Work Text:
Just your luck.
It was just your luck that a giant villain bursted out of an alleyway, sending basketball-sized chunks of concrete everywhere. There were few civilians around but none as close as you, and in your split second of panic and attempt to flee the flying debris, you tripped. The road hitting your face didn’t hurt as much as the splitting pain in your ankle.
Groaning, you looked back to find the monstrous villain advancing on you. His massive hand reached out, no doubt to take you hostage, and you scrambled to stand.
Your foot gave out after a single step.
A large mass crept over your back—and you were lifted from the ground. But you weren’t suspended by a hulking monster. There was wind whipping at your face, and two strong arms carrying you.
You were being rescued by a hero.
His face was hidden; covered by a white knight helmet. Words that sounded like assurance rushed out of the metal seams. You felt other pieces of metal pressing into you as he sprinted down the street at such a terrifying speed that you held onto him tightly. But he was gentle, and careful. Even without features to read, you picked up on his concern for you. “Are you injured? Can you stand?” he asked, abruptly stopping to set you down on the sidewalk.
“Yeah—yeah I can stand.” You leaned against a streetlight pole, gasping. The pain in your ankle flared up like a fire rolling over it. “Agh—“ The hero caught you before you could stumble.
“Wait here.” His voice was stoic and confident.
You didn’t get the chance to respond before he dashed back in the direction of the villain, who had taken to tearing up the street instead of capturing a different civilian. The hero possessed an inhuman speed that spouted smog from his calves as he ran, and you finally got a good look at his costume. It was somewhere between a cross of an android and a suit of armor; there being plates of white metal over a dark blue suit, looking both modern and slightly medieval. It reminded you of a certain pro hero, but you couldn’t remember who.
This hero may have been the same one, however, since it only took a few strategic super-powered kicks to knock the villain down in a spray of rubble. He dusted off his hands in success, watched the unconscious villain return to normal size, and handed him off to the police that showed up to take him into custody. The exchange was professional, but friendly. Thanks to the hero, no one else was hurt, and everyone could continue on their day.
You weren’t sure why you were still watching the ordeal. Seeing hero stuff on the news was exciting, but actually experiencing it was an entirely different thing. Your ankle was killing you and you needed to go to a hospital. So, gritting your teeth, you turned to the never-ending trail of gray sidewalk.
“How is your injury?”
You jolted in surprise. You’d only looked away for a moment and somehow the hero was right beside you—oh yeah, he could run really fast. Trying not to wince, you shifted your foot around. It felt swollen. “I think I sprained it…” Getting to a hospital would be even more difficult. At least you could walk properly if it had been on the arm or something.
In a gentlemanly tone that interrupted your internal turmoil, you were asked, “May I assist you to the nearest hospital?” The hero appeared even more concerned as he regarded your injury; his broad shoulders hunching forward. It was hard to say no for a variety of reasons.
“Yes.” You nodded. “But—“ You interrupted his action as he reached for you. “Please don’t carry me this time.”
He accepted your request and instead, with your permission, lifted your arm over his shoulder. His free arm went around your waist for further support. It was a little awkward with his armor against you, but you both managed.
“Oh, hang on a moment.” He stopped before either of you could begin walking. Letting go of your hand over his shoulder, he dug into his pocket and fished out a phone to call someone. You studied the slits and holes of his helmet design as he looked straight ahead and spoke clearly. “Yes, it’s me. I’ve apprehended the villain and the police have taken him into custody. I’m assisting an injured civilian to the hospital. Right. I’ll continue my patrol immediately after.”
The phone returned to his pocket and you both started walking. Despite how inconvenient it was, it actually hurt less to walk like this—but your ankle still pulsed in fervent pain. You needed something to distract you from it.
“Who was that?” you asked, trying to sound casual. “Is it a hero you work for?” Instantly, you regretted the phrasing. If you were wrong, and he wasn’t someone’s sidekick, then he would definitely take offense. Perhaps he even had sidekicks of his own, and you’d just wantonly assumed he wasn’t capable of that!
Luckily, his demeanor didn’t waver even though you couldn’t see anything behind his helmet. “Not quite. I’m doing a work study with an agency in this area, so in many ways I am like a sidekick, but it is to help me learn the ropes of being a hero.”
