Chapter Text
ACT 1 OF SEASON 1
TWO MONTHS AFTER THE 1A VS 1B BATTLE, IN SEASON 5 OF THE MHA ANIME
I've never been late to this class before...
A swift-footed teen pelts down the hallway, fagged feet thrumming against the tile. Their breathing is somehow controlled, trained,—four in, four out—pushing through a flaring nose. In these vacant hallways, the pitter-patter of their own feet and breaths are all to bounce back to their ears, and are quickly lost to the somnolent muddling white-noise of their brain. Bleary eyes strive for one thing and one thing only, a looming door that will illustrate the opening to the class they'd long supposed to be in.
It's a saying, "saved by the bell." It had saved students this morning as it does every other, alerting them to shuffle to their classes on time and slide into their seats. For Hitoshi Shinsou, the bell had now rang twice, reminding him of the fact he himself is late, and that he'd slept over the morning bell assigned to wake him up that resulted in his lateness.
Could you blame him, really? Lulled by the plushies of his bed to press his lashes together for just a little bit longer, to curl in himself just a little bit tighter, to remain unaware of consciousness for what he wishes to be a little bit more than forever?
Boards above his head flash '1-18, 1-17, 1-16, 1-15,' in barely paid-attention to blurs, Shinsou awaiting when '1-A' will shine benevolently from the adjoined mix of numbers and letters. Behind that door is better than what form of education could ever present in front of him: a desk to lay his head on and get one more—maybe even two blinks of sleep!
But time is draining faster than a cat's mood-swing of wanting to play switching to wanting to sink it's teeth into your hand.
One pro is that he's going to be no later than his dad.
At least lil sis's Quirk going haywire is what finally woke me up. Dad's bound to have it under control by now—he's going to show up to start class in only a matter of time.
His dad (well, one of his dad's) was the Hero Course teacher—Shinsou can feel his heart soar just slightly at the prompt that he was in the Hero Course.
Remember when you use to beam at the daring thought you'd ever become a hero as a child? He corrects himself: Still do, and I'm even in the class now. Like a setting sun, that fleeting light of hope becomes smaller and smaller with each passing day.
"Listen, Rockstar, you'll become a great hero. These kids, they're just a rough crowd. When you're older, everyone will realize that and enjoy your tune." He just had to hold onto his father's words like he had been all these years.
His dad hasn't taught the famous ones like Endeavor, Hawks, or Best Jeanist. However, the walls he passes by, this ground his feet fly over, the windows he catches his purple haired and eyed reflection in, it's all the prestigious high-school of UA, where people go to become heroes. It's All Might's Alma mater, too.
Envy curls in Shinsou's belly. At least they all had good Quirks to work with.
Like a diamond in the rough, 1-A's board blings in Shinsou's view, just a moment away. Picking up speed in pursuit, one of the ends of the scarf strung around his shoulders streams out behind him, and in only a twist of his ankle, a doorframe too tall to be reasonable hangs over him like it has all the other times. Like a cloud of dread.
One of the cons of sleeping in late—
Anxiety slips out from where it had hidden, weaving around Shinsou's arms like a snake, tautening his biceps and stiffening his ligaments, till it's racking him from his core. The want to run away, shrivel up, and die, hisses from deep inside of him—he shushes it internally, right now isn't the time, but there's no escape. There never is.
Alas, there's nothing he can do.
Burying his face deep into his scarf, hiding the lower half from prying gazes to see, his hand coils around the door knob. With a creak, he opens the door to class 1-A.
—is that everyone's eyes are on you.
Someday he would get used to it. Hopefully, before, if at all, he becomes a hero.
***
Immediately, Shinsou's ears are blasted with the noise of chattering and loud talking. He's unable to stop himself from flinching as he steps inside, mind scrambling to keep hold onto the grogginess weighing over him and not an incoming headache. His ears ring painfully; at least it filters out the loudest of Kirishima, Mina, and Uraraka, and of Izuku, who'd his mind spotted from the knot of voices after hearing it so many times.
Accustomed to straining his eyes on the tiles below his dress-code required shoes, cheeks burning from several sets of eyes he's too exhausted to count and knows are burning into his skull, he saunters head-down to his desk. Glimpses of his classmates tease his peripheral vision.
1-A was a mix of boys and girls in the class, many varieties of different hair colors all around.
Hues going from green, to red, to blue, purple, electric yellow, hot pink—believe it or not, someone was actually all pink, from her head to her toes—purple, and the classics, brown and black.
"Calm down, boom boom boy, you're going to set the desk on..."
Shinsou tenses at the jeer of Sero, clearly one of his classmates, which thank All Might's legacy wasn't directed at him. He tunes the rest of it out with overwhelming blame, I'm sorry I'm sorry I know it's my fault, tiles turning faster under his feet. His stomach churns and loathing gushes inside of him at a strand of spiked flaxen peeping into his vision.
