Chapter Text
It went without saying that interviews were, for the most part, one of Ochaco’s least favorite things.
She’d been job hunting around the area for months now and had fully expected to be a pro at this by now. Instead, even after countless interviews with several agencies, her hands still grew clammy at the thought of having to talk about herself for extended periods of time. Apparently, practice did not make this better.
Today would be no different than the last. This was the final position open in her area for secretaries, and Ochaco needed this interview to go right. It had everything she wanted in a job right now: Flexibility, decent pay, and close to home. Sure, the hours might require a few late nights, but that felt like a problem for Future Ochaco–once Present Ochaco had actually secured the job.
She gently bit the cap of her pen while leaning over the clipboard on her lap.
There it was.
In bold black ink sat the question she dreaded answering the most.
Why did you leave your last position?
Ochaco knew, for obvious reasons, that she couldn’t tell them the real answer. To be honest, it wasn’t really anyone’s business anyway. She bit down harder on the pen cap and released a quiet sigh. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d answered this question honestly. If memory serves her right, it was probably during her exit interview with Ryukyu’s agency–and look how well that had gone.
Regardless, the question followed her through every interview. There was no escaping it this time either.
She sighed again.
Another lie wouldn’t hurt, she supposed.
Ochaco stared at the black in, waiting for a new white lie to come to her. Over time, she collected a small arsenal of excuses. Long hours. Lack of growth. Poor fit. In one case, they’d even called one of her references—Tsu, being the main one. Luckily, Tsu was great at covering for her and could make Ochaco’s story sound convincing enough to pass for the truth.
Speaking of–
She reached into the pocket of her skirt and fished out her phone. Tsu’s response finally came in when Ochaco walked into the building. Swiping up on the screen displayed her whole conversation with her that she had that morning. Well wishes. Encouragement. A reminder that she’d be great, obviously. And the question Tsu had asked, like she always did.
"What will you do if they call me for reference? "
Ochaco had messaged back with as much enthusiasm as she could manage, followed quickly by a plea: If they asked why she left the agency, please don’t tell them the real reason. Tsu had replied with a picture of a kitten saluting like a soldier.
Ochaco smiled despite herself, then scrolled to the last few messages.
“Everyone wants to see you tonight.”
Her eyes drifted further where she saw her own reply.
“You know I can’t, Tsu.”
Because seeing everyone meant explaining everything. The whole situation. The entire reason she couldn’t be honest with that stupid question still staring back at her.
Because her dad was sick?
Because the doctors couldn’t tell them it was wrong.
Because the family company they’d worked so hard to build was falling apart.
All of it was true. That was the worst part.
But if she told the truth, this would draw concern. Obligation. Her friends would want to help, and she didn’t want to derail anyone’s goals just because her life had gone sideways. Not to mention the endless questions that would follow–the ones that always came wrapped in concern but somehow felt like judgement.
Why didn’t you just talk to Ryukyu ?
I’m sure she would have worked with you.
Couldn’t you just move your parents closer?
Have you tried seeing a new doctor?
Ochaco had answered every single one already. Over and Over. Usually in her head. Usually when she was exhausted and staring at the ceiling at three in the morning.
A hero agency willing to work with her on a schedule would’ve been rare. That was the whole reason why she’d left Ryuku’s agency to begin with. At first, she managed it. Being a hero and being home. It was hard–sustained by caffeine and four hours of sleep–but she told herself it was only temporary.
She told herself a lot of things back then.
When peak crime rate season hit during the summer, the mistakes started small. Missed details. Slower reaction times. She blamed the lack of sleep and promised herself she’d catch up on the rest wherever she could–on trains, between patrols, anywhere. But it didn’t help. The problem wasn’t exhaustion.
It was focus.
Being needed at home and at work stretched her thin until something had to give. Eventually, the stress caught up to her, leaving her forgetful and easily distracted. Ryukyu noticed. She was understanding–at first. But understanding went so far once the public began to notice too.
After a bad slip-up on a mission, Ochaco decided it would be better to step away. Just for a while. She moved back home shortly after.
This was why she couldn’t tell the truth.
If an employer knew, they’d see her as a liability. A risky hire. And if her friends knew–well. She’d be drawing in questions, sympathy, and second-guessing her choices until she started doing it herself.
Right now, she needs to stand firm. Leaving hero work had been the right decision. It was what her family needed.
