Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Little Izuku was a year old when he said his first word. 

Mama was very happy to the point that she cried, and more tears poured when he said it again a few more times. Carrying him up in her arms, she smiled as she showered him in praise and loving kisses. He could see Papa smiling too, big and ear-to-ear like it always was when he was happy. It was then he thought, in his very young mind, that maybe the word Mama was good.

He was a year old when he learned that Mama was a word that made his parents happy.

It was only a day later when he said another word, and this time, it was his Papa that carried him around his room and danced around by swaying with him in joy. Little Izuku repeated it a few more times to see if it would also make his Papa more happy like it did with Mama, and he was glad to discover that he was right. Tiny sparks came from his Papa’s mouth as he laughed, turning his head away so the child wouldn’t be burned by the flames that escaped from his lips. Little Izuku liked the sound of his laugh. It was loud and bright and made him feel warm inside.

He was a year old when he learned that Papa was a word that also made his parents happy.

As the days and months and years passed by, he learned more and more words, telling them to his parents in hopes that it would make them smile like it did with his first and second words.

It did.

So he babbled, and talked, and muttered to make sure that his parents were happy like he thought they always should be. He would talk about the beetle he found in the park. He would tell stories about the hero and villain game he and Kacchan played together that afternoon. He would watch the new hero in the evening news and gush about their cool quirks and costumes in a never-ending stream of words that meshed together in messy syllables. And they were always happy to listen, sometimes even asking questions that he was quick to answer.

So passionate at talking was he that he absorbed lots of words like a sponge. Overhearing adults talking, or other classmates chatting, he often asked them what the new words he heard meant to add it to his vocabulary. His parents would sometimes correct him when he told stories during dinner and used one of them wrong, but that only meant he was improving, and improving meant that he was going to make them happy. So it was natural that he wanted to know more.

It was at a doctor's appointment that he soon learned another word. Something that sounded like he should know, but didn’t.

Quirkless.

Quirk was a word he knew and understood. It was the thing that made people special! Mama can make small things move towards her, like the time when the remote was too far and she made it come to her instead. Papa could breathe fire, like the dragons in his bedtime stories that he reads to him when the boy’s about to sleep. It wasn’t often that Little Izuku saw his Papa using his quirk, but Papa sometimes breathed them out when he cooked and the powder pepper was in the air and he sneezed.

But Little Izuku didn’t know what the ‘less’ was for.

Good thing the old doctor was kind enough to explain it in words he already knew, just so that Little Izuku could understand too.

He didn't get why Mama looked so sad hearing a new word, though.

When they drove back home, Mama was quiet and he was hugging his All Might plushie. He tried talking about nonsensical things again to make his Mama happy; about the buildings they were passing, about the mutant quirks of the people he could see peeking from just above the window’s edge, and of course, like all the stories he tells, it eventually led to the topic of heroes. He could see one dressed in red and white and yellow patrolling on the sidewalk, and he knew this one! It was Starburst, a hero he sometimes saw on the local news that always helps in getting people out of burning buildings and cars. Turning to face his mother, he told her about his discovery. How one day he would also wear bright costumes and patrol the streets and protect people like Mama and Papa with a smile.

…He didn't talk for the rest of the ride home when he made his Mama cry.

Being quiet wasn’t something he does often because he always talks to make it not-quiet, so it felt weird for the young boy to hear nothing but silence.

The thoughts in his head were noisy, as if to make up for the lack of speaking. It was the first time this happened, and he felt like it wouldn’t be the last.

By the time the car parked and they went into their apartment, he noticed that Papa’s shoes were left by the entrance. He rushed removing his own shoes to find his Papa since he was already home. Maybe he could cheer Mama up because Little Izuku couldn't, for some reason. 

He eventually found his Papa sitting on the living room couch, watching some adult show on the TV. But he didn't care about what was on there, so he jumped onto the other's lap and talked about their meeting with the doctor; that they did a bunch of tests, that they had him go through something called an x-ray, that they got some of his blood but he was a brave little hero so he only cried a little bit. And eventually when he ran out of things to talk about, which was enough time for Mama to come in and prepare food, Papa asked what the die-no-sees was. But Little Izuku didn't know what that word was, not yet at least, so he asked. Papa was quick to explain in words he already knew.

"Oh," he said, after understanding what a diagnosis was in his young mind. "He said I'm quirkless!"

His Papa didn't say anything after that.

His Papa didn't talk either during dinner, but Little Izuku did in hopes of making his parents feel better.

( It didn't. )

The following day, the walk to school was quiet. Little Izuku didn't like that quiet was becoming normal, so he talked a lot and out loud to make it not-quiet. They passed the park he and Kacchan always go to play in, greeting the gardener that watered the flowers. They walked in front of the bakery Papa used to buy sweets from, saying good morning to the baker that once gave him a free cookie. He petted some dogs that were walking with their owners after he was allowed, and told them that he was going to school that day and meet his best friend. 

The people that talked to him were smiling so he knew that his words still made people smile… so maybe his Papa and Mama were just feeling bad. Yeah, that was it! Swinging their joined hands, he and his Mama crossed the road to reach the gates of the school. Kacchan and his other friends were waiting for him by the side.

Letting go, he went beside Kacchan and waved. "Bye Mama!" he said, trying to ignore her still sad face. 

Even then, he didn't get a bye back.

He tried to ignore the bad feeling in his body, too.

School was school, that it was mostly a time for Little Izuku to know more things about the stuff he already knew. Like how the color red was red, but when mixed with white it made the color pink. Or how candies are sweet, but when you put two candies together with three candies you get five candies in total. As always, Kacchan was a fast learner, even faster than Little Izuku. He got the answer first and was more correct than wrong compared to the other little students in his class. He usually uses his quirk to celebrate too, little cracks and pops that reminded him and his classmates of fireworks. Fireworks were for celebrating good things. They learned that on New Year’s Eve and local festivals.

Break eventually came not a moment too soon and the whole group of kids ran outside to either play on the grass or the small playground set. Kacchan dragged him to the far side of the area, next to the biggest tree in school. ( Because Kacchan was the best, he needs to have the best things, he said. And the biggest was the bestest .) His other friends that Little Izuku didn't remember the names of quickly followed like little ducklings going along with their leader.

"So?" his best friend asked. "What's your quirk, Iku?"

"Yeah, yeah," Tsubasa urged. "C'mon, tell us! Is it an emitter? Transformation? Your dad does fire breathing right? What if you could make fire from your hands!"

Kacchan scoffed. "He can't have a transformation. Quirks don't work like that!"

Then another friend brought up a possible quirk, this time controlling fire. And another friend brought up a quirk, saying it could be pulling flaming things. Kacchan was agreeing and disagreeing with some, but Little Izuku knew none of them were correct.

He timidly raised his hand, his presence so small when in the face of people so bright. 

"Hey, shut it!" Kacchan noticed, because of course Kacchan noticed. "Iku's about to tell us!"

And tell them he did.

"So here's the thing, right? The doctor said it was rare, especially for kids! He said I was quirkless!" 

He was met with quiet.

He was starting to not like how quiet sounds.

"What does quirkless mean?" Tsubasa asked with a tilt of his head. 

Oh, they just didn't know what the word was, silly Little Izuku. He would react the same way if he didn't understand. So like the young learner he was, he happily shared what he knew.

"He said quirkless people have one more bone in their feet that people with quirks don't have! So I have to wear different shoes when I grow up because if I don't he said it would hurt a lot." He stood on one foot to gesture towards the other. "Oh, and the doctor said the word quirkless is made of two parts. Quirk, and less. The ‘less’ makes it mean that someone doesn’t have a quirk! Cool, right?"

And then Kacchan's hands started to crackle and pop. Relief flooded the boy's body. He only uses his quirk to celebrate good things! 

"What do you mean you don't have a quirk, Iku?!" his best friend screamed.

