Chapter Text
Shinsou slouched into the chilly school chair, his tall frame settling heavily against the cold metal. His gray blazer offered some reprieve from the desk's frigid touch, yet he knew it wouldn't be long before the stagnant November air crept beneath his uniform, raising goosebumps across his arms and legs. Outside, the morning sun struggled to dispel the lingering winds of last night, casting the classroom into a particularly cold ambiance.
Though, even if the classroom was dense with August heat, Shinsou still thinks the hair on the back of his neck would rise with the not-so-subtle staring that is boring into him from the student at the desk to his left. Izuku Midoriya—Class 1-A's golden boy— seemed fixated, his wide-eyed stare shifting from his own scarred hands to Shinsou's side profile, akin to a spectator at a tennis match. It was a stare that demanded attention. Shinsou steadfastly avoided meeting Midoriya's eyes, unwilling to signal any willingness for conversation.
'Too early for this,' Shinsou lamented internally, accompanied by a not-so-internal sigh and an eye roll. Unfortunately, this small display of life seems to embolden Midoriya.
"Uh... hey there!" Midoriya's voice carried a hint of trepidation. "I'm Izuku Midoriya! Well, I'm sure you remember me from our match at the sports festival." The reminder of Shinsou's crushing defeat sparked a familiar hum of humiliation, stoking the flames of irritation already simmering within him. "But, um, perhaps reintroductions are in order now that you're officially a classmate! I look forward to getting to know you better, Shinsou-san." Midoriya's anxiety seemed to melt away as he spoke, replaced by a bright smile gracing his face.
Shinsou's gaze swept over Midoriya, the coldness in his eyes seemingly matching the brisk atmosphere of the classroom.
"I'm not here to make friends," he replied dryly, his words puncturing Midoriya's grin and turning it into a hesitant grimace.
"Ah, well..." Midoriya trailed off, the unsure start of a sentence he had no clue how to finish. Just as the silence thickened uncomfortably between them, Aizawa-sensei entered the room, his somewhat disheveled appearance commanding immediate attention as the idle chatter of the other students sharply ended. In the newfound silence, he walks toward his desk and idly leans against it before addressing the room.
"Alright, class, as you've probably noticed, we have a new member today: Hitoshi Shinsou. Save the introductions for later and don't overwhelm him until after class. We have a lot to cover today that doesn't include unnecessary chatter," Aizawa stated tiredly, instead turning his attention to the chalkboard.
'Thank goodness,' Shinsou thought with an– this time internal– sigh of relief, focusing now on his teacher's steady lecture rather than the vibrant green presence that sits beside him.
A shrill bell echoed overhead, snapping Shinsou out of his lecture-induced trance. The initial startle gave way to a sinking feeling of dread.
'Damn, no easy escape from the forced conversation this time,' he thought, anxiety tightening in his chest as he swiftly packed his notebook and papers into his over-the-shoulder bag.
His height and build made navigating the crowded classroom exit a challenge, especially tricky to weave around the gaggle of classmates staying to talk in a cluster in the aisle. Specifically, a pink-skinned girl—' Mina, I think?'—and a yellow-haired boy—whose name escapes Shinsou's memory—chartered animatedly standing beside each other near the end of the aisles of desks, animatedly talking about what sounded like a popular musician. Meanwhile, a red-haired boy held back an irate Bakugou—Shinsou never forgot that name, not with the constant drama and threats emanating from him.
'No thanks,' Shinsou thought, veering down another aisle to slip out of the classroom, his goal fixed on finding the cafeteria from this unfamiliar part of the school.
Entering the bustling lunchroom with a critical eye, he quickly spotted a vacant table. ‘Thank fuck.’ is muttered under his breath as he beelines for the unoccupied space. However, the purple-haired boy's space doesn't remain that way for more than a few minutes as a classmate sits down a few paces next to him.
With jet-black feathers and a prominent beak, the newcomer was unmistakably Fumikage. "Greetings, new classmate," Fumikage greeted without much inflection, showing no inclination to continue the conversation. Instead, he began methodically eating his lunch-rush provided tray.
Shinsou felt a mix of relief at the boy's reserved nature and a twinge of envy at the contents of his tray. Shinsou had brought a Tupperware container from home, prepared for scenarios avoiding the lunchroom entirely due to anxiety or overly extroverted classmates.
"Hey," Shinsou replied, a beat too late and perhaps too blandly.
The rest of his time eating is a quiet affair, if you don’t count the drones of other conversations blanketing the room around him. Shinsou counts this lunch a success in his mental scoreboard, a successful solo endeavor.
The next day, however, his luck seemed to falter.
He only makes it a few strides down the hall before a high-pitched and over-enthusiastic voice shouts out to him, “Shinsou-san!” With a wave and wide smile, Midoriya splits off from his friends and moves towards him.
Shinsou's disdain heightened as he noticed two Pro-Hero relatives among Midoriya's friends: the youngest son of Endeavor and the younger brother of Ingenium. 'No question how they got in. Even if they bombed the entrance exam, nepotism would carry them into Class 1-A,' Shinsou thought darkly.