Her grip tightened around her phone, the familiar lightness tugging faintly at her center, like her body wanted to float despite her best efforts to stay grounded.
Ochaco sucked in a breath of air when she saw the message flash on her screen.
"He’s going to be there."
The words sat in the tiny green bubble, heavier than they had any right to be.
He–the one person she had gone out of her way to not see since graduation. It wasn’t everyone else’s opinion of her life that didn't matter. It did. Just not like his. She couldn’t stomach the idea of seeing the disappointment in his eyes once she found out she’d left.
That was the part she couldn’t face.
Tsu had mentioned him as bait, plain and simple. And if Ochaco was still that love-stricken schoolgirl from years ago, maybe it would’ve worked. Maybe she would’ve jumped at the chance. But that version of her didn’t exist anymore. Or at least, she told herself it didn’t.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard before she typed back.
"I still don’t think I can go."
She sent it before she could overthink it, then sighed and clicked her phone off, stuffing it back into her pocket like that would keep the thought of him from floating back up.
It was time to focus.
Not on him.
Not on her friends.
Not even on what was waiting for her back home.
She needed to figure out how to knock this interview out of the park.
Ochaco let the clipboard rest on her lap and glazed around the office.
They were all nearly the same. A reception desk at the front, rows of cubicles behind it, and a handful of conference rooms tucked away for different departments. It was something she’d learned in her second year at UA–hero agencies weren’t just heroes. There were entire teams behind them. Marketing. Scheduling. Patrol Coordination. In larger agencies, there was even a designated manager running everything while the hero followed the carefully planned direction laid out for them.
It was like a show.
The hero was the actor, shoved onto the stage, while the agency worked behind the scenes, scrambling to make sure everything ran smoothly.
The thought barely had time to settle before it was pushed aside by the sound of approaching heels.
The sharp clicking grew closer, and Ochaco lifted her head just in time to see a tall woman striding toward her. Red heels. A fitted skirt. A black button-up tucked in neatly. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a sleep ponytail that bounced slightly with each step.
Ochaco had seen women like her before–usually on vlogs about office life, walking viewers through their perfectly curated workdays. She tried, once or twice, to dress like that. Every attempt ended the same way: standing in front of the mirror, feeling stiff and wrong, like she was wearing someone else's confidence instead of her own, before quickly changing back into something unfamiliar.
“Uravity?” the woman asked as she came to a stop in front of her.
Ochaco shot up from her seat, nearly fumbling the clipboard before placing it carefully on the chair. The woman extended her hand.
“I’m Rita, the manager for Captain Celebrity,” she said smoothly. “How are you this afternoon?”
Good.
Great.
Nervous but pretending not to be?
Ochaco went with the first answer that popped into her head, and Rita nodded as if that were exactly what she’d expected.
“If you could please follow me,” she said, turning toward the back, “we’ll be conducting the interview there.”
Ochaco grabbed her belongings and her clipboard, took a steadying breath, and followed her past the reception desk.
This was it.
So this really was a big agency, Ochaco thought.
The hallways were lined with framed portraits–heroes and sidekicks who helped operate the agency over the years. Captain Celebrity wasn’t the highest-ranking hero out there, but she hadn’t expected the building to be this large. It felt established. Polished. The kind of place that had been around long enough to matter.
The woman stopped in front of a door and opened it, gesturing inside. “If you could please have a seat in my office,” she said. “I’ll be with you shortly.”
Ochaco nodded and stepped in, settling into the velvet-white chair positioned neatly across from the desk.
The office felt warm, sunlight pouring in through the windows and softening the space. White and green accents were placed carefully throughout the room–just enough color to keep it from feeling sterile without tipping into overwhelming. It must’ve cost some money to put into her office, Ochaco thought.
“I just need to speak with Christopher briefly and I’ll be right back,” Rita said. “Would you like any tea or coffee, Ms Uravity?”
“Um–tea sounds great!” Ochaco replied, doing her best not to sound distracted by the fact that her hero name was being used again.
The heels clicked away down the hallway, growing softer with distance.
Left alone, Ochaco glanced around the office, scanning for anything that might be useful during the interview. There were a few framed photos on her desk—Rita with friends, smiling, candid. She looked young. Maybe only a few years older than Ochaco herself.
One photo caught her attention. Rita stood in a school uniform Ochaco didn’t recognize. It looked…expensive. A gold skirt with a black-trimmed hem, paired with a black jacket accented in matching gold. Elite, probably. Ochaco had always thought her own alma mater was impressive–second only to Yaoyorozu’s mansion–but apparently there were levels to this.
