorabilia even though he was Endeavour’s son, the way he’d cast aside his family name the very instant Mirai used it to address him.

The final surprise had been Mirai’s revelation that this boy was a lot like him—not a bright, shining beacon like All Might or Mirio but rather a small, dependable light. They both lived in the shadow of someone else—Mirai had chosen his shadow, yes, but it didn’t mean he was immune to the pressures being known only as All Might’s former sidekick had put on him. And the boy’s assessment had been correct—he was a powerful ally, and Mirai was up against a powerful enemy.

Overhaul.

And Overhaul had a daughter, too.

He could hear Shouto and Mirio outside his office. They weren’t being quiet—well, Shouto wasn’t being quiet. Mirio’s soothing replies, on the other hand, were quiet enough that several words were always lost on Mirai.

“I won’t choose,” Shouto said. “I won’t choose a life over an operation. I won’t choose who to save and who not to save, not again. God fucking damn it!”

And that was another reason why Shouto had won Mirai over—for all that he was calm, collected, and stable, he was a bit of a shining beacon too.

Mirai sent out the team up requests, and the meeting time.

Chapter Text

“Shiketsu Spawn, please. What are you doing to that innocent capture weapon?”

Midoriya laughed. “Shiketsu Spawn! That’s new. I just got adjusted to Problem Child, too…” He twisted Shouta’s spare capture weapon again, creating some sort of complicated knot around his arm, studying it.

“I don’t know how I know,” Shouta said, “but whatever you’re doing has Shiketsu stink all over it.”

Midoriya laughed again, but softer this time, and then promptly ignored Shouta’s commentary. “I think that’ll do. Hey, Shouta-san, why does this gym have monkey bars and other random poles all across the ceiling again?”

“Just because,” Shouta said, intentionally cryptic. “You ought to be happy about it, since it’s what you requested.”

“I am happy,” Midoriya said, swinging one end of the capture weapon around like it was a lasso now. Shouta was mildly terrified about what he intended to do with it. “Just curious and happy.” His green eyes flicked over the poles overhead, then darted over to Shouta in amusement. “Will you give me a piggyback ride to Recovery Girl if this goes horribly? I’ve always wanted to meet her.”

“Problem Child,” Shouta said, with a sigh. It was all that he needed to say.

Midoriya just gave him a shameless little shrug, then flung out his capture weapon lasso, capturing a pole and hauling himself up into the air with it. Then, somewhat to Shouta’s horror and fascination, he slid down the length of the capture weapon as he swung to his next pole, his knot swiveling neatly down his arm with him to give him the exact length he needed to grab the pole with his hand, holding himself up for an instant before the knot around the original pole came completely undone and Midoriya whipped it around again, catching another pole and swinging-spiraling through the air again until he landed on his feet across the length of the gym, capture weapon pooling around him as it slithered down from the rafters. He caught it easily, somehow making it look elegant, with a soft little, “Huh.”

Shouta, who tied himself up in that thing the first time he ever touched it, kind of wanted to cry, because not only was Midoriya still not tied up, he had, in fact, just swung across the gym faster than Shouta ever had.

“Shiketsu Spawn,” he said, because he was certain this was some sort of Shiketsu-specific shenanigans now. “How did you do that?”

Midoriya bounded over, looking like an excited puppy at his achievements. “It’s an aerialist knot,” he said.

“Aerialist,” Shouta echoed. “Like that thing where you dangle from the air tied up in fabric?”

“That’s the one! Actually quite fun, you know. But when I was learning it, Uwabami-sensei taught me these knots—” He held out his arm to Shouta, letting him examine the knot there, too. “These let you slip down the silk without the knot coming undone, and you can tie them pretty quickly. I didn’t know if they would transfer to your capture weapon for sure, but I thought they might!”

“Uwabami taught you aerial yoga,” Shouta said, because that was what was really sticking out to him. “At Shiketsu.”

“Yeah!” Midoriya chirped. “I can teach you, if you want?”

Shouta blinked at him for several long moments. Ordinary students would probably have grown uncomfortable by then, but Midoriya just gazed expectantly at him. “Okay,” Shouta finally said at the end of it, and Midoriya beamed excitedly. “Maybe I ought to train you with my capture weapon, since you seem to be a natural with it.”

“No, that’s okay,” Midoriya said, laughing. “I have Bl—”

He cut off abruptly, with an extremely confused expression, which sent a spike of worry through Shouta. “What?” he asked. “You have what?”

“I was going to say Blackwhip,” Midoriya said, so softly Shouta almost didn’t hear him. “I…I don’t even know what that is. That sounds like a Quirk name, though, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” Shouta said. He considered the possibility the kid was pulling his leg for an instant, but no one could fake that level of confusion on their face. “Why do you think you were going to say it?”

“I don’t know,” Midoriya said, raising the arm that wasn’t tied up in capture weapon and clenching his fist like he was about to punch something. “I…don’t know at all.”

Shouta stared for a moment longer, trying to work up something to say, but before he could, there was a rather distinct chime from his pocket. That notification was used for Hero Network business and Hero Network business only, which meant they had work to do and mysterious…things…to worry about later.

Shouta pulled his phone out of his pocket, blinking when he saw the notification there. “What is it?” Midoriya asked, either desperately grasping at a new conversation topic or somehow noticing Shouta’s mild distress, because that agency—

“It’s a team-up request,” Shouta said, tilting the screen towards Midoriya to see since it would concern him, too.

“From Nighteye Agency,” Midoriya read, with an odd voice. He apparently read further, though, since he blinked, befuddled, at what was under it. “A yakuza gang…? Heroes and yakuza don’t usually mix, though, since they’re not really villains…”

“I know,” Shouta said, turning his phone screen back around so he could read it himself. He accepted the team-up request while he was at it, then looked back up at Midoriya. “Come on,” he said, after a moment. “It’s back to the desk job.”

“We have research to do?” Midoriya guessed, but he was already following behind Shouta, looping the spare capture weapon he’d commandeered from him around his shoulders like a scarf. Shouta didn’t stop him, too busy thinking about whatever Blackwhip was and why Nighteye was sending a team-up request for a yakuza takedown.

“Yeah,” he said, distractedly. “We need to find everything we can about this before we go into it.”

Especially, he didn’t say, since one of my other kids is working for Nighteye.

“I just said it,” Izuku said into the phone. He’d taken his Shiketsu cap off and hooked it on his knee, just to draw slightly less attention to himself on the bus to Nighteye’s agency. He had to miss school for this internship meeting, which was a strange feeling—Eraserhead taught, after all, so when they met it wasn’t usually until after school hours. That being said, he still drew odd looks for wearing a school uniform in the middle of the day on a seemingly random weekday morning.

“What was it called again?” Yagi asked, on the other end of the line. He was finally off the respirator, though he was still being kept for observation in the hospital. Soon—he kept saying. He would be out soon.

“Blackwhip,” Izuku said, raising one hand to bite at his nails before he realized the error of his ways and aborted the motion halfway through. He’d been a wreck lately, more like how he used to be and less like how he was now, and he hated it. He fished his fidget cube out of his pocket to give his hands something to do instead, and clicked it agitatedly enough to draw a few stares from people around him.

“It sounds like a Quirk name, you’re right,” Yagi said, after a moment. “Why did you say it?”

“I don’t know!” Izuku exclaimed, and several people looked his way, some of the ones closest to him shuffling away slightly. “Listen, I don’t know,” he said, quieter. “I felt it in my bones, though, that it was true, that I had a Quirk called that. You know I don’t.”

“Yes, I know, my boy,” Yagi said, after another long pause.

“That’s not all, either,” Izuku said, his voice barely above a hiss. “I’ve been having these dreams where I’m a hero and I have this Quirk and it looks like it might be something called Blackwhip but it’s not me in the dream, Yagi-sensei. I’m someone completely different.”

“Who is it?”

“Some guy,” Izuku said, very eloquently. “Some buff guy. He’s bald. He’s a hero. He’s angry but also confident and funny. I don’t know. Yagi-sensei, I don’t know—”

“Calm down, Young Izuku,” Yagi said. “It could just be a vivid imagination.”

“I swear it’s something else,” Izuku said, immediately. “Yagi-sensei, I think—” He broke off to bite his lip, checking the cabin to see if anyone was obviously listening. “It could be one of the…predecessors.”

There was silence on the other end of the line for a long, long time. “…What?”

“It…might make sense?” Izuku tried. “If it’s one of them. There was just a sort of feeling to Dream Guy. Like he had some sort of important duty. It felt like…”

“It felt like us,” Yagi finished solemnly. “I…have never had dreams like that before, though, my boy.”

Izuku sighed, long and drawn out. “’Course not,” he said, at the end of the sigh. “It couldn’t be easy. My mentor is suspicious, too, since I just said it in the middle of training, and now he keeps giving me these looks and asking questions I don’t know how to answer and I just—”

“Maybe you should tell him,” Yagi said.

Izuku’s jaw snapped shut with a click. “What?”

“Aizawa-kun, I mean,” Yagi said, before breaking off with a cough. Izuku let him finish. “I mean, maybe you should tell Aizawa-kun. About your Quirk, that is.”

Izuku knew he was making an incredulous face, but he continued to make it anyway. “I’ve only been working for him for two weeks. I can’t just go blurting out all my deepest, darkest secrets.”

Yagi chuckled, which turned into another, more violent cough. Izuku twisted his fingers in his pants at the sound, his heart aching. “Well, maybe not right this second,” Yagi agreed. “I meant down the line, though. If you’re going to be working together, that paints a target on his back, too. He might as well know why it’s there. Besides, there’s something to be said for having a hero mentor that doesn’t have One for All to help train you.”

“You’re referencing Gran Torino training you in your master’s stead, right?”

“I am. People that are born with their Quirks have a different mind about them, my boy. They can offer you insights I can’t about how to use your Quirk—it’s something natural for them and something learned for us, and there’ll always be a difference between the two groups because of that. I learned a lot from Gran Torino, that way.” Yagi was quiet for a moment, while Izuku contemplated what he said. “Just consider it, my boy. Aizawa-kun is trustworthy, according to both myself and Naomasa, who’s known him longer. If you want to tell him one day, I would support that decision.”

“I’ll consider it,” Izuku said, and then the bus chimed for his stop. “Gotta go, though.”

“I’ll talk to you later, then, my boy,” Yagi said, and Izuku returned the platitude before he hung up. He hooked his bookbag over one shoulder and grabbed his hat with his hand, checking for any further messages from Eraserhead other than the brisk “just walk in and find me” he got earlier. He made his way off the bus, already walking in the direction of the agency, scrolling up through his conversation and already thinking to himself, again, about how weird it was that he would have to see Nighteye, who he hadn’t seen since the hospital that one time, and—

“Oh,” Izuku said, out loud, as he walked directly into someone’s back, with a decent amount of momentum, too. “I’m so sorry about that—” he started to say, then froze.

“It’s fine,” Todoroki Shouto said, turning to look at him now too. Izuku didn’t know exactly how to catalogue the change his expression underwent, but he knew it when he saw it. He didn’t know how he felt about the fact that Todoroki apparently had different facial expressions for him. Not all goopy inside and like he might have a little bit of a crush, certainly not. “Midoriya?”

“Ahhhh—” Izuku said, rather eloquently, because Todoroki had glasses. He had glasses, and they were simple black frames that somehow brought out the vividly contrasting colors of his eyes even more, and then, Izuku realized, he had glasses. “You took my advice!” Izuku exclaimed suddenly, probably a bit louder than he needed to. Then, because he was a disaster, he also pointed at Todoroki’s glasses.

Vaguely, he registered that this meant he owed Yagi a riot.

Todoroki let out a quiet little huff. “Yeah, I did.”

“That’s amazing,” Izuku breathed, shooting his arm out so his hand was at the edge of Todoroki’s vision. Todoroki slapped his wrist instantly with no problem, so Izuku assumed they were doing their job well enough. The glasses, he meant. “Wow. Your reflexes definitely improved on your left side. If I had to guess that’s probably about a second faster reaction time than it was last time, but last time I was running, not sticking my hand out, so I figure that probably affects things too.” Izuku felt the fingers of his right hand, which was still holding his hat, twitch with the urge to correct this information in his journal entry for Todoroki. “Do they help? Have you tried them in a combat situation yet?”

“Not in combat,” Todoroki said, voice as calm as ever, though he was looking at Izuku in an odd way. “Today’s actually my first day wearing them.”

“I would say we ought to spar, then, but I don’t think the lovely people on this street with us would appreciate that.”

“No, I don’t think they would.”

“If you can’t test movement, then, how are they working for general seeing purposes?” Izuku tapped the corner of his phone to his cheek, giving Todoroki his slyest smile. “How do I look?”

“Like you, but with more freckles than I remember seeing last time.”

“Thank you,” Izuku said cheekily, even though it wasn’t really a compliment. “You look great too, by the way.”

There, riot completed. He was doing great.

Todoroki startled, a bit of his splotchy blush creeping up his neck, but before he could say anything else, one of the other people standing near them loudly cleared their throat.

Izuku looked over at them for the first time, slightly embarrassed to realize he got so absorbed in Todoroki that he didn’t even notice there were three other UA students here. He shifted immediately, tucking his phone in his pocket and giving them a little bow. “Oh, hello,” he said once he straightened. Tsuyu—she ribbitted, he remembered that, and he wanted to ask her about what was most likely a frog mutation Quirk so bad—was there, along with a boy with spiky red hair that was about Izuku’s height and a girl with brown hair and eyes and a blush dusting her cheeks. He remembered both of them from the Sports Festival—Kirishima Eijirou was the redhead. He had a hardening Quirk that gave his body a rocklike texture, and, possibly, enhanced strength. Uraraka Ochako was the girl—she’d been ready to kill Kacchan in the Sports Festival before she overused her Quirk, which, needless to say, left a bit of an impression on Izuku in particular. “I’m Midoriya Izuku.”

“Hey, man,” Kirishima said. “I’m a huge fan of your work.”

Izuku blinked, extremely confused. “What work?”

“Don’t encourage him, Midoriya,” Todoroki grumbled, as Kirishima’s grin widened.

“I’m Uraraka Ochako!” Uraraka interrupted, before Kirishima could say anything. “I’m a fan of your work, too!”

“Seriously, what work?”

“They mean Bakugou-chan’s nose, I think—kero,” Tsuyu said. “Kaminari-chan told all of us you broke it.”

Izuku blinked again, and then realized what this meant. People knew he broke Kacchan’s nose. How did people know he broke Kacchan’s nose? And who was Kaminari, anyway?

“I was talking about his tie stunt with Todo-bro here, actually,” Kirishima said, grinning wickedly as he mimed pulling on someone’s tie. “It was inspiring to witness.”

“What tie stunt?” Uraraka asked, looking dangerously intrigued.

“It doesn’t matter,” Todoroki said, automatically, in that way that people only did when they were guilty of something. Needless to say, if he was trying to convince her to stop asking questions, that wasn’t the way to do it.

“It does matter,” Izuku said instead, feigning a look of great hurt as he gazed up at Todoroki. “It was the birth of what would one day become our glorious friendship.”

“Oh, that’s my bad,” Todoroki said, with one of his Todoroki Eyerolls. “I forgot to account for our…glorious friendship.”

Hm. He seemed a little…extra sad today. A little more reserved than usual, and he was already reserved. That was okay, though. Izuku was nothing if not adaptable.  

“That does remind me,” Izuku said, softening his act a little bit. He had business to get to, after all. “What are all of you doing here?”

“We don’t know, actually,” Uraraka said, with a thoughtful tone. “As far as we’ve gathered, we’re all here for our work studies experiences, but none of us know why, so far.”

It was very subtle, but Todoroki shifted slightly at Izuku’s side. Izuku considered him, then the other three, reading the mood quickly. Those three didn’t know, then, but Todoroki’s mentor had also told him. “Do you all have different hero mentors?”

“Ochako-chan and I both mentor under Ryukyu,” Tsuyu said. “Kirishima-chan and Todoroki-chan have their own, though.”

That was at least four heroes between them, then, and Sir Nighteye…so five…and Ryukyu was a heavy-hitter in the hero world, near the top ten, which was painted in stark contrast with Eraserhead… Just…what sort of job was this?

“I presume you’re here for the same reason?” Todoroki asked, and Izuku nodded. He glanced up at Todoroki, and saw some of his own thoughts reflected back in them.

“Wow, that’s crazy, man,” Kirishima said. “For some reason, it never occurred to me I’d bump into a student from another hero school out doing the same thing as us. Just slipped my mind, I guess.”

“Mm. We should walk, probably, though,” Izuku said, tilting his head towards the others. They all nodded, continuing down the street, and Izuku fell into step behind Kirishima and next to Todoroki. Izuku raised his fist, knocking his knuckles lightly against Todoroki’s arm with intent, and his gaze snapped to him. “Sorry I ran into you,” Izuku murmured.

“It’s fine,” Todoroki said. “Fair is fair.”

“Fate really does have it out for us, huh?”

“I guess it does.”

“Todoroki-kun,” Izuku said, lowering his voice a little more. He… To be honest, he wasn’t sure if they were actually friends, to this level, or if to Todoroki, Izuku was just the random guy that flirted with him a bunch that one time. “Are you alright?”

Todoroki blinked once at him, and to Izuku’s surprise, he got his first lip twitch of the day. “I’m okay. Are you?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.” Todoroki paused for a moment, his eyes sharp on Izuku, before he added, “You’re out-of-sorts, almost. It’s like…the couch.”

“It’s like the couch,” Izuku echoed with amusement.

“You know what I meant.”

“I do.” Izuku scuffed one of his shoes against the pavement as he walked, twirling his Shiketsu hat around his finger. “To be honest, I’m really stressed about something, just like I was when we talked on the couch at the provisional licensing exam. Would you be honest with me, now, in turn?”

Todoroki’s lip twitched again, just slightly. Izuku noticed it out of the corner of his eye, but he couldn’t help but smile. “Alright. To be honest, I’m stressed, too.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard Todoroki’s voice so often in one sitting,” Kirishima interrupted, throwing a bright grin over his shoulder at them.

“It’s true—kero,” Tsuyu said, turning around too. “You seem to have quite the effect on him, Midoriya-chan.”

“Midori-bro seems like the kind of dude to have an effect on a lot of people, though,” Kirishima said. “Just think! We’ve only met him once and Ashido and Kaminari almost exclusively refer to him as—”

Uraraka slapped a hand over Kirishima’s mouth stifling whatever he was about to say and subsequently depriving Izuku of the knowledge of whatever it was Kaminari and Ashido called him. Izuku was admittedly curious, too, which was a bummer. “Don’t say that stuff to a person’s face, Kirishima-kun. Oh my gosh. Were you really just gonna throw Kaminari-kun and Mina-chan under the bus like that? What if they met him one day?”

“I was,” Kirishima said, not sounding upset about it at all.

“Midoriya-chan didn’t even react to it, so I think it would’ve been okay—kero,” Tsuyu said.

“You lot don’t need to encourage Midoriya, either, for the record,” Todoroki said quietly.

Izuku laughed softly at that, but otherwise didn’t respond. Honestly, he was more worried about the fact that he was pretty sure he’d seen the other three—not Todoroki—in news stories lately. Uraraka and Tsuyu he thought had been involved in a villain attack. A pair of villains, possibly from rival gangs, with gigantification Quirks if he remembered right—hadn’t the article said something about Trigger? Trigger, Trigger…wait. “You’re Red Riot, aren’t you?”

The words were directed at Kirishima, who blinked in surprise before grinning easily. “Yeah, man! Let me guess, you saw the news story too?”

“Yeah,” Izuku said distractedly, pinching his lip in thought. “You stopped a villain with a knife Quirk.”

“I did,” Kirishima said. “It was pretty tough there for a second when he took Trigger, but it was alright in the end.”

Trigger again, just like Izuku remembered—

“It’s still so weird to me that we all had a fight with a villain on Trigger for our first internship fight,” Uraraka said. “It’s such an odd coincidence.”

“It’s not a coincidence,” Izuku said automatically. “It could be, if you weren’t all here. As it stands, the cases being unrelated is nearly statistically impossible. Most likely though, that’s only one possible thread connecting all these agencies. Fat Gum is your mentor, correct?” Kirishima nodded. “The BMI Hero: Fat Gum once specialized in taking down drug cartels, specifically, drug traffickers. Considering it’s popularity and it’s link to crime, it’s most likely that he’s taken down his fair share of Trigger dealing rings.” He slid his gaze over to the girls, considering. “Ryukyu is an extremely versatile hero, with a varied portfolio, but she’s known for her air reconnaissance work as well as her pure brawn. Her presence alone is almost enough to convince me that this is going to be some sort of brawl.” With that, they’d arrived at their destination, and Izuku yanked the door open for the rest of them without a second thought, not paying a lot of attention to the way they were looking at him. There was also the fact that Nighteye had been the one to send out the team-up request. Nighteye was adept and skilled at taking out organized crime, both when he worked with All Might and once he went solo, which meant…

“Aizawa-sensei?!” Uraraka exclaimed ahead of him. “What are you doing here?”

“The same as you, I suspect,” Eraserhead drawled, and Izuku turned to look at his mentor. He sighed deeply. “Also, call me Eraserhead here.”

Izuku stepped forward, separating himself from the UA kids. He noticed Uraraka, Tsuyu, and Kirishima all blinking in surprise. Todoroki looked like how he usually did, though. “Eraserhead, sir,” Izuku greeted his mentor softly.

“Problem Child. I see you’ve taken a dislike to your Shiketsu cap.”

“The dignity of Shiketsu is quite recognizable, I’m afraid,” Izuku said, smirking slightly as he ran his hands through his hair before putting his hat on his head. “At least it affords me some discretion—take off my Shiketsu hat and the uniform is unrecognizable to most people whereas the gawking would inevitably continue with the UA one.”

“So that’s why you were at UA that one day,” Todoroki said. “You’re interning with Aizawa-sensei.”

“Mhm,” Izuku agreed, ducking under the brim of his hat to give Todoroki a little bow. “That much is true. Sorry to ruin your other theory, Todoroki-kun. I know you were looking forward to seeing me everyday.” Izuku slid his thumb and forefinger along the brim of his hat, giving Todoroki a sly smile from under it. Todoroki, predictably, started doing his splotchy blushing.

Eraserhead let out the longest, most exhausted sigh Izuku had ever heard come from a man. “You flirt, too. Of course you flirt.”

“Uh,” Uraraka broke in. “I thought you were an underground hero, Aizawa-sensei? I didn’t think you took interns.”

“Call me Eraserhead, Uraraka, and yes, it would not be standard procedure for an underground hero to take on an intern. However, Midoriya is a special circumstance. You four need to check in with your hero mentors. The Big Three are here already, too. You can ask me about my intern later, since I know you want to.”

