Chapter Text
There was no ice in prison.
Sure, there was not-so-fresh water throughout the establishment, but there was no ice. Even with the quirk-canceling cuffs tightened around his wrists, Geten could feel something calling out for him, his fingertips itching at the need to reach out. Yet, there was no ice here for him.
Staying locked away gave him ample time to reflect on everything that happened within a short time frame. Joining Re-Destro, the rise of the P.L.F., the war between the “greatest” heroes and villains. He didn’t bother catching up with the news shortly after, he knew what the aftermath of the war had in store for them. But even with all this precious time to think, he didn’t plan what would happen if he got released—when he got released. He only assumed that he’d rot away for the rest of his days in a cramped prison cell with another Stain fanatic, listening to boring politics and opinions that don’t matter to him.
He didn’t serve in prison for long, to his surprise, due to his “good behavior.” He kept to himself, stuck to the rules, and did what was told, no questions asked. Clearly, it paid off in the long run, shortening his term by two years. He stepped in as a young, stubborn boy and came out as a free man. Or as free a man could be in this world.
He has no regrets for what he did, he reminds himself. The same outcome would’ve happened with or without him; that dent he made in this fragile society will never go away. No matter which side won, heroes or villains, there would always be a loss. Loss of loved ones. Loss in money. Loss in time and energy. There would’ve been casualties regardless, so why not join the side with the most potential? Unfortunately, he miscalculated that statistic, but the truth is still bolded: broken glass is scattered away from the clear window of society. His contribution is a loss, a loss not worth dying for, even with that little dent in mind.
Sure, the government made notions to reconstruct society into the shell it once was. Several politicians and higher-ranking heroes created funds and drove their energy into rehabilitation for prisoners and former villains in hopes of blending them back into civilian society. The lingering effects of the mistreatment and disrespect of mutants were still in the air. These issues don’t disappear overnight. The Hero Public Safety Commission had several areas of corruption, so much so that there were a few documentaries about it. Background checks on heroes and restricting specific liberties were useless too: the Hero Ranking Billboard still exists, and the wisps of the old society are still there.
Even with these government initiatives, they don’t tackle the larger problem at hand: society. Their expectations, their standards, and their treatment of outcasts that they outcasted themselves, still exist and are still thriving. Change is not as quick as everyone may preach.
At his release, they told him that this was an opportunity to change his life for the better. And to get him on track, they graciously gave him some resources including a small studio apartment and funds to start his journey. In return, he must demonstrate commitment by maintaining a job. It sounded easy, but of course, Geten can’t hide his criminal history from anyone. Maybe changing his name, adding a few more skills that he learned from the web, and filling in some gaps would do just the trick. Even then, he can’t get a job. Not even a simple job like a fast food cook or a cash register would take him. He can’t blame them.
He would be unemployed and broke for the rest of his life.
It’s not as if he has anything to look forward to either. His social life will forever be nonexistent. He doesn't have friends because he learned a crucial life lesson at a young age: You cannot trust anyone because they will either use you or leave you and regardless of which, you will always be alone.
As for his family, his parents died when he was small and he was an only child. His association with the Todoroki Family was easily little to none, with Fuyumi Todoroki attending his trial as an observer and her olive branch of a text left on delivered on his phone after his release. She’s probably the only sane Todoroki in that family.
To his concern, he has no family, and neither does he need one.
One month into his release he’s living the dream life: living with family (alone) in a home (one-bed-one-bath apartment), eating luxurious meals (bread and butter), and spending quality time with his loved ones (single-player video games). It’s just enough to feel depressed about his life and just enough to skate by it. He wakes up from a black screen of a dream to brushing his teeth with sour toothpaste to eating stale bread with a stale view of the apartment’s army green garbage bins to applying online to jobs that won’t accept him with a fake resume to playing video games with emptiness filling in his stomach. Rinse. And. Repeat.
And then there it was, a beaming light in his darkness. A Night Security Guard position at a not-so-local library was miraculously offered. Although it was nighttime with a far commute, surrounded by old, dusty books that hadn’t felt the human touch in decades and ghosts from all the dead characters in said books, he took it.
It’s been a week into the job, so he runs a slightly different day now. He still wakes up from no dream, brushes his teeth, eats bread, yadda yadda, waits till 10:45 P.M. to actually get ready for work, pushes his hood up, tightens the strings, walks to the local train station, waits an eternity for the actual train to arrive, and then rides an eternity on said train to his destination: the library.
