Chapter Text
Komaeda is used to waiting rooms.
He knows which chairs creak when you sit down and which ones wobble just enough to annoy anyone. He knows how long it takes before the air starts to feel stale, before each name call that isn't his feels mocking, before the clock’s ticking stops sounding normal and begins to induce anxiety. He knows how to wait patiently for the inevitable pity from doctors as he explains his symptoms.
The walls are white, the floors are polished, and the windows let in just enough light to suggest to patients that everything will be fine. Nagito sits with his hands folded in his lap and his back leaning against a cushioned blue seat. He doesn't bother picking up a magazine or going on his phone while he waits. He simply sits there, an expression neither sad nor happy lying on his pale face.
“Komaeda Nagito?” A female voice called out.
Nagito looked up immediately with a smile and rose carefully, trying not to generate another dizzy spell.
“This way, please,” she gestured him forward, a clipboard tucked against her side.
Eventually, he arrived at the examination room. It smelled of antiseptic and citrus, a scent he'd gotten accustomed to over time. Nagito sat when instructed, the paper on the bed crinkling beneath him and obstructing the otherwise silence. The nurse began conducting routine inspections, like checking weight, vitals, and whatnot. He noted he'd lost three pounds since his last visit. Then she left the room, saying the doctor would come soon.
Minutes passed and then the doctor entered, it was an older man; a familiar face, and one that Nagito had probably made grow a few grey hairs. He was calm, the type of man who knows exactly how to deliver both good and bad news with the same flat tone. He reviewed Nagito’s chart in silence, knitting his brows with every mouse scroll.
Finally, he spoke, “You’ve been noncompliant with your rest recommendations it seems.”
Nagito laughed softly, but not because anything was actually funny. “Ah… well, I needed to study hard for the U.A. entrance exams and might've pushed myself a little.”
“A little,” the doctor echoed dryly. “And I can see you’ve stopped going to therapy again?”
“Well, I didn't want to bother the poor therapist with my mere existence, especially since she didn’t understand me very well,” Nagito admits, shrugging his own deprecating comment off.
“Right,” the doctor pinched the bridge of his nose, “Komaeda. You are going to be attending one of the biggest academies in Japan. And your condition— conditions— do not respond well to stress.”
Nagito nodded earnestly. “But I’m so grateful for the opportunity to go, it'd be a shame to waste a chance to be so close to symbols of hope!” He beamed, “Oh, but of course, I don't want to be a burden to anyone. So I understand what you're trying to say.”
“If your health deteriorates—”
“I’ll take a break,” Nagito finished for him politely.
The doctor’s gaze sharpened, “I hope that isn't a lie this time. Please take care of yourself.”
Nagito blinked, then smiled. “You’re very kind to someone like me.”
The doctor didn't smile back and continued with more in-depth examinations.
When Nagito was done, he needed to schedule another appointment in a few weeks and pick up new medication from the pharmacy when it was ready. He also has a check-up for his dementia in a month. Honestly, nothing he isn't used to by now. But it's nothing a first-year high school student should be used to.
The car ride to Nagito’s home was quiet. Not silent, exactly. There was still the hum of the engine and the sound of movement from trees blowing in the spring air. He stared out the window, watching the city pass by like a movie where every single person was an unpaid meaningless background character. The buildings blur into lines of light and shadow, all the same in the end.
The chauffeur didn't speak, although he would if Nagito spoke first. But why would Komaeda bother talking to someone as insignificant as him? After all, he was just another one of the countless perks originating from his “Ultimate Luck” quirk.
On the bright side— because there always had to be a bright side— he would be attending U.A. very soon. The place that nurtures hope in rising heroes and where many heroes taught themselves. The thought of it excited Nagito to his core, he could barely contain himself anymore. He was only joining as a student in general studies though, a landfill for worthless trash like him who couldn't make it into the hero course. But as long as he could be in the presence of future symbols of hope, he’d be thankful to the point of a heart attack.
“Sir,” the driver opened the car door, “We’ve arrived.”
Nagito offered a small smile as a response and stepped out of the vehicle, feeling the breeze tousle his off-white hair.
The driveway curved around a stone fountain, and in front stood a vast mansion that belonged in paintings and all sorts of fiction. It was Nagito’s house, something he’d inherited from his parents after they passed. The structure was made of pale limestone with dark windows and giant front doors. It consisted of many balconies, pillars, and artistic carvings. A building from an architect’s dream.
The halls were empty and cold, no longer having the people who made the house feel like home. It was big, lavish yet lacking, and grand enough to emphasize how alone Nagito felt in such a place. He moved forward, towards a room at the end of the hall past the foyer.
As soon as he made it there, he clicked the door shut behind him and collapsed onto the bed of fluffy white sheets and All Might plushies. He hadn't even bothered to take his shoes or sweater off properly. The day had become a muddy blur of things he couldn't care less about. He just lay there for a few moments, wordlessly staring at the ceiling. Nagito let out a shaky breath resembling a chuckle and rested his arm above his eyes before finally closing them, leaving him with nothing but thoughts.