The four of them departed, though somewhat reluctantly it seemed, and Izuku turned to Eraserhead. “I thought you were supposed to call me Izuku when I’m not in hero costume.”

“I didn’t want to confuse them,” Eraserhead said, voice low.

“I guess that’s fair.” Izuku hummed. “Kirishima-kun, Uraraka-san, and Tsuyu-san have all made the news recently for being involved in altercations with villains hyped up on Trigger.”

“I’m aware,” Eraserhead said. “I suspect that the Shie Hassaikai might be involved in producing it.”

“This is an odd assortment of heroes for a drug bust,” Izuku said. “I’m just saying. That’s Rock Lock and Mr. Brave—two local heroes, versus Ryukyu, who’s on the cusp of the top ten heroes in Japan. There’s us, undergrounders. Nighteye, who strategizes—”

“It’s an odd team comp, definitely,” Eraserhead said, but one of his hands twitched upwards, signing completely different words in JSL. (Eraserhead had been very delighted to learn Izuku already knew it, to which Izuku could only say, “Kacchan turns his hearing aids off sometimes.”) UA student by Fat Gum. Quirk erased by a bullet. Izuku looked at the student in question curiously. He seemed nervous, with dark hair and elegantly pointed ears, trying to fold his body in on itself while Kirishima happily chatted with him.

That’s probably why you’re here, Izuku signed at Eraserhead, while out loud he said, “I guess we’ll have to wait and see what comes.”

“Morning, Eraser,” a familiar voice drawled nearby, and Izuku whipped around. Eraserhead turned much more casually, greeting Tsukauchi with a nod.

“Tsukauchi. Seems I see you everywhere, these days.”

“Seems like,” Tsukauchi agreed. “Looks like you kept that intern of yours. How bloody was the battle?”

“Gruesome,” Eraserhead said, which confused Izuku very much.

“It’s good to see you again, too, Midoriya-kun,” Tsukauchi said, with a little glint of mirth in his eye that let on he knew Izuku a little better than he was pretending to. “How’s your friend? Utsushimi-san?”

“She’s well,” Izuku said, giving Tsukauchi a bright smile. “Really well, actually! Thanks for asking, Detective.”

“Of course,” Tsukauchi said, returning Izuku’s smile. His eyes glimmered in a way that made it seem like he was legitimately invested in the news despite most likely only asking as a cover for knowing Izuku while Eraserhead was around.

Speaking of Eraserhead, he suddenly had a very dark look on his face. “Tsukauchi. If you’re here, does that mean the League is involved?”

The League?

“Actually—” Tsukauchi started, but before he could continue, Nighteye called for everyone to take their seats. Tsukauchi smiled apologetically at them before moving to take his seat by—Gran Torino…? He was here too? Wasn’t he retired?

“Hey, Eraserhead,” Izuku asked softly as they made their way to their own seats. “Is that old man working with Tsukauchi, do you know?”

“Oh,” Eraserhead said. “Yeah, actually.”

“And…isn’t that the same old man that was with All Might at Kamino?”

“Good eye, kid.” Eraserhead sighed. “It’s not surprising—Tsukauchi has worked with a lot of heroes on a lot of cases, but he works with All Might most often.”

I can’t imagine why, Izuku thought, ducking his head to hide his smile behind his hat. Sir Nighteye was standing at the front of the meeting, with Bubble Girl and Centipeder next to him. Immediately to their right, there was another UA student sitting. He was broad shouldered and blond, and given his proximity to Sir Nighteye, Izuku figured that had to be Togata Mirio, or, Lemillion. Izuku froze when he spotted Todoroki sitting right next to Togata, though.

“Is Todoroki-kun working for Nighteye?” Izuku asked, as quietly as possible.

“He is,” Eraserhead murmured back.

Izuku snapped his gaze up to Nighteye, not surprised at all to find Nighteye was already looking at him, an unreadable expression on his face. Nighteye looked away as soon as he caught Izuku’s gaze.

Good, Izuku thought. You deserve to feel nervous.

The thought was so vindictive it almost surprised him.

Almost.

Nighteye was unaffected as he began the meeting. All of this stuff was in the information that had been sent out with the team-up request: the Shie Hassaikai, led by Chisaki Kai, codename Overhaul, Quirk: Overhaul. Known members, known locations, known patrol patterns. There was a mention of an altercation between the Shie Hassaikai and the League of Villains, at which point, Tsukauchi spoke. Apparently the meeting between the two groups ended in a lot of blood, and the possibility for a team-up was unlikely.

Next was Fat Gum and his intern—the one that wasn’t Kirishima—who talked about the Quirk erasing bullets, which spread through the room like a ripple of shock. Eraserhead spoke next, about his own Quirk and how it just masked a gene instead of attacking it, like the bullet seemed to do. That was curious to Izuku—theoretically, if that were the case, Erasure wouldn’t work on One for All, because Izuku didn’t have a Quirk gene that could be masked. Plus, with it being linked to Eraserhead’s sight, it seemed more likely that Erasure was just some specialized form of a hypnotism Quirk to him—

“I don’t understand what all this talk of bullets has to do with the Shie Hassaikai,” Rock Lock said, from his position next to Todoroki.

“We’re getting to that,” Nighteye said, adjusting his glasses sternly. “You see, recently, my student interns ran into Chisaki, and a little girl he claimed was his daughter. His Quirk, Overhaul, allows him to break down and build up molecules as he pleases. It is not unreasonable to believe that his daughter could have a similar ability. By Shouto’s and Mirio’s reports from the incident, said little girl, who we know as Eri, was wrapped in bandages.”

Izuku felt like someone had injected ice directly into his blood stream. There was no way—what kind of monster would experiment on his own daughter, just for what? For money? From a drug sale?

“Why didn’t these two just save her when they ran into her, then?” Rock Lock demanded, gesturing angrily to the two UA students sitting next to him.

“It was Mirio’s decision not to engage Chisaki to save the girl at the time. They didn’t know what was happening, and tipping Chisaki off to our mission beforehand could have had disastrous results. It was a tough call, but it was ultimately the correct one.”

A chair clattered to the ground as Nighteye finished speaking, and all eyes turned on Togata, who had stood, one hand covering his mouth. Izuku felt his gaze drift, though, landing on Todoroki next to him. Todoroki, who looked silent and stoic and uncaring, for anyone that probably didn’t know any better. To Izuku, though—to Izuku, he looked so unbelievably broken.

This was it, then. This was why Todoroki had looked like he was somewhere else earlier. He was somewhere else, back with that girl, and—

And he probably didn’t even know the extent of the danger he’d been put in, either, by Nighteye. Anyone with eyes and knowledge of the truth would have to be stupid to not realize what Nighteye was probably up to when he hired Todoroki. Todoroki, who had already been targeted by the League because he was suspected to have One for All—at least, that’s what Izuku thought Hosu was about. If it wasn’t, then Todoroki was certainly going to be targeted now. Todoroki, who had already suffered on Izuku’s behalf, who was suffering again—

Dimly, Izuku realized the meeting was ending, and people were standing up around him.

“Reconnaissance, huh?” Eraserhead said, rolling his shoulders as he stood. “You’re gonna have to start missing school a lot more, kid. Kid! Hey, Izuku!”

Izuku wasn’t listening, already making his way to Nighteye like a bullet shot out of a gun. The other heroes in the room were parting slightly for him, whether they realized it or not, falling into conversations with one another and whatever interns or sidekicks they brought along with them. It was for that reason that Nighteye was secluded from the others. That was good, at least, since Izuku was about to cause a scene.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed as soon as he was within ear shot.

“I am doing as I’ve always done,” Nighteye said, voice calm. “I am protecting the peace.”

“By throwing somebody else into the line of fire?”

Nighteye’s gaze hardened. “Isn’t it hypocritical of you to accuse me of that? You went to Shiketsu knowing full well what would be thought of the students at UA that All Might had the privilege of teaching.”

Izuku bristled. “That’s different. That’s different—because I was a kid. I was a kid when I made that plan. I didn’t think anything would actually happen. You’re an adult. You’re a hero—”

“Midoriya!” another voice said, urgent and familiar. Izuku became aware of the feeling of hands on his shoulders. “Midoriya,” Tsukauchi said again, lower. “Izuku. What’s wrong? What are you doing?”

“It’s not about what I’m doing,” Izuku said, pointing at Nighteye. He didn’t know when exactly Tsukauchi and Gran had arrived, but they were here now, Tsukauchi’s hand on Izuku’s shoulder keeping him back just the same as Gran’s hand on Nighteye’s pants leg was doing the same. “It’s what he’s doing. Todoroki-kun is a kid, too, Sir Nighteye. He’s already suffered enough for my mistakes. Why—”

“Izuku, shh, shh,” Tsukauchi said. “Calm down.”

“Tsukauchi-san—” Izuku started.

“Eraser is coming, please,” Tsukauchi said. “And Nighteye’s sidekicks are worried too. This isn’t the place.”

Izuku took a deep breath at that. Tsukauchi was right, this wasn’t the place, it wasn’t the time. He needed to get himself under control.

He couldn’t be angry.

He couldn’t allow himself to be angry.

“What’s going on here?” Eraserhead asked, his eyes darting sharply between the four of them. Crap, Izuku really should have thought this out. Eraserhead had already noted the similarity between Izuku’s Quirk and All Might’s, he was going to figure it out now, he was going to—

“It’s my fault, I assure you,” Nighteye said smoothly. “Nothing more than a misunderstanding.”

“So,” Eraserhead said, eyes glinting sharply as they fell on Nighteye. “You knew my intern before this moment.”

“I did,” Nighteye said. “It’s unimportant, however.”

“Is it?”

“It is, Eraserhead. Here.” Nighteye passed Eraserhead a folder, which he snatched a little more aggressively than he necessarily needed to. “Please gather intel on the Shie Hassaikai in these areas and these times, to help pin down Eri’s precise location.”

“Thanks,” Eraserhead said dryly, before handing the folder off to Izuku, who took it with some measure of surprise. “Start memorizing that, kid.”

Nighteye readjusted his glasses. “It would be unwise to bring an intern along for such a delicate process—”

“My intern is probably smarter than everyone in this room combined, and I’m not stupid enough to risk not utilizing that skill because of something as illogical as experience differentials.” Eraserhead’s scowl deepened nominally. “Besides, Horizon is trying to be an underground hero. This is what we do, in the underground.” He turned on his heel, marching off, only pausing to shoot a glare at Izuku over his shoulder, who caught the meaning of it and practically scurried after him.

Once they got a suitable distance away from Nighteye, Tsukauchi, and Gran Torino, Eraserhead stopped them both, placing a hand on each of Izuku’s shoulders, just about forcing Izuku to meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry for running off,” Izuku mumbled. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“You’re right, you shouldn’t have,” Eraserhead agreed. “But you did. Why do you know him?”

“Not here,” Izuku muttered, clenching at his uniform. He glanced around the room almost involuntarily.

Eraserhead held his gaze for a long moment. “I need to know, Izuku. He’s training Todoroki. If he’s in danger, I need to know about it.”

Izuku hung his head, bringing one hand up to his eyes to cover them. Eraserhead allowed it, probably because he’d already figured this was something Izuku did when he was trying not to cry.

Eventually, Eraserhead sighed, letting go of Izuku’s shoulders. “The other students are outside. You can go wait with them, Problem Child, while I wrap things up in here. You and I will be talking later though.”

Izuku nodded, passing Eraserhead the file back, and finally got his tears under control. He looked up just as Eraserhead gave him a gentle shove towards the door, and then walked out of it in defeat.

He pulled the rest of himself together once he was outside of the room, tucking everything that was Midoriya or Izuku behind his Horizon mask. He held it there for a moment, just to make sure he wouldn’t have any more episodes or ill-timed breakdowns, and then looked for the other UA students. They were all gathered at a table, wedged into a corner lit brightly by windows. All of them sat quietly, staring down at the table, the sunlight glinting prettily off their eyes and hair, contrasting greatly with their moods.

Izuku could see the reflections of light off of the thin tracings of frost on Todoroki’s cheek, pretty and almost glowing in the light. Todoroki’s eyes were somber and unguarded in a way that was unusually pure for Todoroki, who hid himself behind towering walls of ice Izuku had to scale again every time they saw each other.

Izuku took a deep breath, and he did what he always did. He started climbing those walls, and he did so with a soft punch to Todoroki’s arm.

Todoroki blinked up at him, eyes distant and sorrowful. Izuku tried for a smile, as reassuring as he could make it, and Todoroki blinked again. One of Todoroki’s hands gradually came up until he was gripping Izuku’s wrist. Izuku startled slightly at the shocking cold of his fingers, but schooled himself quickly. He didn’t know what this meant, not really, but he would let Todoroki decide what happened from here.

“Why do you always do this?” Todoroki asked softly.

Izuku blinked, then smiled, genuinely, at the question. “Because it’s a tradition,” he said.

Todoroki’s face went through several emotions until he finally said, “Okay.” Then, like it wasn’t odd or unusual at all, he slumped over into his chair until his forehead was pressed against Izuku’s side, where it stayed.

“Um…Todoroki-kun?” Izuku asked, which only prompted Todoroki to grumble intelligibly into Izuku’s shirt.

Izuku decided that was probably as good of an explanation as he was going to get, and then decided, for the sake of his nerves, that he wasn’t going to worry about it. If Todoroki was going to…do whatever he was doing, Izuku wouldn’t make it weird. He lifted his hand from Todoroki’s arm for an instant, just so he could lower it again, clasping his shoulder instead.

“You smell like rain,” Todoroki muttered into Izuku’s shirt.

Izuku chuckled in the back of his throat, somewhat nervously. “Do I?”

“It’s nice.”

Izuku blinked feeling extremely embarrassed, but gave Todoroki’s shoulder a squeeze anyway. “It’s probably just because of my Quirk.”

“It’s still nice.”

There was a soft gasp from somewhere behind Todoroki, and Izuku looked up to make eye contact with Uraraka, who had both hands clasped over her mouth and a gleam to her eyes. Tsuyu was looking at them with a similar, bemused expression, as was Kirishima, and the girl with the long, lilac hair. Even Togata had lifted his gaze to peer at them almost curiously, though the final member of their party—with the pointed ears—still hadn’t moved from where he was staring at the table. Izuku shook his head subtly at them, hoping they could understand at the very least.

This isn’t something you should ever bring up again, he tried to tell them with his eyes. Just pretend like this is completely normal.

Everyone needed comfort sometimes, after all, however they needed it.

Togata, at least, seemed to get it, his eyes widening slightly before he looked away, and Izuku cleared his throat, turning to the girl with the lilac hair. He held his hand out to her to shake, since she was sitting across from Todoroki and was therefore in shaking distance. “Midoriya Izuku,” he offered.

She clasped his hand, shaking it up and down enthusiastically. “Hadou Nejire! You’re from Shiketsu, aren’t you? I’ve always wanted to meet someone from there!”

“I am,” Izuku said, trying for a broad Horizon-smile.

“Can I ask you something? Why do you guys wear the hats? Even with your hero costumes?”

“I’m actually not allowed to wear my hat with my hero costume outside of school, Eraserhead’s orders,” Izuku said, trying for a laugh. It came out mostly okay, but still a little bit nervous. “To answer your question, though, the hats symbolize our diligence. As long as you wear the Shiketsu hat with pride you belong to a team, and you serve that team and the greater good.”

“That’s an interesting perspective—kero.”

“Oh, yeah! I think so! It’s always been one of my favorite parts about attending Shiketsu.”

“Can you take the hat off?” Hadou asked.

“Um, yes?” Izuku said, lifting it off his head to demonstrate. “Just not at school or anything. It is a part of the uniform.”

“Ooh, your hair! It is so cute! I just want to reach out and touch it! Can I? Can I?”

“Hadou…” the nervous-looking student with the dark, spiky hair and pointed ears said, maybe like it was a warning, but it lacked any semblance of confidence whatsoever. Izuku smiled in spite of himself—he couldn’t help but feel kinship with the other guy. No doubt, Izuku probably wouldn’t be any better off than him in this instance, what with Todoroki’s face pressed into his side and a very pretty girl asking to touch his hair, if it weren’t for the fact that he was burying all of those emotions so deep he would need a shovel to uncover them again. 

Izuku set his hat on the table and tipped his head toward Hadou, a silent invitation to come over and play with his hair if that was what she really wanted. He didn’t really know how he was going to hold up with two people touching him at once, but—he would see how he did. “It’s cool,” he said. “I don’t mind. Ruffling my hair is a pretty popular request, actually, and it feels nice.”

Hadou gasped in delight and jumped out of her seat, immediately burying a hand in his hair. She didn’t ruffle it, just carded her fingers through it gently and then watched as the curls sprang back to life after she touched it. From her expression, you’d think it was the greatest thing that ever happened to her. It seemed to stall her questions, though, so he did his best to look at the others despite the weird angle. He smiled in Togata’s and the dark-haired boy’s direction. “I didn’t catch your guys’ names.”

“Oh,” Togata said, trying to smile too. It looked like it didn’t quite belong there. Izuku understood—Togata had been the one to decide to let Eri go. It was a smart decision, objectively, Izuku could see that, but it would still be so, so hard to carry that guilt around. “I’m Togata Mirio. This is Amajiki Tamaki.”

“It’s nice to meet you both,” Izuku said. “I would offer you a handshake, but I’m a little…trapped.”

Togata laughed weakly, bringing one hand up to his eyes in the same way Izuku tended to when he was trying not to cry. “Yeah, I see that.”

Izuku smiled softly, but otherwise didn’t say anything. Hadou tugged on one of his curls until it was completely straight, then made a soft cooing sound as it regained its coil.

“Midoriya-chan,” Tsuyu said, after another moment had passed in relative silence. Her eyes were on Hadou’s hands, most likely just because it was interesting to watch. Izuku hummed in encouragement for her to continue. “Do you mind if I ask why you want to be an underground hero? I saw your fight with Gang Orca at the provisional licensing exam, and, frankly, your skills are impeccable. You could easily top the charts one day, if you wanted.”

“It’s not rude,” Izuku said, looking down at Todoroki for a moment. He still had his face buried in Izuku’s side, but Izuku could tell he was listening. “I get asked a lot, actually.” He paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts. He focused on the feeling of Hadou’s fingers in his hair, the gentle tugs, the soft scrape of the pads of her fingers against his scalp. “It’s a dirty job, you know? Underground hero work, I mean. It’s all the hard work of being a limelight hero, and some other less than pleasant jobs on top of that too. It pays worse, it’s risky, and it’s lonely. It’s definitely not for everyone, but…it’s a humble sort of thing to do, don’t you think?” Izuku paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts again, mincing his words. “There are a lot of people in this world that are oppressed by the system in some way. People with weak Quirks, or none. People with so-called ugly mutations. People trapped in abusive situations, being hurt by someone that should be responsible for taking care of them.” He felt Todoroki’s breath stutter at that last one, but Todoroki still didn’t move. Izuku squeezed his shoulder gently, just to remind him that he was there, and then moved on.

“I asked Eraserhead to give me this internship. I looked up to All Might for my entire life, and I wanted to be just like him—so I think I surprised myself a little bit, too, when I decided this was the better option for me. But I’m not interested in fame or fortune. I’m interested in helping people. I’m interested in bringing them hope.” I have little interest in legacies, he had told Nighteye, back in Yagi’s hospital room. He’d meant it then. He still did. “There are some people buried so deep under society that only the people already underground can hear their cries for help. And the best way to keep hope alive is by bringing it to the least hopeful places, don’t you guys think?”

Izuku lifted his gaze and noticed that Hadou’s hands had stilled in his hair, and slipped out entirely when he raised his head. “Todoroki-kun,” Izuku called softly, and Todoroki made a disgruntled hum in acknowledgement. “Togata-san.” Togata blinked in surprise, as Izuku met his gaze. “What happened with Eri-chan is not your fault. Don’t sit here and beat yourselves up because you didn’t save her then. Grieve for your past mistakes, grieve for your losses, and move on. You brought that little girl hope that day, and you damn well better not waste it by wallowing in pity.” He smiled softly, unable to resist himself, then added, “And you’ll do it again, this time for good. Hope is always on the horizon, after all, and so are we.”

There was a moment of silence as all of them stared at him, and then a soft huff. “That’s clever,” Todoroki mumbled into Izuku’s shirt.

“You think so?”

“Which came first, the chicken or the egg?”

Izuku laughed, one of his deep, genuine laughs, because Todoroki was joking. Izuku had never heard him joke before. “The catchphrase came first, actually. The name didn’t come to me until after the provisional licensing exam.”

“I feel like I’m missing something, here,” Kirishima said. He was smiling again too, and it looked real this time.

“His hero name is Horizon,” Todoroki explained, finally lifting his face from Izuku’s torso.

“Oh, hope is always on the horizon,” Uraraka said, voice thoughtful. “That is clever.”

“Thanks,” Izuku said, smiling bashfully. “It’s the first time I’ve used it in a setting like this. Did it work? Do you guys feel inspired?”

The laughter started with Hadou, with a series of soft giggles, then spread to Uraraka, who laughed much the same way. Tsuyu joined in with a soft ribbit next, then Kirishima, with his raucous laughter. A wobbly smile worked its way onto Amajiki’s face, and then, finally Togata beamed. Todoroki was the only one that didn’t smile or laugh, but his lips were doing that twitching thing they did when he wanted to, so Izuku counted it all the same.

“There it is!” Hadou squealed, pointing at Togata. “There’s that Togata Mirio smile!”

Amajiki shifted, placing one hand delicately on Togata’s shoulder. “That’s it, Mirio,” he murmured softly, and Togata started laughing, joy spilling out of him just as tears spilled over his eyes and fell on the table.

“Solid work, Problem Child,” Eraserhead said, and they all turned to look at him, where he slouched against the wall behind them. “You didn’t notice I was here until I spoke, though.”

“I was busy,” Izuku said, more defensively than he probably had to.

“I know, I saw the petting.” Eraserhead’s lips twitched in amusement, and then he pushed himself off of the wall, crossing to stand next to Izuku. Izuku, unoccupied with holding Todoroki up or getting petted by Hadou, shifted into parade rest next to him, silent and stoic as he addressed the UA students. Eraserhead sighed. “Actually, this is really poor timing. I was going to have internships suspended for you four today.”

“You can’t do that,” Todoroki immediately said, his back going ramrod straight and his eyes hardening. “Especially not if Midoriya—”

“Midoriya is on thin ice himself,” Eraserhead said. Izuku flinched inwardly, but took it in stride. One didn’t charge a pro hero in the middle of a meeting and expect to not be on thin ice afterwards, after all. “But that’s about him, not you. You four, I was going to remove because you don’t really have the experience to participate on a raid like this. The point is that I know that if I did that, you might just join anyway. Especially you two.” He pointed at Todoroki and Kirishima, and Izuku couldn’t help but tilt his head as he eyed them curiously.