Her gaze shifted to the opposite wall, where certificates and recognitions were neatly arranged. University degrees, most likely. Not many people from her class had gone on to continue school after graduating from UA. Most of them jumped straight into work–joining agencies they’d interned with, forming hero-sidekick duos, or diving headfirst into the careers they’d trained for.
Only a handful had chosen a different path. Two or three from Class A and B maybe.
One of them was someone she really didn’t want to think about right now.
The door opened again, and Rita returned carrying a delicate teacup and saucer.
“Sorry about that,” she said as she set it gently in front of Ochaco. “I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long.”
“Not at all,” Ochaco replied quickly.
“I hope this is to your liking,” Rita added with a small smile. “My new secretary is from the west and usually makes coffee, but I had her look up how to make a decent cup of tea.”
Ochaco’s fingers stilled against the edge of her clipboard.
A new secretary?
Wasn’t that the position she’d applied for?
Her eyes flicked back down to the form in her lap. The position listed there had already been marked as filled. Maybe there was another opening? Another role she hadn’t known about?
Ochaco wrapped her fingers around the warm teacup, letting the head steady her hands.
Okay. So maybe this wasn’t the secretary position after all.
That thought settled slowly, uncomfortably, like a chair she hadn’t tested before sitting in. She straightened in her seat anyway, shoulder back, expression carefully neutral. IF this was a different role–adminstrative, marketing, something she could still handle–then she would adjust. She’d done worse with less warning.
Rita smiled at her from behind her desk, eyes bright with a kind of excitement Ochaco didn’t fully trust yet.
“I’m really glad we finally got to meet,” Rita said. “I’ve heard wonderful things about you, Uravity. Especially from your time at the academy.”
Ochaco blinked. “Oh. Um. Thank you.”
Rita leaned forward slightly. “Your first year, during the war–you were remarkable. The way you quickly came up with a plan when your class separated, kept moving even when things got overwhelming. People remember that.”
Ochaco felt her face warm. “It was really a team effort,” she said quickly. “Even though I was successful in what the mission needed, I still feel like I could’ve done things differently.” She shifted in her seat with the uncomfortable memory. “Everyone did their part.”
Rita waved the comment away with an easy laugh. “That’s what people who made an impact always say.”
She tapped a folder on her desk. “Honestly, I think you’d be the perfect addition to this agency.”
There it was.
Ochaco’s chest lifted with something like relief. Excitement, maybe. She nodded once. Already preparing the careful, professional response she’d practiced in her head.
“That would be great,” she said. “ I just wanted to ask–what position are you considering me for?”
Rita paused.
Not a long pause. Just a blink too slow. A smile that faltered at the edges.
“I’m sorry,” Rita said, a small laugh slipping out. “You are applying to be a sidekick, correct?”
The words landed wrong. Sharp.
Ochaco shook her head before Rita could finish the thought. “No. I’m not.”
Rita’s brows knit together. “But your application–”
“I applied for the secretary position,” Ochaco said, her voice steady even as something tight pulled in her chest. “I’m not looking to return to fieldwork.”
The silence stretched, suddenly awkward.
Rita stood. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment.”
She slipped out of the office before Ochaco could say anything else.
Ochaco exhaled slowly, setting the teacup down with more care than necessary. Of course. Of course this was how it went. She stared at the neat edge of the desk, grounding herself, already bracing for disappointment–or persuasion. Maybe both.
The door opened again, this time with more presence.
Rita stepped aside to allow another figure into the room.
He was tall. Broad-shouldered. Confident in the way people were when the world had spent years telling them they were exceptional. His grin came easily, like it was second nature.
Ochaco recognized him immediately.
It was Captain Celebrity.
Rita cleared her throat. “There seem to have been a misunderstanding,” she said. “Uravity believed she was interviewing for an administrative position.”
The hero laughed once, short and incredulous. “You’re kidding.”
He looked at Ochaco like she’d just told a joke he didn’t quite understand.
“Why would you turn something like this down?” he asked. “Do you know how many people would kill for a chance to be a hero? The hard work kids like you struggled to get the permanent hero license?”
Ochaco met his gaze. “I have other obligations.”
He scoffed, the sounds sharp. “And what could possibly be more important than saving lives?”
The words hit fast. Too fast.
“Family,” Ochaco shot back.