Mistakenly taking the loud voice as enthusiasm, Little Izuku just nodded. "Mhmm! He said I won't have one, but that's cool, right?"

"NO IT ISN'T!"

He flinched. But that wasn't right, he shouldn't be scared of his best friend. And yet as Kacchan stomped closer, he could feel his legs shaking and begging him to run away.

"You have to have a strong quirk to be a hero, like All Might and Endeavor! If you won't have one then we can't be the best hero duo anymore!"

"B-but," Oh, he hadn't stuttered in a long time. "We're best friends! Of course we're going to be heroes together!"

"You're quirkless! You broke our promise, stupid Izuku!"

I-Izuku…?

Why didn't Kacchan use his nickname? It was only a mistake, right?

It had to be.

The other friends that stood around Kacchan just giggled, some even laughing. Pointing at him like he was to blame; smiling, but it didn't feel like a nice smile. Many things were confusing at that moment, but he didn't really have the chance to ask why, when…

"I'm not playing with you anymore. Don't follow me, Izuku."

…he realized it wasn't a mistake.

As Kacchan walked away, back faced towards Little Izuku, the boy thought that this wasn't such a new sight to see. He always followed Kacchan wherever he went, so his back wasn’t an unfamiliar view.

But the back getting smaller as he went further away was.

He didn’t know how long he stood there, looking at the spot where Kacchan used to be. All he knew was that it took long enough that he was still there, staring, when the school bell rang.

Break was the last part of school so he was supposed to walk home with Papa right as he got off from work. They always go back home together, sometimes buying ice cream on the way when they were feeling down, and ice cream was exactly the thing he needed after a confusing and sad day. His mood lifted at the thought of having a nice cold treat so he ran towards the school gates, only to see it wasn't Papa that was there waiting for him.

It was Mama.

He slowed his pace to a walk until he was beside her and slowly held her hand. She looked better than she did earlier that morning, but she still seemed sad. Remembering that his talking didn't make her feel happy, he thought it would be better if he kept his thoughts unspoken for the walk home.

They didn't get ice cream on the way to the apartment.

As they sat on the empty couch, which was weird since Papa was always on the couch, Mama began to explain things to him in a hushed voice. He didn’t like the almost-whispers that Mama wanted to be at the volume of, but he heard her all the same.

That Papa went to work in America. That Papa wouldn’t be talking as much because he would be busy. That Mama was going to be the one who would walk him from school instead of Papa. That Mama was going to be the only one taking care of him from now on.

But Little Izuku knew what Papa really did; Kacchan did the exact same thing a little while ago.

He was five years old when he learned quirkless was a word that drove others away.

By the time the other kids in school also learned new words, they took the ‘less’ in ‘quirkless’ and attached it to other words. It was also the time Izuku learned kids could be cruel.

Worthless.

Useless.

Helpless.

Defenseless.

Hopeless.

But as much as those words stung, as much as it hurt to hear them use it synonymously to quirkless, nothing was as bad as Kacchan’s new nickname to him; Deku. Another reading for Izuku’s name, he said. It was short for dekunobou, meaning someone who can’t do anything.

How it went from ‘always staying by his side’ to ‘someone who was good for nothing’, he didn’t know. Izuku was confused. He missed his old nickname, said in that loud confident voice; but it was replaced, and so was his name with mean, derogatory words.

He was eight years old when he learned quirkless was a word that meant you weren't like everybody else.

Hurtful teasing turned into shoulder-checking him in the hallways that turned into shoving him against the lockers that turned into being target practice for their ‘heroic’ quirks. Izuku could count more scars on his back than he could on the whole bodies of heroes that he often analyzes online. There were burn scars from explosions, long ones from elongated nails, some from deep scrapes against the concrete sidewalks, and others that were so small or so many that he couldn’t remember when or how he got them.

After a few years worth, nobody could blame him when it was so easy to lose count.

He still had hope, though. A dream to fulfill. A goal to reach. He still wanted to be a hero to save others, to be a hero like All Might. His mom might have felt sad for him the moment he got his diagnosis, but he knew that he could do it with just a bit more hard work.

After all, if no one was going to believe in him then he had to do it himself, right?

They were given their application forms for which high schools they want to go to, and as if it were as natural as breathing, he wrote UA High on the top most section of the three spaces. It was where All Might learned how to be a hero. So if he wanted to be like him, he had to go through the same path too.

And Izuku knew Kacchan thought the same.

But if he kept quiet about it, then he wouldn’t have to worry about that inevitable confrontation until the entrance exams. Yeah, that seemed like the best option.

Of course, fate thought otherwise.

He should’ve known better, really.

The moment their homeroom teacher stood at the podium with the class’s forms in hand, a terrible sense of dread blanketed over him. He hunched over to make himself smaller, bit his lip to make sure he didn’t mutter, and averted his eyes in hopes of not even being mentioned. Sensei threw the forms in the air when he saw that every student applied to hero schools anyways, announcing it with pride that each and every one of them were aiming high. Quirks were used, wings were flapped, and explosions were made in a show of endless confidence.

But then Sensei had to say that Kacchan applied for UA… And so did Izuku.

He was at an age too young when he learned quiet meant anything but good.

“You wanna know what to do if you really wanna be a hero, Deku?” The sight of his best friend’s back getting smaller became normal when he didn’t want it to be. The blond was once again walking away, leaving him behind bloodied, bruised, and burned on the classroom floor.

And this time, it was with a parting message.

“Go jump off the roof and hope you have a quirk in the next life!”

As Kacchan left, his lackeys followed, scampering to keep up with his fast yet languid pace to leave the school grounds.

Izuku didn’t hear the scornful laughs. He didn’t hear the slam of the classroom door as it was carelessly closed. He didn’t hear their diminishing voices getting softer as they got farther away.

No, he was deafened by the sound of his heart shattering in more pieces than the time when Kacchan stopped calling him Iku.

Soon, one by one his senses dulled. First his hearing, then his taste, followed by his touch and sight and smell. Some foreign force was to blame when his body moved to stand up from the dirty floor. It was the same thing that made him go down the stairs and pick up the drenched hero analysis notebook that his (used to be) best friend threw out of the classroom window. The world was a blur and his mind was shrouded in fog as solely muscle memory was what dragged him step by step to walk back home.

It was only until he was underneath some overpass that one of his senses returned to him.

Hearing.

The sewer grate rattled loudly as frantic screams and loud squelching yanked his mind back to the present. By the time he was fully there, though, it was already too late.

“Got a plain, medium-sized cloak huh? Ya don’t mind me permanently borrowin’ it, right kid?” the green sludge said.

Before he could run away, cold and stinky liquid encased his body as he struggled to set his limbs free. Its foul odor filled his nose as a slimy tendril made its way to enter his mouth, suffocating him in the process. He tried pulling, thrashing, and screaming but he couldn’t save himself from the villain.

The words people called him flashed into his head unbidden as his lungs starved for oxygen.

Hopeless. Defenseless. Useless.

Hope for a quirk in the next life, Deku.

He was close, so close to giving up and letting go when a strong gust of wind dislodged the tendril from his mouth and let him breathe.

He passed out not long after, but not before seeing that he was saved by his hero, All Might.

After being told a tale that only a few others knew, Izuku couldn’t be discouraged; not yet. Not when he hasn’t gotten his answer.

“Can I be a hero like you, All Might, even without a quirk?” he asked on a rooftop, clinging to the fraying lifeline he called a dream.

He was eight when he learned quirkless was a word that meant you weren't like everybody else, but he was fifteen when he learned no meant you can't be ‘anybody’ in ‘anybody could be a hero’.

In the end, quirkless meant no-one, nobody, nothing. He learned as much from all the people he cared about.

It was then that the string he held with a death grip, the only thing that stopped him from falling, snapped. He felt weightless, but a certain heaviness settled in his chest; like something was pulling him under while directionless as it had no idea where to go. Perhaps it was best to be realistic, he thought, as thoughts raced in his mind but no words fell from his parted lips. As the hero left him alone on a rooftop, it gave him an unobstructed view of the railings lining the edge.