That confirmed it, then. The ice in Kamino had definitely been from Todoroki.

…Izuku might have to thank him for that, one day, and whoever else was with him. It had probably made the difference between life or death for All Might and Kacchan.

“Promise me something, Todoroki,” Eraserhead said, and Todoroki turned a blank stare on him. Eraserhead sighed yet again, then crouched in front of him. “Don’t go off on your own. Stay with your mentor on this. Midoriya said it better than I ever could—but you did good, Todoroki. You gave that little girl hope, and that’s enough. Don’t get desperate on me.”

There was a tense moment where they both simply stared unblinkingly at one another, and then Todoroki looked away, closing his eyes as a muscle in his jaw worked. “Okay,” he said eventually.

Eraserhead accepted it, standing and looking at the others. “You three don’t have to participate in this,” he said. “It’ll be dangerous, and you don’t have a personal stake in it, but if you want to be involved…”

He trailed of as Uraraka, Tsuyu, and Kirishima all started nodding vigorously in acceptance.

“It wouldn’t be manly to leave a little girl in trouble, Aizawa-sensei,” Kirishima said.

“It’s Eraserhead here, Kirishima.”

Tsuyu and Uraraka shared a glance, and then Uraraka held up a fist in front of her chest. “Count us in too, Aiza—Eraserhead.”

Eraserhead nodded, turning to Izuku last. He gave him a long, weighty look, then nodded once to himself. “I’m driving you back to Shiketsu.”

“I can take the bus,” Izuku protested quietly.

Eraserhead just plopped his hand down on top of Izuku’s head and held it there. Izuku blinked. “No,” Eraserhead said, decisively. He gave Izuku’s hair a ruffle, as was customary at this point with everyone, and then turned promptly on his heel and stalked off. “Meet me in the garage. You’re not coming on the raid if you don’t find me in twenty minutes.”

Izuku sighed, turning to the others. Togata and Hadou were gazing at him in amusement and understanding. All the others were just confused. “It was nice to meet you all,” Izuku said, swiping his cap off the table. “I do have to go, though. He’s like a cat—if you give him enough time to crawl up into the rafters and curl up for a nap, he will.”

Todoroki and Tsuyu blinked in synchronicity while Uraraka gave an awkward laugh. Their group dynamic was sort of charming, if Izuku was honest with himself. There was a clear trust between all four of them, even if Todoroki was a bit of an outsider. It was the kind of trust that only came from almost dying with a person, he thought. Or saving one person from dying, like his case with Camie.

He wondered if he and Kacchan would have it…? They did both almost die to the sludge villain.

Probably not, actually.

“Hey, man,” Kirishima said, and Izuku paused to look at him. “Sorry if it’s awkward, but, uh…can I touch your hair too?”

Izuku was taken aback for a moment, and then he laughed. “Sure, sure. Come one, come all, if you want.”

Kirishima let out a jubilant cry as he flung himself out of his seat, running a hand across Izuku’s offered head like he was a dog. “Woah, this stuff is way different from my hair,” Kirishima said. “It’s got a really rough texture that I was not expecting at all.”

“Curly hair, what can you do?” Izuku said, shrugging.

“Midoriya-kun, could I…?” Uraraka asked hesitantly, once Kirishima retracted his hand. Izuku just shrugged, bending down to accommodate her height. She fingered his hair with only four fingers—now that he was closer, he could see little pads on her fingers that were probably linked to Quirk activation.  

Tsuyu went next, ribbiting in surprise when she felt it. “You have lovely hair, Midoriya-chan.”

“Thanks,” Izuku said, blushing slightly at the praise. “I trim it myself, actually.”

Hadou went next, and then pouted when almost a full minute later Togata practically pushed her out of the way. “You sure this is okay, Midoriya-kun?” he asked. Izuku only shrugged again, and Togata patted his head, before laughing at the way Izuku’s curls sprang back up.

It was nice. Izuku was glad his hair could cheer them up, even as odd as this all was. It was a nice distraction from what was coming, anyway—there was really only one reason Eraserhead would insist on driving him back, and it wasn’t good news for Izuku.

“Is that everyone?” Izuku asked, as he straightened. He looked at Amajiki and Todoroki specifically. Amajiki, for his part, looked like he was about to wither away to dust if anyone brought him anywhere near Izuku’s hair. Todoroki, on the other hand, was looking anywhere but at Izuku, one hand clenching and unclenching under the table.

Todoroki finally looked directly at Izuku, inclining his head slightly. Izuku smiled softly. He understood where Todoroki’s shyness was coming from, after all—he would probably be a little shy, too, if his and Todoroki’s roles earlier had been reversed. As it was, Izuku himself was insanely embarrassed, just hiding it deep, deep down with all his other feelings. Deep down.

Izuku slid his Shiketsu hat back on his head, tipping it to all of them. “I’ll look forward to working with you all,” he said, sliding his fingers across the rim to adjust his hat just right before he straightened.

“It was nice to see you again—kero,” Tsuyu said.

“I’m glad I met you!” Uraraka cheered, pumping one first in the air. “You’re an icon!”

Izuku knew he gave her a strange look at that, but before he could ask anything, Hadou said, “I’m glad I met you too! You’re very cute, you know?”

Izuku’s brain shut down for just a moment at that one, but he was saved by an arm being thrown of his shoulders in a classic bro hug. Izuku reciprocated the bro hug by bringing an arm up behind Kirishima to slap him lightly on the back—Arakawa would be proud, he’d given Izuku lessons in bro language earlier that year—and Kirishima laughed. “You’re super manly, Midoriya! And super built! After this raid, do you think you could share some of your workout tips with me?”

“Uh, sure,” Izuku said. He thought about how he mainly worked out these days—via aerial silks, which worked the whole body, supplemented with grueling strength training on the necessary body parts—and added, “You probably won’t like all of them, though.”

“That’s okay!” Kirishima said, lifting his arm off of Izuku’s shoulders.

Togata put a hand there in its stead, gripping Izuku lightly, and said, “It really was nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Izuku said. Though, I had been hoping to meet you under different circumstances…

“Thank you, by the way.” He squeezed Izuku’s shoulder, then let it go. He smiled brightly. “You’ll be a great hero one day, Horizon!”

“You will be,” Todoroki added—when did he stand up, anyway? Most likely during the bro hug or the cute comment, since that was when Izuku was at his most distracted. Todoroki stepped forward though, raising one fist awkwardly into the air, and then to Izuku’s delight, he softly bumped his knuckles against his arm in a perfect (if stilted) mirror of what Izuku usually did to him. Izuku couldn’t have stopped the huge smile that crawled across his face at that if he tried. Todoroki blinked, a much smaller smile finally gracing his face afterwards, and tilted his head to the side as he dropped his fist. “I’ll see you around, I presume?”

“Of course,” Izuku said, still beaming. “Somewhere completely unexpected.”

Todoroki hummed. “I’ll look forward to it. What is that thing you keep saying again? Fate has it out for us?”

“It does,” Izuku said, raising a finger in the air to dramatically emphasize his point. “We were simply meant to be friends. There’s no sense in denying it.”

“Yeah, alright.”

Kirishima and Uraraka both gasped in unison. Uraraka started flapping her hands in the air while Kirishima pressed his fingertips against his lips. Izuku blinked at all this, completely and utterly bewildered, which only worsened with Uraraka flung herself at Todoroki, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and sniffling. Todoroki staggered slightly with the weight, but otherwise, didn’t change his expression or his posture at all. Kirishima did the same in the next instant, wrapping his arms around Todoroki’s waist and dropping his head onto his shoulder. Izuku looked around the rest of the group for an answer. Amajiki was hiding his face behind his hands like the second-hand embarrassment was too much for him, Togata was beaming at the three of them looking mischievous and absolutely delighted, Hadou was hopping up and down and clapping her hands like it was a show, and—

“They’re happy because Todoroki-chan finally admitted he has a friend—kero,” Tsuyu said, giving Izuku a knowing look.

“It,” Todoroki said blandly, as Kirishima started rubbing his head on his shoulder like an overgrown cat, “is really not that big of a deal.”

“Don’t take this away from me, bro,” Kirishima said. “It’s a big moment for us.”

“Todoroki-kun has a friend!” Uraraka cried, smooshing her face against his. It was actually exceedingly impressive she was holding herself up like that, considering Todoroki wasn’t supporting her there and her feet were dangling several centimeters off the ground.

“I feel like we really ought to be hugging Midoriya-chan, you know—kero.” Tsuyu said, putting a finger thoughtfully on her chin. “It seems to me like he did all the work.”

Izuku couldn’t help but laugh as Uraraka and Kirishima paused in their smooshing and petting of Todoroki to contemplate this. UA kids were delightfully weird, apparently. He never would have guessed it. He would have expected them to behave more like his own classmates—a little odd at times, sure, but for the most part, relatively intense. “Sorry, sorry. I won’t be accepting any hugs today. I’ve got a very important game of hide and seek to get to, you know.”

“Oh, yeah!” Uraraka said, still clinging to Todoroki’s shoulders. “We’re sorry for keeping you, Midoriya-kun! Go get Aizawa-sensei! Show him who’s boss!”

“Yeah, Midori-bro! Show him who’s boss!”

Tsuyu let out an amused ribbit. “Good luck, Midoriya-chan.”

“Good luck, Midoriya-chan! Good luck, Midoriya-chan!” Hadou chanted.

“Good luck,” Amajiki chimed in quietly amidst chants.

“Go get ‘em, tiger,” Togata said, slapping Izuku on the back with way more force than necessary. Izuku was friends with Inasa, though, so it wasn’t anything he wasn’t already used to. He just used the momentum from Togata’s slap to start walking in the direction Eraserhead went, waving over his shoulder as he did. Five of them—excluding Amajiki and Todoroki—waved back with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

Izuku held up his smile as he walked away, but it didn’t take long for the worry and doubt to set in again once he was out of their line of sight. He scrubbed a hand across his face and thought about his options.

On the one hand…he could tell Eraserhead about One for All, like Yagi suggested he should do eventually anyway.

On the other hand…

On the other hand, he didn’t know. Eraserhead was an underground hero. He didn’t need to be put in any more danger than he already was in, by knowing the truth.

Oh, how Izuku longed for the days when his life dilemmas were minimal and their solutions simple.

Chapter Text

Shouta spent the first five minutes of the drive to Shiketsu in mutual awkward silence with his problem child, trying to brainstorm a way to start this conversation. Judging by the way Midoriya was shifting and shuffling—uncharacteristically obvious in his nervousness—he was trying to think of something to say too.

Shouta drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. He could just go the, So, Nighteye? approach, maybe? Let the kid decide how he was going to answer it from there? Or maybe he could just…threaten Midoriya? Tell him he would ground him from hero work if he didn’t spill?

No, no. That was too heavy-handed, probably. Midoriya wasn’t like his other kids, and shouldn’t be treated as such. He’d actually more than likely clam up entirely if Shouta started the conversation like that.

Midoriya stilled in the passenger seat, his gaze trailing to the window, and Shouta braced himself. It seemed Midoriya had figured out how he wanted to start the conversation before Shouta did.

“Do you remember,” Midoriya asked, voice soft, “when you told me I could carve my own path despite having a Quirk similar to All Might’s?”

“…I do. What does that have to do with Nighteye, though?”

“My Quirk isn’t similar to All Might’s,” Midoriya said. He brought his hands up to grip at the seatbelt, white-knuckled and tight. “It is All Might’s.”

Shouta stared, then remembered he was supposed to be driving, and wrangled his car back into the correct lane. There was no way—Yagi was dating Tsukauchi, wasn’t he? But Yagi and Tsukauchi had only been dating for three or so years…and Midoriya was certainly older than three—but they didn’t really look alike, did they? Well, not that that mattered so much—Shouta looked almost entirely like his own mother, and basically only picked up his hair color from his father. But Midoriya knew Tsukauchi, too, didn’t he? Now that he thought about it, really thought about, they seemed a lot more familiar with one another than was necessarily warranted, had they only met once when Tsukauchi collected Midoriya’s statement about the provisional licensing exam situation. But, if All Might was Midoriya’s father, why would he go to Shiketsu instead of UA…right. Carving his own path. And if he was transferring to UA next year, that—well, that was actually probably because of Yagi’s injury.

This revelation…actually solved a lot of the mystery surrounding Midoriya.

“All Might…is your father?” Shouta finally managed to get out, just to clarify.

Midoriya’s eyes widened. “What? No! Why would you—” He cut himself off, his eyes widening even further. He brought his hand up to pinch his lip with his thumb and his forefinger. “No, actually, now that I think about it myself that is a logical conclusion. As far as Eraserhead knows, Quirks are hereditary by blood relation only, so it makes sense that he’d think I was related to Yagi-sensei based off my statement. It would explain a lot of what else he’s probably wondering too, like why I know Nighteye and Tsukauchi and Gran Torino and—”

“Wait,” Shouta said, feeling his blood run cold. “What was that you said? About Quirks only being hereditary by blood relation?”

“Oh,” Midoriya said softly. “I—well, let me try again. How did Yagi-sensei do it? I barely even remember, so much has happened since then…and that was such a day too…ugh. Hang on.” Midoriya trailed off for a second, leaving the cabin of the car in silence as he seemed to think, and then, hesitantly, he said, “Do you remember that villain in Kamino?”

“Kid. How could I forget about the villain in Kamino?”

“Right…” Midoriya rubbed the back of his head. “Well—uh, for starters, All Might isn’t my dad. But the villain guy—his name is All for One.”

Shouta froze. “Why do you know that?”

“Just—” Midoriya made a pained face. “Just, let me explain, please? And then you can be mad at me afterwards, if…if you want.” Well, that was hardly a good sign, but Shouta nodded anyway. This was Midoriya. Midoriya was a good kid. He wouldn’t consort with the worst supervillain the world has seen…right?

Midoriya took a deep breath, and started again. “His name is All for One. His Quirk is also named All for One, and it gives him the ability to take Quirks from others. He can keep them for himself, or pass them along if he wants to. According to Yagi-sensei, he has at least one Quirk that keeps him from aging.” Shouta nodded, silently noting that Midoriya was calling All Might Yagi-sensei, now, implying a mentor-student relationship. What if…no, that was ridiculous. Or was it? Midoriya was telling him about the supervillain in Kamino for a reason, and he’d started this conversation by saying it was All Might’s Quirk…

“All for One was born around the dawn of Quirks, and used his abilities to amass a following and rule Japan from the underground, okay? And he had this brother, who was presumed Quirkless, who fought against him. And, uh, I guess All for One didn’t like that—I mean, he is an evil overlord? If I was an evil overlord, I probably wouldn’t like people standing against me either, but anyway, he didn’t like that, so he gave a Quirk to his brother.”

Shouta blinked. “Why would you give a Quirk to someone if you didn’t like that they were standing against you?”

“Uh…” Midoriya started, fidgeting with his fingers. “I, uh, have an answer for that, but I don’t want you to think that I would, uh…that I would be…”

He trailed off, and Shouta cocked an eyebrow. “What is it, Problem Child?”

“Well,” he said, pulling his legs up onto the seat with him and cradling them. He looked so unsure. So small. Nothing at all like what Shouta usually saw from him.

This was it, Shouta realized, with a jolt. This is just him, with no vestige of his hero persona lingering. This tired, small, anxious kid—that was what Midoriya developed Horizon to hide. That, and wherever he was going with this story, probably.

“When you’re Quirkless,” Midoriya said, studying his feet with an odd expression on his face, “there tends to be nothing you want more than a Quirk. All for One probably thought that if he gave his brother a Quirk, he would be forever indebted to him out of his gratitude.” Midoriya hugged his legs even tighter. “I’m Quirkless myself, after all. I would know.”

I’m Quirkless, Midoriya said. In the present tense. That had to have significance.

“All for One’s brother had a Quirk, though, it was just useless by itself because it only allowed him to pass Quirks on to others. It fused with the Quirk All for One gave him, though, forming a new Quirk called One for All. The brother used it to fight All for One, and when he couldn’t carry on anymore, he passed it to someone else, then someone else after that. All Might was the eighth wielder of that power, and…I’m the ninth.”

“…You?” Shouta said, staring at Midoriya again. “That shouldn’t be possible…”

“But it is, isn’t it? You work with Yagi-sensei. You’ve seen his Quirk, up close and personal. You’ve worked with me. It’s the exact same, Eraserhead. The exact same. You know it.”

Shouta did know it. He’d felt the pressure drop in a room when Yagi entered it in his muscle form. He’d seen the wind blowback that, when pointed out, worked almost exactly like Midoriya’s Air Force attack, just at a much shorter distance. He’d seen the toxic green of Midoriya’s eyes glaring in the dark. He’d never thought to compare it to the burning blue glow of All Might’s eyes before now, but it was the same. It was the exact same.

“…How?” Shouta ventured.

“How does One for All work, or…how did I end up with it?”

“Both,” Shouta said, nodding decisively. “Both are good.”

“One for All works like a power stockpile. It enhances the natural strength of the user, and, if they have a Quirk of their own when they inherit it, it enhances that too. You have to have a certain amount of muscle to use it or you’ll definitely injure yourself. I still can’t handle it at full power like Yagi-sensei did—any more than about twenty-five percent, and I’ll break my bones.”

“You’ll break your bones?” Shouta repeated, horrified.

“Yep. And burst all of the blood vessels in the limb, too,” Midoriya said, casually. “It, uh, hurts like a bitch, for lack of a better term to really describe it.”

“It happened to you?”

“First time I ever used it,” Midoriya said. “I used it at one-hundred percent and ended up breaking my right arm. Yagi-sensei took me to the hospital, and I had to tell them I was a late bloomer to explain what happened. They sent me to a Quirk counsellor after they got my arm started on healing. The Quirk counsellor told me I couldn’t handle all of it at once and needed to dial it back, so once I was healed Yagi-sensei and I tried five-percent. I came up with the idea to use it in my whole body instead of one limb, though.”

“What.”

Midoriya let out a breathy laugh. “I know, it’s crazy. I’ve studied One for All extensively and I still haven’t worked out all of its mechanics.”

Shouta tilted his head, switched lanes to pass someone, and thought about things. He thought about a lot of things. “How did you end up with this Quirk? How do you even know Yagi?”

“Ah, right.” Midoriya sighed. “Well…I’m Quirkless, under One for All, you know? I, uh, I actually don’t know how much you’d know about growing up Quirkless, but…it’s hard. I wanted to be a hero, though, and…nobody else wanted that for me.”

“Were you bullied?” Shouta asked, hesitantly.

“Of course I was bullied,” Midoriya said, voice quiet. “Everyday. Not by everyone, no, but often enough.” He was quiet for a moment, then added, “I knew I was at a disadvantage, wanting to be a hero without a Quirk, so I got really into Quirk analysis to make up for it. I kept notebooks with analyses on every hero I could find information for. I would label them Hero Analysis for the Future and carry them around with me. I was usually so careful about them, but one of my bullies saw it in my stuff one day and got mad because…well, I don’t exactly know why they got so mad. But they destroyed the notebook and then threw it out the window. I went home a different route that day because I had to retrieve the notebook, and when I was walking under a bridge underpass, a villain attacked me. He was, uh, made of slime. You might remember him for making the news for attacking another kid.”

“Bakugou,” Shouta agreed, and then a thought occurred to him. “You and Bakugou went to the same school.”

Midoriya was quiet for a moment, then said, “Not everyone bullied me, remember?”

He was lying. He was a fantastic liar, Shouta would give him that, but he was lying.

Interesting.

“Anyway, the slime villain attacked me first. All Might had been chasing him that day, and saved me from him. I always admired and looked up to him, so I—” Midoriya grimaced. “Well, I was pushy. When he started to jump I grabbed onto his leg. I caused him to drop the slime villain, doing that.” There was immense guilt in those words, Shouta could hear them bleeding through every instance. “All Might landed on a rooftop, and I asked him if I could be a hero even without a Quirk. He was out of time for the day, though, so he deflated.”

Shouta snorted at the word deflated before he could stop himself. “I bet that was a shock.”

Midoriya laughed softly. “It was.” Midoriya sobered quickly, though. “He showed me the wound that caused it, actually, and told me that I should look into other careers.”

“He what?”

“Don’t be angry at him, please,” Midoriya said, hugging his knees tighter. “I get where he’s coming from, really. You probably would have said the same, actually.”

“What?”

“Imagine it, Eraserhead. You’ve got the most powerful Quirk in the world, and you still get injured so badly that it leaves lasting medical problems and nearly costs you your life. Imagine a kid asks you if they can be a hero, too, and they don’t even have a Quirk they can fall back on, if they get into a fight with a villain much more powerful than them. Could you, in good conscience, look that kid in the eye and tell them they can do anything? Could you do that, while feeling like you would just be encouraging a kid to march off to their grave?”

Shouta grit his teeth, because he would. He knew he would. It was why he was a teacher now, because he wanted kids to be prepared. He didn’t want any more bright lights shut off too soon, like what happened with Oboro. He’d expelled students from the hero course before, legitimately expelled them, for not being cut-out for hero work, for one reason or another. Would Shouta crush a kid’s dream because it was the better alternative to sending that kid to their death?

Midoriya was right. He would.

“It’s still wrong that his only reason for telling you that you couldn’t be a hero was because of your lack of a Quirk, though,” Shouta argued. “It’s Quirkist. There are more important things to being a hero than having a flashy Quirk.”

Midoriya snorted. “It’s not like I gave him a practical demonstration of my skills before that, Eraserhead. All he’d seen me do was pass out and then greatly inconvenience him. I wouldn’t exactly think I was hero material either, even if I was asking him if I could still be a hero with a Quirk that made me Saitama from One-Punch Man.”

Shouta huffed out a laugh at that. The only other person he knew that even knew what One-Punch Man was had been Oboro, way back when. “Alright, alright. But you basically do have a Quirk that makes you Saitama from One-Punch Man, if you have All Might’s Quirk.”

Midoriya barked out a laugh. “I guess I do. Or, I will. I try not to use it like All Might did, though.”

Shouta contemplated that for a moment, then tilted his head. “What changed his mind, by the way?”

“I tried to save Ka—uh, Katsuki-kun. From the slime villain, after it escaped and attacked him. There were a bunch of heroes standing around because they didn’t have the right Quirks, but Katsuki-kun looked like he needed help, so…that’s what I did. Then All Might saved both of us, despite being out of time for the day. He found me afterwards, apologized for telling me I couldn’t be a hero, and then offered me One for All. Apparently I impressed him, somehow.”

“He must have seen what you would become,” Shouta said.

“What?”

Shouta sighed. “You’ve got a presence, Problem Child. I’ve told you that before. You seem larger than life when you’re working. I don’t think anyone could see you like that and think you’ll become anything other than a great hero.”

After a long moment of silence, Shouta chanced a glance at Midoriya. He was staring at him with shining, wide eyes, like he was holding back tears. Shouta huffed. “What, Problem Child? I can be nice sometimes.”