A work study from UA. That meant he was still in high school, like you, and couldn’t possibly be that pro hero he reminded you of. What year was he in, you wonder? He was rather tall. And eloquent. You’d never met another teenager who spoke in a manner like he did.
“Ah, we’ve arrived,” he said formally, providing another example to your observation.
The hospital doors slid open to welcome you to the front desk where you checked in. The nurse directed you to the seating area to wait, air conditioning floated down in a chilly breeze, and the hero assisted with lowering you into a chair.
“Finally,” you sighed, grateful to take the weight off your foot. Next to you, another sigh followed, revealing the handsome face of your savior as he lifted his helmet from his head. The most surprising thing was the fact he wore glasses underneath, but they in no way made him look less attractive—quite the opposite. He smoothed down tufts of dark blue hair that had gotten mussed up in the helmet, then leaned into his chair. His captivating eyes turned and met yours.
Surely you were in some kind of dream—nay, a novel where you had just been saved by your handsome love interest. A knight in shining armor. How in the world was any of this real?
“Is staring something you’re prone to?” he asked firmly but sincerely, and you jerked backwards into your armrest. The movement adjusted your foot. You sucked in air through your teeth.
“No,” you began, speaking through the pain, “no I don’t usually stare at people.”
You waited for him to get upset—to stand up and leave you in the hospital, since he had done his job and all you were doing was bothering him further. You could hardly blame him.
Your similitude of thoughts settled into a calm truth when he got up from his seat. It was to be expected. Looking down at your lap, you listened to him walk away; not even able to lift your head to watch him go. It had been lovely while it lasted. You would treasure this moment for a long time, even if it ended in a less-than-satisfactory way.
So you could only be surprised when, out of nowhere, the hero reappeared in front of you. He held something in one hand. A water bottle. Had he bought it from a vending machine?
“It’s cold,” he explained, dropping to his knee and gesturing to your foot. “May I remove your shoe?”
Feebly, you nodded; having been given no proper time to process. He continued so gently, just like when he carried you. The laces were undone, the shoe slid off smoothly, and he took extra care in shifting your sock down your ankle. It revealed an ugly sight: mottled purples and yellows covering a swollen lump of skin. The chilled touch of the water bottle settled next to it, immediately sending a flinch up your entire body. A few seconds passed in order for you to appreciate the contact.
Below you, the hero remained steady the whole time—in one hand the bottle, the other holding the underside of your calf, all to make sure he didn’t hurt you. His eyes never wavered, staying laser-focused on your injury. If all his previous heroics didn’t have you swooning already—and you were swooning—then this was the nail in the coffin. You wanted to know more about him, in any way you could.
“What’s your name?” the question left your lips before fully forming in your head.
Your hero broke his initial gaze and met your eyes for the second time. His own fascinated you. “My hero name?” he echoed the question lightly, almost seeming to ponder it, like it was sacred. “It is Ingenium.”
Why did that sound familiar?
Leaning forward to be closer, you asked, “Isn’t Ingenium a pro hero?”
The fingers on your leg tightened a fraction. The young man tensed up, then relaxed, then sighed to himself. You wondered what garnered such a reaction, but he kindly answered your second question.
“He was,” he said slowly, calmer than he had been a moment ago. “The name ‘Ingenium’ used to belong to my brother.”
Instantly, you realized your mistake and rushed to apologize. He raised his hand from your leg to silence you. “Do not worry, my brother is still alive.” There was a sadness in his downcast eyes that trailed along his words. “He is retired, after having an altercation with the hero killer.”
Memories of news outlets returned to you. There were many heroes left disabled by Stain, along with many killed, and you’d stopped keeping track of it as it was happening. Now you felt guilty. You’d reminded this kind hero of something painful—much more painful than a sprained ankle.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered.
The sadness disappeared from his eyes as he lifted them and reassured you, “Do not worry. He is well.” He sounded positive enough that you believed him, but there was a trace of pain that would never go away.
The bottle readjusted to a different part of your ankle; spreading coolness that eased the strain. A new emotion filled your hero’s expression. It was conviction in its purest form, raw and unfiltered, rising in an overwhelming splendor like a mantra he’d engraved into his very soul. “I intend to live up to the name,” he declared, “his name, and become a hero worthy of it.”