Should he pretend not to hear Midoriya? The idea briefly crossed his mind, but he decided against it. He wasn't here to make friends, but making enemies with everyone wasn't his goal either. Midoriya's bouncy green curls invaded his vision as the boy stood before him, his doe-like eyes crinkling at the corners from a seemingly permanent grin etched onto his freckled face.
"Do you need something?" Shinsou asked flatly, only for Midoriya to respond with the same cheerful tone.
"Would you like to join us for lunch? It's Ochaco, Iida, Todoroki, and me. Usually Tsuyu—uh, I mean Tsu—sits with us too, but she's working on a Biology essay with Koda so they are going over their outline in the courtyard today during lunch, but uh, not that that was super relevant information. Not that what they’re working on isn’t really interesting, because it most certainly is! I’d love to read it once they're done, they are both such smart and animal-attuned individuals, so that culminates well into their topic… I need to stop talking. Oh, I’m sorry, uh.. So, would you like to have lunch with us? I noticed you sat all alone yesterday, and my friends and I would enjoy hearing about you more!” Midoriya rambled, and it took Shinsou a moment to collect himself after the information dump on people he barely knew— or couldn't match faces to names.
A flash of irritation made him want to end the conversation swiftly. The slightly patronizing comment about him sitting alone didn't go unnoticed. 'I'm not some stray cat needing rescuing from a brave hero,' he thought with a touch of annoyance. His decision was made in seconds, not that he was really ever debating it, Shinsou coldly declined before striding past Midoriya without hesitation.
The looks of either mild bewildering or narrowed glares of annoyance pierce out from Midoriya’s friend group as he passes them.
'They must not be used to hearing "no." They better not get aggressive just because I don't act like the sun shines out of the Golden Boy's ass.'
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Midoriya's relentless attempts at friendship grated on Shinsou like sandpaper on raw skin. It seemed wherever Shinsou turned, there was Midoriya with his earnest smile and boundless enthusiasm, eager to strike up a conversation or suggest a joint training session. However, this particular instance wasn’t either option, instead the doing of their homeroom teacher.
The gym echoed with the sound of grappling and the occasional burst of quirks as students engaged in a team-based training exercise. Shinsou found himself paired with Midoriya, Aizawa assigning them a challenge to capture simulated villains using their quirks strategically.
Midoriya bounded over, his green eyes sparkling with determination.
"Shinsou-san! It’s game plan time, and I have some ideas I’d love to try together. Your capture scarf gives us so many options—offensive, defensive, we could cover it all! I think we could really be efficient if we had a divide-and-conquer strategy, considering this is more rescue-based than fighting. The building two down and to the left has-'' He rattled on eagerly, already mapping out a few strategies in his mind.
Shinsou listened with growing irritation, unable to get a word in edgewise. 'I can also contribute to this. Maybe with less collateral damage than he's planning,' he thought, his frustration mounting at Midoriya's immediate assumption of leadership. The prospect of relying on Midoriya's overwhelming quirk strength and his quick assumption of leadership didn't sit well with him.
"I have my own strategy," he replied tersely, adjusting the tape around his forearm with a flick of his wrist.
Midoriya faltered, sensing the tension in Shinsou's voice.
"Right, of course," he said quietly, his enthusiasm dampened. He glanced away, shoulders slumping slightly as he recalibrated his approach.
As they embarked on the training exercise, Shinsou couldn't shake the feeling of being scrutinized under Midoriya's watchful gaze. He pondered why this kid wouldn’t let him be without staring or trying to insert himself into Shinsou's plans. 'Either he doesn’t understand personal space or...' Hitoshi’s thoughts took a darker turn. 'He's intentionally keeping tabs on the "villain kid".'
Living in the dorms was, in Shinsou's firm opinion, a terrible idea. He understood the rationale behind establishing them—given the frequent villain attacks and kidnappings that Class 1-A often found themselves embroiled in, having everyone together could enhance security and response times. This class has a tendency to seek out supervillains like ants seek sugar. Yet, this logical reasoning did little to alleviate the social and emotional strain of being constantly surrounded by a large group of people.
Even in the sanctuary of his cozy room, Shinsou couldn't shake the feeling of unease. The dorm, while comfortable in some respects, still felt unfamiliar and bustling with the constant noise and movement of his peers. There was never a moment of true solitude where he could fully relax and feel at ease.
Still, he had homework he needed to finish and it was late enough in the evening that the common room should be relatively quiet.
In the dim glow of the common room lamp, Hitoshi sat cross-legged on the floor, his textbooks and notebooks spread out around him like a fortress of academia. The evening had settled into a tranquil rhythm outside, the soft hum of the city filtering through the slightly cracked window. Inside, the only sounds were the occasional rustle of pages as Shinsou flipped through his notes and the steady scratch of his pencil against paper.
His brow furrowed in concentration, Shinsou's eyes narrowed slightly as he tackled a particularly challenging math problem. He chewed thoughtfully on the end of his pencil, a habit he'd picked up when deep in thought. The answers had to be precise, no room for error, especially not now, not with the upcoming exams looming.
However, his focus shattered like glass at the faint thinking of footsteps echoing up the hallway toward the common room.
Shinsou's shoulders tensed, a twinge of discomfort prickling at the thought of encountering more people. He straightened his posture, his usually relaxed demeanor replaced by a hint of guardedness.