"Shinsou!—"
Shinsou seizes like a board as a hand grasps his shoulder, big and not Sero's, but someone nonetheless. He inhales the lavender-scent of his shampoo from his scarf sharply as he's twirled on his feet, disquietude and annoyance and please will you leave me alone, crying out from inside of him.
Glasses and a solemn hard gaze is what he's face with. Iida's blue hair is almost a cyan from the sun's reflection off the snow outside, which makes him even more displeasing to see than he already was.
"Shinsou! You are late to class! What is the cause of this? What would Aizawa say?" Iida demands with a frown, pointing a hand at him accusingly. "As your class rep I have to keeps the class in check. Explain your reasoning!"
Shock from his half-awake state being bombarded with more yelling, he stares dumbfounded at Iida; one could assume he was doing an impression of a deer in headlights. When the class rep stares back, waiting expectantly for an answer, Shinsou realizes with despair he actually has to talk to him.
Swallowing back the nerves, he wrenches his jaw open.
"I-I uhh..." he starts nervously, voice barely over a whisper. His fingers twitch with the instinct to replace his vocals. Iida's gaze pierces relentlessly into his soul. Shinsou takes a step back towards the seats, longing to turn tails on anything having to do with anyone. "I um, I slept over—"
Suddenly, someone practically slams through the door, flinging it open and skidding to a stop at the front of the classroom by the podium, nearly tripping on their feet. Mr.Aizawa would see such an entry as irrational, so there was no way it was him. This caught the attention of all the students.
The late student came to such a abrupt stop that the purse slung over their shoulder thrashed back and forth from the momentum. They turned to the class, straightening themselves up in U.A's uniform, swiveling their hands to their hips. An excited and determined smile sprawled across her face.
The new interrupter had dark brown hair twined into a abdomen-lengthen plait, tanned skin, freckles dappling their nose, and glasses with brown eyes so dark they look like mud-puddles behind those (Listen, he's not that creative, alright?). They leaned in towards the class, tie falling with her movements, eyes raking over the students before she spoke.
Shinsou wanted to shrink into his scarf. Firstly because, why would anyone be so loud and purposefully want all eyes out to judge on them? And secondly, she screamed of talk, talk, talk, which preferably, he could live without.
As prophesied, she starts. "My name is Isabella Nicholson—I know it's Japanese tradition to go by last names, but I'd prefer you call me Isa! I love the Warriors book series and wanna be a hero like All Might,—" Shinsou didn't need to look to know Midoriya's eyes brightened across the room, "—I mean, who wouldn't?—So just like you all, I'm here to learn how to be a hero, and make friends on the way!" As she finished her introduction, she pumped her fist into the air like All Might would after a battle or a long speech. Well, he would when he was still the #1 hero.
She then hopped down from her place in front of the class, strutting forward.
Wait, it's the transfer student from America, that dad said would be coming to UA. I forgot about her. Shinsou remembers very conveniently.
Who was Isa, beside those few details, you might be asking?—Even if he wanted to tell you, he's the wrong person for it. A faint memory of the American transfer student hauling boxes in the late-night of everyones' but Shinsou's slumber cuts through the fog of his mind. Rising from his chest comes a curiosity to know, but not enough drive to find out. And that's all the energy he can muster to give it thought. You'll have to wait for the next chapter to learn more about her, sorry for the inconvenience...
He sees a chance of escape much more worthy. Wiggling away from Iida's touch and attention, Shinsou skitters away towards the safety his seat and the solace of the his desk, gladly breathing in his own silence that rests comfortingly in his lungs. Behind him, he hears Iida's feet march across the class to greet the student as expected.
He can imagine Iida bowing politely to the new student as his voice booms a yard away. "Hello! You must be the the new transfer student of UA, right? Welcome to class 1-A. It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Tenya Iida, your class rep. I'm the one who keeps the class in check."
From the rustle of clothing, Isa probably returns the bow. "In deed I am, it's nice to meet you, class rep!"
In classic Iida fashion, he shakes her hand so harshly that it shakes her and her entirety, if that clamor from her jiggling purse means anything.
The rest of the class comes over, zeroing in to greeting the new transfer. To say Shinsou's surprised when Midoriya is second to speak up would be a lie. And he doesn't have to see it for a faint longing to fill his chest.
"Hello, Isa, —I apologize if I'm saying that wrong— I'm Izuku Midoriya! Welcome to UA," he greets her, a polite smile curling across his softly freckled face.
Third to speak is, "I'm Eijirou Kirishima, nice to meet you!"
More addressing fills the air as the class welcomes her kindly; all the merrier to have a pulsing migraine encroach on Shinsou's skull. He can say goodbye to that wink of sleep he was craving.