Midoriya let out a quiet hiccup, then started legitimately crying, not even bothering to wipe his eyes as tears spilled out of them and fell on his knees. “You’re too nice,” he said. “Even after I—I caused so many problems for your class, too, you know, and—”

“What?” Shouta said. “You caused problems for my class? What do you mean?” Midoriya hiccupped again, and Shouta tried to lighten his voice. “I’m not mad, Problem Child. Just confused.”

Midoriya nodded, but didn’t talk again for a while. Shouta let him have a moment to get himself together. It took a surprisingly short amount of time, considering the rivers that had been flowing out of his eyes seconds before.

Midoriya took a shuddering breath in, and then started again.

“Yagi-sensei thought he’d killed All for One, by the way. In the battle, where he got injured. He told me about All for One before he gave me his Quirk, though, just so I knew what I was getting into. All for One is crafty, and has so many Quirks, so…him evading death would be possible. Even if he was legitimately dead, he had a large following. I was bound to inherit some enemies along with the Quirk, you know?” Shouta nodded. He was glad that Yagi had at least discussed these things with Midoriya, before passing along his Quirk (and wasn’t that still mind-boggling, to think about—a Quirk that could be passed to others). “He told me I didn’t have to accept his Quirk, but…I wanted it. And I…I figured it would be best it went to me, anyway, after he told me all that.”

Shouta blinked, because that was true too. “If some of those aforementioned enemies found out you knew, they would have gone after you, wouldn’t they?”

“That was one thought I had,” Midoriya said, nodding. “I had a lot of thoughts, though. I’m naturally inclined to anxiety. I thought of lots of things that could happen, when I was up at night.” Midoriya paused for a moment, and then continued. “One of those things I thought about was that I should hide.”

“What do you mean?” Shouta asked.

Midoriya smiled ruefully. “I’ve always been so great at hide-and-seek, you know?” He shook his head, and shook the bitter edge to his voice out with it. “I devised this master plan—if All for One was still alive, or his old followers were still doing his bidding, they would be looking for the person Yagi-sensei passed his Quirk onto. I decided to cover my tracks wherever humanly possible so they’d never find me.”

“Is that why…”

“It’s why I did a lot of things,” Midoriya said. He examined one of his hands, then folded it into a fist. “I went to Shiketsu instead of UA—I always wanted to go to UA when I was a kid, you know? It was affiliated with All Might, so of course I would want to go there, but that was the problem. It was affiliated with All Might. I made up a Quirk name and description that were meant to be intentionally misleading. I asked Yagi-sensei to pull any media that placed me at the slime villain attack. The second one, on Katsuki-kun, since the villain’s first attack on me went unreported on by the media. I fudged the records for where I attended school previously.” He paused again, then softly said, “I even developed a fighting style, a hero persona, and a costume so separate from anything related to All Might that even when people noticed our Quirks were similar, they would dismiss that thought as soon as they had it.”

Shouta felt his paradigm shift yet again, because he himself had done exactly that.

…Midoriya, he decided, was actually quite terrifying. It reminded him of Endeavor, in a way—competent, powerful, and extremely smart. It was the reason it was so difficult to pin child abuse charges on Endeavor, even extremely minor ones, without his son talking.

“Yagi-sensei already had a teaching job at UA,” Midoriya continued quietly. “He was going to look for a successor there before he bumped into me. He couldn’t exactly quit, but do you know what I said? I told him it was actually perfect, because if All for One was trying to find his successor, he would be so busy looking at UA students that he’d never find me.”

And, suddenly, Shouta understood. It was a terrifying plan, perfect from concept to execution, in every detail. The League of Villains. Their connection to this All for One. The reason they attacked the USJ, the summer camp, the reason they’d taken Bakugou—which no one had quite pieced together, up to this point. Bakugou had a vicious streak, but so did half the students that made it into the final round of the Sports Festival. Uraraka stood out in particular, along with Todoroki, and neither of them had even been targets.

It even came back around to Hosu. The Hero Killer, who was supposedly working with the League, who had attacked Iida, and Todoroki, and…

“You just figured it out, didn’t you?” Midoriya said, suddenly sounding a lot older than sixteen, more exhausted than sixteen. “It really was a great plan. I should be proud of it. I made it, after all, and every chip fell perfectly, just like how I said it would. I’m safe, and meanwhile, your students have been eating bullets for me, because All for One believed one of them might have One for All, instead. At least, as far as I can tell, with what I’ve got to work with. I think Todoroki-kun and Katsuki-kun in particular were definitely suspected candidates at one point. They are exceptionally powerful, and have exceedingly strong Quirks. In Todoroki-kun’s case, in particular, it almost seems too strong, doesn’t it?”

“Nighteye knows, doesn’t he?” Shouta said. “He worked with All Might for years, he knows about your Quirk.”

“I think,” Midoriya said quietly, picking at the hem of his pants, “that he’s trying to make a red herring of sorts out of Todoroki-kun. By accepting him as an intern, it draws a link between All Might and Todoroki-kun, so even if he’s already been ruled out, or something, it might cause All for One to reconsider.”

And suddenly, Shouta was filled with deep, uncontrollable rage. He briefly considered turning the car around and going back to Nighteye’s agency to give him the smackdown of a lifetime. Too much? Probably. Would he lose his hero license? Definitely. Would it be worth it? Yes.

“That bastard,” he said instead, though, because he had to get Midoriya back to Shiketsu first.

“I know,” Midoriya said, giggling slightly. “That’s why I got mad, too.” He paused for a second, then added, “Of course, I could be wrong. I didn’t exactly stop and ask him why he hired Todoroki-kun before I sunk my teeth in.”

Shouta supposed that was fair. He would just ask before he sunk his own teeth in, then. Maybe. Or maybe he would just go teeth-first too?

Wait a second.

Midoriya’s plan had worked, and was still working, even if Nighteye was complicating things, so why would he leave Shiketsu? Why would he…?

“Why are you transferring?” Shouta asked, and then another thought occurred to him. “Why did you ask me for an internship? You’re putting yourself in danger by associating with UA, if that’s really true. These villains will be suspicious of someone that just joins UA, seemingly at random.” Midoriya was silent, and a feeling of dread settled into Shouta’s stomach. “Don’t tell me that’s why you’re doing it.”

“There was a flaw in my initial plan,” Midoriya said, drawing his knees in closer to himself. “It is never acceptable to let others suffer so you can be safe, not if you want to call yourself a hero.”

“Your safety matters too, damn it!” Shouta said. It came out angrier than he wanted it to.

“Don’t you think I know that?” Midoriya said, and there was an edge to his voice Shouta had never heard before. “I barely sleep, Eraserhead. I barely sleep, because if I close my eyes, I dream of blood on my hands. I spend all my waking hours keeping company with my guilt, because I sent people to fight for me. People have died for me—Native, Izumi Kouta, people who I’ve never met, people who got caught in the crossfire of my inherited war. Don’t you think I want to live too? That I spend all my time wishing things had just gone right?”

“This is too much for you,” Shouta decided. “This legacy on your shoulders, this internship. You need—”

“It is not too much for me!” Midoriya all but yelled, and Shouta stiffened. “It’s not too much. I chose this. I chose it. I might sit awake at night worrying about things that could have been, but I’ve never regretted my decision to take this Quirk.”

“Why?” Shouta said, practically yelling. “Why? You’ve had the whole world dumped on your shoulders, why don’t you care?”

“Because if it wasn’t dumped on mine, then whose? Who would be carrying this weight around now? I am not the perfect person to have this Quirk—I know that—but I am the person. I have it, and everything that came with it, and I will never just dump that on someone else to escape my problems. Never.”

They both lapsed into silence at that, and Shouta made a left turn. They were getting close to Shiketsu now, and Shouta was frustrated, angry, and sad, so sad. There was so much he had to do—talk to Yagi, talk to Bakugou, talk to Nighteye, deal with organizing this raid, but—

But right now, his problem child was crying in his UA issued car, and he needed to do something about that first.

“Problem Child,” he said, and Midoriya looked at him with tear-filled eyes. “Listen to what I’m about to say. Listen carefully. Everything that’s happened to you, everything that’s happened to my students, Native and Izumi Kouta—none of that is your fault. You were dealt a bad hand, yes. But you’ve made the most of it, and that’s all that matters to me.” He glanced at Midoriya, who was gazing at him with silent tears streaming down his face, then back at the road. “I am not mad at you, Problem Child. I’m not even mad you almost jumped Nighteye. At least not anymore.”

Midoriya laughed weakly. “I’m sorry I almost jumped Nighteye.”

“I’m not,” Shouta said, taking one hand off the wheel to grip Midoriya’s shoulder instead. “We never would have had this conversation, if you hadn’t.”

“Yeah,” Midoriya said after a moment. “Yeah, knowing me, we probably wouldn’t have.”

Shouta flicked Midoriya in the ear, and he let out a startled yelp. “Learn to let people in, Problem Child. It’s easier to get by, that way.” He paused for a moment, deliberating, and then shook the thought from his head. It wasn’t time for that kind of discussion, definitely not. “It’s easier to carry heavy weights when you split the burden, right?”

“It is,” Midoriya agreed.

“Who else knows?” Shouta asked hesitantly. “About your Quirk.”

“Yagi-sensei, obviously. Tsukauchi-san, Gran Torino—he’s that old man that was with Tsukauchi-san, by the way—Nighteye, Nedzu, and now you.”

Shouta nodded along with that list, and then realized something. “None of those are people you would tell.”

“No,” Midoriya said, sounding miserable. “This was my first time spilling the proverbial beans.”

They arrived at Shiketsu, and Shouta’s heart broke for Midoriya yet again. He wondered how he stumbled across this poor kid, with his sad eyes and heavy shoulders. Well, he supposed, Midoriya had actually stumbled into him, but the point still stood.

It had to be fate.

“Take care of yourself, Problem Child,” Shouta said, as Midoriya clutched his backpack and prepared to get out of the car. “You need to be in tip-top shape when you report for duty next, okay?”

“Okay,” Midoriya said, and then he sighed enormously. “Take care of yourself, too, Eraserhead.”

“I always take care of myself.”

“I’ve literally never seen you eat anything other than a jelly pouch.”

Shouta raised an eyebrow. “That’s taking care of myself in my book.”

Midoriya just shook his head. “Only in your book. You know that, right?”

“People have mentioned it before.” A moment passed, and then Shouta shoved Midoriya slightly. “Scram, Problem Child. We’ll talk more about your Quirk later.”

“Alright,” Midoriya said, scrambling out of the car. He paused, awkwardly, outside of it, then said, “Bye, Eraserhead.” He softly closed the car door, then made his way inside the school.

Shouta sighed once Midoriya was gone, and scrubbed a hand across his face. Problem Child, indeed…

Don’t die, Midoriya Izuku, he thought, as he watched the kid’s back retreating. Don’t you dare die because of this stuff.

He didn’t think the world could stand to lose another light.

Chapter Text

“Ah, Aizawa-kun,” Yagi said, as soon as Shouta walked into his hospital room. Shouta noted that Tsukauchi was there too, dressed down for probably the first time since Shouta had met him in a pair of jeans and a plain gray hoodie. Tsukauchi smiled at him as he walked in, expression tinged slightly with guilt.

Midoriya had told them, then.

The nurses helping Yagi into his new wheelchair while keeping him hooked up to all of the important machines and things both greeted Shouta as well. He wasn’t usually one for small talk and pleasantries, but this definitely wasn’t a conversation that could happen with nurses in the room, so he cleared his throat. “How are you?” he asked Yagi, hoping it didn’t come out too forced-sounding.

Yagi gave him a sheepish smile. “I’ve been better.”

Shouta could see that.

Well. This was why he only visited Yamada and Kayama in hospitals, and no one else. It was always so…awkward.

Shouta cast about for something he could comment on, though, his gaze catching on two little plushie figures of Bakugou and Todoroki. He recognized them from the merch licensing agreement that first and second place at the Sports Festival filled out every year, and it seemed both an odd gift and an oddly thoughtful one. Shouta gestured to them and looked back at Yagi. “Those are different.”

Yagi looked over at them himself, smiling softly when his gaze landed on them. “Those are my favorite,” he said. “The flowers are nice and brighten up the room a lot, of course, but those…”

Shouta nodded. He was a teacher, too. He understood how important students were, even to new teachers like Yagi.

“They’re from Midoriya-kun,” Tsukauchi said softly, and, ah. That made sense. Midoriya would do something like that. “He gives hero merch to people when they’re in the hospital, apparently.”

“Does he?” Shouta asked.

Tsukauchi nodded, smiling fondly. “He most definitely left a little Hawks plushie in Utsushimi-san’s room. Other than her immediate family and the police, he was the only one that knew what hospital she was in.”

“That’s the Shiketsu student that Toga impersonated at the licensing exam, isn’t it?” Shouta asked.

“Yeah, that’s her.” Tsukauchi smiled. “She’s good friends with Midoriya-kun.”

Shouta resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow. So, Midoriya and Tsukauchi were close enough that Midoriya told him about his friends. Interesting.

“Do you think young Izuku will allow me to meet young Utsushimi any time soon, or do I have to wait for them to potentially start dating?” Yagi mused.

Tsukauchi snorted. “Well, I have already met her. Besides, if he’s going to date anyone, I’m going to put my money on whoever his best friend is.”

“Can I put my money on two people?” Yagi asked. “I honestly can’t decide which would be the most likely.”

“As long as I can put my money on two people, too,” Tsukauchi countered. “He has two best friends, I think.”

“Ah, yes,” Yagi agreed, almost amused. “Young Yoarashi as well as young Utsushimi, yes?”

“Bingo,” Tsukauchi agreed. “Is that where your money’s going?”

“No, I’m rooting for young Todoroki,” Yagi said, and Shouta blinked at that revelation. “You haven’t seen how much he plays with Plushie Shouto when he talks, Naomasa. Or how often he talks about young Todoroki, in general.”

“What’s that thing you said Midoriya-kun always says about Todoroki?” Tsukauchi said. “The one about fate.”

“Fate has it out for me and Todoroki-kun,” Yagi supplied, with a passible impression of Midoriya’s voice, when Tsukauchi trailed off.

“Doesn’t he frequently talk about wanting to fight him, too, though?” Tsukauchi asked.

Yagi nodded sagely. “Young Izuku likes a challenge, I think.” One of the nurses pulled Yagi into conversation then, going over the specifics of his new wheelchair, and Shouta shuffled closer to Tsukauchi as he waited.

“I didn’t realize that Midoriya and Todoroki are close friends,” he said, careful to keep his voice low as he talked so as not to disrupt the nurses.

Tsukauchi snorted. “Well, we think they are, in any case. Toshi has a point, honestly. They both have a tendency to talk about the other like he hung every star in the sky.”

“How so?”

“Well, I interviewed them both, right?” Tsukauchi said. “As soon as either of them got to the part where they had to describe their fights with the other, well.” He cleared his throat. “I’m pretty sure Midoriya-kun called Todoroki graceful on at least three occasions, and Todoroki called Midoriya-kun adaptable and extremely skilled repeatedly. He also referenced his intelligence at least five times, too.”

Shouta snorted. “Honestly, I’ve heard something similar from Todoroki myself.”

Tsukauchi grinned. “The only thing is that it’s hard to say whether their curiosity about the other is because they like each other, or because they see the other as a particularly interesting puzzle to pick apart. Midoriya-kun, at least, has a tendency to view people like mysteries worthy of being unraveled.”

Shouta frowned slightly. “No, Todoroki is the same. On second thought, letting those two loose on each other might be a terrible idea.”

“Or…” Tsukauchi said, shrugging slightly, “Midoriya-kun can help you crack whatever your problem with Endeavour is.” Shouta raised his eyebrow at Tsukauchi, and Tsukauchi raised it back. “What, you don’t think I would notice you requesting files on the entirety of the Todoroki family?”

Shouta shrugged, because fair was fair, and he supposed Tsukauchi wasn’t a detective for nothing. They both fell silent, watching as the nurses finished up and left Yagi with his new wheelchair. He gave the wheels an experimental thrust, and wheeled toward them, his IV trailing after him.

“Well?” Tsukauchi asked softly, his face etched with worry.

“I’ll get used to it,” Yagi said. He smiled, but there was a sad set to his face. “Turns will be difficult to adjust to, though, I think.”

“When are they going to release you from the hospital?” Shouta asked, folding his arms across his chest.

“Soon,” Yagi said. “It’ll be good to get back to teaching, I think. I’ve been taking some additional online courses on it, in all my free time.”

Shouta snorted and leaned against the wall, eying Yagi. “Your students will be excited to hear that, at least. They ask about you.”

“Do they?”

“They do,” Shouta confirmed. He looked down at his boots, studying them with the utmost interest. “There’s a different student we need to talk about today, though.”

“It’s almost funny,” Yagi said, with a knowing look. “I advised him to tell you the truth of our Quirk on the phone earlier that day. Needless to say, he was avidly against it. Imagine my surprise when he texted me later to say he’d told you anyway.”

“Imagine my surprise, to hear the number one hero had a transferrable Quirk and he decided to give it to, what, a fourteen-year-old?”

“Eraser,” Tsukauchi said warningly.

Yagi, on the other hand, just raised one large hand and waved it through the air. “Naomasa, it’s fine.” He looked at Shouta, then, pinning him with his steel blue gaze. “My choice had nothing to do with young Izuku’s age, just his spirit, and his heart. Had he been twenty-four instead of fourteen, I would have offered it to him all the same. That would have made things a little more difficult on us both, all things considered, but he would have made it work, somehow. I’m sure you’ve noticed he carries a particular brand of brilliance with him everywhere he goes.”

“Yes,” Shouta said quietly. “I have.” He paused for a moment, trying to think of how to word this. He failed, hit fuck it, and took the plunge. “He’s trying to make a martyr out of himself, you know. It’s dangerous.”

Yagi sighed. “That is…not necessarily the case.”

“No?” Shouta asked, raising his eyebrows. “What’s he transferring to UA for, then? He’s safe where he is now.”

“He’s not transferring because he wants to sacrifice himself,” Yagi said. “He’s transferring because he wants to protect the others.”

“It’s not his job to protect my students,” Shouta countered. “That’s my job, mine and the other heroes.”

“It is,” Yagi agreed. “But it’s also your students’ jobs to protect themselves, isn’t it?” Shouta didn’t answer, and Yagi just wheeled himself again. “Think about it, Aizawa-kun. You don’t know young Izuku as well as I do. Being distant from the fight didn’t do great things to his mental health.” Yagi paused, gazing at his lap consideringly. “I feel young Izuku hasn’t been afforded much choice in his life. Even the choices he has made have been made for reasons outside of his control, but…it is not our place to tell him he should or shouldn’t do something that will, in at least one way, help him.”

Shouta had to concede that point, he supposed.

Besides, it really would be fun, in a manner of speaking, to have Midoriya in his class next year. The kids wouldn’t know what to do with him at all. Just look at how flustered Todoroki already was.

“We still need to talk about this Blackwhip thing,” Shouta said.

“Ah, that,” Yagi said. “I’m ashamed to admit I have no clue what that is.”

“What Blackwhip thing?” Tsukauchi asked.

“Something Midoriya said to me, when I offered him my capture weapon,” Shouta said. “He said, I don’t need it, I have Blackwhip.”

“He mentioned to me that he has a theory it’s one of the predecessors’ Quirks,” Yagi added.

Tsukauchi frowned. “You never knew anything about your predecessors’ Quirks.”

“No, other than Nana’s, of course.” He eyed Shouta, then added, “My master. Her Quirk was Float.”

“Float,” Shouta echoed. “As in, she could float objects like Uraraka, or—”

“Herself,” Yagi said.

“I swear…” Shouta paused. “I swear I’ve seen Midoriya do that before. I thought it was just a trick of the light.”

Yagi blinked in surprise. “What do you mean? When?”

“When we do parkour, he has an extra long hangtime on jumps, and frequently,” Shouta said.

They were all silent for a moment, and then Tsukauchi spoke up. “Um. A thought just occurred to me, but in his police statement, he mentioned he was suspicious of Utsushimi-san because he had a headache…?”

Shouta and Yagi looked at him in unison, and then at each other. “What are you talking about?” Shouta finally said.

Tsukauchi huffed. “I know it sounds weird. It’s something he told me, that Utsushimi-san got on the bus after using the restroom—back during the exam—and that he had a really bad migraine, so he wasn’t sure if she really was acting strange or if he just thought that because he got a headache all of a sudden.” Tsukauchi paused. “I know it doesn’t seem like much, but looking back on it now, it sounds like it might have been a Quirk effect.”

Shouta blinked, considering. Mental Quirks almost always included headaches as a drawback, and if Midoriya was using some sort of presence detecting Quirk—

“Come to think of it,” Yagi said, “though I initially attributed it to young Izuku’s generalized impressiveness, it is a bit odd, don’t you think? According to him, he’d only known young Utsushimi for one week at the time, and her classmates that had known her for years didn’t notice anything was wrong.”

“According to them,” Tsukauchi said, “she actually wasn’t acting any differently than usual. They all consistently said that Utsushimi-san, though normally very energetic, tends to get a little subdued and intense when a job is coming up.”

“Is it even possible that Midoriya could be using Quirks without even realizing it?” Shouta asked.

“It is Midoriya Izuku we’re talking about,” Yagi said, like it explained everything. “Anything is possible when he’s involved.”

Tsukauchi snorted, then looked up at Shouta with a small smirk. “Defying everyone’s expectations is sort of his thing. I’m sure you’ve been on the receiving end of it at least once.”

“I have,” Shouta admitted, though he refused to sound overly fond when he said it. “Did you know he strangled me with his thighs to get a job?”

Yagi laughed so hard he coughed up blood, which pulled Tsukauchi to his feet so he could fret over his boyfriend. Shouta turned away at the scene, clearing his throat and looking out the window. Couples were…well, they were couples. This was awkward.

Yagi eventually calmed himself down, wiping blood up with the handkerchief Tsukauchi had gotten him, and Shouta looked back at the pair. Tsukauchi had his hand resting, comfortably, on Yagi’s shoulder. Shouta carefully avoided looking at it, out of his own awkwardness and respect for their privacy. “I need you to tell me everything you can about your Quirk,” he said. “And your master’s Quirk. It seems I’m looking after Midoriya in your stead right now, and I need to be prepared.”

Yagi sighed, folding and unfolding the handkerchief with uneasy fingers. “Yes, you do,” he agreed. He took a deep breath, and then he told Shouta a story of two brothers.

“This is what we’re going to do,” Eraserhead explained quietly. Izuku hummed softly to let him know he was listening, but he didn’t take his eyes off the building in front of them, watching as their target—the recruiter for the Shie Hassaikai—milled about just inside the tall gates, his arms crossed as he talked to another member of the Shie Hassaikai.