From around the corner sauntered Midoriya, a notebook clutched in one hand. He used his other palm as a firm surface for the paperback book he balanced, scribbling furiously across its pages. The speed of his writing suggested his handwriting might resemble chicken scratch.
The ambient sounds of passing cars and leaves rustling in the wind outside were replaced by the soft murmur of Midoriya's voice. He moved with a distracted haze, oblivious to Shinsou and his surroundings, lost in the world of his thoughts and the words he scribbled.
Midoriya's presence passed like a gentle breeze, leaving Shinsou momentarily unsettled yet strangely intrigued by the intensity of his focus.
With a slight shake of his head, Shinsou refocused on his homework, determined to regain the momentum he had before the interruption. He picked up his pencil again, the graphite tip hovering over the next problem in his textbook. The lamplight cast a warm glow over the pages, illuminating the numbers and equations that awaited his attention.
Despite his best efforts to concentrate, his mind kept drifting back to Midoriya.
The boy settled onto the couch a few feet away, his muttering just loud enough to pierce through the room's quietude, yet too indistinct for Shinsou to make out the words. Each passing moment meant less focus on his studies and more on the distraction posed by the freckled boy. It was becoming increasingly irritating with every passing second.
"God, does this kid ever stop talking?" Shinsou thought with an exasperated huff, his mind drifting back to his middle school days where he learned the hard way about the consequences of speaking up.
With his voice-activated mind-control quirk, his peers never let him forget how much they despised hearing him speak. They were convinced that Shinsou harbored an insatiable villainous desire to turn everyone into mindless puppets, with only those blessed with flashy quirks capable of restraining his supposed evil impulses. Regardless of Shinsou's actions or intentions, he was condemned by birth to be perceived as villainous, his fate seemingly etched in stone.
In contrast, those born with heroic quirks faced a world where their actions carried minimal consequences. No matter what they did, their virtuous status was unquestioned and their futures seemed assured from the moment they were born.
As the murmurs continued to fill the room, Shinsou clenched his jaw, battling against the frustration welling up inside him. The dichotomy between his own perceived villainy and the untouchable heroism of others gnawed at him, a bitter reminder of the unfairness inherent in their world.
In a sudden impulse, Shinsou rose from the semi-circle of study materials that surrounded him. His socked feet lightly crunched over the lined paper scattered on the floor as he approached the couch where Midoriya sat. Despite closing the distance, Midoriya's muttering remained incomprehensible, flowing like a rushing river with no clear beginning or end to his words, not a word finished before another stumbled to take its place. Annoyance prickled under Shinsou's skin as he called out, "Yo..." His voice wasn't a whisper but loud enough to be heard.
With a second attempt, he tried more assertively, "Dude, can you stop?"
Frustration grew as Midoriya seemed oblivious to his presence, separated by just a foot of space.
"There's no way he didn't hear me," Shinsou rationalized, his irritation deepening into indignation, “Is he straight up ignoring me?”. This thought forced his hand to move forward to shake Midoriya's shoulder, intending to capture his attention. Being ignored felt too familiar right now, a painful reminder of past rejections and isolation. Past peers' mantra of if they didn’t respond they were safe from his villainous quirk feeling much too present.
As Shinsou's fingertips brushed against Midoriya's graphic tee-clad shoulder, the green-haired boy startled violently, jerking away in the opposite direction and falling against the couch’s arm. A strangled gasp escaped his lips as he instinctively shielded his face with a cross of freckles and scar-peppered arms.
Frozen in surprise, Shinsou's hand hovered in midair, mouth slightly agape, his previous words stuck to the inside of his throat. He hadn't anticipated such a strong reaction, nor did he intend to cause this panic.
"Uh..." He struggled to find words, the previous ones still lodged behind his voice box, but Midoriya quickly spoke up. "Ah, I'm sorry! I didn't realize you were right there!" His arms came down from their protective stance, but instead, they waved through the air as if he was trying to physically dispel the moment between them. Midoriya straightened himself, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he attempted to recover from his defensive posture.
"You... didn't notice I was there?" Shinsou asked incredulously, gesturing to his scattered study materials a few paces away. "I've been sitting right there since before you came in, and I stood right in front of you and called out to you... So?"
A nervous laugh escaped Midoriya. "I, uh, I can get pretty lost in my head sometimes." His cheeks reddened further as he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.
"Wow, your situational awareness is shit," Shinsou remarked bluntly, surprised by his own words slipping out. Before he could regret them, he blurted, "Why did you flinch so hard? I barely touched you and you freaked the fuck out."
Immediately realizing his mistake, Shinsou inwardly cursed. He hadn't meant to phrase it like an accusation. He couldn't fathom why someone as overpowered as Midoriya would react so defensively. ‘Dude can casually lift a fridge, it’s other people that should be flinching from him poking them.
’ So, he continued, "I mean... I just... Why?" He struggled to articulate his confusion.
Midoriya hesitates for a moment, his expression conflicted. He seemed to buffer for a second, then a second longer, and abruptly, he leaped to his feet, nearly stumbling in his haste. He almost goes head over heels with how quickly he did so, his freckled arms pinwheeling out as he stabilizes himself. His vibrant curls almost collided with Shinsou's face, if not for his quick step backward.