With a soft internal sigh of pure sorrow, he seeks out that desk that'll be at least satisfying to rest his head down on. He spots it and rushes down the isle to his assigned seat—it's not as far in the back as he'd appreciate but in the second row and corner nonetheless,—eyes laying upon a neighboring student who's always well-aware he's not in the correct seat, but its not like Sero's gonna kick Denki out of his desk. The electric blonde will clamber into his designated spot when the sliding door scrapes open with the late presence of their homeroom teacher, anyway.
Kaminari Denki was playing on his phone, which he hid poorly underneath his desk. A charger was in his mouth, connected to the cellphone below. Black painted fingers tap rapidly across his screen, the other hand gliding through his curtain bangs, black lightning bolt in his fringe dispersing and forming back together. A black velvet choker girdles his Adam's apple. Shinsou pads over to his desk across from him.
When sun eyes, round and so, so kind, kinder than Shinsou deserves look up from his phone to catch his dreary, exhausted eminence ones, wilted with negativity that contrast Denki's beaming positivity, a smile pleads to force it's way past his scarf and onto his own face. But the last thing Shinsou wants is a how are you, a nick of a chance for the blonde to dive into conversation that ends with him hankering to be disemboweled, insides all for him to see, and in turn putting that mound of scuttling demons on Denki's shoulders.
I'm so tired of bothering people.
He was so tired of so many things.
Denki's gaze turn sympathetic instead, and Shinsou can't tell if that's worse or better. Better, he'll leave me alone, his mind offers, and he scolds himself for his brashness because it's Denki.
"Have a rough night, Hito?" the blonde tries, sun eyes as soft as sunlight streaming through budding boughs in the spring.
Shinsou just nods, head lowering into the depths of his scarf as he lowers into his seat, where he's protected, hidden, and unable to be read. Denki doesn't prod. Wisteria lashes intertwine as he snuggles into the crook of his arm. He allows the other to dangle off the side, a pleased sigh almost slipping from his lips at the cool kiss of the surface of his desk against his chin. He could stay like this forever.
Subsequently, fingers benignly tease his own. A spark races up Shinsou's finger tips. For once, he doesn't flinch. It wasn't the first time the blonde has shocked him, and it would be a while before it was the last. Willingly, their hands meld together, electricity buzzing behind the layers of skin of Denki's palm.
He squeezes. Hitoshi squeezes back.
Distantly, but still there, voices float through the air, in the background of the purple haired boy's attention span. Since he hasn't a chance of napping anymore, he lets his ears absorb the conversation.
It's the transfer student, and he imagines her twirling around the class in wonder and inspection. She seemed like the person to do that. "Shouldn't there be a teacher here?" She asks to someone. Probably Iida.
A swish of a sleeve tells Iida has chopped his hand. "Mr.Aizawa should be here—"
The sound of the class door sliding open rumbles the walls of the class, and a low gruff voice speaks, "I'm right here."
Shinsou can imagine him in his head without having to peek open his eyes: a lean pale man with long black greasy hair that droops to his shoulders, eyes as black as onyx ores, scruff to make up for his lack of a beard, a grey scarf around his neck much alike his own, and a sliver of a scar under his eye. Basically, a homeless man without the homeless.
"I assume Midoriya already told you, but I had to deal with Eri's quirk going out of control this morning," their homeroom teacher informs. A stampede of feet tramples the tiles not a second later, including Denki rushing out of Sero's desk, vibrating Shinsou's own and his now empty hand, announcing everyone scattering to their seats like frightened mice. When Mr.Aizawa speaks again, he emanates from the podium at the front of the class. "If you students are done wasting your time chattering and being in the wrong seats,—" the class immediately became silent at his harsh tone, and the transfer probably has a shocked look on her face, "—then I'd like you to grab your hero suits, and head to Ground Gamma."
In routine, the Hero Course teacher clicks a button, and suit-cases with numbers began to slowly protrude from the wall. The class starts to disband from their seats, Shinsou staggering up from his seat with a silent groan, snatching up their suit cases with their personal numbers and heading to the changing rooms to get dressed.
As Midoriya takes his suit from the wall, emerald valley of curls on his head bobbing, he tags after the new transfer student as the class rush down the hallway. The amusement that collects in Shinsou is almost enough to not let this action dampen his mood even more.
Almost.
"Hey," Midoriya taps on her shoulder, "you said All Might's your favorite hero?"
Isa turns, braid whipping, mud-puddle eyes sparkling. "You like All Might too?"
Midoriya's shamrock eyes gleam and he smiles big, wrinkling the array of freckles that dot both of his cheeks.
"I love him!"
Isa gasps with nothing other than absolute delight. "He's my favorite—"
Chatter explodes from the two of them in excitedly shared words, filling the air, and burning Shinsou's eardrums.
This migraine is just going to be the worst, isn't it? he thinks unhappily.
Shinsou can't imagine his morning getting any more hapless.