“I’m going to be the civilian this time, since I’ll blend in slightly better,” Eraserhead continued. “You’ll be doing it next time, which means you won’t be wearing your full hero suit, or you’ll at least be wearing clothes over it.”

“I’ll have to take the leg braces off for that,” Izuku murmured.

Eraserhead hummed in agreement. “We’ll have the earpieces in, so if we need to talk, we can. I’ll tap my body to record audio—it’s not perfect, but it does usually create at least some usable files to look back on. I’ll follow him on the streets. You follow from the air.” The last bit was said with another one of those weird looks Eraserhead tended to give him these days, but Izuku did his best to ignore it.

“It sounds like a plan,” Izuku said.

“You need to be very careful, Horizon.” Eraserhead began working his audio recording device in under his clothes, tucking it into his pocket. “Nighteye was right about one thing—this is a very dangerous aspect of hero work to bring an inexperienced intern in on.”

“Understood, sir,” Izuku said.

Eraserhead gazed at him for a long moment, then nodded. He lifted his capture weapon from his shoulders and then, to Izuku’s amusement and surprise, dropped it over his head so it coiled around his own shoulders. The weight of it was heavy and almost comforting, in a way. Like a hug. “Keep this with you. Don’t use it, because you’re not authorized to, but give it to me if I call for it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Alright,” Eraserhead said, eying their target as he left the compound. “I’m going down. Keep yourself hidden, and me in sight. You’re my backup if things go south.”

Izuku nodded, adjusting the ends of the capture weapon on his shoulders as he watched Eraserhead slide down the fire escape and blend into the street around them. Izuku waited for a moment, watching as Eraserhead quietly tailed their target, and then moved buildings when he was sure the target wasn’t looking anywhere near him and kept tabs on Eraserhead.

The rest of the patrol went a lot like this, with Eraserhead tailing their target and Izuku tailing Eraserhead when their target wasn’t looking. Izuku kept pace well enough, only losing Eraserhead once in the entire time. Their target never seemed to realize that they were after him, either, neither checking over his shoulders or up on the rooftops where Izuku was lurking.

“Okay, kid,” Eraserhead’s voice came over his comm, and Izuku started and pressed a finger to his earpiece.

“What’s up?”

“He’s about to go in that building. I think I’ve gotten all I can from him for now, so I’m coming up so we can continue our stakeout.”

“Sounds delightful,” Izuku said.

“Yeah, yeah.” Eraserhead shut off the comm. Izuku kept watching as their target entered the building—was it another warehouse of some sort? They would have to investigate that, too, maybe. Eraserhead had said earlier that there were some assignments he was taking by himself, since Izuku couldn’t be there for the ones that had to happen at night. Scouting out locations probably fit into that bill.

There was a soft scuffle—Eraserhead had most likely done that on purpose, just so that Izuku knew he was there since ordinarily he could move completely silently—and Eraserhead popped over the building. He lifted his capture weapon over Izuku’s head before settling down next to him. “So,” he said.

“So,” Izuku agreed.

“Do you think you got that? The essence of heroing?”

“Following guys around and trying to look less shady than them?” Izuku asked.

Eraserhead snorted. “Yeah, that seems about right. We’ve got another one of these the day after tomorrow. Do you think you’ll be good to do what I just did?”

“Sure,” Izuku said. Truthfully, he was incredibly nervous about that. It was down there where the consequences for getting caught would be even more dire. Speaking of— “How did you feel, walking about without your capture weapon?”

“It puts me on edge,” Eraserhead admitted. “I’ve gotten used to it over the years. I feel naked without it.” He paused for a moment, then added, “You know I work with Snipe, I presume?”

“Oh, yeah,” Izuku said. “I know all the UA staff.”

“He’s the same way. I’ve never seen the man without a gun. I still had my knife on me, though, just tucked under my clothes instead of over them, so I wasn’t completely defenseless.”

“And you had your Quirk,” Izuku said.

“And that. Only good for leveling the playing field, though. You know as good as anyone that if I come across someone that’s an equal or better match for me in hand to hand without their Quirk, they can beat me just fine.”

Izuku laughed softly. “I wouldn’t say just fine, Eraserhead. I had to work my ass off for that win.”

Eraserhead only grunted, his gaze going back to the building they were watching. Silence descended on the both of them for a while, until Eraserhead sighed. “It’s okay to be nervous, you know.”

“I know,” Izuku said. “I am worried I’ll mess it up, day after tomorrow.”

“It’s okay to take breaks too,” Eraserhead added. “If you need to take a day to focus on schoolwork, you can take a day to focus on schoolwork. I know that class reps have more responsibilities than other students, and it’s probably not great for your class that you’re missing so often.”

“Nah,” Izuku said. “My vice does most of the hard work anyway.” He caught sight of movement by the building and perked up, but it was just someone carrying out the trash. He notated it on his log anyway, just like Eraserhead said to do. You never knew when something thought unimportant could come back around, especially in the underground. “Hey, Eraser.”

“What’s up, kid?”

“Do you feel frustrated, because we’re not one of the teams actively searching for the girl?”

“No,” Eraserhead said, giving him a long, calculating look. “Do you feel frustrated?”

Izuku blew out his lips, then sighed. “Yeah. I get that what we’re doing is helping, but I can’t help but feel like it’s not enough.”

“It is enough,” Eraserhead said. “Tracking down any last minute recruitments that this guy might be making is very important. We need to know what we’re getting into, especially if this turns into a full blown brawl like Nighteye seems to think.” He was quiet for another long moment. “Besides, nobody feels more frustrated than all the heroes—in training and otherwise—that aren’t helping with the reconnaissance process at all. You should be grateful to have something to do.”

“Idle hands are the devil’s playground,” Izuku quoted softly, in English. It was something his father used to say the Americans said, back when his father bothered calling at all. Eraserhead gave him a strange look, and Izuku shook his head. “I am glad. If I can help, I want to help.”

“Good, kid. Good.” Eraserhead turned back to the compound, and they spent the rest of their time in silence.

They eventually made it back without getting a chance to see the recruiter for the Shie Hassaikai again, but what Eraserhead had said weighed heavily on Izuku’s mind all the same. The others were completely out of the loop right now, unless—

Izuku caught sight of a floor plan for the dorms in Eraserhead’s class sitting innocuously on his desk in his office. Izuku bit his lip and checked it surreptitiously. Todoroki was on the fifth floor, but…Izuku was also used to climbing all the way to the rooves of buildings on a whim, so it shouldn’t be a problem.

The others were completely out of the loop right now, unless Izuku found a way to keep them in it. In small ways, of course, since talking about the case would actually be illegal. But…he could do it. He would do it.

Chapter Text

Shouto was sitting at his desk, his pen pressed between his fingers and his notes sprawled in front of him as he tried to work out his literature homework. His mind was elsewhere, though, in dark alleys and gazing at red eyes overfilling with sorrow.

He grit his teeth. Not now. Don’t think about it, not right now.

His pencil ground deeper into his paper, not making words or numbers because Shouto couldn’t focus and then there was a quiet tap outside his balcony door.

He looked up, entertaining the thought of moving the shoji screen to see what it was for a second, but that would be stupid and not to mention a waste of time, since it was most likely just a bird or a plant of some kind.

Shouto returned to his work, reading the question he was supposed to be answering for the fifth time when there was a tap again, more persistent this time. He raised his eyebrow. Once was a coincidence, twice was a rule, and a bird wouldn’t tap on the glass that hard.

Shouto stood, frost blooming on his right hand as he moved to the screen. It didn’t seem likely that it would be a villain of some sort tapping on his balcony door on the fifth floor (instead of just bursting in, guns blazing), but he could never be too prepared. Besides, this seemed like the demented sort of thing Aizawa might come up with to test their reflexes, and if it was—Shouto didn’t want to have points taken off of his final score for being too relaxed.

Shouto pushed open the screen, not sure he was expecting. He caught a sight of green and a dark hoodie and blinked in surprise. It was Midoriya, of all people, but he wasn’t tapping on the glass anymore. Instead, he was perching on the railing and eying the ground like he was considering leaping off of it. Which was just the stupid and reckless sort of thing Shouto had come to expect from Midoriya, honestly.

Shouto slid open the glass door and leaned against the frame, folding his arms. “Please tell me you aren’t planning on jumping.”

“Nah,” Midoriya said, voice soft. Shouto could see the edge of his smile from here, and it felt…dangerous, almost. He seemed high-strung right now, and the smell of rain and ozone that seemed to accompany him everywhere was even stronger than usual. Had he come back from a patrol, perhaps? “My plan for getting down involved that tree over there.” He pointed, eyes fixed on the horizon. “Bet I would be fine just jumping, though, as long as I activated my Quirk. But that would definitely leave a dent, and Nedzu might not be happy with me.” Midoriya turned his face over his shoulder, his gaze landing on Shouto. There was something electric about his eyes, like the green lightning that sparked around him when his Quirk was on was contained in there instead.

A gentle breeze blew across them, lifting both of their hair off their head and moving it. Shouto reached up, brushing wisps of white out of his eyes. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

The corners of Midoriya’s mouth lifted, though the tired set of his face didn’t change much. It felt dangerous, almost, interacting with him when he was like this, whatever this was. “I can’t stop by to see a friend?”

Shouto felt a strange tingle run its way down his spine at that word. He folded his arms across his chest to hide it, chewing slightly on the inside of his cheek. He knew what that dangerous feeling was, now. Midoriya—he had one less wall down than usual, and Shouto felt he might have at least one of his down, too. He usually did these days.

He didn’t voice any of this, though. Instead, he tilted his head. “How did you know which dorm was mine, anyway?”

“Eraserhead has the floorplans in his office,” Midoriya said, his grin dimpling devilishly on one side. “I took it upon myself to take a look. As Eraserhead says, there is no information that’s off the table for an underground hero.” Midoriya hopped off of the railing as if to punctuate his point, and turned to face Shouto fully as he leaned against it instead, folding his arms across his chest in a mirror of Shouto’s posture.  The breeze picked up again and Shouto ignored it this time, watching Midoriya through the wisps of hair that blew into his eyes. Midoriya watched him back, his eyes as calculating as they always were.

“He should share his wisdom with the rest of us,” Shouto said, instead of addressing any of the reasons Midoriya was probably actually here. “Especially when he’s scolding my classmates for prying.”

Midoriya snorted. “To be fair, I think there’s a difference between what he’s willing to teach his intern, who wants to be an underground hero, and what he’s willing to encourage in his students, who regularly cause him grey hairs.”

Shouto could concede that point. “Alright, fair enough.” He considered for a moment longer, then said, “Do you want to come in?” He wasn’t sure where the decision to offer had come from, but it was out there now, resting between them. It felt…like some sort of test. A test of boundaries, of what sort of friends they really were to the other.

“I’m almost positive that would set off some sort of alarm,” Midoriya said.

“Probably,” Shouto agreed.

“Let’s do it, then,” Midoriya said, grinning wickedly at him. “Plus ultra, as you UA kids would say.”

Shouto snorted in spite of himself, holding the door open for Midoriya, who wasted no time adjusting his backpack on his shoulder and the case in his hand and making his way inside. Shouto followed—not exactly nervous, but definitely with some sort of feeling—and let the door slide shut behind them. Midoriya looked around, an almost uncharacteristically soft smile on his face. “It’s very traditional in here. Are all of the UA dorms like this?”

“Just this one,” Shouto said. He paused, then added, “I remodeled it.”

“That’s impressive, Todoroki-kun.” Midoriya swept the room with his eyes again, pointedly not looking at Shouto, for whatever reason. “You know, it’s not that different, your room.”

“Different from what?”

“Mine, at Shiketsu,” Midoriya said, setting down his bookbag and his case—that was probably his hero suit. It was a lot less flashy than the UA cases—just black, with a little silver “9” emblazoned on the corner. Probably Midoriya’s seat number, if Shouto had to guess. Midoriya slid his shoes off next, awkwardly pointing things out even as he hopped out of his left shoe. “Except our desk is by the headboard, and there’s a place for a minifridge in that corner, where your...bathroom, I’m guessing?...is. Next to that is, ah—our dressers and things, and over here where your closet is—that’s where my bathroom is.” Midoriya snorted, and straightened, wiggling his socked toes slightly. Shouto noticed the gesture, and couldn’t help the small part of him that was vaguely amused by it. “Just more proof that UA copies Shiketsu at every opportunity.”

“How else has UA copied Shiketsu?” Shouto asked, moving around Midoriya to get into the room. He considered sitting at his desk, then thought better of it and sat on his unmade futon instead, back against the wall and legs stretched out in front of him. Midoriya sat by his desk, spinning around to face Shouto.

“Our entrance exam,” he said. “Eraserhead told you I got the highest score, right?” Shouto nodded. “Right. It’s a gimmick—if you find a civilian doll in fifteen minutes you get 500 points, but it’s so well hidden basically everyone gives up on it and just gets points by fighting villains instead. Not me.”

“So you found it,” Shouto said, nodding. “That makes sense. But how is it similar to UA’s entrance exam?”

“It’s not.” Midoriya shook his head. “It’s similar to your Sports Festival. You know, the cavalry battle round, where you had ten million points?”

Ah. Except— “Everyone did come after me though.”

“Everyone went after the civilian doll when the exam was first devised, too,” Midoriya said. “But think about it. Before Kacchan snagged your headband, you grabbed all the ones he’d collected, right? That put you in second place. Those were your villain points, and the ten million headband was the civilian. The easy way to pass our entrance exam is finding the civilian, just like getting the ten million points was the easy way to win the cavalry battle. The smart, more efficient way to pass was getting villain points, or stealing a lot of low point headbands.”

“I see,” Shouto said. “They do have really similar concepts.”

“Don’t they?”

Shouto eyed Midoriya consideringly. “Would you have gone after the ten million points, had you been there?”

Midoriya laughed. “It’s hard to say what I’d do in any particular situation, Todoroki-kun. I tend to just show up and make stuff happen.”

Shouto paused for a moment, thinking about all of his past fights with Midoriya. “Yeah, that’s true.” He felt his lip twitch slightly at a memory. “Stealing that cement gun from one of Gang Orca’s goons was an inspired move.”

Midoriya let out a soft laugh. “Thanks, Todoroki-kun. I was having fun, till it jammed.” There was a moment of silence, then Midoriya said, “Did you know I knew that guy?”

Shouto blinked. “What?”

“The guy I stole that gun from,” Midoriya said, smirking like he was sitting on top of some great secret knowledge. “I met him before that day. Twice.”

“…How?”

“He works for a stunt group that does the exams for Shiketsu,” Midoriya said. “I’ve strangled that poor dude with my thighs three times now.”

Shouto’s brain stopped working for just one second. He struggled to find words, then failed, then tried again. “You—” He stopped, swallowed, tried again. “Thighs. You strangle people. With your thighs.”

“I, uh—” Shouto was vindictively glad to see that Midoriya, for once, seemed to be affected by the things he said, too. The tips of his ears were red, and it was slowly creeping onto his cheeks too. “You know what, I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“No, please, continue,” Shouto said, because spite was something he was familiar with, and he was loath to waste this opportunity. Midoriya had made him blush more times than he could count, now, and he was going to get him back for it. “You strangle people with your thighs professionally. Tell me more.”

Midoriya made an undignified squawking sound, turning even redder. Shouto felt a little thrill of glee go through him at the sight, but then Midoriya’s eyes got a dangerous light to them. He seemed to consider something, then he raised one eyebrow. “I could always show you, since you’re so curious about it.”

All that glee Shouto was just feeling went out of the window as he activated his right side to keep his own blush down as he imagined it unbidden. His head, between Midoriya’s thighs. His admittedly very nice thighs, which was a train of thought Shouto was not at all interested in exploring further. “No,” he said, vaguely horrified.

Midoriya trilled a laugh. “Are you sure? It is my special move, you know, and—”

“No,” Shouto repeated, holding up a hand to stop him before he got any further. It didn’t work.

“—if we’re going to be fighting alongside each other on this raid, you really ought to know—”

“Midoriya, shut up.”

“—the full extent of my fighting style. Come on, Todoroki-kun. It’ll be fun, don’t you think?”

“Okay,” Shouto said, springing to his feet just so he doesn’t have to keep looking at Midoriya. “That’s enough out of you. Thanks for stopping by. Come again never.”

Midoriya trilled out a laugh. “It’s not so bad, Todoroki-kun. It’s practically a rite of passage for being friends with me.”

“What,” Shouto said. He turned his back on Midoriya and pressed his right hand to the left side of his face, cooling it down.

“And we are friends now, by your own admission—”

“I take it back.”

“No takesies-backsies, Todoroki-kun,” Midoriya said. “Let’s do it. Embody the plus ultra, Todoroki-kun. Let it into your very soul.”

“Please stop using my school motto as an excuse to make bad choices.”

“No, no, come on,” Midoriya said. Shouto heard a shuffling sound behind him, and when he turned to look he found Midoriya had climbed to his feet. He was hopping back and forth now, stretching out his arms one at a time. “We’ve got room for a spar in here, and nobody’s come to throw me out yet. No Quirks, I promise.”

“Midoriya, no.”

“I’m wired, Todoroki-kun,” Midoriya said, his voice closer to a whine than Shouto had ever heard it. “And you’re brooding anyway—don’t deny it, I know that face when I see it.” Shouto snapped his mouth shut, raising an eyebrow at Midoriya. “Try and tell me a good fight isn’t going to help you, too.”

Shouto sighed, because Midoriya was right. It would. His dorm was a terrible place for it, but…

Shouto settled into a stretch himself, and Midoriya’s grin widened. Midoriya pointed at him. “See, I knew I befriended you for a reason.”

Shouto rolled his eyes even as his heart picked up speed. “Whatever you say, Midoriya.”

He stretched a little more, just as Midoriya did, then rolled his shoulders and settled into a fighting stance. Midoriya grinned and did the same, and then with no further prompting, charged Shouto.

Midoriya, just as Shouto suspected, was nimble and swift. He was holding back—he was clearly holding back—but Shouto didn’t mind so much in this instance for his dorm room’s sake. He was holding back too, after all, dodging Midoriya’s relatively light blows when the space allowed and taking them and trying to counterattack when it didn’t.

Shouto executed a blow to Midoriya’s ribs, knocking him back a few steps. He stayed there, eyes bright on Shouto, feet light. Shouto narrowed his gaze, circling him as much as the space would allow instead. Midoriya circled him, too.

Shouto decided he wanted the first strike this time and opened with a high kick. Midoriya dodged it by bending backwards—impressively, Shouto might add—and then threw his own kick at Shouto from that position, using it as an opportunity to right himself again. Shouto dodged backwards, throwing a feint to Midoriya’s left while he was hopefully still unbalanced from his last move then switching to his right. Midoriya winced as he took the hit, but countered easily, pushing Shouto back this time.

Midoriya took a deep breath, grinning jubilantly, and then promptly flopped onto the floor. Shouto blinked at him, then ran a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face. He supposed that meant Midoriya was done, then.

“Join me, Todoroki-kun,” Midoriya said, his eyes closed.

“On the floor?”

“No, up in the air. Yes, on the floor. You’ve got to learn to live a little, you know.”

Shouto huffed, but ultimately flopped down on the floor, stretching out next to Midoriya. He refused to feel awkward about it. It was his own floor, and he had laid on it a thousand times. It didn’t have to be weird just because Midoriya was there.

Speaking of Midoriya, he turned his head towards Shouto, opening his eyes as he did. Shouto first made the mistake of looking directly at them, and then found his breath promptly stolen. There had always been something about Midoriya’s eyes, for him. Something familiar. Something dark, pooling just beneath the surface. It was something he’d seen in Eri’s eyes, too, before he let her go.

“I won’t lie to you, Todoroki-kun,” Midoriya whispered. Shouto wasn’t exactly sure why they were whispering now, but he went with it regardless. “I did have some sort of ulterior motive for coming here.”

Shouto snorted. “Yeah, I figured.”

“How are you, Todoroki-kun?” Midoriya asked, like it was the most serious question in the world.

Shouto blinked. “I’m…fine?”

“No,” Midoriya said, sitting up suddenly. “That’s not what I’m asking. I meant…how are you? How are you holding up, with the Eri thing? And not knowing?”

Shouto looked away, turning his gaze to the ceiling as he considered. He’d been asked this question a lot lately, but…it was easier to be honest with Midoriya, compared to Kirishima, or Uraraka, or Asui. He didn’t know why that was—he didn’t particularly want to know why that was, if he was honest—but he went with it anyway. “I…have been better.”

“You can’t even talk about it, either,” Midoriya said, and out of the corner of his eye, Shouto watched him turn his head so he was looking at the ceiling himself. “You live in the same building as Kirishima-kun, Uraraka-san, and Tsuyu-san, yet you can’t so much as talk about it with any of them either.”

“To be honest,” Shouto said, “I don’t talk to them much at all, anyway.”

Midoriya was quiet for a long moment. Shouto reveled in the silence, in the shared something between them. He didn’t know for sure what it was, because he had his walls and Midoriya had his, but if he had to name the term, he would probably call it sameness. They were alike, in some way. Shouto didn’t know if it was an abusive family member for Midoriya too, or something else entirely, but there was something about him. Something that they both understood.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Technically, you just did,” Shouto said.

Midoriya laughed once. “Something else, then.”

Shouto sighed, turning his head to look at Midoriya again. Midoriya’s gaze stayed fixed on the ceiling, despite how he was sitting up now. “What is it?”

“If you don’t talk to them, if you’re not even friends with them, then why me? Why would you call us friends, but them…”

Shouto took a long moment to mull over his answer. He considered it, looking it from every angle.

Honesty was easier with Midoriya, but Shouto couldn’t be completely honest. Not about this.

“You understand,” he said simply. It was the truth, but it wasn’t all of it. There was more to his friendship with Midoriya compared to the others—some sense of safety that came along with being near him. It wasn’t a tangible thing, just a vague thing. It was in the sharp scent of rain that surrounded him, with the gentle way he touched Shouto when he did the arm punch thing, with the way he devoted himself to getting reactions out of him, no matter what lengths he had to go to in order to draw those reactions out.

It was the little things, he supposed. Shouto might not seem like he appreciated people attempting to befriend him, but he did.

He was only human, after all.

“Todoroki-kun,” Midoriya called softly. “Give me your phone.”

“What?” Shouto asked. He shouldn’t be surprised, he supposed. Midoriya had a tendency to change subjects like the wind changed directions—whenever he felt like it, and with no warning.

“Give me your phone, so that I can put my number in it,” Midoriya said. He looked down at Shouto now, one hand held out expectantly. Shouto blinked, and Midoriya sighed. “We can’t talk about the case, right? But one of us is doing reconnaissance and the other isn’t. Something is better than nothing, right, Todoroki-kun?”

“You…want to tell me things about the case?” Shouto said. “Won’t that get you in trouble?”