The answer came out before she could soften it, before she could explain. She stood, heart pounding, already reaching for her things.
“I’m not wasting your time,” she said. “ I just know what I can and can’t give right now.”
She didn’t wait for a response. She turned and walked out, heels quiet against the floor but her pulse loud in her ears.
Behind her, Captain Celebrity let out a breath that sounded dangerously close to a laugh.
“Wasted potential,” he muttered.
Ochaco didn’t stop walking.
The air felt colder than it had when Ochaco walked in.
She kept moving anyway. Down the steps. Through the glass doors. Past people who had no idea she’d just walked away from something she was apparently supposed to want.
Wasted potential.
The words followed her, uninvited, bouncing around her skull with each step. She pressed her lips together and shoved her hands into her pockets like she could physically trap the thought there.
No.
Absolutely not.
She hadn’t wasted anything. She’d made a choice. There was a difference, and she refused to let a man who didn’t know her decide otherwise.
Still, the phrase wormed its way back in.
Wasted potential.
Her pace quickened as she headed toward the station, shoes tapping sharply against the pavement. She focused on the mundane details instead–the way the crosswalk signal took too long to change, the hum of traffic, the faint vibration under her feet as the bullet train passed somewhere.
Grounded. Stay grounded.
The familiar lightness tugged at her center, subtle but persistent, like her body wanted to lift away from the sidewalk entirely. Ochaco forced her shoulders to drop, breathing out slowly until her boots felt solid again against the concrete.
She wasn’t weak for leaving.
She wasn’t selfish.
And she definitely wasn’t running away.
She reached the train station entrance and slowed, the rush of commuters swallowing her whole. The smell of metal and oil filled the air, sharp, and grounding. Good. She needs that. Something real.
Potential, her mind replayed anyway.
She clenched her jaw.
Potential didn’t sit up at night waiting for test results.
Potential didn’t answer late-night phone calls or learn how to stretch meals or memorize hospital hallways. Potential didn’t need her.
Her family did.
That was the truth, no matter how many times doubt tried to rewrite it.
Ochaco stepped onto the platform and stared down the tracks, the wind from an incoming rain lifting the hem of her skirt just enough to make her sway. She adjusted her stance automatically planting her feet wide, anchoring herself.
This was fine.
She was fine.
She would go home. She would check in. She would keep going, one day at a time, until things stopped feeling so heavy.
The train roared into the station, loud and final, drawing out every stray though as she watched commuters pile in as the doors slid open. Her train would be arriving soon..
Ochaco exhaled slowly.
It was hard to get the interview out of her head. Rita had looked genuinely mortified when her boss spoke that way. Almost offended on Ochaco’s behalf. There was a quick shift in the room when she said no, Captain Celebrity’s expression souring, his confusion hardening into something much sharper.
Her phone buzzed.
“How’d it go?”
-Tsu
Ochaco didn’t hesitate.
“Terrible.”
She stared at the word after sending it. That single word seemed fitting.
The interview continued to replay in her head.
What could be more important than saving lives?
She’d answer without flinching. Family mattered more than her work. She hadn’t backed down. So why did it feel like she’d broken some kind of unspoken rule? She didn’t care what he thought. But the way Rita looked—shocked, like something no one has said before–stuck with her. It was like Ochaco had violated some sacred agreement within the hero community.
Maybe she had.
Once, hero work had been her whole world. Back when things were simpler. Clearer. Now her life was hospital schedules,medication alarms, and construction invoices. She’d quit for the right reasons. She knew that.
She just hadn’t expected any pushback.
As another train rolled in, wind tugged at her coat as the platform filled. Ochaco adjusted her grip on her bag, steadying herself. Tsu’s earlier message surfaced again—everyone wants to see you.
Briefly, her class flashed through her mind. How she’d slowly faded out of their lives without ever meaning to. Messages left unanswered. Invitations declined. Eventually, they stopped asking.
Maybe reaching out wouldn’t hurt.
Maybe it would help.
Her phone buzzed again.
"I know your answer already, but the invitation’s still open if you want to come tonight. No pressure. Just wanted to remind you."
Ochaco stared at the screen.
Her fingers hovered, already preparing the usual excuses. Dad’s tired. Mom needs help. Maybe next time.
Instead, before she could overthink it, she hit call.
The line rang once.
“Hey?”
“Hey,” Ochaco said, surprised by the relief in her own voice. “So…if the offer’s still good, I think I want to come.”
