Chapter Text
"We need to talk," Hitoshi announced, grabbing Midoriya's arm and towing him off of the sidewalk.
"Oh—okay!" Midoriya said, stumbling. Then he caught his footing and came willingly.
Hitoshi didn't go far—just a little ways out onto the U.A. lawn, enough that they wouldn't be heard if they kept their voices down. He glanced around just in case. Back on the sidewalk, Midoriya's friends had stopped walking toward the dorms. They were just standing there, staring intently.
"What's going on?" Midoriya said. His head tilted, expression totally sincere. A year ago Hitoshi would have called it mocking and hated him for it. Now, after everything, it was still obnoxious, but Hitoshi couldn't muster anything more than faint exasperation.
"Look," Hitoshi said, rubbing his forehead, "Midoriya—you're a great guy."
Midoriya frowned. "Thank you?"
"And I'm glad you want me in the hero course," Hitoshi said, rushing to get it all out, "But it doesn't help to go easy on me in training. I made it here. I earned this spot. Treat me like the threat I am."
Midoriya's frown deepened. He rubbed at his chin, thinking. "Shinsou—I do think you're a threat. I really—I was trying my hardest to—"
"No, you weren't," Hitoshi snapped.
"I'm not doubting you," Midoriya said. He stepped back, holding up his hands, "I just—what was it that I did? Maybe there was a different reason for it?"
Hitoshi stared at him, not sure how to express something so obvious. "You didn't go all out."
Midoriya didn't respond. There was a faraway look on his face, like he was taking a quiz, trying to remember something he had studied at three in the morning.
"I just know you have more power," Hitoshi continued helplessly, "You toned it way down, and you didn't once use blackwhip to—"
"Oh!" Midoriya blurted. His face brightened, the worry melting away. "Shinsou, that wasn't because of you! I lost my quirk."
"What?" Hitoshi demanded. The words wouldn't quite register.
"Fighting Shigaraki," Midoriya said, oblivious, "So I just have what's left of the stockpile."
Hitoshi's stomach turned to stone. He'd spent so long being bitter at the hero course students, kids just like him but with their whole lives laid out easy. He'd wished they could understand how frustrating it was to have to work as hard as he had, to end with your dream still just out of reach.
Now that it was too late, Hitoshi realized—he didn't wish that anymore.
"That actually reminds me," Midoriya said, reaching back to rub his neck, "I've wanted to talk to you for a while, about what you said at the sports festival—I just never had the chance."
Hitoshi nodded, still dumbstruck. Whatever Midoriya was about to say, he probably deserved it.
"I was quirkless my whole life," Midoriya explained, words too precise for his usual rambles, "I always wanted to be a hero, but nobody believed I could do it. People picked on me because my dream was so unrealistic. At the sports festival, the things you said really struck a chord with me, and I couldn't tell you, because my quirk was secret then. But when I found out you made it into the hero course, I—I can't even tell you what it means to me."
"Oh," Hitoshi said. It came out like a croak.
"I'm looking forward to your future career," Midoriya said, "I'll be following it closely!" Then he took off, sprinting back across the lawn toward his friends.
Hitoshi waved limply, trying to school his expression. He felt as if he might explode.
Scene Break
That evening, Hitoshi pounded on Kaminari's door until it opened.
"Emergency?" Kaminari asked, face serious.
"No," Hitoshi said, not as confidently as he would have liked, "If I need to leave I—"
"It's all good!" Kaminari insisted. His whole body relaxed. "I just wanted to make sure the dorm wasn't burning down or something. Hey, are you okay?"
"No," Hitoshi said. He couldn't believe he was actually admitting it. "Midoriya lost his quirk."
Kaminari stared at him. "Dude—weren't you there when he told us?"
"He told us?" Hitoshi blurted. He felt like he would have remembered that, but he wasn't really sure of anything anymore.
"Yeah, like last week," Kaminari said, brow furrowing. He leaned forward, hand caught on the edge of the door for balance. "Remember, we all followed him after Uraraka, and we found out he only had the ember left."
"The ember?" Hitoshi repeated. He did vaguely remember the term.
"You know, the quirk stockpile."
Hitoshi threw up his hands. "How could I possibly have known what that meant?"
Kaminari shrugged, sheepish. "Yeah, I guess that's fair. Hey, want to come in? I have soda."