Getting to school should be pretty straightforward. Open the door and step out of the car, cross the street using the thick white lines as a guide, and enter through the giant gates. Nothing is difficult about the task at all. Unless of course, your name is Komaeda Nagito.
As the crosswalk signal flickered from red to green, he stepped forward. He was thinking about U.A., about the uniform he was now wearing, about the idea of being so close to hope. But something went wrong, like it always had to.
Nagito turned his head a bit too late, just in time to see white filling his vision.
Ah.
A truck rammed into his side.
The pain seeped in slowly, blooming in his arm and throbbing in his head. Something warm trickled down his forearm, and he realized it wouldn’t move the way he wanted it to anymore. None of this concerned or panicked him though. If anything, it meant something good would be coming down the line for him. The thought filled him with comfort and ecstasy.
“How embarrassing,” he managed to utter with ringing ears. Voices around him were muffled and filled with worry.
The sky above him was light blue with no clouds. Clear weather. Lucky.
He considers whether he should get up or not. No, rather, if he can even get up or not. His arm ached with pain and his head felt heavy, but he needed to get up. He would be late for school.
He pushed himself up onto his uninjured side, pain flaring, but he swallowed it down. Bystanders watched with unnecessary apprehension. He bowed apologetically, as if he’d caused everyone an inconvenience, and stumbled away as the ground swayed under him. Nagito adjusted his bag back onto his shoulders with trembling fingers. Each step sent a jolt through his body, but he didn't pay it any mind.
He reached the sidewalk and paused long enough to take a breath and check his now cracked phone. The light from the device showed he had just enough time to get to class, although it was cutting it close. By the time he reached the doors, his vision had started to obfuscate. Not enough to stop him, just enough to be annoying.
The familiar H-shaped silhouette he remembered from the entrance exam loomed in front of him, the sight of it bringing a wave of euphoria to Nagito. He made it, and that's all that matters.
A few students glanced at him as he passed, obviously in shock at the red substance still streaming down his temple and left arm. He doesn't notice them. He doesn't notice the way his arm is completely unmovable now. He doesn't notice that his vision has now started blackening in the corners.
He only noticed the classroom door of 1-D. Good, he's on time.
Nagito slid the door open and entered, only for the previously boisterous conversations in the space to die instantly. Every head turned toward him.
The homeroom teacher, a brown-haired man presumably in his late thirties, froze mid-sentence. He glanced at the attendance sheet, looking at the only name that hadn't arrived yet, “…Komaeda?”
Nagito straightened automatically. “Good morning,” he said, bowing. He looked around, noticing there was only one unfilled seat. “I'll sit right away.”
“No wait, what happened?” he demanded, wondering if he was okay and how he ended up so injured on the first day. “You’re bleeding.”
“Oh,” Nagito blinked and looked down at himself for only a second. “I suppose I am.”
“Did you get into a fight?” The teacher questioned sharply.
“No.”
“Did you fall?”
“…Not exactly.”
The man exhaled through his teeth. “That’s it, you’re going to Recovery Girl,” he announced, already turning to the door. “Class, stay seated.”
Nagito looked at him, startled. “That won't be necessary!”
“Yes, it will,” the teacher snapped, but softened slightly. “You should've gone straight to the nurse anyway.”
“But I didn’t want to be late.”
The teacher stared at him and swore under his breath as he grabbed Nagito’s uninjured arm. He ushered him into the hall, stares collecting as Nagito bumbled around with blood staining his uniform.
“I’m really sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn't mean to make everyone worry for someone like me.”
The man glanced at Komaeda in surprise. How could someone think of themselves like that? But instead of responding, he sighed and kept dragging Nagito away.
The nurse’s office door swung open, making the wrinkled little lady look up from her desk. It took one peek at Nagito for her expression to harden.
“Sit,” Recovery Girl ordered. He obeyed.
She's at his side immediately, fingers firm as she tilts his head, inspecting the wounds. The teacher had already left the room.
“How long ago did this happen?” she asked.
“Just about ten minutes ago. I was hit by a truck.”
The room went silent. Recovery Girl straightened slowly, face becoming tainted with sympathy.
“You poor little darling, you’re lucky you’re alive.”
Nagito brightened. “Yep! I'm really lucky.”
That made her pause for a minute. She might be seeing him a lot more than she should this year.
Finally, she gave him a kiss on the head, activating her quirk. The relief is immediate and dizzying, something Nagito already had enough of. The pain receded, and his visible injuries were no more. When it was over, Recovery Girl stepped back, wiping her brow.
“You’re going to feel exhausted for a while,” she warned. “And if you're planning to get into more accidents like these, I won't be healing them.”
Nagito smiled faintly. “Right, I wouldn’t want to abuse your wonderful talent like that.”
The way he put it made her feel uneasy.
“You should really go home, but…” she looked at Nagito who replied with a silent closed-eyed grin, “Get back to class.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He complied, ever so politely.
As Nagito stepped back into the hallway, steadier now, he adjusted his uniform and exhaled softly.
That worked out nicely, and I even got to experience such a brilliant quirk firsthand! He thought to himself, crossing his arms and looking to the side.