There was a brief pause–then Tsu laughed. “The interview was that bad,huh?”
Ochaco felt a small smile tug at her lips. “Were do I even begin?”
“How about over food?” Tsu said. “We’re meeting at that restaurant outside the school. You remember the one?”
The one by the convenience store. The one she used to sneak off to with Mina and Jirou. Of course she remembered.
“Yeah,” Ocacho said. “I know the one.”
“Perfect. I’ll text you the address just in case. See you at six?”
“Okay,” Ochaco replied. “I’ll be there.”
She hung up and stepped onto the train heading to Musutafu. Her heart was beating just a little faster than before.
The restaurant was louder than Ochaco remembered.
Not in a bad way–just fuller. Like the space had been stretched to make room for all the years she’d missed.
She hesitated at the entrance for half a second too long, fingered tightening around the strap of her bag, before she spotted them.
Tsu was the first one she recognized, standing near the table with that same calm posture that made it look like she’d never once rushed through life. Her hair was longer now, pulled back in a half up and half down hairstyle, but her expression softened the moment she saw Ochaco.
“Oh,” Tsu said. “You made it.”
Ochaco smiled, and it felt a little wobbly. “Yeah. I did.”
Jirou was impossible to miss. She leaned back in her spot on the corner of the booth like she owned the place–leather jacket sling over her shoulders, dark eyeliner sharp enough to qualify as a weapon. Rockstar energy radiated off her so strongly that Ochaco half-expected a guitar to materialize in her hands.
Jirou’s eyes lit up. “No way. Is that actually you?”
“You bet.” Ochaco said, smiling softly.
Jirou laughed, and slid from her spot pulling her into a hug. “You disappeared.”
“More like strategically retreated,” Ochaco said, muffled against her shoulder.
Yaoyorozu stood next, a little taller than Ochaco remembered, hair tucked behind her ears, eyes bright and curious in a way that felt familiar back when they were students.
“You look good,”Yaoyorozu said sincerely.
Ochaco blinked. “I do?”
“Yeah.”
“Well,” Ochaco said, “That makes both of us.”
Todoroki was beside her, arm loosely around Yaoyorozu’s chair, offering a warm grin. He looked steadier somehow. More grounded. Like he was someone who knew exactly what they wanted after graduation.
And then there was Ida.
He stood when he saw her–because of course he did–same protective presence, same quiet strength, even if his shoulders were broader now and the lines at the corners of his eyes hinted at responsibility instead of exhaustion.
“Uraraka,” he said, smiling. “It’s really good to see you.”
Something in her chest eased at that.
“It’s good to see you too,” she said honestly.
They made space for her at the table, conversations overlapping as people caught her up—Jirou’s agency, Yasmine’s latest project, and Todoroki preparing to take over his father’s agency as well. Ida completely took on the mantle carrying his brother's hero name and she had already known that Tsu was preparing to transition into her new job closer by the ocean.
She laughed where she was supposed to. Nodded. Listened.
And yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was a step off rhythm. Like she walked back into a song she used to know by heart–but only remembered the chorus.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
Ochaco glanced at the screen.
Mom.
“Sorry,” she said, already standing. “I–uh–family thing. I’ll be right back.”
Tsu nodded knowingly. “Take your time.”
Outside, the early evening air hit cooler, shaper. Ochaco exhaled, shoulders dropping as she answered.
“Hey.”
“Hi, sweetie,” her mom said. “I just wanted to check in. How did the interview go?”
Ochaco winced. “Bad.Like…terribly bad.”
“Oh,” her mom sighed softly. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Ochaco said quickly. “I’m okay. Actually–um, I ran into some friends from UA. I’m with them right now.”
There was a pause.
“I’m really glad," her mom said warmly. “You deserve to have a night off too, y’know?”
Ochaco swallowed. “Yeah. I think I forgot how to do that for a while.”
“While you’re out,” her mom added gently, “could you pick up your dad’s favorite juice on the way back?”
Ochaco smiled despite herself. “Yeah. Of course.”
Before she could end the call she spun around–
And walked straight into someone.
“Oof–sorry!” she said automatically, stepping back.
Then she looked up.
And there he was.
Midoriya stood in front of her, eyes wide, surprise flashing across his face before he could hide it. He looked different. Taller, maybe. Broader. Still unmistakably him.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
“Oh,” Ochaco said softly.
She had known this was coming. She just hadn’t planned on it happening like this.