"Please," Hitoshi said, stepping inside. At least if he was going to have a total breakdown, nobody else would have to see it.
Kaminari bowed as he entered, dramatically waving one arm. "Please enjoy your stay, good sir."
Hitoshi ignored him, sitting down in the middle of the floor.
"You can sit on the bed," Kaminari said.
Hitoshi didn't move.
"Ooookay," Kaminari said. He walked past, up to his desk. Then he pulled the chair away and reached down underneath. "You like melon?"
"He said he'd been quirkless before," Hitoshi said. Maybe it was rude not to answer—he was starting to care about that now—but he was really stuck on this. "For the war, I found out his quirk was special, but not how or why. But it seemed like he had more than one. Did he get quirks from All for One? Like Aoyama?"
Kaminari emerged from his desk recesses with two melon sodas. He chuckled, more nervous than amused. "Wow, you really do know nothing."
"Thanks," Hitoshi said, deadpan.
Kaminari plopped down beside him. "Look—I don't know how to ease you into this. Midoriya got his quirk from All Might. It was destined to defeat All for One or something—he was supposed to be the next symbol of peace."
Hitoshi felt his mouth drop open, words stutter out. "Can he—but he can't do that now."
Kaminari looked away, and that was enough to confirm Hitoshi's suspicion. A stockpile was stored up, finite. An ember with no added fuel would eventually burn out. Midoriya was headed right back to the place he'd started—quirkless, chasing an impossible dream.
"That's messed up," Hitoshi said.
Kaminari shrugged. Then he popped a soda open and took a sip.
"Midoriya—usually understates things?" Hitoshi asked.
Kaminari choked on his drink. He swallowed, coughed. "Yeah, he does do that a lot. If he brings stuff up at all."
Hitoshi frowned, reaching for his own soda. "He also told me he used to get picked on. He agknowledged it, so—it had to be bad, right?"
"Oh," Kaminari said, rotating the bottle in his hands, "That's an excellent point. I never—I mean, yeah, I knew he'd been bullied. But there was kind of a lot going on the last couple of months—I never stopped to think it through."
"He grew up with Bakugou, right?" Hitoshi said. Class hadn't been back in session long, but he was starting to get familiar with his new classmates. "Maybe he knows what—"
"I don't recommend asking him," Kaminari interrupted, voice firm.
Hitoshi blinked. "I thought Midoriya wouldn't want to talk about it. And—I have to know. But would that be worse, going behind his back like that?"
Kaminari grimaced. He set his drink down. "Okay look—I'm gonna tell you this because literally every other person in class has heard it. Bakugou used to bully Midoriya."
"Every other person," Hitoshi repeated. Had Midoriya told everyone except him? But that wasn't fair—it wasn't like he'd been here long.
"It came up in public," Kaminari said, "Don't get too stuck on it—they get along pretty well these days."
"But you think I shouldn't talk to Bakugou," Hitoshi said.
Kaminari shrugged, reaching up to scratch his scalp. "I mean, not without proper context for sure. Maybe when you know him better? Why do you need details so bad anyway?"
Hitoshi looked down at the unopened bottle in his hands. He'd never really been bullied. Looking back, he could tell his classmates' comments about his quirk hadn't come from any kind of ill intent. No one had known what was in his heart, the way the words sunk down in the crack and stung. How could they? He'd never told them where his weak spot was.
Even so, the opposite was easy to imagine.
"Because it's not right," Hitoshi said. He thought of the way Midoriya smiled, so unblemished that it must have been naive. But it wasn't. It never had been. "Somebody should do something."
Scene Break
Talking to Kaminari was supposed to make him less upset. It had settled him, helped him gain a foothold of clarity, but his feelings had morphed rather than dissipated. Now Hitoshi was mad.
Downstairs, the common room was crowded. Over the last week its inhabitants had trickled back in. Some people, like Uraraka, were still living off campus. But most everybody came here for dinner.
Scowling, Hitoshi made his way to the kitchen. He needed something stronger than melon soda—probably coffee.
"Move," Bakugou demanded.
Hitoshi looked, assuming the command had been for him, just in time to see Bakugou shove Midoriya's shoulder.
Midoriya set his feet, standing his ground.
"You're in the way," Bakugou repeated, trying to push him again.