“I’m not going to tell you things about the case,” Midoriya said, shaking his head. “I’m going to tell you things about me, see? What I might be doing some days, what my favorite color is, nonsensical anecdotes about my hero mentor, adjustments I make to my hero costume and why I might make them—”

“I get it,” Shouto interrupted, sitting up now too. “You can’t talk about the case, but you can talk around it.”

Midoriya smiled sheepishly and shrugged slightly. “I want to put your mind at ease. The others, too, if I can.”

Shouto considered this for a moment, and then produced his phone from his pocket. He unlocked it and passed it along to Midoriya, who took it and typed his number in. Shouto watched him type for a moment, considering. “Are you sure you’re willing to do this, Midoriya? You could get in trouble if you got caught, you know.”

“I know,” Midoriya said. He passed the phone back, and gave Shouto one of his slyer smiles. “This is more important to me.”

Shouto looked down at his phone, eying the new number in his contacts now.

He supposed…this really and truly marked them as friends.

“Text me some time,” Midoriya said, voice soft. He stood afterwards and Shouto followed him up, crossing with him to by the balcony door where Midoriya collected his shoes and his things. Once he was ready to go, he turned back to Shouto, giving him a small smile. “I’ve got a train to catch, unfortunately. Otherwise, I would stay and chat.”

“It’s fine,” Shouto said, folding his arms and leaning against the wall. “I can let you out the normal way, if you want.”

Midoriya winced. “Yeah, not doing that. Imagine the rumors.”

“Rumors?” Shouto asked.

“Yeah, the…rumors,” Midoriya said, looking like it pained him greatly. “Look, Todoroki-kun, you might have missed this, but I’m sort of what some might call, uh…flirtatious. And I know some of your classmates have probably noticed that I’m…okay…looking…” Midoriya trailed off, looking for all the world like he would rather be anywhere else. Shouto raised one eyebrow, and Midoriya sighed, defeated. “They’ll think you smuggled me up here to do a certain activity. Once they’re done freaking out about my presence in general, since, you know. Only, like, five of them other than you have had a conversation with me.”

“Oh,” Shouto said, rather numbly, as he realized what Midoriya was getting at. “Oh, no.”

“Yeah,” Midoriya agreed, wincing again. “Yeah, sorry about that. Sort of a…downside to knowing me.”

“What do you mean?” Shouto asked, tilting his head. “A downside to knowing you?”

“Oh, not much,” Midoriya said, adjusting one of his shoulder straps. “It’s a rumor that goes around a lot at Shiketsu. I’m dating a new person every day, if you listen to that stuff.”

“Is that…something you had in mind? When you created your hero persona?”

“Nah,” Midoriya said, fidgeting with the handle to the balcony doors slightly. “That’s something that came about before I thought of the hero persona.” He chuckled to himself. “Consequence of strangling people with my thighs. You know what the kicker is? We—” He gestured dramatically to himself. “—are not even allowed to date, at Shiketsu.”

Shouto blinked. That reminded him a bit of something else, something his father said. “Doesn’t that feel…oppressive?”

“It doesn’t really stop anyone, Todoroki-kun,” Midoriya said, with a light little laugh. “It’s not like the teachers are gonna know what we do outside of class.”

“Still,” Shouto said, because the point stood. It never really did feel great to have some aspect of your life be out of your control. He knew that.

“It’s not so bad,” Midoriya said. He punched Shouto lightly in the arm, in that way he did. “The rumors are harmless, really. I’ll still spare you them, while I can, though.”

Shouto hummed, and decided a change of topic was probably in order before he said something decidedly stupid. “Is that tree still part of your escape plan?”

Midoriya huffed out a laugh. “Yeah. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck,” Shouto said, though he doubted Midoriya needed it as he hauled open the balcony door. Shouto watched as Midoriya climbed back on his perch, then rolled his eyes as he gave him a cheeky little salute. Midoriya leapt off of the railing, catching a branch of the tree and falling towards the ground quickly. He landed neatly and turned, giving him a small little wave. Shouto tilted his head towards him in acknowledgement. He caught the gleam of Midoriya’s smile before he turned away, walking towards the edge of UA’s campus like he belonged there.

Maybe, in a sense, he did.

Mezou was having a very strange night.

It wasn’t so unusual to have strange nights in Heights Alliance. He lived next to Kirishima, after all, and Kirishima worked out a lot (and made the according noises). He also lived on the same floor as Bakugou, and Bakugou frequently exploded things for no discernible reason. If Mezou had to guess, he would say it was a blood pressure problem.

But this was exceptionally weird, because somebody was scaling the building, and they were mumbling something about children and high stakes all the while. And Mezou did not know that person’s voice.

Mezou shifted his ears, noting when he realized the mumbler—the Mumbler actually sounded like a villain name, and Mezou committed to calling him that in his head with a touch of amusement—had apparently reached his destination, as he was mumbling about the fifth floor, now. Somebody above him then, but…

“Please tell me you weren’t planning on jumping.”

That was Todoroki’s voice, smooth and clear as day. And Todoroki was on the fifth floor, so that did make sense. And he spoke like he knew the Mumbler, was maybe even friends with the Mumbler, so Mezou didn’t need to panic yet, he supposed. There was no reason it couldn’t be someone from another course or year, and Todoroki had always been the mysterious sort anyway. It wouldn’t be surprising to Mezou at all if he had connections in other places.

There were footsteps in the hallway, quick and purposeful, and they distracted Mezou for a moment, causing him to miss the Mumbler’s reply. The footsteps—he could tell they were Jirou’s, now that she was closer—stopped right outside of his door. She hesitated for a moment, and the voice of the Mumbler filtered to the forefront of his senses. “…there is no information that’s off the table for an underground hero.”

Was the Mumbler an underground hero? How did Todoroki even know an underground hero other than Eraserhead if he was?

Jirou knocked sharply, erasing whatever reply Todoroki gave. Mezou slid the mask up from around his neck—his classmates were all very kind, but even they didn’t need to know how much of a monster he really was underneath his mask (nobody needed to know, not again). “It’s open,” Mezou said, once the mask was secured over his face.

Jirou opened the door somewhat hesitantly, one earphone jack coiled around her finger and the other twitching anxiously. She took stock of where Mezou was sitting by the open balcony door, closing the door softly behind her as she entered—Jirou did everything softly, which Mezou and his sensitive ears had always appreciated about her—and crossed the room on light feet until she stood closer to him.

Mezou had to admit that it was nice to be around people other than his family who weren’t afraid to get near him.

“Please tell me I’m not crazy and there’s really someone scaling the building at this time of night while mumbling.”

Mezou felt his lips curl up in a smile, not that Jirou could see it. “It’s true. I’ve been calling him the Mumbler.”

Jirou snorted, then settled comfortably next to Mezou by his cracked-open balcony door. It was intriguing to him how she went from anxiously dithering outside his door to inviting herself in due to her overwhelming curiosity, not that he minded the company. They listened in silence and comradery for a moment.

“Do you want to come in?” Todoroki asked above them.

There was a pause, where the Mumbler hesitated, and then he said, “I’m almost positive that would set off some sort of alarm.” When he wasn’t mumbling he actually had a very charming voice, a voice that curved over syllables like a spell.

“Probably,” Todoroki murmured, his voice soft in a way that Mezou had never heard it.

“Let’s do it, then. Plus ultra, as you UA kids would say.”

And then, if Mezou’s ears didn’t mistake him, Todoroki actually snorted, and Mezou heard him opening his balcony door.

Next to him, Jirou made a distressed sound, and Mezou looked over to her. She had one hand clapped over her mouth, doing her best to stifle laughter. Mezou felt his lips twitch again at the sight. “Holy shit,” Jirou whispered, leaning forward, grasping at Mezou’s arm with her other hand. “Did Todoroki just receive a booty call?”

Mezou chuckled, despite all his efforts to laugh as rarely as possible. “It does sound like that, doesn’t it?”

“It’s too bad we won’t be able to hear them from here if they’re not on the balcony,” Jirou said.

Mezou paused, an idea occurring to him. It was nosey, and diabolical, and absolutely wrong, but… “Do you think Sero would be willing to trade us access to his room for gossip?”

Jirou paused for a moment, her eyes lighting up, and then she fished her phone out of her pocket. Her thumbs flew across the screen, and not even a second later, it dinged. Jirou grinned an infectious sort of grin, and Mezou already knew what the answer to his question was.

“He said yes,” Jirou said.

“Let’s go find out about this booty call, then,” Mezou said, offering Jirou a hand (or three) up.

She accepted it easily.

Chapter Text

Izuku was standing against a brick wall in a relatively bad part of town. He had one earbud in, though it wasn’t playing any music. He tapped his foot along to an imaginary beat anyway, worn red shoes thudding softly against the pavement. A cigarette hung out of his mouth—it was lit, but he was being exceedingly careful not to smoke it. It wasn’t his first choice, but frankly, he would stand out like a sore thumb in this area if he wasn’t smoking.

He looked the part in every way he could (minus his shoes). His jeans were dark and ripped, his hoodie gray and nondescript. His distinctive curly green hair was trapped under a black beanie, and under his clothes he was wire tapped.

This wasn’t a part of underground heroics that he hadn’t expected to be good at, but as it turned out, he had the sort of face that blended into every crowd. As long as Izuku dressed for the crowd, that was.

The recruiter for the Shie Hassaikai walked past him, not paying Izuku a second glance as he took the cigarette out of his mouth and tapped off some of the ashes. Izuku put it back between his lips, careful not to breathe for a few seconds while he imitated the face people made when smoking then took the cigarette out of his mouth again, inhaling only when it was far enough away from him that he wouldn’t catch smoke.

“—got some other new recruits too,” the recruiter was saying to the blond man with him. Izuku snubbed out his cigarette on the ash tray beside him (despite it only really being half “smoked”), careful to keep his movements casual. Not that the recruiter had noticed him at all, anyway. “Nobody that’ll change up your core team, though, so you don’t gotta worry.”

“That’s fine. Boss can hire anyone he wants.”

Izuku sniffed and shrugged his shoulders up as he walked after them, looking for all the world like a moody teenager returning to his part-time job after a smoke break. The ear piece in his ear—disguised as a earbuds, cleverly—remained silent. Not that this meant Eraserhead wasn’t watching, though, because he definitely was.

The recruiter laughed. “Don’t be like that, Setsuno. There were some real good Quirks coming in this time around.”

Izuku didn’t outwardly show it, but that did pique his curiosity. He was here to collect data on some of the new members, after all, and that? That sounded like data.

Izuku rubbed his thumb against his nose, a signal to Eraserhead that they were talking about something of importance. Wherever Eraserhead was, since Izuku refused to look for him, that was.

“Follow them,” he said, voice crackly and strange over the earpiece.

Izuku didn’t outwardly acknowledge the order, though he did keep up with them as they walked, staying just close enough that he was within earshot of their conversation, just far enough away that it wasn’t weird. It helped that the streets were busy this time of day too, though if he was honest, that was probably intentional on the recruiter’s part. It was always easier to hide in a crowd. He would know, since that was what he was doing.

“Oh yeah?” the blond man—Setsuno, Izuku noted—said. “Like what?”

“There was one—oh, hang on, we’re here.”

Here?

Izuku felt a twinge of panic as the recruiter and Setsuno made a detour into a—tattoo parlor. Of course it was a tattoo parlor—they were yakuza, after all, and yakuza tattooed their allegiance on their skin. The problem was that Izuku couldn’t fucking go in there, because being in an isolated building with them was a very bad idea.

Or…could he?

“Problem Child,” Eraserhead said. “Do not follow them into that building.”

There was a life at stake, though. A life a lot younger and smaller than his and knowing the Quirks of some new recruits—that was some valuable information. Izuku couldn’t waste it. But he also couldn’t follow them into the tattoo parlor! That was insane. What was he even going to do? He couldn’t exactly loiter in a tattoo parlor. People only went there for one specific reason—to get a tattoo—which he was very much not about to do for the sake of a case. Even he was that crazy.

Izuku made to walk past the tattoo parlor casually, before catching sight of Setsuno and the recruiter through the window. Fuck.

“Sorry, Eraser,” Izuku murmured. He heard Eraserhead’s shouts of protest as he pulled his earbud out of his ear, switching off the comms even though Eraserhead could still listen to what his audio device was recording. He took a deep breath and then opened the door to the tattoo parlor.

He…was probably going to get fired over this. He only hoped it would be worth it.

Izuku let the door fall closed behind him, standing awkwardly for a moment before he schooled himself into a casual pose. He wasn’t an imposter—he was meant to be here. He’d walked into this tattoo parlor for a reason, and that reason…well. He actually still needed to come up with a reason for being here, since it sure as hell wasn’t getting a tattoo.

Thankfully nobody rushed out to greet him immediately, so he took in the sounds of the place instead. There was the whirring of needles, the quiet chatter of people talking in the back. That was Setsuno, actually, discussing the details of a Quirk it sounded like. The voices were coming from behind a curtain, so he assumed that was a privacy booth of some sort. Probably for people that were there to get tattoos in private places, like their ass cheeks. That was a thing, wasn’t it? Oh, yeah. It was probably for yakuza, too, if the Shie Hassaikai recruiter brought people here to get inked.

It was at that moment that an employee finally came out to greet him. He was a hulking man with black eyes and a shaved head. He grinned at Izuku, putting a set of fang-like incisors on display, right along with his snake bites, and his neck tattoo, and the other piercings in his nose, eyebrow, and ears.

Piercings.

“What brings you in?” the man asked. He eyed Izuku up and down, and Izuku tried to channel a little more moody teenager into his posture. He was sixteen. He had controlling parents—probably. He came here to live life on the wild side, maybe get a tattoo, or a…piercing. Yeah.

“I’m looking for some metal,” Izuku said, gesturing at his ears. Was that lingo bad? He didn’t know, but there was no way some moody teenager wouldn’t have some code word for piercings. “You do that in here?”

“Sure,” the tattoo artist said with a nonchalant shrug. “Can you afford it?”

Good question. Could he afford it? He wasn’t exactly rolling in cash, what with the fact that he was interning with an underground hero and all that, but…oh yeah. “Depends. Do you take credit?”

“There’s an extra fee, but yeah.”

“Then I can afford it,” Izuku said, sending a silent apology out to his sperm donor. Izuku was almost positive Hisashi hadn’t given him a credit card so he could use it to do something so roguish as get piercings at a rundown tattoo parlor that serviced yakuza.

Which, holy shit. Izuku was about to get piercings at a rundown tattoo parlor that serviced yakuza.

A fact that he could panic about later, he decided, since as of right now, he needed to be a moody teenager with controlling parents that was trying to get out from under their wing through the power of self-expression in the form of permanent body modification. Yeah.

It was fine.

The tattoo artist shrugged. “What kinda metal you after, kid?”

Oh my gods, I actually gotten the lingo right. “Just, uh, the standard kind,” Izuku said. “I’m looking to get my lobes pierced.”

He wasn’t, actually, but if he was going to walk out of here with metal in his head, it was not going to be somewhere extremely edgy, like his nose. He had to pretend he still had some dignity.

“Alright,” the tattoo artist said. “Come with me, you can pick out your piercings. We recommend studs of some kind for your first pierce. You can buy hoops or something for later if you want to change them out, though.”

“Nah, that’s okay,” Izuku said, keeping his posture casual and not antsy as he followed him. “I’ll just come back for something different later if I want. I’ll just go with the one pair for now.”

“Alright, man,” the artist said, stopping in front of a display case. To Izuku’s delight—he seriously could not have planned it better if he tried—it was right by where Setsuno was getting inked. “Here’s the different studs we got. Let me know when you see something you like.”

“Cool, thanks,” Izuku said, deliberately keeping his lingo as teen as possible. He let his gaze fall to the display case as the man went behind the counter, one ear tuned in on the tattooing happening behind him, though. He also turned his body slightly towards it, so that the audio recording device he wore on his person could pick it up better.

Setsuno and the recruiter weren’t talking about Quirks of other members at the moment, just the tattoo and tattoo placement—which was understandable. Their artist was in there talking with them, too, presumably. Izuku busied himself by actually looking at the piercing options. Nearly all of them were gaudy in taste—too large onyxes, too large diamonds, too large gold squares—but there were slightly tasteful ones in there. Just…rarely dispersed.

Izuku cringed inwardly. Was he really going to have to go through with this?

He probably was.

“So what’s this about new recruits and their Quirks?” Setsuno eventually said, as the whir of a tattoo gun started up from behind the curtain. Izuku frowned slightly—that would definitely obscure the audio quality some, but he could get by with his ears, he supposed.

“Oh, right,” the recruiter said, laughing slightly. “We got a bunch of new guys. The boss is prepping for war or something, I guess.”

“Didn’t his brat bump into heroes or something the other day?”

“Yeah, Endeavour’s kid, I heard.” That much was old news to Izuku, at least. “We’ve gotta be ready.”

They said that like they thought Endeavour was going to join in the raid, which, no. Any hero fanboy worth his salt knew that Endeavour very, very rarely took cases that required this much reconnaissance. Though Endeavour Agency could and did do it all, reconnaissance was not it’s strong suit. Never would be, either. It was an amusing thought, though. Endeavour dressed up in tattered second-hand clothes and getting his ears pierced for a bit of information instead of Izuku

“Yeah, distinctive bastard, that one.”

“He is,” the recruiter agreed. “The boss picked up some guy with a shield Quirk from somewhere. The details were a little dodgy. I think he’s a member of a different group, actually.”

A shield Quirk. Useful, and viable.

“Then, of course, there’s those other two.”

Setsuno snorted. “Yeah, them. They don’t have to get inked.”

Hm. So, Chisaki was pulling in people from other places, then. Mercenaries and guns for hire…that was good to know. It meant they should account for even more odds and ends than the three mentioned.

“Oh, yeah. The nicest find, though? You know the cage fights, on—” The tattoo gun whirled a little extra loud, so Izuku couldn’t catch where exactly the supposed cage fights were. It was a shame, since Eraserhead probably would have enjoyed busting those after they finished up here with the Hassaikai.

“I know ‘em,” Setsuno said.

“Picked up an undisputed champ from around there,” the recruiter said. “His Quirk is a Strong Arm thing. Fucker packs a punch. He’s killed everyone else he’s fought with only one or two punches, minus the boss himself.”

Izuku felt his shoulders tense reflexively in fear.

An undisputed champ from an underground fighting ring, who could kill people with one punch. That was not good news. Not at all.

He was suddenly very glad he risked coming in here.

“Kid, listen. I really don’t have all day.”

“Those ones,” Izuku said, pointing out the smallest diamonds he could find. Admittedly, they were not small, but they would have to do.

“Sure,” the artist said, fishing them out of the display case and putting them on the counter. He tapped at the screen for a second, then read Izuku off a total. He couldn’t stop himself from wincing as he pulled out Hisashi’s credit card—it was high. Much higher than he’d expected. He supposed he would be leaving the damn things in, then, if he was paying this much for them.

Gods, he was going to look so bad, wasn’t he?

The artist whistled. “Damn, kid. You really could afford it. Color me surprised.”

“Yeah,” Izuku said, knocking the corner of Hisashi’s card against the counter. “I told you I could.”

“Well, don’t be shy, kid. Come sit down and receive your new look.”

Izuku obeyed, heading towards the chair he pointed out, right by the piercing displays. He tuned back into the conversation between Setsuno and the recruiter again as the artist cleaned off his piercing gun. They’d moved onto an inane discussion on restaurants in the area—which was disappointing, but fine, since Izuku actually had gotten information about new recruits and their Quirks.

His piercer circled around the counter to face Izuku, a gun like object in one hand and a sharpie in the other. He put a dot on each of Izuku’s earlobes, nodding approvingly at them, and then leveled his gun with Izuku’s right ear. “Brace yourself, champ,” he said.

Izuku braced himself, only flinching slightly when the needle punctured his skin. It wasn’t as bad as he thought it was going to be, to be honest. Really it just tingled a little before dying down. The man reached up—presumably, putting the earring in his numb, tingly lobe. He switched sides afterwards, and Izuku let his eyes trail to the others as he did. From this angle, he could make out a sliver of Setsuno’s face through a crack in the curtain. Izuku memorized his face, the gold of his eye, the almost delicate curve of his cheekbones.

“You’re all done,” his piercer said. He shuffled behind the counter again, then reemerged with a mirror, which he handed off to Izuku. Izuku held it up half-heartedly, observing the gems in his ears with a twinge of self-consciousness. He looked less and less like the person he was before he went to high school everyday, and honestly…it was a little frightening.

“Thanks,” Izuku said numbly, handing the mirror back to his piercer before he could dwell on the fact that—yes, he had actually just done that.

“Sure,” the piercer said, shoving a paper into his hands in exchange for the mirror. “These are all your directions for taking care of your piercings. Here’s the cleaner you bought, too. Figured I’d go ahead and add it on, since you’re obviously green at this.”

If only he could see Izuku’s hair. Then he would know just how green he really was.

Wow. Izuku was honestly disappointed in himself.

“Thanks for that too,” Izuku said, accepting the tiny bag with the bottle of cleaner fluid in it graciously. He put his care instructions in there too without looking them over first, which caused the piercer to sigh and shake his head. Izuku wondered how many piercings he did for teenagers? Were they all like him?

Probably not. No, most teenagers were probably not here on secret missions.

“Get out of here, kid,” the piercer said. “Hope you enjoy your new look.”

“I do!” Izuku said. He didn’t, but that was beside the point. He also couldn’t really linger—it would be way too suspicious—so, leave it was. At least he’d gotten the info he needed. At least.

Izuku saw himself out, cleaner and instructions in hand, clawing at his earbud and tucking it back into his ear with the other. He flicked it on with a wince, already expecting what was coming.

“Problem Child,” Eraserhead said, his voice a low growl. “I ought to fire you on the spot, you know that, right?”

“Yeah, I know,” Izuku said, flinching again. “I’m willing to accept the consequences of my actions, but, Eraserhead…I got something.”

There was a long, drawn out, slightly crackly sigh from the other end of the line. “What is it, Horizon?”

“They’ve got new recruits,” Izuku said, ducking into a dark alley. “Some mercenaries. And a guy that was apparently an undisputed champ at an underground fighting ring, before Chisaki scrounged him up and beat his ass.”

“That’s bad news. Underground fighters are skilled.”

“Some of them are on level with pros,” Izuku said. “Some of them are better, since they use their Quirks however they want.”

“You sound shaken up about it.”

“I am.” Izuku took a deep breath, running a hand down his face. “Supposedly, the guy can kill people with a punch.”

“…Fuck.”

“Yeah, I know.” Izuku laughed mirthlessly. “It could be exaggeration, of course, but…”

“Best not to risk it.” There was a soft thudding noise, and then a clang, and then Eraserhead’s voice sounded both above him and in his comm. “Get up here, Horizon. This is a pretty good rooftop to have this chat on.”