"It's... I don't..." He whips his head to look up and meet Shinsou's gaze, his eyes wide with a mixture of confusion and embarrassment.
Hitoshi stares down at the other boy, generally confused about this whole interaction. After a brief pause, Izuku’s cheeks deepened with a blush and he averted his gaze to the carpet instead before figuring out what to say next. "I... I'm just a bit scatterbrained? I have things to work on, so I should go. Nice to see you!" Izuku's rushed voice trailed off as he shuffled backward mid-sentence, quickly retreating down the hallway, his notebook and pencil still tightly gripped in his scar-marked hands.
Left bewildered by the abrupt exchange, Shinsou took a moment to collect himself before returning hesitantly to the center of his spread textbooks and worksheets. He shook his head slightly, trying to refocus on his studies. There was work to be done, and distractions like this were the last thing he needed.
The odd encounter with the golden boy didn't linger in his thoughts for too long; he had his heroic studies occupying every nook and cranny of his mind. With a demanding course load that taxed him mentally and physically, it took all his brain power and coffee to keep up.
Yet, despite his efforts, persistent pestering from his classmates continued unabated. Fortunately, most respected his general avoidance of conversation and left him in peace. However, there was one classmate who did not fall into that category.
One afternoon, as Shinsou was trying to focus on a particularly tricky set of combat simulations in the training room, his brow furrowed in concentration as he maneuvered through differing techniques with his capture weapon.
‘How does Aizawa-sensei do this so easily?’ Hitoshi struggles but persists with the unruly gray fabric he wrestles in his palms. He was fully focused on his weapon when Midoriya approached, his steps light but his presence intrusive.
"Shinsou-kun!" Midoriya chirped, enthusiasm undiminished despite the visible irritation on Shinsou's face. Have you thought about incorporating your capture scarf into a grappling technique? I was reading about it last night and had some ideas!" Midoriya's hands gestured animatedly as if he could barely contain his enthusiasm.
He had been grappling with the capture weapon for hours, trying to strategize a solution that would satisfy Aizawa's expectations. Midoriya's interruption grated on his nerves, disrupting the delicate balance of concentration he had managed to achieve.
"Midoriya," Shinsou began, his tone clipped, "I'm kind of in the middle of something here.”
Midoriya paused, his smile faltering slightly, but his enthusiasm didn't waver. "Oh, sorry! I just thought maybe we could brainstorm together.”
Shinsou bit back a soul-deep sigh, attempting to keep a lid on the fire that had been steadily growing within him.
Undeterred, Midoriya hesitated for only a moment before pressing on, his optimism unwavering. "But Shinsou-kun, I really think if we—"
"I said not now," Shinsou reiterated, his tone firm and final. He didn't have the patience for Midoriya's relentless optimism, not when he was on the brink of a breakthrough in his training exercise. Midoriya's smile faltered, a flicker of disappointment crossing his features, but he didn't retreat. Instead, he hovered at the edge of Shinsou's periphery, hands clasped behind his back as if gathering his thoughts. Hitoshi sighed inwardly, his peace and quiet doesn’t seem to be regained anytime soon.
"I understand you prefer to work alone," Midoriya began tentatively, his voice quieter but no less determined. "But I believe we really should be helping each other."
Shinsou narrowed his eyes slightly, skepticism etching his features as he listened to Midoriya's plea.
‘We? What about the two of us could possibly suggest that they’d be a good fit together?’ Midoriya—the mini version of All Might. With his heroic quirk and blinding smile, he was the epitomized ideal student, son, and friend. He had never faced doubt, never been unfairly judged for things beyond his control, never been reduced to a mere label like 'villain,' always destined for greatness. Hitoshi, on the other hand, stood as a stark contrast. They were opposites in nearly every way. So it begged the question—why was Midoriya so persistent? Did he feel the need to keep tabs on Shinsou? Did he truly believe they could complement each other? Or was there a really deeper motive, hidden behind that cheerful facade? Shinsou just couldn’t get that suspicion out of his head.
Shinsou's gaze hardened, his mind racing with unspoken doubts.
Before he could respond, Midoriya's voice piped up again, "I, um, look, I understand what it’s like to be on the outside, like, excluded–”
'Golden Boy thinks he understands?' The words ignited a surge of indignant anger within Shinsou, threatening to spill forth in a torrent of frustration. How could Midoriya, with his perfect life and unwavering support, possibly understand the isolation and judgment Shinsou had faced?
Shinsou's jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides, as he cut off the rest of the guy’s sentence. "You don't understand," Shinsou interjected sharply, his voice edged with bitterness.
Midoriya faltered, "I... I didn't mean to--”. Shinsou scoffed and cut off that statement too, a bitter laugh escaping his lips.
"Yeah? Well, don't pretend you can relate." With a swift movement, Hitoshi turns away from the other boy, focusing his intense gaze on the binding cloth in his tight fists. “Leave me alone, seriously. I don’t want to talk, or hang out, or eat lunch together or whatever else you can think of. Just leave me be, Golden Boy.” He grits out.
Midoriya stays standing off the sideline, mouth opening and closing in a fish-on-land-like motion before green and red lighting ignites along his body and he’s out of the room in less than two seconds.