Slotting the key inside the keyhole and jiggling the doorknob of the back door, he walks inside, promptly locking the door behind him and pulling off his hood. The dimly lit yellow lights are always on in hopes of threatening unwanted guests to not come in. But what would a library have that’s useful to the world? Selling books for money would be more of a hassle than robbing a bank.
Grunting, he did his nightly check—on the windows he’d press his thumbs against the locks to make sure it’s sealed, he’d look through the aisles and under the tables for surprising visitors, and he’d always turn the air conditioner on, despite being told not to.
After a gruesome fifteen minutes, he finally plopped himself behind the security check on the swivel chair, propping his legs up on the desk and frowning, mentally preparing himself for six hours of nothingness. Ugh. Beggars can’t be choosers.
A light flickered towards the right side of the building, his head snapping in the direction. It was nothing. It is nothing. Just a low-powered light doing weird things at night. Nothing creepy in the slightest.
He savored the silence for a moment until the light flickered once again. Clicking his tongue and swiftly standing, Geten made his way to the light. It was parallel to the bookshelves underneath it, seeming to be in the Philosophy & Psychology section (100-199). He walked down the hall with his ears and eyes open, anticipating something to pop out and freak him out of nowhere.
Instead, a black blob was on the floor, and upon closer inspection, it was just a book. Ugh. He sighed, leaning down to pick it up, noticing that the cover was full of dust.
He used his hand to wipe over the title, dust flying into the air and hitting his nose, causing him to cough and wheeze out for a hot minute.
“Dammit-” he coughed again until his eyes landed on the title, bolded in red.
Meta Liberation War written by Destro | Chikara Tosubashi
Oh.
The tip of his index fingers pressed into the top right edge, itching to turn over the cover to the first page. His eyes lingered from the title, down to the author, and proceeded to zone out. He was a part of this. This was a significant part of his story, his life. The definition of what he strives(ed?) for.
He carefully placed the philosophical book back into its proper section, with the last name in its correct spot. Wiping his hands on his jacket, he heaved out a sigh that he’d been holding in for far too long. His watch screamed 12:24 A.M. at him, urging him to do something with his life, or at least for the next 5 hours and 36 minutes. His eyes darted upwards, eyes meeting with the title of another book about philosophy.
5 hours and 35 minutes now.
For once in his life, Geten experiences a surge of excitement that doesn’t include grasping for water that will not come to him.
He spent hours into the night, reading and studying the words of these people who thought outside of what society deemed “normal” or “proper.” Some radical and extreme, believe quirk-users to be superior to those who are quirkless and then on the other end of the spectrum and vice versa. Others argued that both types have the capacity to live in harmony while others claimed it would always end in war.
There were even more different areas of study about society: the morality of villains and heroes, the true victims of hero society, the toxic environment of heroes, and even a book titled The 20 Percent in reference to people who are quirkless.
This was worse than going inside a rabbit hole on the web, but this was better than scrolling mindlessly through social media. Fortunately, at least he now has something to look forward to when he goes to work, interacting with no one but the words of those who speak out on his little security desk.
He continued this updated schedule into this fountain of knowledge for three more weeks, in addition to the first two, leaving him five weeks into this job with no complaints aside from the commute and flickering lights.
When his watch hits 5:55 A.M., he begins to pack up the books scattered across the desk, shelving them back right where he took them, not missing a beat. He gently placed his pencils, pens, and transparent post-its back into the drawer, ensuring that everything was tidy and clean. Letting out a small sigh, he zipped up his jacket, tossed his bag over his shoulder, and pulled his hood up once more.
His hand stopped reaching to tighten his hoodie’s strings.
Walking back outside, his hand twisting the key in the keyhole and pushing against the knob to make sure it was locked, Geten gave a reassuring nod to his reflection and made his way to the train station. The sun was barely up but the skies were all blue with no clouds covering them. He’s lucky he makes the train right before rush hour—it lets fewer people see and recognize him.
At 6:01, he made it to the train station, paying for the toll before making his way to the middle of the platform by one of the columns. Leaning his back against the dirty white wall, he looked towards the ceiling of the platform, noting a small crack where water droplets moved ever so slowly, plopping down to the floor.
His head moved down to look straight ahead, his eyes then glancing around him to examine his surroundings. Normally there are a few people waiting besides the homeless, but today, it seems like there’s only one individual happily humming on the bench. Must be looking forward to something on this depressing day.