“Alright,” Izuku said, pulling his earbud out of his ear. He wasn’t really in the mood for acrobatics, and the building was lower than usual, so Izuku cleared it in one superpowered jump, landing with a soft thud on the roof. He started detaching his wiretap almost immediately, so they could get the data from it transferred over pronto, but was interrupted by a sigh.

“Horizon. Your ears weren’t pierced before you went into the tattoo parlor.”

Izuku hesitated for just a moment, then finished pulling his wire tap off. “No, they weren’t.”

“You’re the most problematic Problem Child I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting,” Eraserhead declared. “Don’t do anything stupid like that again. You’re better than that.”

Izuku hung his head. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“But,” Eraserhead said, wacking Izuku on the back of the head lightly with a palm. “You also did damn good, Horizon. Damn good.”

Izuku gave him a small smile. “I could have done better,” he said, because honesty was key, and, well. He did have two pierced ears now. “But thank you, Eraserhead.”

“Hey, Todoroki-kun!” Uraraka chirped happily as soon as Shouto opened the door. The jovial tone of her voice was only a front, though.

“Uraraka,” Shouto greeted mildly. He blinked as he took in the other people with her, then sighed. “Kirishima. Asui.”

“Call me Tsuyu, Todoroki-chan.”

“Hey, Todobro,” Kirishima said, flashing him a sharp grin as he leaned against the doorframe. That grin was a front too, Shouto knew. They were all worried about the mission. Shouto was better off, since he had Midoriya’s “updates” at least. And those updates weren’t even enough—just general locations or thoughts mixed in with other random things, like they were really friends and this wasn’t just an elaborate sequence of events that all led back to Midoriya taking pity on him.

“We can’t talk about it, you know,” Shouto said, because it had to be said. He didn’t have the same mastery of subtlety that Midoriya had, the ability to talk around a subject like a particularly talented politician.

“We know,” Uraraka said, her smile hardening on her face a bit. “We can do Mic-sensei’s homework together, though?” She held up a notebook to prove her point.

“I already did it,” Shouto said.

Kirishima’s grip on the doorframe tightened. It was almost menacing, when coupled with the shark teeth Kirishima flashed at him. He was picking up bad habits from Bakugou, apparently. Like snarling. “Listen, Todobro. There are two ways this can go. You can let us into your room, or you can be kidnapped and taken to mine. And I haven’t done laundry in three weeks. It smells.”

“That’s gross, Kirishima-chan,” Asui said. She ducked under Kirishima’s arm and slid past Shouto to get into his room. He sighed again, admitting his defeat, and let the other two in. Uraraka cast him a threateningly grateful smile. Kirishima cast him his regular one, instead of his Bakugou one.

Uraraka giggled as she sat on the floor, making herself comfortable as she set her bookbag next to her. “I always forget that you remodeled this whole room, Todoroki-kun.”

“What about it?” Shouto asked, taking a seat on his floor as well. He really had done all of his homework already, but it still felt inherently wrong to sit at his desk when everyone else was sitting on his floor.

“Just that it’s nice you worked so hard for it,” Uraraka said, tapping the end of her pen thoughtfully against her notebook. “I think it says something about you, Todoroki-kun.”

“Arguably, everybody’s room says something about them,” Shouto said. “It’s the whole point of having a room. A place to keep personal effects and things stored in.”

“What does my room say about me, I wonder?” Kirishima said, sitting across from Shouto. He stretched his legs out when he sat, forcing Shouto to move his slightly unless he wanted their ankles to brush against one another. Which he didn’t.

Uraraka giggled again. “Weren’t you listening? It says that you’re gross, since you haven’t done laundry in three weeks.”

“Just to be clear,” Shouto interrupted, before they got off on a tangent, “what exactly are you three doing here?” The all looked at him curiously, like his question was a stupid one. He raised his eyebrow. “We can’t talk about the case, and I already did the homework. You don’t need to be here.”

Kirishima and Uraraka both made vaguely pained expressions, but Asui only blinked. “It’s a solidarity thing, Todoroki-chan. We can’t talk about it, but we know what it is. Therefore, we’re keeping each other’s company, just because we’d feel lonely with the others.”

“And,” Kirishima said, kicking Shouto, “we’re here instead of in one of our rooms, because you’re our friend, and that means we have to include you.”

Uraraka kicked him too, though a little harder than Kirishima had. “And you’re an antisocial grump, so we had to seek you out to include you, but we wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Exactly—kero.”

Shouto blinked at the three of them, unsure of whether he should be touched or annoyed. He decided to settle somewhere on the side of touched and said a hesitant, “Thanks…?”

“You’re welcome, Todobro!”

“Don’t sweat it, Todoroki-kun!”

“We’re happy to be here—kero.”

Shouto’s phone buzzed.

He pulled it out of his pocket to check who it was—probably Fuyumi, honestly, he’d texted her earlier about her cold soba recipe—aware of the others’ scrutiny as he did. It was actually Midoriya who had texted him.

Midoriya Izuku [8:52 p.m.]:

Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair

Shouto blinked, taking a second to process the message. Rapunzel…like the fairy tale? Why?

Oh, Shouto thought, with vaguely dawning horror as he realized that Kirishima, Asui, and Uraraka were all right here. It wasn’t that Midoriya scaling the entirety of Heights Alliance to talk to him was necessarily a bad thing. It was more that now Shouto was aware of certain connotations surrounding it thanks to Midoriya himself—he wasn’t exactly willing to tell others that this was a thing that Midoriya did, lest they get the wrong idea.

Before he could text Midoriya and inform him not to do it, there was a soft noise on Shouto’s balcony and then Midoriya’s soft tap. All three of his guests turned to look, in perfect sync, at the balcony, different expressions settling onto their face. Kirishima and Uraraka looked curious, whereas Asui’s fell on the side of suspicious. Shouto closed his eyes. Maybe Midoriya would think he wasn’t home, if he took long enough to answer?

Midoriya knocked against his balcony door again.

“Todoroki-kun,” Uraraka whispered, her body tensing up like she was ready for a fight. “There’s someone on your balcony.”

“I can open the door with my tongue—kero,” Asui said. “Then Kirishima-chan can—”

“No, stop, it’s fine,” Shouto interrupted, before plots to attack Midoriya unknowingly could go any further. “I know who it is.”

“You know who it is?” Kirishima echoed, looking completely bewildered. “Oh, wait, is this that—”

Shouto interrupted him by pushing himself to his feet, crossing to the balcony to open it. Sure enough, Midoriya was outside, shifting from foot to foot and tugging on a black beanie in a particularly frazzled way. The black beanie led to Shouto noticing the rest of his appearance—ripped black jeans tucked into the red boots he wore with his hero costume, a dark gray hoodie, a black beanie situated on his head, though a single green curl unfurled from underneath it in the front.

Midoriya ordinarily was attractive, but dressed how he was right now…Midoriya was extremely attractive.

Shouto took a deep breath and steadied himself, opening the door. Midoriya didn’t seem to notice at first, muttering something to himself quieter than Shouto could make out. “Midoriya,” he interrupted softly, trying to keep his voice out of earshot from the others.

“Midoriya?” Kirishima gasped behind him. “From Shiketsu?”

Shouto winced inwardly.

Midoriya’s gaze snapped up to Shouto’s at that, all the while tugging his hat down some more. “Todoroki-kun,” he said, pulling his hat completely over his ears. There was something distinctly suspicious to Shouto about that movement.

“Kirishima, Uraraka, and Asui are here,” Shouto said, this time even quieter.

Midoriya nodded, his gaze somewhat faraway. “Is that it?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Okay. I’ll just talk to all of you.”

“What’s going on, Midoriya?”

“Just…something you ought to know, while you have time to prepare, still.”

Shouto hesitated, then stepped back, allowing Midoriya access into his room. “You’re not going to get in trouble, are you?”

“I don’t care,” he grumbled, folding one ankle over the other and leaning against the balcony door once he was inside. “Rules are stupid sometimes and I loathe them.”

“It is Midorya,” Kirishima said, scrambling to his feet alongside Uraraka and Asui. “What are you doing here Midoriya?”

“Do you break into Todoroki-chan’s room often—kero?”

“I’ve only done it twice now,” Midoriya said. Shouto noticed it, instantaneously, how he slipped into being Horizon, pulling an easy smile out of his ass despite the fact that he was pacing on Shouto’s balcony an instant before, muttering and indulging every nervous habit known to man all at once. He couldn’t help but be…impressed. He was always impressed by Midoriya. “Besides, it doesn’t really count as breaking and entering if Todoroki-kun opens the door.”

“Are you sure you’re allowed to smuggle people from other schools into your room, Todoroki-kun?” Uraraka asked.

Shouto opened his mouth to say it was fine—that Nedzu and Aizawa probably knew Midoriya was here anyway, and didn’t care—but Midoriya beat him to it. “It’s not like that,” he said, voice a little sharper than Shouto had heard it before. “Besides, I basically have permission to be here, anyway, since no one bothered to kick me out last time I did this.” He turned his head to look at Shouto, eyes sharp, and then reached up to grab the hem of his hat to finally pull it off.

Shouto noticed why the hat had been on in the first place. It was hard not to, when Midoriya’s ears had been adorned with twin diamonds of relatively large size, winking at him when they caught the light. And Midoriya had definitely not had his ears pierced last time Shouto had seen him. He would know. He would remember. Because it was…yeah. Very nice. Aesthetically.

“Woah, Midoribro, were your ears pierced before?”

“It’s a recent thing,” Midoriya said, lifting one shoulder halfway up to his ear before he aborted the motion halfway through. “I got them to…get the scoop on something else, so to speak.”

“What do you mean—kero?”

“Listen,” Midoriya said, looking back at Shouto now. “What’s your education on underground fighting rings like, here at UA?”

Uraraka blinked. “We haven’t talked about them?”

“Right,” Midoriya said, pinching his bottom lip. “We don’t talk about them in depth, either, just in passing, but they’re nasty business. The rule of the fighting ring is that you fight until you can’t anymore—because you’re unconscious, or you’re dead.” He paused for a moment to let that settle in, then folded his arms. “Underground ring fighters—the best of them—are on equal level with pro heroes when it comes to using their Quirks for combat. Maybe higher, since they don’t hold back like us.” Midoriya paused again, his eyes sharp. “I’d work on your dodges. Unless you’re in the business of regularly tanking hits from All Might. Strength Quirks aren’t a joke.”

“You have a strength Quirk,” Shouto observed, somewhat unnecessarily.

“I have a strength Quirk that breaks my bones if I use it at its full power,” Midoriya said, and the entire room recoiled in horror. “Like I said. They’re no joke.” He shuffled again, adjusting his backpack strap and moving towards the door. “I’d really work on your dodges. Or get reinforced gear. Or work on your dodges and get reinforced gear. Sorry I can’t stay longer. Oh, Todoroki-kun. Did you get the joke?”

Shouto blanked for a moment, until he remembered the text. “Oh. Yes. I got it.”

Midoriya’s lips lifted into a beguiling curve, and then he reached up, burying his fingers in Shouto’s hair and giving it a good ruffle. Shouto tried to not focus to much on the feeling of calloused fingertips and knobby fingers. Instead he ducked his head, trying to get out from under Midoriya’s grip. Midoriya let out an unfairly pretty laugh as Shouto finally managed to knock his hand away, mourning the way the red and the white sides of his hair tangled slightly together now where it fell in front of his eyes.

“Stop it,” Shouto said, when Midoriya continued to laugh at him. “Why did you do that, anyway?”

“You need a haircut, Todoroki-kun,” Midoriya said, voice even softer than usual. “And you know I’m under legal obligation to stay here until I get at least one smile out of you. I was trying to fast-track the process.”

“Legal obligation?” Shouto quipped. “And here I thought you were just tormenting me for the fun of it.”

“I’m a man of much mystery,” Midoriya said, knocking his knuckles lightly against Shouto’s arm. “Come on, Todoroki-kun, just one little smile and I’ll go.”

“You’re a menace.”

“I know I am,” Midoriya said, beaming at Shouto. It happened almost reflexively, before Shouto could stop it—but the next thing he knew, his lips had twitched up into a small smile of his own. Midoriya let out a jubilant cry, punching a fist into the air. This only served to make it a little harder for Shouto to school his features into neutrality.

Gods, what had gotten into him lately, why was he so—

“Todoroki-kun smiled,” Uraraka gasped. “Tsuyu-chan. He smiled. It worked.”

“I see—kero.”

“That’s Midoribro for you.” Kirishima grinned. “He’s very manly.”

Right. They weren’t alone, either. This was a fact Midoriya was apparently a lot less affected by than Shouto, considering he just chuckled quietly—on second thought, that was definitely a nervous chuckle, so maybe he was affected—and adjusted his grip on his beanie. “That was my finishing act, unfortunately. I have to go, unless I want to miss my train.”

“Sorry to break it to you, but that was not your finishing act, bro,” Kirishima said, approaching Midoriya. He paused there for a second, then hauled Midoriya closer to him, burying a hand in his hair. “You have to collect your ruffles first, man!”

“Oh, right,” Midoriya said, almost sheepish in how he ducked his head when Kirishima let him go. “How could I forget the ruffles?”

“My turn,” Uraraka called softly, and Midoriya turned to her obediently, bowing at the waist so she could have easier access to his curls. Shouto watched idly as she began her four fingered strokes, much softer than Kirishima had. There was something almost loving about the gesture. Intimate.

It seemed an odd thing for two people who barely knew each other to do, but then again, Midoriya had never exactly struck him as usual.

Asui took Uraraka’s place next, giving Midoriya’s hair a few ruffles before she stepped back. Midoriya straightened, looking towards the balcony door, and Shouto thought for at least one instant that he was getting out of it without being asked to ruffle Midoriya’s hair too.

He should have known better, because if it wasn’t one of the other three doing it, it was most certainly going to be Midoriya himself. Especially considering he was more akin to Horizon than Midoriya at the moment, and had been ever since he caught sight of the others. True to form, Midoriya tilted his head towards Shouto slyly, not so much offering his hair for a ruffle as he was demanding it from him. Shouto swallowed, his gaze falling to the earrings adorning Midoriya’s lobes now. All of this was so unfair, honestly.

Shouto took his frustrations out on Midoriya by tweaking the stud in his left earlobe, causing Midoriya to yelp in surprise and slap a hand over his ear as he straightened up. “Hey!”

Shouto looked away from him as he felt his lips twitch slightly. “You deserved it.”

“You’re so mean to me, Todoroki-kun,” Midoriya grumbled, right before he grabbed Shouto’s hand. Shouto immediately felt heat rising to his face, which only worsened when Midoriya plopped Shouto’s hand on top of his head and held it there. Against his thumb, Shouto could feel the short hairs of Midoriya’s undercut prickling at him. Against his palm, he could feel the rough texture of Midoriya’s hair, they way the fluff of it depressed under his hand.

He would probably never be able to resist touching it again, now that he knew what it felt like.

“Now ruffle it, so I can catch my train,” Midoriya grumbled, voice a little off. Shouto chanced a glance at his face and got his answer to the weirdness—Midoriya was blushing. Shouto blinked. He actually…hadn’t been aware that Midoriya could blush that much, that Shouto maybe had a similar effect on him to the one he had on Shouto.

It changed things, slightly, and Shouto…

He didn’t really know what to do about that.

Shouto put off his crisis for a later date and settled for gently ruffling Midoriya’s hair. Shouto paid special attention to the feeling of his undercut under his thumb, at the way it brushed against his skin, tickling the pad of his thumb. Midoriya shivered slightly—a consequence of Shouto using his right hand to do this most likely—and Shouto quickly withdrew. He felt better about the situation if he pretended Kirishima, Uraraka, and Asui weren’t watching this all happen.

Midoriya pulled his hat over his head in one swift motion. He made his way to the balcony suspiciously quickly, all of them trailing after him as he perched on top of Shouto’s railing just like last time. Midoriya looked over his shoulder, offering them all a sweet and reassuring smile. “Look after yourselves,” he called softly, and then he tensed as if preparing to jump.

“Midoriya-kun, wait, I can—” Uraraka offered, reaching out to him. Midoriya had already leapt though, catching himself halfway on the branch of the tree and then dropping the rest of the way down like it was no big deal. He threw a lackadaisical wave over his shoulder at them as he walked off. Honestly, Shouto felt a little smugness at the gob smacked expressions on the others’ faces.

“Midoribro is so manly,” Kirishima whispered. Uraraka nodded along sagely.

Asui turned to look at Shouto, raising one eyebrow slightly. “So, Todoroki-chan. How often does Midoriya-chan climb an entire building just to see you—kero?”

Shouto refused to answer that question.

Midoriya Izuku [6:44 p.m.]:

There’s a really good soba place in this prefecture

Shouto [6:44 p.m.]:

What prefecture?

Midoriya Izuku [6:44 p.m.]:

Same as yesterday

That didn’t warrant a response. It didn’t. It was just Midoriya checking in, like he said he would, in whatever way he could. He was just keeping Shouto updated.

Shouto’s thumbs hovered over his keyboard all the same…and then he typed.

Shouto [6:45 p.m.]:

Soba is my favorite food.

There. He’d said something, and Midoriya probably wouldn’t respond, and—

Shouto’s phone buzzed, and he opened it.

Midoriya Izuku [6:45 p.m.]:

Here’s the real question for you Freezer Burn

Midoriya Izuku [6:45 p.m.]:

Hot or cold, for your soba?

Shouto [6:45 p.m.]:

Cold.

Midoriya Izuku [6:46 p.m.]:

I can respect that

Midoriya Izuku [6:46 p.m.]:

However, the superior food is actually katsudon

Shouto snorted, and Togata, who had been absorbed in his thoughts like usual, looked over at him. Togata smiled—it was still a little dimmer than it was when Shouto had first met him, but it was moving in the right direction. “Texting someone?”

“Yeah,” Shouto said, locking his phone and setting it face down on his desk. He continued writing the patrol report he’d been working on before he got distracted.

“Who was it?” Togata asked, his tone taking on a light teasing tone.

“Nobody,” Shouto said. His phone buzzed next to him, and he flipped it face up again just to see what Midoriya had said.

Midoriya Izuku [6:48 p.m.]:

I’ll still take you to the soba place if you want though, Todoroki-kun! *insert terribly executed wink here*

“That’s gotta be Midoriya, right?” Togata asked, sounding more full of life than he’d had in a while. “You’re blushing. I’m pretty sure the only person alive that can make you blush is Midoriya.”

Was he really so obvious?

“Midoriya could make anyone blush, if he wanted to,” Shouto said instead, turning his phone face down and ignoring it this time when it buzzed yet again. Shouto discreetly activated his right side, trying to cool his face down in secret, but judging by the way Togata gave him a shit-eating grin, he noticed.

“Yeah, he probably could,” Togata agreed. “I mean, I don’t know the guy like you, obviously, but do I believe he could make me blush, if he wanted? Yes. I do. And that’s saying something, since I have to walk around naked because of my Quirk sometimes!” He let out a bark of laughter. “What did he say to you, though?”

“Nothing he means,” Shouto said curtly, because it was the truth. It was something he had to remind himself about Midoriya with increasing frequency these days—that he only did what he did because it was part of an act to protect himself. He’d said as much to Shouto after the provisional licensing exam, after all. It was exceedingly foolish to be friends with Midoriya in the first place, no matter how similar he seemed to Shouto. It was doubly foolish to sit around believing Midoriya’s flirtations were the truth.

Shouto’s phone buzzed again next to his hand, and he gripped his pen a little tighter. He wasn’t a fool. He knew it was a little too late to be thinking of the error of his ways in befriending Midoriya now.

“Oh,” Togata said, his voice softer than usual. He turned towards Shouto, dark eyes full of depth and intensity. “You don’t think he returns your feelings.”

Shouto entertained the thought of actually having this conversation for all of zero seconds.

“No,” he said briskly. “I have a report to write.”

“Alright,” Togata said, turning back to his own work. He was one of the few people that didn’t seem to mind Shouto’s distance—it was another one of those similarities between him and Midoriya, one of the surface level ones. It often contributed to Shouto feeling guilty about it, whenever he was particularly rude to Togata.

Not bad enough to bring up a conversation with him about crushes again, though.

“You know,” Togata said, pausing to tap his pen against his lips. “You could always just ask him what he really means. You’re a frank person, Shouto-kun. There’s nothing wrong for asking for clarification if you want it.”

Shouto paused in his writing.

Togata didn’t get it. Midoriya was a professional liar, just like Shouto was. Being frank with people was great and efficient and all, but you don’t ask a liar what they really mean and expect an actual answer back. It was always easier to hide. Safer to stand behind walls built of fallacies. And Midoriya had already said the flirting was one of these fallacies. A defense mechanism. A protection. Shouto didn’t need to push the issue, because he already had his answer. He was friends with Midoriya now in spite of it.

He was about to try and somehow voice this to Togata when Nighteye’s door opened, the man himself appearing a moment later. A heavy air settled around them all—the mood had never quite shifted back to normal after Shouto bumped into Eri on patrol that day.

“Shouto,” Nighteye said, voice heavy. Shouto swallowed, because he knew that tone. Normally, it meant he was in trouble. “Would you step into my office with me for a moment, please?”

Shouto nodded, fisting his hands at his sides as he stood and followed his boss into his office. Nighteye went to his desk and sat down, and Shouto noticed—just like his first day here—that there was a chair in front of his desk too, presumably for Shouto.

“Take a seat, Shouto,” Nighteye said, gesturing to the chair. Shouto took a seat, trying not to get into his head about things. It was normal for bosses to want to talk to their employees about things. It didn’t have to be negative. Nighteye steepled his fingers as he peered at Shouto, silent and watchful.

Shouto took a deep breath, forcing his fingers to uncurl, and met Nighteye’s gaze. “Am I in trouble?”

Nighteye was silent for a long moment. The atmosphere between them grew tense, until Nighteye leaned back, breaking it. “No.” Shouto took another breath, closing his eyes for just a moment, and the silence stretched. “You are new to hero work. Not as new as most your age, since you’ve been exposed to the world by your father’s occupation, but you are still new.”

Shouto grit his teeth, forcing his temper and his frustrations deep down. “I know.”

Nighteye nodded, his sharp expression softening slightly. “I know that this has been challenging for you, Shouto. It’s an unpleasant side of heroics.”

“How do you mean?”

“This—the waiting, the wanting,” Nighteye said. “We can’t all save hundreds of people at a time, like All Might can.” He sighed after a moment. “If wishes were fishes, I could open an aquarium. As it stands, I can’t just rush into an operation and save everyone. It would be wasteful.”

“I understand,” Shouto said, averting his gaze. “Don’t pick fights I can’t win. I know.”