‘Thank god..’ Shinsou signs in relief, taking a few more deep breaths to relieve the tight band of anger wrapped around his lungs. "Time to get back at it, don't want Aizawa completely wiping the floor with me.”.
—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Their last interaction seemed to have finally warned Mindoriya off, but that didn't mean Shinsou didn’t see the other guy often. While Shinsou could steer clear in the dorms, Monday through Friday they still sat as desk mates.
The classroom buzzed with pre-bell chatter, voices rising and falling in animated conversation as students settled into their seats. Shinsou sat towards the back, a silent observer amidst the lively exchanges.
Ochaco Uraraka leaned forward in her seat, her eyes bright with determination as she shared her motive for becoming a hero. "I want to make enough money so my parents never have to work again," she declared earnestly. "I want them to live comfortably, without any worries."
Across the aisle, Kyoka Jiro, leaning back with her arms crossed, turned to Midoriya with a curious expression. "And what about you, Midoriya? What's your reason for wanting to be a hero?"
Midoriya paused, his gaze thoughtful as he considered his response. "I want to save people," he began quietly, his voice carrying a sincerity that filled the room. "I want to make them feel safe, to protect them from harm."
Shinsou couldn't help but roll his eyes inwardly. ‘Of course,’ he thought, ‘most heroes want to save people. It's practically a job requirement.’ Yet, despite the noble sentiment, Shinsou found himself skeptical. There were countless professions that involve helping people—doctors, firefighters, and even teachers. So why heroics? What made it so special to him?
His thoughts slipped out before he could stop them. "There are plenty of other careers that help people," Shinsou mused aloud, his voice low but carrying across the room. "Why specifically heroics?"
The conversation around him faltered momentarily, heads turning towards Shinsou in surprise. Midoriya blinked, caught off guard by the directness of Shinsou's question. He hesitated, his usual confident demeanor faltering for a moment as he searched for an answer.
"Um, well," Midoriya started, his words stumbling slightly. "Heroics... it's about being there when people need help the most. It's about... um, making a difference, I guess."
Shinsou arched an eyebrow, unconvinced by the vague response. ‘Making a difference’, he thought skeptically. ‘That could mean anything’.
Kyoka Jiro shot Shinsou a curious glance, her eyebrow raised in silent inquiry, but before she could interject, the bell rang, signaling the start of class. The conversation dissipated as students settled into their seats, turning their attention to the lesson ahead.
As the teacher began their lecture, Shinsou leaned back in his chair, his mind still grappling with the unanswered question. ‘Why does he seem so weird about his reasons?’ he wondered, watching Midoriya scribble notes with earnest focus.
Midoriya's vague response lingered in Shinsou's thoughts, a puzzle waiting to be unraveled amidst the backdrop of hero training and aspirations.
A month has passed since Shinsou entered the cutthroat class of heroics, and it shows. He gained more hand-to-hand skills than he thought was possible for him, able to punch, kick, and dodge like a well-oiled machine. Despite the skills and strategy he’s sharply gained, one thing tends to be the same: the closeness of his classmates. The comradery that his classmates have is almost physical with how intense it is, a brotherhood cultivated and woven amongst them. Though Shinsou remains on the outskirts of such closeness, not that he’s sad about it. The friendly banter and idle chatter don’t benefit him and his goals, nor does he desire to be buddy-buddy with his competition.
This lazy Sunday afternoon highlights that, as Midoryia is rambling off with his group of friends as they clutter around the couch in the common rooms of the dorms. Shinsou sits on a push recliner chair a good deal away from the other occupants of the room, a binder in his lap as he works through Mic-sensi’s English worksheet.
He’d much rather be working on this in silence, but working on his assignments wrapped up in his comforter in his bed is making it even more difficult to sleep, as his brain is beginning to associate his mattress with stressing over coursework. He attempts to tune out the conversation permeating into his ears and focuses on the English worksheet in front of him, pencil whorling across the lines in an attempt to finish the assignment quickly.
He knows he should have worked on Present Mic’s homework a few hours before needing to turn it in, but with training with the fickle capture scarf, small assignments tend to fall through the cracks.
However, his brain turns the conversation beside him back into actual words versus white noise and the raised voice that emits from the group beside him.
Midoriya’s voice peaks in both pitch and volume as he exclaims, “W-what? I mean, I don’t see why you’re asking, there is nothing to talk about.”
Ochako's bubbly voice cuts back in, “I’m just curious! We’ve all heard you go on about your sweet-as-pie Mom, but I haven’t heard you mention a single thing about your dad yet. Color me curious, I wanna know what Mr. Midoriya is like! I’m betting 20 bucks he’s where you get your freckles from.” She jokes, her voice light and airy, which is a stark contrast to how tense Izuku gets as she continues her prying statement.
The green-haired boy opens his mouth before pausing, mouth agape with words about to escape before he shuts his mouth with harshness that makes his teeth click together. Then, he rushes out, “Well, that's cause there isn’t much to say.” He says a fraction too swiftly to be casual. Not that the two hero relatives or the gravity girl seem to notice.
A large hand chops down in a movement close to a karate chop before Iida buds in next. “That’s no way for a respectable child to speak about their parental figure!”