Hope for a quirk in the next life, Deku.

Yeah… realistic.

Tired, hurt, and bruised in all definitions of those words, Izuku was ready to head home and… do something. Or nothing. That was for future him to figure out.

He was walking down the street, on the most direct path there was to their apartment up until the corner he was supposed to take a turn in was blocked by a crowd of people. Figured that fate would chuck more obstacles at him when he already gave up. Because why not?

He weaved through the bystanders, passing to get to the other side. Thanks to the awful stench the sludge villain doused him in, some of the people nearby unintentionally cleared up a path for him to walk through. He was just about to reach the end when suddenly he heard a familiar sound.

Fireworks.

And now he was weaving and passing through in an entirely different direction, reaching the edge of the crowd to see whatever fight they were watching.

Only, it wasn’t much of a fight.

It was a hostage situation.

Kacchan was being suffocated by the same sludge villain that caught him under the overpass, hands creating more explosions to ward the tendrils off of his limbs which only set the surrounding area aflame. Local heroes came to control the fire and hold back the only increasing bystanders who came to watch the commotion, but Izuku also saw some of them not doing anything at all.

They were just watching Kacchan suffocate like the civilians were when it was their job to save him.

They were just standing there doing nothing… not that he was any different.

He was quirkless, hopeless, defenseless, useless. What could he do that the heroes can’t? All he could do was watch as Kacchan valiantly struggled for just another lungful of air.

But then they met eyes; a pair that asked for help and a pair that wanted to help. It was the perfect combination, really.

The foreign force was to blame for making his body move.

He ran past the bystanders, the heroes, the steadily accumulating charred debris, and with all the strength he could muster in his spent body, threw his book-filled backpack while aiming at the only weak spot there was to the sludge—the eyes. The villain recoiled in pain after having his sensitive organ be hit by a heavy blunt object, allowing his captive to free his mouth and breathe.

“I-Iku?” Kacchan gasped, voice raw after what was probably minutes spent screaming and abusing his voice box. “The f-fuck are you doing here?”

“Saving you,” he said with tears pricking at his eyes. Grabbing one of the blond’s freed arms, he clasped tightly and pulled. He set his feet against asphalt, letting its friction against the soles of his shoes assist him in pulling out his (used to be) best friend from the villain’s clutches.

But he wasn’t given the time he needed.

The sludge rippled, in anger or in pain he didn’t know, but a pair of glassy eyes where one of them was an irritated red settled on him. “YOU!” the villain shouted. More tendrils formed as Izuku pulled harder to help Kacchan escape since there was less sludge holding his person. “I’LL KILL YOU FOR THAT—” And he didn’t get to finish as he was hit yet again by a strong gust of wind.

They tumbled on the road, the second time that day for both Izuku and the villain. Green liquid splattered on the road and some on the sides of crumbling buildings as most of the shockwave was redirected upwards to avoid more collateral damage. All Might was there again to save the day, not staying to speak to the press after dealing the final blow with a shout of ‘Texas Smash!’.

Once he was free, Kacchan just brought himself up and kneeled there coughing and catching his breath. The other stayed laying down to face the now drizzling sky.

Thoughts raced in his head as it always did when he kept quiet, but now it wasn’t because he had to, but more like… he didn’t know what happened. He was confused.

At that moment, he wasn’t hopeless. He was able to make a change on the strange stalemate the villain had with the heroes.

At that moment, he wasn’t useless. He was able to help his (used to be) best friend take another breath.

At that moment, he wasn’t defenseless. He threw his bag to attack a villain at his weak spot where the heroes weren't able to deduce it themselves.

At that moment, the only thing that was left and everything that just saved a life was… him. It was only him, the quirkless Midoriya Izuku. He did it despite being taught time and time again that he wouldn’t be anything. He managed despite being branded as someone who couldn't be useful.

He was able to make a change, help, and save a life.

Just him.

He was fifteen years old when he learned something new by unlearning what he already knew; that quirklessness wasn't what he was taught.

So when he sat up from the ground, body aching and clothes dirtied, he was nowhere near a foul mood. Instead, he was content.

Because after years of being less, of thinking that he wouldn't amount to anything that was more than nothing, he could settle with being enough.

Chapter Text

He was scolded for being reckless and jumping in without a plan.

Which was fair, he thought. He actually did jump in on impulse, but they were wrong about him not having a plan. One may have been non-existent as he went past the makeshift blockade, but it was already in the works for each step he took towards danger. His mind reeled with information as his sight took in the surrounding area. Filtering and processing without a thought, his subconscious offered the conclusion to him as natural as he was moving. It probably was, in hindsight. He started his analysis hobby as soon as he learned how to talk. It grew and improved at the same time his other primary skills did. So it didn't take much effort when weaknesses were made clear, facts were laid out, and a step-by-step plan was ready for execution by the time he took his sixth step on charred asphalt.

He knew what he was doing, reckless as he might be. So he didn't need the Pro-heroes Death Arms and Kamui Wood's berating at him about it, especially when their main point was based off of a lie.

Quirkless didn't mean useless. It was the reason it made the message of their chastising fall flat the moment they used 'quirkless' as the crutch of their argument. They said he wouldn't have been any help, that he was a liability the moment he was within reach of the sludge villain. Izuku wondered if they even saw what happened when they already had a full view from the sidelines.

That was the least they could've done when they just stood by and watched.

Still, he nodded. He kept silent as they placed the blame on him while they praised Kacchan for lasting so long in the same breath. It was unfair treatment, but unfortunately he’d long grown used to it.

When they ended their tirade with a huff, they turned around and talked to the press instead, finding that they were much more worthy of their time and attention. Izuku took it as a sign to leave since he wasn’t needed anymore. A statement from him probably wouldn’t be wanted either, not when the police were more likely to believe the pro-heroes in charge of the scene.

Sighing, he took his backpack that went through too much that day and left for home. He hoped his mother didn’t watch the news that afternoon.

His body craved rest at this point, and his skin needed to be rubbed raw to get rid of the awful stench that clung to his person. And as he got further away from the scene, there were less people on the streets. They probably went downtown to watch the hostage situation. Weird, that they flock to it like a performance to behold. How he did the same thing for years, being attracted to hero fights like a moth to the light… But he set aside those particular thoughts for when he’s better rested. He was nearing the residential area where their apartment was located when once again, he was blocked on his next turn.

It was All Might.

Izuku was confused, there wasn’t anyone that needed saving here. In fact, turning his head to see more of his surroundings, there wasn’t anyone else besides the two of them. In any other scenario, his head would be blaring with alarms of stranger danger; being alone with a tall intimidating man that could drag him to an alleyway and make him disappear was a bad thing. He could be kidnapped then and there and none would be the wiser. His mom warned him as much since he was quirkless, as she reasoned.

“I am here!” the blond said, the skin of his gaunt face stretching to accommodate for the wide smile. But it seemed that his enthusiasm was too much, making him spew blood, which then led to him grabbing a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe off the trailing droplets on his chin. “Ehem,” he awkwardly coughed. “As I said, I am here… to give you an offer!”

Izuku only blinked as a tired response.

“I have seen your heroic spirit, my boy. The way you took initiative to save that young man from evil’s clutches moved me, metaphorically and literally! I can tell, your body acted on its own before you made the conscious decision to. And that is an admirable trait that all great heroes have!

Him… a great hero? What he did was instinctual, like a genetic code ingrained to his mind and body. Moving in that situation wasn't even a choice in his mind; it was simply inevitable. Did that mean he could still be a hero? Did it mean he already was one?

“You are quirkless, but you still wish to be a hero, don’t you?” The man repeated his thoughts. “That is why…” The setting sun shone brightly against All Might’s back, its rays angled just right to form a halo that surrounded his person. An offered hand was raised that made it seem like the man will save him from the damnation that was his quirklessness, and the hero himself as a savior that graced the teen with his compassion. And despite his emaciated appearance, his being looked ethereal in this setting. As if this was a build-up to a turning point that would irreversibly change the course of his life.