Eyes straining slightly, he realized that said individual was a mutant, and his mind wandered back to the books he read earlier today, about how mutants will never get justice, not truly.
Realizing he was staring, Geten turned his head towards the platform, deciding to stuff his hands into his pockets. The train should arrive at 6:05 A.M. so he’ll get home around 7:00 A.M. if he’s lucky.
Two minutes later, he turned his head again to see if anyone was on the platform with him. The answer was no, but that mutant was sitting on the bench closer to him this time, still happily humming away. Maybe there was something on the other bench that he didn’t like, or perhaps he had a nicer view of the leak from here.
A few seconds later, Geten turned his head to the right, only to see the mutant stand a few meters away from him, now looking at him dead in the eyes. Snapping his head straight once more, he stared at the train tracks, his hand tightening over his phone.
This train should arrive any minute now, he’ll be home and sound asleep in less than an hour. The guy was four feet away and still looking at him, intently and creepily.
“Do you need something?” Geten asked, eyebrow twitching and body slightly tilted to the other, hand still over his phone. “There's a help booth by the entrance.”
The shorter person didn’t utter a single word in response, only taking another step and pointing at the floor, beside Geten’s shoe.
It was his wallet.
“Oh,” Geten blinked and reached down, picking it up awkwardly and stuffing it back into the pocket it fell in. “Thanks.”
The stranger outstretched his paw-like hand, “I’m Nezu.” A name that sounded oddly familiar. “The Principal of U.A. Academy. You must’ve heard of it by now, after everything, yes?”
Geten tightened his jaw, his mouth opening slightly as he looked at the shorter person across from him. He should’ve known that something like this would be happening. Several students were in the war, serving as literal child soldiers for the heroes. Geten may not have exactly participated, but his chest panged from the thoughts seeping into his mind.
The water dropped once more from the crack. There’s water in the train station through the pipes. He could use his quirk now and get this over and done with. While not exactly smart, he could try and get away from one of the private exits, make his escape, and then die.
“Kaito… Kaito Nakamura,” he answered with the name on his resume instead. Hands still in pockets.
The little rat man perked up a smile, paw still stretched out to the other. “Geten Himura, I have something you may be interested in. A job of a lifetime. I would like you to come to U.A. Academy and join our staff as an educator.”
What?
“A… teacher?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know who I am?”
“I may just ask you the same thing.”
He wasn’t surprised that Nezu knew that it was him, but he did feel caught off guard. This felt completely random, a joke he would’ve never anticipated and neither one he’d like to humor. He swallowed the lump in his throat, thinking of a response.
“You are Geten Himura, correct?” Nezu tilted his head at him.
“You would offer a job with children to someone with a criminal history linked against to similar children, to someone who doesn’t have any expertise in the education field or a college degree, and to someone who spent time in jail?” He looked down at the other, gaze stern and words sharp. “I refuse to teach, let alone at a hero school like yours. You could be fake for all I know.”
Nezu’s response was just as quick. “I assure you that I am the real Nezu and I assure you that I am asking you, someone with all those qualities, a position in the staff.”
The man let out a dry laugh, “You don’t know my qualities.”
“Are you okay with being a night guard for the rest of your life?”
His eyes diverted back to the dirty white platform now beneath his feet. His voice and mind stopped alike. The wallet is still in his pocket.
“Let me compromise with a different offer, perhaps one that’s more suitable to your expectations and to get rid of your reluctance.” Nezu placed both of his paws together in front of him, clasping to one another. “You don’t have to be a teacher now, perhaps an assistant teacher until you’re ready. I should also mention that we pay our teachers the highest salary in all of Japan, especially higher than what you’re earning currently.” There’s mischief behind that innocent face. “I’m afraid to say but a similar opportunity may not come to you for some time,” he shrugged.
While he did make a convincing argument, Geten felt apprehensive, his right hand sliding slightly from its respective pocket. Was U.A. Academy that low on teachers that they had to reach out to a former villain? Do they not have enough funding or enough people to fill their seats for the next year? Maybe this really was a fake Nezu and someone was just humiliating him, laughing because of this.
Or maybe it was real and Nezu had plenty of options but he wanted Geten as one of them.
Before he could catch up with his body, his arm immediately stretched out, and finally shook hands with the principal of one of the most prestigious schools in the world. He just hopes that this won’t amount to his first regret.
“I’ll humor you then, Nezu.”
The train was delayed by two minutes, arriving at 6:07 A.M. instead.