“Just because you know a thing is true it doesn’t mean you’re happy about it.” There was another moment of silence. “I understand your frustration, Shouto. We’re going to be moving in soon, and I want you to be as level-headed as possible. Please don’t put yourself in danger unnecessarily because you’re frustrated you couldn’t save the girl the first time.”

“I’m not stupid,” Shouto said quietly.

“I know you’re not, Shouto. I wouldn’t have hired you if you were. But you’re close to this.” Silence, again, like Nighteye was waiting for Shouto to say something. He did not. “Keep a level-head, and stay by my side. I’m putting my trust in you, and your determination.”

Shouto hung his head, taking a moment to breathe. Then he looked up, meeting Nighteye’s eyes. “Is that all?”

Nighteye sighed. “That’s all, Shouto.” Shouto took the opportunity to stand, but got called back from the door by Nighteye’s voice before he could leave. “And good luck. I do have faith in you.”

“Thank you,” Shouto said quietly. He caught the end of Nighteye’s nod, and then turned and left the room.

Shouto sank quietly back into his own seat, finally reaching for his phone. Togata, blissfully, did not say anything.

He had three messages from Midoriya.

Midoriya Izuku [6:49 p.m.]:

I was joking mostly

Midoriya Izuku [6:49 p.m.]:

But the noodles are good

Midoriya Izuku [6:50 p.m.]:

And the company’s good too, if it’s you, Todoroki-kun!

Shouto laid his head down on his desk. He didn’t mean it. He flirted as a defense mechanism. Shouto wasn’t special. He didn’t need to respond, since Midoriya was only messaging him as a favor, anyway.

Shouto [7:02 p.m.]:

Maybe when this is over.

And he owed Midoriya a favor or two, too, he supposed.

Shouto [7:02 p.m.]:

Which should be soon.

Chapter Text

Shouto awoke to an alarm on his phone going off at 5 a.m.

It was an alert from the Hero Network. Shouto had seen them on his father’s phone a thousand times—at the dinner table, in the middle of training, even in the early mornings like this. It was a call for aid. A shout of help.

And it was surreal, for Shouto, that he was getting one of these himself.

He got up and got ready quickly, forgoing a shower in favor of being dressed and ready to go on time. He gathered the case for his hero suit in one hand before he made his way downstairs, unsurprised when he entered the common area and found Asui there already, dressed and sitting on a couch with her own case by her feet.

“You too, then?” Shouto asked, his voice soft with the ambiance of the morning.

Asui croaked an affirmative, blinking up at Shouto. “Ochako-chan is almost ready, too.”

“Kirishima, probably, too.”

As if summoned by Shouto’s words, Kirishima came strolling out of the boys’ side of the dorms a moment later, an obviously tense set to his shoulders. His hair was spiked up, but perhaps not as meticulously as it usually was. Shouto nodded to him, and Asui called out a soft greeting as well.

“Morning, guys,” Kirishima said. His voice was still bright, though definitely a little more subdued than usual.

“That’s almost all of us—kero.”

The elevator on the girls’ side dinged softly, and Uraraka scrambled out, her costume case in hand too. She looked a little harried, with bags under her eyes. Shouto knew the feeling—he hadn’t slept well in a long, long time himself.

“And that’s all of us,” Kirishima said. “Morning, Uraraka.”

“Good morning,” she said, coming to a pause in front of the three of them. “How are you all doing?”

“Nervous,” Kirishima said. “It’s different, having time to prepare for a big fight, you know?”

“Did you work on your dodges any, Kirishima-chan?”

“I really only had one day to,” Kirishima said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “But yeah. I did.”

“At least you had one day,” Shouto said quietly. “Midoriya didn’t have to stick his neck out for us.”

“He seems the sort to do it anyway,” Uraraka said, voice thoughtful. They’d all started moving to the doors at some point, despite none of them acknowledging it was time to do so. “I don’t know him well, but he doesn’t seem the type to be able to resist helping someone.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Shouto agreed, subtly checking his phone for a message from Midoriya. He had one, blinking at the top of his screen. Surprising, really, since by all counts their alliance should have died as soon as the notice went out.

Midoriya Izuku [5:12 a.m.]:

Good luck today, Todoroki-kun!

Shouto locked his phone and tucked it back into his pocket.

It was a big day today, and Shouto refused to fail.

Izuku stood quietly by Eraserhead’s side, reviewing the information he’d assisted in providing to the investigation. Members, Quirks, appearances—he had to memorize them all. Along with the floor plan for the Shie Hassaikai’s compound.

“I think I let you get away with too much,” Eraserhead said suddenly, voice gruff.

Izuku startled slightly, looking up at him. Eraserhead was idly flipping through his pages, too, his eyes sharp and haunted. His goggles were hooked on his forehead, too, which usually meant he was about to get into a fight. He and Izuku matched in that way, he supposed.  

“Do you?”

“Yes.” Eraserhead flipped another page, his eyes glancing up to meet Izuku’s. “It’s a real problem of yours, you know. You’re always disobeying orders, trying to fight Sir Nighteye at meetings, getting your ears pierced just so you can get some information that we most likely could have gotten some other, rational way. Not to mention the fact that you regularly climb the dorm buildings to talk to Todoroki. Also, yes—I know about that.”

Izuku rubbed the back of his neck. “I figured. You knew, that was. Nedzu has cameras.”

Eraserhead sighed, dropping a hand onto Izuku’s head. “The point is that you need to stick by my side today, Horizon. No going off on your own to perform any hare-brained schemes that end up working miraculously anyway. Understood?”

“Got it, sir.”

“Good. Now, go talk to Todoroki.”

Izuku blinked. “What?”

“You heard me, Problem Child. You want to talk to the other problem child anyway, and, besides.” Eraserhead broke off, turning his gaze to where Todoroki stood next to Togata, expression stoic. Coincidentally, he turned Izuku’s gaze to them too, by virtue of the hand still on top of Izuku’s head. “I know my kids. Todoroki’s wound tight right now. But you’ve earned his trust somewhere between hugging him at the meeting and climbing the goddamn dorm building—which you do with annoyingly impressive skill, so I can’t even be that mad at you for doing something so reckless—so go.” Eraserhead gave Izuku a little shove in the right direction. “Scram. Come back to me when you get your flirting out of the way.”

Izuku, against his better judgement, felt a blush coming on. Honestly, curse his overly expressive face. He was supposed to be getting better about this. He whirled on Eraserhead in retaliation, one finger raised. “You know I have other reasons for talking to Todoroki. You gave me them. It’s not all about the—the—flirting.”

“Yes, Horizon, I know,” Eraseerhead said, giving him another shove. “Go do your job, kid. Help your uselessly pining teenage self—” Izuku spluttered. He honestly spluttered. It was the first time he’d done that in public for a while. “—help Todoroki, and help me too. Now I mean it. Scram.”

Izuku scrammed, ignoring the nervous pounding of his heart in his chest as he did. It wasn’t the time for feelings. Or the place for them, for that matter. Besides, if there was any teenager out there that needed to not have feelings for someone else, it was probably Izuku. What with his secret Quirk and all…that…

He took a deep breath. Fine. It was fine. He was fine. Feelings, who? He didn’t know them.

Right.

“Hey, Todoroki-kun,” Izuku said, careful to keep just a touch of a lilt to his voice, in true Horizon fashion. “Togata-san.”

“Hey, Midoriya-kun,” Togata said, giving him a grin and a thumbs up. “You ready for the raid?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose,” Izuku said. “You?”

Todoroki shifted slightly, as if he didn’t care for that question, but Togata just nodded, his gaze softening. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m ready.”

Ah, yeah. These two. They’d been the ones to bump into Eri in the first place, a week and a half ago. “Action,” Izuku said, tilting his head slightly towards Togata, “always feels better than inaction, no matter how small the action in question is.”

“That’s very wise, Midoriya-kun,” Togata remarked.

“I have a lot of experience with both,” Izuku said simply. “I’ve gotten where I am today on the actions I have taken, but I’ve lost a lot for the actions I haven’t been able to take too. It’s—” Here he paused, thinking of his childhood, of the way he viewed heroes back then, the way he viewed All Might— “a part of heroics that people don’t like to talk about, I think. That heroes can’t always save everyone.” Izuku looked away, eying up all of the heroes and police assembled here, though. Regardless of his own past—a past riddled with inaction simply because he put himself in a position where action couldn’t be taken—what they were doing here, it was what hero work should be all about. Coming together to save one person that couldn’t save themself. That was a different ideal world than the one he grew up in, though. There was a price to having a team—if you’re watching someone else’s back, you might just get shot in yours.

“We’re going to save her, though,” Izuku decided, looking back at the other two. His gaze lit on Todoroki for a moment, and Izuku gave him a smile he didn’t really feel himself. Trust, trust… “I can promise you both that.” It was true, at least. Izuku had failed a lot because of his inaction. Now that he had a chance to succeed, he wouldn’t waste it.

There was silence for a moment. Todoroki’s eyes went strangely wistful—they did this sometimes, and like always, it was difficult for Izuku to discern what he was really thinking about. All the ways he’d failed to save people before, too, maybe. Todoroki hadn’t had an easy year. It wasn’t a competition by any means of the word, but his had probably been harder than Izuku’s—it was painful to be on the sidelines, but there wasn’t any actual bloodshed there, at least.

“Can I ask you something?” Izuku turned his gaze on Togata and nodded to show that he was listening. Togata hesitated for a moment, then shook his head slightly. He gave Izuku a smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Sorry, I know it’s personal. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. But you—you’ve been saved before, haven’t you? It’s just, the way you talk about things. It seems like you know about them.”

That was a good question.

“No,” Izuku eventually decided, because he thought it was fair. Nobody had really saved him, just…said the right thing, at the right time. “But somebody reached their hand out to me, and I used it to save myself.” He looked at Todoroki, knocking his knuckles against his arm softly. “That’s why I know what I’m talking about when I say you did enough, just by giving Eri-chan something to hope for. It’s easier to get by when a situation doesn’t feel so permanent.”

Todoroki hung his head, oddly quiet. His expression was forlorn, but for once…Izuku couldn’t really find it in himself to pull out one of Todoroki’s smiles. Izuku closed his eyes, sighing through his nose, and then smiled at them both. “I came to say good luck. We’ll be fighting alongside each other on the front lines, it looks like.”

“Thank you, Midoriya,” Todoroki said. It was the first time he’d spoken since Izuku came over here.

“Thank you,” Togata agreed, giving Izuku a bright smile. “Good luck to you too, hey?”

“Thanks,” Izuku said, turning to go elsewhere quickly. He should probably go talk to the others too, just to seem a little less…suspicious. And because he wanted to talk to them.

“Midoriya,” Todoroki called, before Izuku could get too far away. Izuku paused, turning to look at him fully. They crossed gazes, an invisible string of tension between them catching and knotting. Izuku held his breath in involuntarily, one thought echoing around the walls of his brain, almost nonsensical in its repetition—he knows he knows he knows. Todoroki held that gaze for a long moment, expression hard. Izuku braced himself for it—for the question he knew Todoroki would eventually have to ask him. He hadn’t expected it so soon.

At the last second, Todoroki changed his mind.

“Your piercings,” he said. “You got them getting this information, didn’t you?” He held up his papers, full of profiles on temporary members of the Shie Hassaikai. Information Izuku had indeed compiled with Eraserhead.

Izuku hung his head, hiding the bit of blush that came on from being caught. “I did,” he said sheepishly.

“…Okay.”

“Okay,” Izuku repeated, smiling softly at the awkward way the phrase fell off his tongue.

He went to talk to Kirishima and Amajiki.

The raid had an explosive start.

One instant, Shouto was standing between Togata and Aizawa, listening as a police officer read out a warrant. The next second, the walls were being blown apart by someone with explosive force.

“Katsukame Rikiya,” came a quiet voice from Shouto’s left. It took him a moment to process that it was Midoriya—voice a soft murmur. “Quirk: Vitality Stealing. He steals strength and stamina from his opponent and then adds it to his own. Touch requirement. Defeat with distance attacks or sheer firepower. Worst match is someone with more stamina than he could steal and more strength than he can naturally overpower which means—”

“Ryukyu!” Aizawa called at the same time Ryukyu transformed into a dragon and caught Katsukame’s next fist.

“Nejire-chan needs to stay here and fight him no matter what,” Midoriya continued, and Aizawa tilted his head towards him as if he were listening intently. “She’ll have increased stamina and tolerance because of how her own Quirk seems to work from the description you gave me. If Ryukyu doesn’t—”

“Members of my agency, stay with me!” Ryukyu called out. “The rest of you, move!”

“You heard her!” Fat Gum yelled. “Police, heroes, keep moving!”

Shouto was running before he even processed that he was moving. He noticed that their positions had shuffled, and he was standing more with Midoriya and Aizawa than Nighteye and Togata. Not that they really needed him up front right now anyway, since the Hassaikai member with the leaf Quirk was downed almost immediately and the doors to the compound thrown open by Nighteye.

They barreled inside, collectively. Shouto kept pace with the pack easily, not even breaking a sweat as they jogged. Nighteye led them on a sharp chase through the compounds, taking turns seemingly at random until they arrived at a plant. The plant was promptly cast aside, Nighteye’s hands flying over the planks as he worked.

The secret passage popped open, several men rushing out. Bubble Girl flung a bubble into one’s face while Centipeder wrapped around the other, effectively taking them out of commission before Shouto could even react.

“Go on,” Bubble Girl said, nodding decisively to Nighteye. “We’ll get these guys detained, then follow you afterwards.”

 Nighteye nodded to her and then wasted no time racing off. Shouto stayed hot on his heels this time, not at all surprised that he was flanked by Togata and Midoriya. They were swift, the both of them.

“Something’s wrong,” Midoriya said, a moment before Nighteye rounded another corner and stopped abruptly. Shouto rounded the corner himself and immediately saw why—down the way, the path was blocked by a wall.

“Is the passage supposed to be blocked?” Kirishima questioned somewhat hesitantly, from Midoriya’s other side.

“No,” Aizawa said.

Midoriya narrowed his eyes at the wall. “It’s not Chisaki’s Quirk. His breaks down matter and then completely restructures it, if he were responsible you wouldn’t see fissures. I would say it’s Irinaka’s, but—”
Shouto blinked. Midoriya was extremely familiar with enemy Quirks. And their Quirks. It was somewhat surprising, honestly, and more than a little impressive.

“That’s Irinaka, alright,” Fat Gum cut in. “That’s Irinaka on Trigger.”

Shouto eyed the wall. That made a good bit of sense, actually. Like Midoriya said, there were fissures in the wall, like it had been fused together instead of remade. If Irinaka took Trigger, it was more than likely he’d be able to handle a larger surface area than his initial Quirk assessment divulged.

“So irritating,” Midoriya said next to him. “Any of them could have Trigger.”

Aizawa snorted. “Welcome to being a pro, Horizon. Everything’s unfair.”

“Easy for you to say. It doesn’t matter if the villain you face is using Trigger or not, since you erase their Quirk all the same.”

“Unless they’re a mutant.”

“Unless they’re a mutant.”

Shouto couldn’t hold back a quiet snort at their banter, but it got buried in the sound of Togata’s voice. “I’ll check it.” He strode forward with his words, stopping by the wall and taking his helmet off so he could stick his face through. He returned after seconds. “It’s just this area closed off, the rest of the path is clear.”

“Chisaki is stalling us,” Amajiki muttered quietly. “He—”

“Tamaki!” Togata interrupted, dropping a heavy hand onto Amajiki’s shoulder. “Listen to me. It’s going to be fine.” Togata looked back at the rest of the group. “I’m going to go on ahead.”

“Mirio—” Nighteye started.

“Togata-senpai, wait, your clothes!” Kirishima shouted.

“He’ll be okay,” Amajiki said. “His hero costume is made out of his hair fibers. It phases with him.” Ahead of them, Togata disappeared entirely behind the wall.

Nighteye looked displeased, but cast a glance over his shoulder. “We need to move forward, regardless. Horizon, could you…?”

“On it,” Midoriya said, without further prompting. Green lightning flared to life around him as he darted forward, throwing out a leg at the wall with enough force to buffet the rest of them with wind. The wall caved under the pressure, leaving a massive hole in it where Midoriya had kicked it in. Midoriya wasted no time going through it as the rest of them followed behind.

“Midoribro is really powerful, huh?” Kirishima said, next to Shouto.

“He is,” Shouto quietly agreed.

“He’s got such a way of making me feel smaller, next to him,” Kirishima said, with a quiet, almost bitter chuckle. It wasn’t a very Kirishima-like laugh, but Shouto more than anyone knew people were more than their outermost layers.

“He’s got a way of inspiring me to catch up to him,” Shouto said.

Kirishima cast him an almost surprised look, and then everything came to a halt once again as the floor began to shake around them.

“Shouto!” Midoriya shouted, sending a jolt through him at the sound of his given name (which was ridiculous, it was so ridiculous, it was Shouto’s hero name—). Shouto cast wild eyes toward him. He was running again, but he pointed at a spot several paces in front of him. “Ice pillar!”

Shouto didn’t think, he just did. He built an ice pillar immediately, just as Midoriya jumped, using it as a landing point before jumping again, heading straight for the roof. He swung his fist towards a particular spot, power rippling along Midoriya’s arm and expanding in the form of green lightning. The walls let out a startled scream, and the shaking held off for a moment so a hand-like protrusion could launch itself towards Midoriya. Shouto started to move—he didn’t know what he could do, but he had to do something—but Aizawa beat him to it, flicking out his capture weapon. Midoriya caught it, twisting it about himself as he fell, sliding to a less than graceful halt next to Shouto, who reached out to steady him.

“How’d you see Irinaka?” Aizawa immediately demanded, dropping the end of his capture weapon to steady Midoriya’s other shoulder.

“I didn’t see,” Midoriya said, sounding slightly bewildered. “I just knew.”

Shouto caught the edge of Aizawa’s frown in the corner of his eye before the floor opened up underneath them, and everyone fell. Shouto created an impromptu ice slide for himself and Kirishima, who was still beside him. Midoriya and Aizawa took the landing with matching rolls—it was almost amusing to watch them move in perfect synchronicity like that—and all the others took it the best they could (which was typically by landing on their ass and getting to their feet afterwards).

There were three men waiting for them. One had golden hair and eyes, the other was bald with a simple white face mask, and the third was wearing a…Shouto wasn’t sure exactly how to describe what the third was wearing, other than that it was creepy as hell.

“Don’t pull your weapons!” a police officer shouted. “That’s Setsuno Touya. His Quirk is Larceny, it lets him take any equipment from us.”

“Eraserhead!” Fat Gum called out.

“It’s erased.”

“Great!” Fat Gum said, pounding a fist into his other hand. “Then it’s time to rumble.”

“Aw, now that’s no fair,” Setsuno said. “But that’s the thing about you heroes—” Shouto felt his whole body twitch as Setsuno reached into a jacket pocket and pull out a gun. “—you always have to play by the rules.”

It was Amajiki that reacted first out of all of them, lunging forward and gripping the gun in crab claw. He crushed it from there and dropped it to the ground. “This is my battle,” Amajiki said, sounding more confident than he ever had before. Shouto raised an eyebrow at him. “I’ll fight these three. You all need to go on ahead.”

“Amajiki-senpai, are you sure? A three on one?” Kirishima asked, voice rising with incredulity as he went.

“I’m sure. I can handle this. The rest of you need to save your Quirks for when you fight Chisaki.”

“Let’s go then,” Fat Gum said, leading the charge into the tunnels this time. That was that, Shouto supposed—Amajiki was Fat Gum’s intern, so it was Fat Gum’s decision to either leave or stay. He noticed Aizawa paused for a moment, knocking the yakuza member with the strange mask to the ground, unconscious. He was the one with the eating Quirk, right?

“Soramitsu Tabe,” Midoriya said next to him with a sly grin, like he’d read Shouto’s mind. “His Quirk is Food, which is a near-perfect counter to Amajiki’s Manifest. You should have memorized the list better, Shouto.” This last part was accompanied with a friendly nudge to his side with an elbow.

Shouto promptly ignored the way that elbow nudge combined with the casual use of his first name—seriously, it was his hero name, Midoriya was going to call him that—set his heart pounding.

“Todobro doesn’t need lists,” Kirishima said from Midoriya’s other side. “He’s used to just brute forcing his way through everything.”

“Shameful, Shouto, shameful,” Midoriya said, laughing quietly.

Shouto felt his face heat up slightly, and ignored it. “That’s not really true,” he said. He was well aware of the fact that he was only making this correction in this one specific instance because he was trying to impress Midoriya somewhat, and though he wasn’t proud of that fact, his shame wasn’t enough to stop him from running his mouth. “I put in effort to know the Quirks of enemies and things. I was just a little more focused on Chisaki himself than the others.”

“Fair enough,” Midoriya said, with a contemplative little hum.

Kirishima let out a soft but frustrated noise. “I’m still worried about Amajiki-senpai, myself.”

Shouto hummed contemplatively. “I’ve never seen him fight, but he is one of the Big Three for a reason.”

“Big Three or not, it wasn’t very manly to leave him on his own,” Kirishima argued.

“Incorrect,” Midoriya said, voice soft. Shouto noticed Fat Gum close his mouth across the way. Most likely, he’d been thinking of saying something in response himself. “When we fight together, we trust someone to have our back, and they in turn trust us to have theirs. It’s as frightening as it is helpful.” Midoriya cast a smile over his shoulder slightly at Kirishima, charming and easy. “I think it’s more manly to uphold that trust and respect, instead.”

Kirishima blinked a few times, befuddled, as his cheeks slowly flooded with color. Shouto couldn’t help but snort as he looked away; honestly, it was high time someone else should have to learn to function in the face of Midoriya’s undeniable attractiveness. Midoriya caught Shouto’s snort and smiled at him instead, for just an instant. Shouto, not for the first time, cursed whatever entity devoted to karmic justice was out to get him for every thought he had.

Midoriya’s expression suddenly dropped, and he whipped his head toward the far wall. “Eraserhead, move!” he shouted. Aizawa turned toward him, expression curious—but the point was, he wasn’t dodging. Shouto followed Midoriya’s gaze, noticing that the wall was changing there, separating out, becoming something else. It was Irinaka again, it had to be, and the wall was moving straight for Aizawa.

Shouto scrambled for something he could do to help, but before he could come up with anything, he caught a flash of red and a flash of yellow out of the corner of his eye. Both Fat Gum and Kirishima were leaping to save Aizawa. Both of them had managed to act before Shouto did. He grit his teeth, preparing to move on from the incident entirely, when he felt a tug on his wrist.

Shouto snapped his gaze over to Midoriya, surprised to see the way his hands flickered familiarly over JSL. If the moment had been different, Shouto might have laughed—Midoriya really was good at everything. I need a lift, Midoriya signed, and then he gestured to a spot on the wall again. Shouto nodded and prepared to ice another pillar for him to get a little more height off of his jump, but before either of them could move, the floors started shaking.