Of course, his analysis was on point, as All Might finished his statement with, “I offer you my quirk to make that dream possible!”

The hero was met with quiet.

And then…

“ What? ”

That can’t be right. Izuku’s dream was already possible. He just established that he was enough, both as a person and what he could do to make an impact on others. Then All Might said he had the trait of a great hero, of wanting to save others at the risk of their own safety as if it was one of their most basic instincts. The man was contradicting himself with his own words! He could be a hero, according to the man, but it was conditional. Of course it was conditional, but the requirement wasn’t something he could just fulfill because he wanted to and said yes. That didn’t sit right with him, the fact that that was where the bar lied.

And to think, all of this was because…

He’s quirkless.

And it seemed that All Might hadn’t unlearned what Izuku did about quirklessness.

Taking that question in stride, oblivious that he was the cause of Izuku’s inner turmoil, the blond readily answered. “I said you could be a hero, with my quirk!”

“No, I got that part loud and clear.”

All Might coughed again, caught off guard by the sudden bite the teen had to his tone. Izuku was shy and timid the first time All Might conversed with him, but that was mostly because of his sheer admiration and respect he held for the man.

Now that both of those were gone, so was his submissive behavior.

“But then, what are you asking for, my boy?”

“I-I’m just confused about something else, is all.” Confused was an understatement. “It’s that, why do I need your quirk?”

“Why, heroics is a demanding job! You could get injured without a quirk to rely on. How else would you save others when you can’t save yourself?”

“But I saved Kacchan just earlier.” Exhaustion and annoyance wasn’t a good combination, Izuku was now realizing as both his temper and volume rose. “I distracted the villain to let Kacchan breathe when the heroes didn’t do it themselves, and I did that without a quirk.”

“You couldn’t pull him out of the sludge, and I had to deal the finishing blow to defeat the villain.”

“I could have!” he snapped. “I just needed more strength or time, which I could have easily compensated for even without a quirk! And the point wasn’t about dealing with the villain, it was saving Kacchan’s life!”

“Don’t you raise your voice at me, young man.”

Izuku flinched. His presence shrunk in the face of someone bigger than life itself. A perfect symbol filled in by an imperfect man with flawed ideals. Someone who he used to idolize and put on a pedestal, placed above all the rest. It was a title well earned too, due to his strength, charisma, and presence. He was the number one hero for a reason. And it was because of that Izuku knew this argument wasn’t a fight he could win, not when the man probably thought he was also above a young quirkless teen. He would never admit defeat to such a lowly thing.

“I’m sorry…” he whispered. He clutched the straps of his backpack and glared at his feet. “I’m just tired. It’s been a long day.”

Tired of being answered no.

Tired of being told he wasn’t enough.

Tired of being referred to as if he was incomplete.

He was tired, alright.

All Might huffed, and Izuku could see the shadow of his frame that covered the ground retreating as the man released the building tension on his shoulders. “Of course. Going through two villain attacks must have taken its toll on you, I understand,” he said, as if Izuku was also a victim of that second villain attack. “Still, I must implore you to accept this offer.”

At that, Izuku raised his head, only enough to meet the other’s eyes. In any other circumstance, he would have said yes regardless of the consequences. This was his escape to the years of torment and belittlement he faced from his peers. But he knew better now; he unlearned his lessons.

“And I’ll have to turn down that offer.”

By the time this confrontation was over, All Might would probably need a blood transfusion.

“B-but why, my boy? This isn’t an opportunity that just anyone would be graced with!”

“My dream of wanting to become a hero like you ended on that rooftop, All Might.” Why should he aspire to be a man like that? He'd be better off not trying. “So I have to say no.”

Izuku walked past the speechless man to finally head home, only turning back when he was almost out of earshot. “Thank you, though, for telling me to be realistic. I really needed that wake-up call.” Then he left without another word.

His goals had to be attainable, he learned.

And to do that, he changed his dream to be a great hero. He didn’t need to be the best or be the number one; other hero-hopefuls might aspire for that but not him.

Saving a life was enough.

Plopping down face-first to his bed, he swore to every supernatural being out there that he would be sleeping in this weekend. His body was sore and scratched all over, no thanks to skidding off of a road twice within the same hour, and he had to disinfect each and every one of those open wounds so they wouldn’t get infected by that sewer smelling sludge. Who knew what disease-causing bacteria was in that villain. He strained his muscles twice trying to clean up the wounds on his back, and that wasn’t an experience he wanted to relive soon.

Groaning, he turned to disable his alarm clock for the next day when he noticed it was painted blue, red, white, and yellow. It was All Might themed, of course. That was his color scheme. He turned to look at his walls, his cluttered desk, the full shelves, his messy bed—all of it was All Might themed. There was his wide grin on the wall clock, the iconic two tufts of gelled hair on a hung hoodie, one too many variations of his smash catchphrases printed onto stickers and slapped to every surface, and the bulging muscles detailed on his posters. It was everywhere.

It was suffocating.

Guess it didn’t hit him just how far reaching his idolization was until it was gone, huh.

Sighing, he disabled his alarm as he originally aimed to do and left the clean-up for tomorrow. He hoped the cardboard boxes in the closet were still there. He knew he would need a number of them to get rid of at least half of his Symbol of Peace merchandise.

The second he closed his eyes, he was out like a light.

The rhythmic tapping of pen on paper was drowned out by the constant stream of muttering of one Midoriya Izuku. It was a habit he never did break ever since he developed it, and he couldn’t even remember when it began. All he knew was that he talked, and babbled, and muttered for years and years until sometimes even his thoughts had to catch up with his mouth. It became as much of a defining character trait as his fluffy green hair, honestly.

Planning was an arduous stage that required a lot of forethought. It was what he lacked the day before, since his body and soul was exhausted beyond the physical realm and his mind didn’t quite have the energy to do the thinking it constantly did. And now, he was making up for it with a pen and notebook in hand.

Ridding his room of anything All Might had to wait until he actually got things to replace them with. He underestimated just how big of a portion it made up of his belongings, seeing as how when he tried to count how many boxes he would need, he counted ten too many. His room would have been barren save for the bare furniture if he pursued it. Even then he would have had to peel the catchphrase stickers off of them.

So that was one thing crossed out of today’s mental checklist.

Next up was figuring out what he was going to do now.

All his life, the one thing that gave him the will to get up from bed when everyday was a walking nightmare was his dream of being a hero. Don’t get him wrong, that dream was still intact. It just needed some revision on what kind of hero he wanted to be; which was, apparently, a kind that wasn’t talked about often. But that’s fine, he wasn’t in it for fame and glory. He was camera-shy, in fact. He would prefer not being seen at all.

Which brings him back to figuring out a game plan on how exactly he was going to do this.

Well, first he needed to identify and improve a skill set that was particular to him. It didn’t have to be unique per say, but it needed to be reliable and versatile enough so that he could count on it if all else fails, similar to how quirks are to people who have them.

Quirks are a natural part of what most others are. It’s instinctual for them to use it, since if they were taken of everything they have, that would be what would remain with them. It was inseparable. It was a portion of who they are. But since he was quirkless, there should be something else that he was one with.

…Not that it was going to fill the void where a quirk should be, since there wasn’t a void in him in the first place. He’s complete, just the way he is. Quirkless just meant he came out of the womb without a quirk, like a sugar-free cookie was baked without sugar. It was in the name, and that was the point. He wasn’t missing something, it just described the lack of one. There was a difference. Thus, he needs something to fall back on when driven to a corner, where others just conveniently have their quirks to play that significant role.

But he can’t for the life of him figure out what it was.