"Yeah! I mean, you don't have to share anything super exciting. I know my parents aren't eccentric international heroes or anything, but I can still talk about my dad. Though, I guess I'm putting you on the spot, huh?" She said apologetically, her hands gesturing placatingly before suddenly waving them in excitement. "Oh, here's a fun one—what's his favorite color?"
"Uh... I don't know," he trailed off, his gaze shifting from the wall back to the girl in front of him.
"Well, alright! I guess not everyone has a favorite color," she responded cheerfully.
"Typically, only young children do, to my understanding. I don't know many adults who have an opinion on such unimportant things," Shoto interjected bluntly, his monotone manner unchanged. Despite not being friends with his split-dyed classmate, Shinsou knew that his straightforward comments weren't meant to be mean-spirited, but rather a result of his socially pragmatic nature. "He's pretty entertaining to listen to," Hitoshi thought to himself.
A sheepish smile spread across the brunette girl's rosy cheeks as she let out an embarrassed laugh. "I guess you're right! So, Deku, what's your dad's favorite..." She paused for a moment, then snapped her fingers and resumed her mild interrogation. "What's his favorite food? I know you're kind of obsessed with Katsudon, Todoroki-kun with his cold soba too!"
Midoriya looked uncomfortable, at least in Shinsou's opinion. Though he wasn't familiar with the guy's behavioral tells, Midoriya's tense shoulders and paling complexion painted a clear picture. Shinsou debated intervening, but anxiety about overstepping kept him from speaking up. "Not like it's any of my business," he reminded himself, but he couldn't help keeping an ear tuned in, his forgotten homework lying in front of him.
The green-haired boy once again responds with the same unsure statement, unable to give an answer
“Are you just going to ask questions pertaining to favorites of differing categories? I believe there are better-suited questions for you to ask that could give more thorough insight! A career is a good starting point, the pinnacle of what a person does with their time.” Iida’s eyes stare into Midoriyas, expecting an answer.
Midoriya freezes for a second, body locking up before it’s gone in the blink of an eye. Instead, one of his scarred hands rubs against the back of his neck and he lets out an awkward chuckle, though the silence stretches on as the question remains unanswered. The silence stretched uncomfortably as Uraraka opened her mouth to speak again, but Midoriya seemed to buckle under the weight of their expectant stares.
"Okay, um... so, I don't... I-" he cut himself off with a sigh, struggling to form his thoughts into words. "I haven't seen or spoken to my... dad," he finally managed, his voice faltering slightly when he said the word, Shinsou couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt for now eavesdropping on what was clearly now a sensitive conversation. Still, he couldn't tear himself away from listening as Midoriya continued “In little over a decade, I think about 11 years.. So.” He trails off.
"Thank god for that, the bastard should have been locked up long ago," Bakugou interjected abruptly, catching everyone off guard with his harsh tone. Shinsou didn’t even see him enter the room, focused on Midoriya. With the jolt that passes through the chattering people beside him, it seems he wasn’t the only one who didn't notice.
"Bakugou! That's a callous comment to make about a classmate's parent," Iida reprimanded sharply.
"Huh?! Mind your own business, Glasses. I'm right! But at least that nerd finally got his family name changed, took him long enough," Bakugou retorted, his cocksure smile fading slightly as he noticed the stunned reactions around him.
“Did you say locked up? What do you mean?” Ochako’s face twists in confusion.
Midoriya tensed visibly, turning to stone before their eyes. His eyes are wild and wide, looking more like a cornered animal with each passing second.
Bakugou opens his mouth again, a cocksure smile across his face, but it quickly falters into a disgruntled expression, he hesitates as he sees the distress on Midoriya's face.
“Hold up, did these extras not know?” Bakugou muttered, frustration evident in his voice.
“I- Kacchan please stop talking.” Midoriya pleaded softly, his usually energetic voice now subdued.
“How the fuck was I supposed to know not to say that? These shitty losers are your friends, ain't they??” Bakugou shot back defensively.
“What are you talking about, Bakugou?” Todoroki asked, his head tilting in confusion as all eyes turned to Midoriya, who seemed to shrink into himself on the couch.
“He means- It’s... I don’t-'' His stuttered sentences keep tripping over themselves, starting but not getting more than a word or two out before giving up.
“Bakugou, if Midoriya doesn’t wish to tell us certain information, he does not need to.” Iida chides, yet the curiosity is horribly concealed on his face.
“But we’re his friends, his best friends!” Ochanko retorts.
“Midoriya, I informed you about the situation with my father, you should be aware that the same trust can be extended back.” Shoto says, voice even as always, yet his gaze is anything but monotone. His heterochromatic eyes seem to be digging into Midoriya’s, like if he peered in those green eyes long enough the secret would unravel itself. Shoto’s passion for wildly outlandish conspiracy theories is not doing Izuku any favors right now.
“Is he in prison..?” Ochaco hesitantly asks, “It’s just, for Bakugou to say ‘locked up’ that's really the only thing that makes sense! It’s, um..” She rushed out the explanation behind her guess, but trailed off at the end, clearly unsure of what to say here.
“Of course not! Midoriya is an esteemed hero student, there is no chance that either of his parents could be anything but as righteous as him.” Iida says with conviction.