On his way back to class, he heard a loud boom coming from outside and saw a glimpse of the warm colors of a small explosion. The training grounds for the hero course. Would it be okay if he peeked, just for a small while?
He peered from the window, and there they were. A colorful cast of unmistakable main characters with hopeful quirks. Some were crowded on the bleachers, watching their classmates perform some kind of assessment. Others were standing, thinking about strategies to pursue maybe.
And Nagito just stared with wonder, admiration, and something more sinister flickering in his eyes. He was afraid to step any closer, as if the scene would disappear before him. It was something he could only witness from afar, never be involved with himself. He wouldn't dare envy such remarkable people, they were on a different level that ordinary people like himself could never reach.
It was beautiful. He was intoxicated by it.
“It’s quite the view, isn't it?” A deep voice thundered from behind him.
Nagito froze. He knew that voice.
His heart stuttered, but not from fear or caution. From something dangerously close to joy.
All Might stood a few paces away, arms folded, posture relaxed. In person, he's larger, probably over seven feet tall. The air became heavier with his mere presence. The Symbol of Peace.
For a moment, it seemed Komaeda had forgotten how to speak. His eyes were just wide open, analyzing the person he idolized most.
“Oh—!” he bowed so fast it practically threw him off balance. When his head rose again, he half expected All Might to be gone and he'd just been hallucinating. But he was still there, smiling as always. Was he a teacher this year?
All Might laughed, warm and loud. The student reminded him of another fanboy he knows. “Easy there, young man! I see you're admiring 1-A? I like that class as well.”
“I wasn't admiring them,” he said automatically. “What I feel is more pure than admiration—” he cut himself off, realizing how that sounded. He didn't want to give a bad first impression, he'd done too much of that today. “I mean, I was. But not just them. I admire this entire school, and I'm really glad to just be standing here.”
“Is that so?” The hero raised a brow.
Nagito nodded fervently. “U.A. is where hope is refined… where it's tested and shaped.” He grinned, soft and sincere. “I think it's amazing.”
“Well, that's a positive outlook.”
Nagito beamed. Praise, maybe small or incidental, coming from his favorite hero. Wow, he could die peacefully now.
“I’m Komaeda Nagito,” He adds quickly, “Class 1-D, general studies.”
“Ah,” All Might hummed. “You’re looking at hero course students though, are you thinking of switching courses later on?”
“Hm?” Komaeda seemed genuinely confused by the statement. “There’s no way I'd be suited for that.” The certainty in his voice was casual.
All Might chuckled. “You never know, young Komaeda. I hear plenty of students who started in general studies find their way into the hero course.”
Nagito laughed in a way that sounded like he was mocking himself, shaking his head. “Oh no, that wouldn't be right.”
The Symbol of Peace paused. “Why not?” It felt like maybe a question someone else asked him before.
Nagito’s gaze drifted back to the window. “Not everybody has innate worth— the ability to produce hope. And I’m just one of the many people born without that talent. So even if I tried, it's just not my role.”
All Might stiffened, studying him now. He noticed how tired Komaeda looked. He noticed the pallor of his skin. He noticed how every movement of his was careful.
“Ah! Sorry, I was being too pessimistic right?” Nagito tried to fix the uncomfortable atmosphere.
“Oh… no, just remember I am here, okay?” The way All Might offered help was a bit awkward compared to how he usually does it, but can you blame him?
“Right!” Nagito’s eyes sparkled.
All Might cleared his throat, forcing his normal cheer back into place. “Right, then. I should be back to my duties.”
Nagito bowed again. “Of course, I don't want you to waste precious time on someone like me.” And then in an almost hushed voice, “Please continue being who you are.”
All Might hesitated, then nodded and walked away.
Komaeda watched as his burly silhouette slowly vanished in the distance. He'd stopped smiling and turned back towards the window, laying his hand on it as if reaching for something invisible. The way All Might behaved was so carefree and lacking something integral. What was missing? What had changed since his prime? What's something that these other students require to grow as well?
Oh right, despair.
Toshinori stood by a counter in the teacher’s lounge which smelled of burnt coffee, pretending to read notices pinned to the wall.
“Komaeda Nagito, huh?” He mentioned abruptly after a moment.
One of the general studies homeroom teachers looked up from a newspaper and at All Might. “Hm?”
“You teach a student by that name?”
The teacher’s expression shifted and shoulders tensed just slightly. “Ah, yeah. The kid who came to school despite getting into a car accident this morning.”
All Might turned 180 degrees and froze in shock. “Hit? …He went to class like that?”
“Yes,” the teacher said flatly. “Originally even refused to go to Recovery Girl. Then he apologized for making the class worry.”
Silence settled, and All Might’s jaw tightened and his fist clenched. All Might thinks of his interaction with the boy. How calmly he smiled. The way he spoke about himself. How could a first year be so self-deprecating...? If he kept thinking like that then—
“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Toshinori decided suddenly.
He was blissfully unaware of how that declaration would make so much trouble in the future. However, because nobody knows exactly what the future holds, he'd have to wait and see how awful things could turn out.