Sighing harshly, he dropped his pen and snapped his notebook closed, glaring at the singed and water damaged notebook that didn’t contain the answers he was looking for. The cover was smudged with dirt and grime, burned black at the corners where it was nearest to Kacchan’s explosions. Its color was faded and so were its writings on its cover. If he wasn’t the one who wrote it, then he probably wouldn’t have been able to read the distorted kanji that was dead center of where most of the dirt was.

Midoriya Izuku. Hero Analysis for the Future Vol. 13.

Hero Analysis for the Future Vol 13.

Hero Analysis

Analysis…

Oh.

Oh, he felt so stupid.

Of course his analysis notebook didn’t contain the answers. It was the answer.

He grabbed it and bolted out of the room. After passing by the kitchen where his mom was putting away groceries, he told her he would be back before dinner as he wore his red shoes.

The moment he got permission, he ran to find the nearest ongoing hero fight.

With a skillset he was so familiar with, he was prepared to fine tune it for it to be what he needs it to be; on-the-fly analysis. The same thing that helped him save Kacchan the day before, what he relied on where heroes failed.

Hindsight is twenty-twenty, as they say, so thinking about his execution now, he knew that this was something he could cultivate into something more.

As he went down the stairs and took to the sidewalks, he thought about how he could have incorporated the environment into his planning. Perhaps using a piece of the scattered debris to make it easier to throw, aim, and deal more damage to the villain’s eyes. Or he could have used the villain’s quirk against him. Since the villain traveled through the sewer system and Izuku deduced that he had absorbed some of the sludge from there judging by his smell, he could have asked the pro-hero Backdraft to dilute the villain with water. The more water he was composed of, the harder it would be for himself to take form—a noteworthy characteristic of low viscosity liquids. The villain wouldn’t have been able to shape, much less keep Kacchan hostage in his clutches.

So used was Izuku to zeroing in on a hero’s quirk that only now he noticed that he had limited himself by tunnel-vision. He didn’t consider the other possibilities that were there because he was so focused on quirks, similar to what the heroes on the scene had done but to a lesser extent.

Well, that’s another lesson to unlearn.

As luck would have it, (or bad luck, depending on who was asked) it didn't take much time for Izuku to find a villain attack. It was a woman with a mutant quirk that decided to rob a jewelry store across the street in broad daylight, which was a bad decision based on a lot of factors. The location which was beside the main road, the timing that should have been planned to execute in the late evening, even the fact that she tried it alone when she would have increased her chances of getting away with a partner with her.

He didn’t think it was right to be criticizing how villains should do crimes, though.

Looking at her to identify the aspects of her quirk, she had a blue tail that was covered in large, off-white needles which flared and stood on its ends every time she showed a spike in aggression. The needles were probably painlessly or easily detachable since she didn't flinch when she grabbed one and used it as a hand held weapon. And as far as Izuku knew, no other visible mutation traits were present besides the raised tail, so that was the main threat on her person besides the needle on her hand.

Unless she had a gun or something, but the chances of that were low.

The thing with quirked people, he noticed as someone quirkless, was that they often over-rely on their quirks. Who needs a knife after all if you could melt metal with your saliva? Or shoot a gun if you had a tail that was equipped with dozens of pointy projectiles?

A pro-hero arrived at the scene as the lady threatened to stab civilians if they blocked her way to escape. It was Death Arms that came with a sidekick Izuku remembered as Hazard, a newly graduated hero-in-training that could repel attacks back to where they came from with half of the force that lands on impact on the palm of his hands. He worked best against cutting and blunt weapons, since he could easily bounce off damage with little to no harm done on himself.

He was the perfect match for the villain, and yet…

The villain’s escape route was blocked by Death Arms, making her agitated and flaring her needles in kind. He approached for close quarters combat and blocked the hits she made with her needle and tail, one of her hands occupied to hold her stolen goods. They exchanged hard and quick hits, a few jabs and a flying kick followed by the extra limb, but they were either blocked or parried by the strength of quirk enhanced arms. 

Izuku may have had no fighting experience save for distinguishing martial art styles from his quirk analysis and dodging to avoid hits from bullies, but he was suspicious of a few details the more he watched. 

The woman left a lot of openings for the hero to take advantage of. Like with that large left hook she made just now, or that half-second long spin it took to build up momentum for her tail to swing towards the hero’s chest as a follow-up attack. 

But Death Arms made no moves to end it when the chances were there.

And feeling desperate that none of her hits were giving damage, she raised her tail and whipped it towards the gathering crowd, resulting in some of its needles flying in their direction—in Izuku’s direction. 

He was about to duck and hide behind a nearby lamp post when a hand blocked its path and it bounced right back off, not hitting its intended target. Izuku looked at the sidekick that saved him then to the other bystanders to see if anyone was injured from the attack. He was saddened to see that Hazard wasn't able to block for all civilians like he did for him. A man in a business suit dropped his briefcase after receiving a deep gash on his arm. And a lady that looks like a jogger got hit by a smaller one on her calf, making her lean against a fire hydrant beside her to not put weight on the injured limb.

Hearing something crumbling, he turned around, only to see a needle nearby halfway punctured through the wall of a building behind him.

Apparently, the force was enough to pierce through concrete . 

He didn't want to imagine what would've happened if Hazard didn't block that hit for him.

A piercing scream came from the street across, and Izuku looked back to see the villain now laying on the ground, cradling her bleeding and bare tail. It didn't look like it should be bending like that, twitching, with every movement making the villain whimper more.

By the time it took to subdue the criminal, a few news vans came like sharks that smelled blood in the water. Journalists and news reporters flocked around the hero and sidekick, and Izuku was close enough to hear most of the words.

"It was a hard battle," the Pro-hero said to a recording device. "I may have brought a sidekick with me, but he lacked the experience to handle both the villain and protect the innocents."

Which was… fair, but he was underestimating Hazard’s mastery over his quirk. If he deflected the projectiles like he did earlier, or grabbed her tail when the needles were all lying down, he could eliminate the threat of hurting bystanders. But instead, Death Arms put the sidekick on crowd control duty while he himself subdued the villain.

“What can you say about the two civilians injured?”

“Is the man that helped you your sidekick?”

“What rank was the villain you just fought?”

Hazard inched away from the vultures when it reached the fourth question and he still wasn’t addressed, leaving to cuff the villain while waiting for the police to detain her. Now that Midoriya was looking, it was ironic that the press was faster than the police.

“What was the villain’s goal?”

“How did you fare against the villain?

“Do you think you would rise in rank with your number of villain apprehensions?”

“Of course!” The hero answered the question that was asked the loudest. “I did what I could to bring her down, and I did my best!”

Izuku frowned, doubting that what he displayed was his best. If he knew any better, he would have thought that he had intentionally prolonged the fight so that the journalists could catch the tail end of it. And seeing as how the hero boasted about the villain's apprehension, the sidekick returning once a police car came to take the villain away, maybe that was exactly what happened.

( Maybe that’s the reason why Kacchan was held hostage for so long, too. )

The teen left the scene not long after, pinching his lips so others wouldn’t overhear the onslaught of questioning thoughts. Perhaps it was a mistake, since even his analysis had its flaws. This could only be a one time occurrence. Yeah, maybe other heroes aren’t like that.

…But after coming across two more villain attacks that day, both villains apprehended by different heroes that arrived to resolve it, there was no denying it.

By the time he put his shoes away at the entrance of their apartment, the notebook he brought with him wasn’t any more fuller than when he left with it.

He was fifteen years old when he unlearned another lesson as something else took its place. Being a hero wasn’t for money, ego, or popularity. The fighting they do as a profession was for survival. It was about prolonging both your life and others’, not the fights so that the press could arrive. 

He didn’t lie when he thanked All Might for telling him to become realistic. It might actually be the best advice he could have asked for.