Midoriya is deathly pale, shoulders hunched almost all the way to his ears. Even from his place feet away, Hitoshi can see how Izuku’s clenched hands tremble. ‘God, dude looks like he’s gonna puke his guts out.’ He thinks with a twinge of pity. Something he’s never associated with the star heroics student. He didn't like the way this conversation was unfolding at all. Before he could back his way out of this, Shinsou stood up swiftly and stepped into the increasingly tense group. He stands above Midoriya, casting a shadow across the boy. Without the yellow fluorescent lights gleaming down on him, he seems even more fearful somehow. He looks.. small.
“Shinsou! When-” Ochako starts, obviously unaware of when he showed up.
‘Maybe all of us need more training in space awareness.’ Hitoshi thinks ruefully.
“Come on.” he interjected, seizing Midoriya's upper arm before hauling him to his feet. As he did, Shinsou noticed the tremors that extended from Midoriya's hands to his arms, as if he were chilled to the bone beneath Shinsou's fingertips.
“What?” Midoriya breathed out, voice choked back in panic.
“We’re leaving.” Shinsou states bluntly, boldly shouldering his way out of the circle of peers, dragging Midoriya behind him like an unruly dog. Izuku’s friends put up much more of a protest at his sudden departure than the boy does himself as he drags the boy out of the common room and into the hallway. He’s not sure where he is taking the boy, he didn't think that far ahead, just wanting to get the frazzled boy out of there. "Helping people is what heroes do, isn't it?" he reassured himself silently, grappling with his anxiety about intervening in a situation where he didn't belong.
They ended up on the roof of the building. Standing on the roof as dusk settled, the cityscape below stretched out in twilight's embrace. Buildings stood as silhouettes against the darkening sky, their windows reflecting the last vestiges of sunlight—a soft, amber glow that traced the edges of concrete and glass. As Izuku turns to Hitoshi the setting sun casts a warm halo around him, illuminating his features in gentle contrast.
Izuku swept his gaze across the other boy before shifting his eyes to Shinsou's hand, still clasped around his upper arm.
"Um... Shinsou?" Midoriya squeaked out.
Suddenly aware that he had been gripping the shorter boy tightly throughout their ascent to the roof, Shinsou released his hold as if the touch had burned him. "Ah, sorry," he muttered sheepishly, folding his arms across his chest.
A moment of silence hung between them, both avoiding each other's gaze. Another moment passed in quietude, the atmosphere heavy with unspoken thoughts.
Shinsou sighed deeply and leaned against the wall, pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose as if trying to ease his growing headache. 'This is painfully awkward. What was I even thinking, dragging him up here?' he mused inwardly, contemplating how weird it would come across if he just opened the door back up and retreated to his room without explanation.
'That would be hella strange,' he concluded, opting instead to settle into the quiet stillness and wait for Midoriya to break the silence. 'This is precisely why I avoid social interactions,' he thought, casting a glower into the fading light.
Izuku takes a few steps and leans against the wall beside Hitoshi so close that he can feel his body heat radiating into his own. Normally, people invading his personal space is something Hitoshi deeply dislikes, but with a chill creeping into his bones, the warmth beside him isn't the worst.
He turns to look at Midoriya, but the other boy is fixated on his clenched fists, his entire body tense, becoming more withdrawn into his thoughts by the second. Hitoshi opens his mouth, intending to interrupt whatever train of thought Midoriya seems to be caught in, but before he can speak, Midoriya breaks the silence on his own.
“My mom and I legally changed our family name a few years back," he says softly, still staring intently at his bitten-down nails and scarred palms.
There is a moment of quiet before Hitoshi gathers the courage to ask the question he's been holding back. "What did it used to be?"
"Hirano," Midoriya practically whispers.
His initial thought was that Hirano supposedly meant "peaceful wilderness," but as his mind pieced together the puzzle, the realization dawned with a chilling clarity. The sounds of the world around Hitoshi dulled to a distant murmur—the faint hum of passing cars and the melodious chirping of birds muted into insignificance.
A sudden wave of cold washed over him as if icy water had been poured into his veins. The name carried weight beyond its linguistic meaning, stirring a deep and unsettling realization.
Shinsou vividly recalled the first time he heard about Hirano Hisashi. At seven years old, he sat far too close to the television, his father lecturing him about eye health while they both watched the devastation unfold on the screen. The news anchor sat rigidly, recounting the anniversary of one of Hirano's final attacks and subsequent capture. Images and videos flashed behind her—scenes of rubble and fire that seared into Shinsou's memory.
His villainous moniker, "The Dragon," stemmed from his ability to breathe fire, which he wielded with horrifying inhumanity. The death toll attributed to him was staggering, though the true count remained obscured due to the near-cremation state in which he left his victims. His reign of terror had peaked across Japan when Shinsou was too young to comprehend or even before he was born, yet the name resonated profoundly. It was infamous throughout Japan and likely beyond its borders—a name synonymous with deranged violence and a chilling body count.
And now, standing beside Shinsou, was the son of that infamous man.
A bolt of terror shot through him, a cold sweat breaking out across his palms and along his hairline. His breath quickened as he turned to look at the boy beside him. The green-haired youth remained fixated on his hands with an intense focus, as if afraid the slightest movement would shatter their stillness and unleash something violent. Tears glistened in his vibrant eyes, partly obscured by soft green curls cascading over his downturned face. His lips trembled, a visible struggle to hold back tears threatening to spill.