Grinning, you basked in his confidence—his spirit—hoping just as much as him in that moment that he would achieve his goal. No matter what, you believed in him. What’s more: he believed in himself, in his abilities, and in his unwavering dedication.
As the emotion wore down, you bashfully looked away. “You’ll live up to his name,” you promised softly. “You’ve done so much to help me, Ingenium, so I—“
“Iida.”
“Huh?”
You looked at him, and he was observing your ankle since you were still waiting on that doctor. He took great care in how he pressed the water bottle to it, making sure to add the right amount of pressure, all at the right angle. “You may call me Iida. I feel as though at this point we are more than a mere hero and civilian sharing a conversation.”
Your nervousness sparked up into courage. “Iida.”
“Yes?”
You unintentionally laughed. “Nothing. I just wanted to say your name.”
He ended up laughing as well—a bright, bold laugh. It carried his hopes and dreams, wiggled its way into your heart, and left something there. His eyes sparkled as he glimpsed up at you. “And what about yourself? You never told me your name.”
You opened your mouth, but another answered for you.
A nurse stood in a doorway nearby; holding a clipboard. The doctor could finally see you.
Giving Iida an unsure smile, you put your weight on him as he helped you stand. The walk down the hallways was long, but you didn’t mind because he was with you. Everything went by so fast. You got a boot on your foot and some crutches, along with advice you made sure to remember. It didn’t even seem strange anymore that Iida still stuck by your side when he was walking you to the train.
Remembering what he told the hero he worked for earlier, you started to sweat. He had a job to do and you were keeping him from it.
“Do not worry,” Iida interrupted your thoughts and straightened his posture into a proper hero. “I am simply patrolling and happen to be next to you. Continue on.”
Somehow, he managed to dissolve your troubles, even with his helmet covering his face once again. You tapped one crutch against his leg and tried to move faster in the building foot-traffic. You didn’t know anything about hero work, but something told you they tended to travel faster than this when patrolling the streets.
You asked, “Will I see you again?” when arriving at the platform. Both of you stopped to face each other, but you weren’t sure how to continue this moment in a meaningful way. It would end soon, and you hated that.
“If you ever find yourself in this area getting attacked by a villain, then there is a chance.”
Your spirits deflated.
“However…” He looked away, spine rigid, and you wondered what expression he was making. “If we had some way to contact one another, then perhaps we don’t have to wait until one of us is in danger.”
You blinked multiple times. There was no way he just—
“Can I give you my number?” you blurted out the quick thought. Uncertainty crept in right after.
Iida, despite sharing your nervousness, surged forward to stand closer. “Yes! You—“ He paused to clear his throat, then started again in a more civilized manner. “Yes,” he said, “you may have my phone number.”
It was a hassle to hold your phone and use your crutches—especially when your hands were jittery—so Iida graciously let you lean against him while you traded information. You sent a quick message, just to make sure it went through, and cheerily waved him goodbye. He waved back, no doubt smiling brightly beneath his helmet. Your heart soared inside your chest. It slowly returned to earth as you entered the train.
One more thought of necessity formed in your mind. “Iida?” you called out, whipping around as fast as you could with your crutches. The doors hadn’t closed yet, and he’d only made it a few steps away.
“Yes?” He sounded confused and eager at the same time, turning back to you. Some people crossed between you and him, but none of it could stop you from communicating to one another.
Granting him your most brilliant smile, you told him the truth.
“You’re going to be a great hero one day, worthy of the name Ingenium.”
You couldn’t see his face, but you didn’t need to. The softening posture, the quiet “thank you”, conveyed all you needed to know.
The train doors hissed shut; cutting you off from him. You wanted to watch him longer through the window, but you needed to find someplace to sit or else you’d end up in the hospital again. His presence lingered long after your departure.
Recounting your interactions on the ride home had you smiling so much your face started to hurt. You couldn’t help it. It made you happy—he made you happy—in every form. You didn’t know him very well, but that was going to change.
Your phone buzzed from a message you received.
Indeed, that would change very, very soon.