Vowing to be different, Izuku strengthened his resolve to never aim for the top. Not that he could ever reach that far, but the things he would lose in the process of trying wouldn’t have been worth it. Getting civilians injured wouldn’t be worth it. Accumulating more collateral damage to the surrounding area wouldn’t be worth it. Seeing his ( used to be ) best friend almost die wouldn’t have been worth any title, number, or rank he could have otherwise gotten if he did decide to risk those all.

It was a good thing he already let go of that dream on a rooftop. Now he only had to say no to the man that made him the person who he was now when the blond came to persuade him again to accept his offer.

Izuku doubted All Might would come to accept his decision, so much so that he expected to be confronted about it sometime in the near future.

After all, why lose a fight against a quirkless child when his pride was on the line?

Chapter Text

On the second day of his analysis training, Izuku thought it would probably be best if he continued to the next step of his plan. That is, learning how to defend himself physically.

Analysis training wasn't really 'training' when all he does is… what he already does. The only difference is that he's doing it in real-time, both cataloging all of the factors present during a scene and developing an efficient plan with the highest possible chance of success. Observe, plan, and execute. It's only the latter two that he had to add onto his current skill set, with execution having to rely on him being able to do what's needed.

So that meant improving his strength, speed, flexibility, and finding a style that he defends himself well with. A martial art style, to be specific. They were going to be a means to an end. The basic skills and inseparable tools that would assist him with working what he already has. What was the use of a resourceful plan if he couldn’t put it into motion, after all?

Cracking his knuckles, Izuku opened up a new notebook and a few tabs on his desktop's browser. He dedicated the last day of his weekend to research about the things he needed to know before getting used to his new routine the following day.

First off, he would need a diet to match with his new workout plan, so that he would have all the sustenance his body needs as it spends more energy to accommodate for the spike in activity. A couple articles on nutrition and health benefits of specific food groups were opened. He would also need to look up some substitutes for expensive training equipment to save money. If they could be replaced by a bag full of books, for example, instead of buying dumbbells then he’d very much rather do that. Links to blogs of all kinds about cheap, quick, and easy workouts were double-clicked. Figuring out a schedule where to fit these new exercises would also be beneficial, since there were going to be a lot of things that he needed to keep track of in a single day. A calendar was grabbed and placed onto his table, a marker along with it. And if he was going to do some jogging for endurance training, then he would need to research what distance he was fit to start at to avoid overexertion. Pulling up a local map online, he started tracing possible routes to take that would be safe for him to go through alone in the early mornings. And there was also which muscle groups he needed to focus on first… 

And so he muttered, planned, and researched the whole afternoon.

It took a little over thirty articles, twenty blog posts, four research papers, three notebooks, and five hours of slouching over a paper covered desk before Izuku felt satisfied with the progress he had made.

To think that these were only the basics astounded him.

He hadn’t even started finding out which martial art style he should train in.

He closed all of his browser tabs except two, where in one of them he kept his background music playing. He needed something other than his muttering to keep his thoughts at bay, and his ten hour long playlist he built up through the years was perfect for that. Currently on was High Hopes, a newly added song that he was nowhere near ashamed of for playing it out loud when the lyrics hit close to home. And in the other he typed 'martial art styles' into the search bar, pressing enter once it's in. 

He scrolled down to see boxing, karate, judo, and the likes. Videos and pictures gave some overview of forms and techniques for each one. Some heroes he had analyzed adapted similar styles, often adjusting to make it fit for the incorporation of their quirks. Like Death Arms for example, who preferred close quarters combat and often punches in reference to boxing. Or his sidekick Hazard, who prefers using open hand strikes and grappling to make the most out of his quirk, Rebound. 

Midoriya's strengths, on the other hand, focuses on finding weaknesses to take advantage of and exploit. He didn't think he would be a heavy hitter with his body type, especially after thinking that his size would fit with maneuverability and speed better. So that took boxing out of the list of possibilities, and so does Karate. 

Another five songs finished playing before he found classes nearby that offered lessons in possible martial art styles he could adapt to. He listed down the names and addresses, then closed his computer once he was done.

Mentally drained, he stood up and stretched until his back bones popped and the strain of staying in one position for so long was relieved. Izuku rubbed his eyes and brought his gaze to the bedroom door, mind finally back in the present after letting it deep dive into the internet for hours on end. 

He pursed his lips.

He had to be realistic. And to do that, he had to face reality past that door.

Exiting his room, he carefully closed the door after him. He didn't turn around right after that. He wasn't ready to head to the end of the short hallway just yet. 

And so, with the pads of his fingers, he traced the outline of a washed out silhouette. It was oddly shaped, made by the All Might themed door plaque he had removed the day prior. The plaque was metal, so it lasted long. But now that it was gone, it still stubbornly made its mark. Anyone could see that something originally belonged there, even if they didn't see what it was that hung there beforehand. And now, looking at it impassively, it's as if something was missing; the shape of a puzzle piece left empty, making the image it was supposed to construct incomplete. Izuku guessed that despite them being gone, reminders that they once existed were made to stay.

No matter how painful it was to think about.

Gathering whatever leftover energy he had lying around, he eventually moved and walked through the hall. He passed by similar washed out silhouettes that were rectangular and varied in sizes. Faded, but present. An ache that dulled over time. Reminders of what was once there.

Izuku made his way to the dining table and sat on the seat across his mother's chair. The meals were already portioned, and his mom was already there, nibbling at her food. She didn't acknowledge him more than the prepared plate that was situated on his side of the table. Her focus didn't stray to him even when he stared at her for a few seconds, not touching his food. She hadn't given him a piece of her attention in a long time, one that wasn't given with glassy eyes and a wobbly smile. 

And he wasn’t only referring to that particular moment, either.

So he grabbed his chopsticks and started eating without pause. There wasn't any use in talking anymore. He had to be realistic, accepting of the fact his voice didn't make his mother happy like it used to. He knew she still cared for him, loved him even, but with none of the support that he wished she could have given. No, she was too busy pitying him and blaming herself for giving birth to a quirkless child.

…Dinner that night, for the first time for Izuku, was finished quickly.

After preparing breakfast enough for two people, he ate his share and readied his things. He decided that it would be better if he took the longer route to school instead of waking up earlier for a separate jog. Time was scarce and with the entrance exams so close, he needed to use what few resources he had wisely.

He left the apartment without much fanfare, taking his phone with him and plugging the headset into it. The long route he planned to take passes through a familiar path before taking a few turns to head towards the general direction of Aldera Middle School. He walked by the park where he received his first quirk-related burn scar; the bakery he was once kicked out of for pointing out he was missing a pastry from a box that should have had a dozen treats; and a sidewalk where dogs and their owners ignore his existence, often bumping into him and wrongly being blamed for the collision. If ever a pet was curious and tried to come near him, they were harshly tugged away for their efforts. They never made the same mistake twice.

But Izuku ignored them too, opting to listen to the music whose beat he tried to match his steps to instead. And besides the memory of the route he was following on his mental map, he wasn’t focusing much outside of what’s happening directly to him.

The putrid smell brought him out of his musings, though.

Wondering if he took a turn at the wrong intersection, he stopped to see if he was on the right track. He arrived at what looked like a landfill at first glance. Well, it seemed to be one, but the stone carved sign he was standing in front of said otherwise. 

“Dagobah Municipal Beach Park,” Izuku mouthed. Bringing his gaze from the sign to the supposed beach, he assumed that the pictures he found online for this place hadn’t been updated for quite some time. These should be at least a few years worth of garbage, improperly thrown away that accumulated to the sheer amount that it was now. The smell of rust, rot, and other unidentifiable odors was overwhelming, so he continued on walking to not stay any longer than he needed to.

He removed his headphones when he neared the school, putting it and his phone inside his bag before his tormentors got their hands on them. The phone already had a crack from that impromptu attack on the villain and he’d rather not get a replacement when it was barely half a year old.

The glances he was at the receiving end of made the hair on his nape stand on their ends. Surely, he was the subject of their gossip after instigating such a stunt with the school’s star student. 