The fear that had surged through Hitoshi's veins moments ago began to ebb away. "Oh, that makes sense," Shinsou blurted out, a realization dawning like a sudden illumination across his memories. Everything fell into place—their interactions, Midoriya's constant attempts to connect with the 'villain' kid. It wasn't driven by malice or pity but by genuine understanding.
Shinsou had always been treated like a potential threat, someone to fear. And Midoriya—wide-eyed and with an even wider smile—had faced similar apprehension, anger, and fear.
That remark prompted Midoriya to lift his gaze, his posture still tense and his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I—what?" he breathed out, his voice a mix of confusion and a tinge of hurt, like shards of glass settling inside him.
Realizing how his words might sound, Shinsou quickly backtracks. “No, not like that. I just get why you’re so pushy to be friendly with me now.” There is a beat of silence.
"That's all?!" Midoriya exclaimed, his voice rising with a mixture of disbelief and frustration.
"Should I be reacting differently?" Shinsou countered, his eyebrow arching in inquiry.
"Yes!" Midoriya replied urgently, pushing off from the wall to fully face Hitoshi. "You should be angry and yell at me, or scared and walk away, or something!" His arms gesticulated wildly, emphasizing his bewilderment as he searched for some semblance of an expected response in Hitoshi's eyes.
Hitoshi pushes himself off the wall like Izuku and straightens, peering down at the teary-eyed boy before him. "Basically my whole life, people have treated me like I was born a time bomb of villainous intent. I've been seen as something evil for something I can't control. I didn't choose my quirk, just like you didn't choose who your dad is. So no, I know I can be an asshole sometimes, but I'm not a hypocrite. We are not defined by what others think of us or tell us we are. Our choices and actions carve out our paths and shape our futures. I'm not a villain because I choose not to be, and the same goes for you."
Tears spilled over, tracing shimmering lines down Midoriya's freckled cheeks, each drop catching the warm, golden glow of the setting sun. The vivid hues of dusk painted his face contrasting with the turmoil evident in his expression. The dam had burst, unleashing a torrent of emotions that he could no longer contain.
With trembling hands, Midoriya reached up to wipe the tears from his face, but they continued to flow unabated, leaving a trail of wetness in their wake. The soft evening light played upon his features, accentuating the vulnerability etched into his every gesture.
“I-” he croaks out, voice strangled by emotions. He sniffles and tries again. “ I-” but he chokes out again, instead wipes uselessly again against the cascade of tears.
“I mean, yeah you inherited his legacy, but I think our paths are shaped by our dreams and decisions, not by the shadows of our parents. So, wanna answer honestly this time on why you wanna be a hero?” Hitoshi pushes on, gaze intent on the sobbing boy.
He waits a second for Midoriya to pull himself together.
A minute passes till green eyes match up to his purple, tears still falling fast, but an underlying confidence lines the boy’s previously shaking stance.
“I'll become a hero because I want to ensure people feel safe instead of afraid. I aim to counterbalance the pain my father inflicted by helping others. I can't undo the lives lost or the families torn apart by him, but I can work to replace the fear associated with the name 'Hirano' with a sense of protection. My goal is to bring comfort to those in need—that's why I'm committed to becoming a hero." As determination sparked in his eyes, his usual strong-headed optimism returned in full force. Hitoshi surprised himself with how relieved he was to see it again.
" I'm gonna do the same. Don’t let people’s opinions get in your way, alright? I don’t, and you shouldn’t either. Prove them wrong." Hitoshi wasn’t accustomed to being someone’s cheerleader, especially for someone like Midoriya, but the radiant smile he received made him think he should do so more.
Suddenly, he was engulfed by a hundred and forty pounds of muscle, the air whooshing out of his lungs into the brisk air. It took a moment for him to realize he was being bear-hugged, Izuku’s face pressed into his sternum, his strong arms wrapped tightly around him in an almost suffocating embrace. Despite the initial surprise, he found himself relaxing into it, reciprocating and curling his arms around him as well, admittingly with less imitation of a ball python strangling its prey.
"Alright, alright, you can let go now. You're soaking my shirt with all those waterworks," he teased, and Midoriya quickly pulled away, his face flushed beet red.
"Ah, sorry!" Midoriya chuckled nervously.
Hitoshi brushed past him toward the door leading to the stairwell back down to the dorm rooms. "Come on, it’s freezing out here and I’d rather not get frostbite, thank you very much," he remarked as he swung the door open.
"Right!" Midoriya hurried to catch up with Hitoshi, eager to return to the warmth indoors.
They walked in silence, but this time, the atmosphere between them wasn’t laden with anxiety; instead, it felt like a comfortable blanket enveloping them.
As they reached the point where they would part ways to their respective floors, Midoriya turned to face him.
"So, want to have lunch with me tomorrow?" he asked.
Hitoshi chuckled. "Okay, fine. Yeah, we can have lunch together tomorrow. Just no more crying on me, alright?"
Midoriya laughed in response, the sound lighter and more heartfelt. "I'll do my best!" His eyes crinkled with excitement as he smiled broadly.
As the elevator doors closed, Hitoshi found himself thinking, 'Maybe being friends with Midoriya wouldn’t be so bad after all.'