Both boys stood by the stove, hovering over pans. Hitoshi had entered beside them, parallel with the counter. He could see that Bakugou's pot was bigger, but it was impossible to tell what food was inside.
"I can't move the burner," Midoriya insisted, swatting Bakugou's arm away.
In response, Bakugou grabbed the back of Midoriya's head and tried to slam it down into his pan. He couldn't do it—Midoriya had got one palm braced against the counter. His other hand hung in the air over the stove, unable to find a safe landing place.
Hitoshi watched as if in a dream, disconected from reality, from both cause and effect. Midoriya's hair hid his face, but Bakugou's expression was plain. He was smiling—not angrily, like he did in fights. There was something open about it, like nothing was wrong in the world.
It made Hitoshi sick.
He almost didn't notice his own legs stepping forward. His arm rose by itself, his fist clenched, swinging. Then Bakugou's hand slipped, and Midoriya's head sprung upward.
Hitoshi felt the blow land. Bakugou staggered, but only because Midoriya had fallen back onto him.
"Shinsou?" Midoriya said, staring up, trying to regain his footing. He had one hand pressed against his temple. "Are you okay?"
This must be what it felt like when Kaminari short circuited. Hitoshi's face felt hot. He looked up at Bakugou, trying to discern if he'd done that on purpose.
"What?" Bakugou said, eyes narrowing, like he was trying to parse out what the problem was.
That tipped Hitoshi over the edge. He rushed forward—but someone grabbed his waist from behind and pulled him back. Hitoshi writhed, trying to break free, but the grip held, hard as stone.
"Kirishima?" Hitoshi said, forcing himself to relax, "Did I do something?"
"Don't answer that," Bakugou commanded.
Kirishima didn't respond, and Hitoshi resented it—because they didn't trust him, because he had been planning to escape with his quirk.
There was commotion in the room behind them—it might have been going for a while. Hitoshi had been too focused.
"Did you leave campus today?" Midoriya asked. He stepped away from the stove, food forgotten, "Could you have encountered any unknown quirks?"
Behind him, Kaminari darted in from the other end of the kitchen. He ran up to Bakugou, grabbed his arm and whispered into his ear. Hitoshi couldn't see how his mouth moved, but it didn't matter. He had a pretty good idea of what he might say.
"Are you able to respond?" Midoriya continued, for all the world like he was puzzling something out over one of his quirk analysis notebooks. "It's okay if you can't."
"Let him go," Bakugou said.
Midoriya turned back to him, forehead crinkling. "Kacchan, I think that he's—"
Bakugou grabbed his stirring spoon and threw it. Midoriya yelped, scrambling to catch it.
"Watch the curry," Bakugou said. Then he walked over and grabbed Hitoshi by the forearm.
"Hey man," Kirishima said, voice ringing from somewhere behind Hitoshi's left ear, "I'm not sure that's smart."
"We're just gonna talk," Bakugou said, confident. "Give us a minute."
"Okay?" Kirishima said, but he relaxed his grip.
Bakugou started dragging him toward the front door. Hitoshi went along without protest. He'd decided to behave himself—this would be easier if Bakugou got him away from everyone else.
Outside, Bakugou took a sharp left and led Hitoshi a few yards along the edge of the building. Then he stopped abruptly.
"Have you ever beat up a classmate?" Bakugou demanded.
Hitoshi broke from his grasp, set his feet in a firm stance. "Can't say that I have. But there's a first time for everything."
"Hit me and Deku breaks the window," Bakugou said.
Hitoshi glanced to the side. Sure enough, they stood in front of a tall window. Inside, Midoriya had left the kitchen to watch them.
"Look," Bakugou said, "We're gonna pretend we made up. And then this weekend, you're gonna meet me at Ogawa Park."
Slowly, Hitoshi nodded. So much was happening that it was all hard to take in, but he understood. He'd wanted a better location, hadn't he?
"Not the main entrance," Bakugou continued, "Come at it from the south side and crawl under the fence where the chain is loose. Move north from there and you'll find me, less than half a mile. Got that?"
"Got it," Hitoshi said.
Bakugou bowed, back angled toward the window. Only Hitoshi could see that his face didn't turn downward, that he kept eye contact, unrepentant.
"Sunday morning at eight. Sharp," Bakugou said. Then he straightened, turned on his heel and headed back inside.