Entering the classroom and making a beeline for his seat, he was suddenly slammed by a realization. He had been preoccupied by his research to remember. The whole weekend was spent on thinking rather than wondering, or at least he hadn’t been thinking about the right thing.

Kacchan called him Iku.

He stomped down the flare of hope that rose from his chest. He had to be realistic , he chastised himself.

As he sat, the door slammed open and the person himself was standing there. Black smoke filtered through the gaps of his twitching hand after he most likely set small sparks against the wood. The other had his bag’s handle on a white-knuckled grip from how hard he was holding on to it, but he had enough self control to not accidentally burn it.

Then there was his glare.

“DEKU!”

Oh, so it was just a mistake then. Figures.

“K-Kacchan!”

The blond stomped over and the classmates that were already in the room hushed to watch the about-to-be altercation between the two. They always stood by and watched.

“You shouldn’t have jumped there you idiot! You just made it harder for the heroes to take care of the villain!” Out of context, the first sentence could’ve been mistaken for concern, and the second out of worry. But Izuku knew better than that. 

His used-to-be best friend was mad at Izuku for saving him.

…Either that or Kacchan is trying to salvage his pride after accidentally calling him by his childhood nickname. It’s difficult to tell the blond’s reasons sometimes. He’s complicated like that.

“The fucking quirkless hero-wannabe you are would just make things worse!” he said, when Izuku was the one who helped dislodge the sludge from blocking his airways. “And I better not see you doing shit like that again, or else I’d have to teach you that lesson the hard way.”

He slammed his hand onto the table with another spark of his quirk, burning the wood and darkening it for the first time that week. Kacc— Katsuki may have left what the punishment was unsaid, but the hand shaped burn on his desk, only one of many, left little to the imagination. 

Izuku really did need to learn how to defend himself soon.

The rest of the day was somewhat normal considering how two of the school's students were involved in a villain attack a few days before. Classes went by where the teachers either ignored him and didn't even bother calling his name for attendance, or he was scrutinized for the tiniest of details where he was scolded for daring to breathe the wrong way. Maybe for even breathing at all. 

So used was he to the repetitive, unfortunate sequence of events that the highlight of his day was the time after school hours. He bolted out of the doors once the bell rang and the teacher dismissed homeroom. Taking the folded piece of paper in his pocket, he opened it to read over the list of places he needed to visit before heading home.

Surely, at least one of them would fit him.

It turns out it wasn’t a question of ‘would he like it’, but rather ‘would they like him’.

Izuku didn’t realize how far-reaching the influence of quirkless discrimination was up until the fifth time he heard another variation of “Sorry, we don’t allow anyone quirkless to apply here.” from the mouth of a scowling receptionist. Which was ironic, Izuku thought, because out of all people it was the quirkless like himself that needed to know self-defense the most.

Learning how to dodge a direct punch to the face was possible through trial and error. He knew that from first-hand experience. But when he wasn't fast enough to run away and he hypothetically knew how to handle high kicks, take heavy blows to the abdomen, and escape headlocks? Knowing what to do in those situations could have saved him money from buying all of those first-aid kits throughout the years. It probably would have been enough to buy a lifetime supply of notebooks for his analysis.

Izuku sighed.

There was little to no hope in his chest as he approached the last address on the list, but this place was where the martial art he liked the most was taught. He couldn’t help but wish that this would at least give him a chance. Nobody could blame him for being optimistic this once, despite the change in mindset. What he read about it in the description, as little as it was, was enough to pique his tired brain’s interest.

Eskrima, the same style taught to some special-defense armies back in the pre-quirk era, was a Filipino martial art style that primarily uses sticks, blades, or hand-to-hand combat. It was brutally efficient with all movements having a purpose. Each quick swing and side-step only opens up to more possibilities on what next action to take, and there were no mistakes if you could follow-up each one with an accurate strike. There wasn’t any need for specific weapons either, since it prides itself on being resourceful when it comes to tools to assist in fighting.

That particular point was what sold him, really. He couldn’t count how many times he had been cornered with nothing but his clothes and shoes left on his person.

Standing in front of the two story building, where the second floor had floor to ceiling windows that could be seen through from inside and out, he breathed in a lungful and let it out slowly. Might as well get it over with.

He opened the doors which swung inward, directly leading him to the line of sight of a short, brown-haired woman behind a large counter. The off-white walls to the sides were covered in frames and medals, the occasional shelf occupied by metallic and glass trophies. Bamboo sticks were also hung, crossed in a similar fashion to the long blades beside it. The awards didn’t look fake, and neither did the weapons.

“Welcome!” the woman greeted. Izuku approached and nervously fiddled with the straps of his backpack, barely holding back his mutterings on his observation of the room. “What can I help you with? You seem to be new here, are you looking forward to applying in Eskrima classes? Or are you waiting for a friend who learns here?”

“I came to apply, please. Do I need to have parental permission?”

“The first two classes are free.” She pulled out a drawer and leafed through multiple folders. She eventually found a dark green one and pulled out a single sheet of paper. A registration form. “The teacher here makes self-defense mandatory, so she avoids having payment for those classes. The ones from third and so forth have fees for each class. You only need a signed parental permission by the time the third approaches, since you will be paying in cash. A verbal one or at least recognition that you’re planning to sign up here should be fine until then.”

“Okay, so I only need to fill this out for now?” Izuku reached out to take the paper from her hand and the offered pen on the table. Leaning forward a bit to be able to write on a relatively clear surface, he wrote down basic personal information. His full name, his intent for applying, preferred time slot, his quirk…

That part was portioned into four checkboxes. Mutation, emitter, transformation, and others, which was further specified by a list of subclasses for quirks in case the former three didn’t appropriately fit.

None had a checkbox for quirklessness.

“I-um, there isn’t, my quirk status isn’t here.” He couldn’t bring himself to meet the woman’s eyes.

“Hmm?” she hummed, turning her head to read the paper better. “Really? We tried our best to be inclusive in those forms. Is it not in the others section?”

The choices there implied that he has a quirk, and he can’t exactly lie about having one either. He’s terribly bad at lying, given how often he told the truth when rambling about anything and everything since he was young. 

Honestly, he's all set as a contender for the position of worst liar against that pre-quirk fictional character, Pinnochio. “No, it isn’t.”

The woman took the paper and grabbed a yellow sticky note from another drawer. “Well, what is it? I can make a note about it so that the information is still here, maybe even convince some of the higher-ups to make some edits so that the mistake won’t happen again.” She smiled warmly.

“It’s… I’m, um…” He lowered his head even more. This was the last place on his list so he needed to be accepted, but a feeling ( a lesson ) told him that it wasn’t going to happen. “I’m quirkless.” The answer came out as a whisper.

And judging by what he heard as a reaction, it was loud enough for her to understand.

“You’re quirkless,” she repeated. “I’m sorry, but—”

That makes it the sixth time he heard empty apologies that day.

Thanking the woman for sparing him the time anyways, he exited the building and took the long walk back home. He shouldn’t have been surprised that even if he now saw himself differently, others wouldn’t automatically do the same. It was obvious, in hindsight, and naive of him to believe otherwise when he thought about it more. His lessons were unlearned when the situation literally slapped the truth right to his face, unavoidable and so very clear. The answer wasn’t something he was consciously searching for either, it was the one that came to him.

He couldn’t expect the same thing to happen with others. They could simply deny it with considerably more than a decade’s worth of cemented biases. Izuku was lucky enough that his own was only stuck to him for a little more than nine years. And even that took him a villain attack to realize that he wasn’t nothing, no-one, or nobody.

Who knows how much it would take for others to unlearn that.

A familiar putrid smell once again brought his consciousness to the forefront of his mind. The smell of rust and rot, with an underlying scent of something salty flooded his nose and made him cover it with the palm of his hand; a poor attempt at saving his sense of smell. He looked at the source of what almost killed his nose and he could only huff a semblance of a laugh.

He was at Dagobah Municipal Beach Park.

Despite his olfactory nerves protesting at the idea, Izuku stood at the entrance of the park, which was just an opening between a waist-high stone barrier that surrounded its perimeter. He was alone there, which was understandable considering his own struggle at staying rooted at the spot, and not-quiet with the distant sounds of crashing waves and cawing birds.

“What to do now?” he murmured to himself. Giving-up was out of the question. He may have decided to settle on a lot of things, but settling was different from giving-up. And yet he was undeniably stuck in a dead-end, and analysis was his last resort that he tried to train to something more versatile the past few days, so maybe…?

His gaze wandered as he tried to find something useful that could help him in his current predicament. He essentially was at a landfill so there would be scraps and junk that he could freely take home if needed. That is, after disinfecting it at least four times and probably drowning it in bleach. Resourcefulness was another trait he had to develop alongside analysis. So that meant, as his focus landed on two similarly sized bamboos carelessly disposed of at the bottom of a trash pile, he had to make do with what he had.

And as he planned to connect what he already knew, learned, and eventually will have, his new idea to overcome his obstacle was a rather unconventional one.

An unorthodox idea that, fortunately or not, might just work.

After dinner, while waiting for his mother to sleep, he tried his best at cleaning the two sticks he brought home with him. He did get the smell out of it using a rag and some diluted saltwater, but he still went as far as spraying air-freshener on it to make sure. Swinging it a few times and balancing them by their middles, he could tell their weight was almost the same; and visibly, so was their length. It reminded him of the bamboo sticks that were hung in that building’s lobby, which was the reason why he ended up going against his senses’ wishes and grabbed the two grimy things even if his skin crawled at having to touch it.

Satisfied that it was the best he could do, he left it to dry on his table and changed into more appropriate clothes. Some black jogging pants, a long sleeved dark colored hoodie over a plain shirt that said ‘tuxedo’, and a black cloth mask that would hide a part of his face. He can’t have anyone asking what someone as young as him was doing outside so late at night. Though people at around his height weren’t an uncommon sight to see thanks to specific side-characteristics of quirks, having not only a baby-face but also freckles wouldn’t help his case of trying to hide his age.

“Well, it’s already past nine,” he muttered, grabbing the two sticks and shoving them into a duffel bag filled with water bottles and a phone. “Mom should be asleep by eight-thirty…”

He exited quietly from his room, avoided the creaking floorboards on the hallway, and tied his shoelaces. Recounting the safe possible routes he had already researched the day before for his walks to school, he left the apartment and headed towards his destination.

The way there was silent, considering the time. He hummed to fill in as noise and to ease the slightly faster-than-normal beat of his heart. There weren’t any people on the streets besides a few stragglers and some tired businessman walking at a steadfast pace to get home. So, as far as he knew, it was only him, his thoughts, his footsteps, and his humming that accompanied him that evening. A lonely walk, it was.

Though the time spent in his travels was short, he still had to take quite a few turns in more crowded intersections to get where he needed to be. And it was until he reached a familiar block that he ducked into an alleyway and climbed up the fire escape when checked to see if the coast was clear.

The rooftop he was at had a decent view of a building’s second story window. He could see a group of people, both young and old, that faced towards a wall where he assumed the teaching instructor stood near at. Grabbing the sticks, he positioned himself to mirror them. He could clearly see them, but the same couldn’t be said for him. It was dark outside and he barely managed to see his surroundings himself.

The registration form he filled in earlier had time slots to choose from depending on the person’s availability, and one of them indicated that evening classes were an option recommended for people who had to work until late evening. And Izuku can’t bring himself to feel too bad about taking advantage of one too many things in this situation… but it really wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t be accepted in the first place.

Yeah, it wasn’t his fault he had to make do.

It didn’t take too long for the people in the building to stand straight and go into proper positions. Izuku mimicked the poses to the best of his ability, shifting his feet or changing how he angled his elbows when it didn’t feel quite right. And when they swung, he brought the stick down too, diagonally in a slashing motion against an invisible opponent. Or when they’ve taken steps forward, he did the same, analyzing what he could to find out why they did just that. It was repetitive, but not to the point that it was similar to the learning he does in school. It felt more like he was being self-taught, some mistakes probably being made in the process and his forms and stances definitely nowhere near perfect.

Well, he wasn’t aiming for perfection just yet. Having even this, what barely counts as something, would have to be enough. And he could settle with enough.

As he took another step, brought down another swing, and mirrored another stance, he tried to the best of his ability. This would be fine, he could fill in the gaps of his knowledge by researching more by videos and articles later. He could have probably gotten by better in more fortunate circumstances, but there wasn’t any use lamenting over what wasn’t realistic.

So for the rest of the night, he spent two hours on that rooftop, swinging and copying and analyzing. With nothing else to do, and no one else to be with, it was silent save for his hushed mutterings.

It was quiet the entire time, uncomfortably so.

Chapter Text

Let it be said that Underground Heroics wasn’t a career path for just about anyone. In fact, and Shouta was speaking from experience, it was nowhere as inclusive as Daylight Heroics was.

It was a path full of bumps, potholes, and the occasional turns that led you astray from your original path. Rarely do people ever do what they came for; rather, they have to be satisfied with what objectives they do receive. A change in their position could be because of the person’s quirk, or the compatibility of certain skill sets when compared to other heroes. It could also simply be from having a reputation in a specific district like Eraserhead did in Musutafu.

A newly graduated student could enter with goals of dismantling drug rings and stop human trafficking businesses, the reality of their jobs not having quite set in. Only for their first official mission to essentially be kidnapping a mob boss from his home since the hero specialized in in-and-out objectives. These out of their control changes could happen to anyone, without exception, if given enough reason. And that included Shouta too, much to his dismay.

There was also the point of taking the jobs daylight heroes couldn't do themselves. Whether that be from their own incompetence, or simply lacking the mental fortitude to handle some of the more disturbing assignments, they were nevertheless spared due to one reason or another. And those would end up on the underground heroes’ shoulders, regardless of their opinions on the matter. They were essentially the last line of defense, the safety net that catches whatever falls through the cracks.

It meant that the daylight heroes never saw the dulled eyes of mutilated victims, void of light and lucidity. They never knew how it felt to be soaked in blood, sweat, and rain that they’d obsessively wash off hours later, murky water going down the drain. They would never know what it would be like to see the darkest corners of humanity, having a glimpse of the sheer extremes it had in spades. The feeling of warmth as they bathe in the rays of a newly risen sun that signaled the world continued to rotate, no signs of remorse to what happened in its absence.

So, let it be said that Underground Heroics wasn't an easy career path to take.

It was emotionally taxing, rarely ever rewarding, and wrecked his nonexistent sleep schedule to oblivion.

But Shouta couldn’t bring himself to regret choosing what he did; not when he was able to help, and not when he was able to save a life. To do so would invalidate those who he did save as a hero, implying as if their safety had no value. And saving a life doesn’t limit itself to rescuing innocents from harm’s way. Often enough, as he began his patrol on dimly illuminated rooftops, all he had to do was give others a nudge in the right direction. Given his experience and knowledge of what happens in the shadows, his words weren't empty platitudes and naive suggestions. He did what he could to guide others and spare them from making the wrong decisions.

And this part consisted of talking people to step away from the edge.

( He didn't have a high success rate on that, and it wasn't for the lack of effort. )

Shaking his head slightly from what he knew to be his thoughts' turning point, the hero put more focus into observing his surroundings than acknowledging the whispers of his mind. Shouta was assigned a new territory to look after ever since he expelled an entire class. The euphoria of having free time was cut short when the higher-ups realized he had less responsibilities brought by a sudden lack of hero-hopefuls to educate. So, here he was now on another side of the city, hopping from rooftop to rooftop as he scoured for small-time criminals to hand over to the police. 

Moonlight was left unobstructed by a cloudless sky, letting him see more clearly than usual as everything under it had a hue of light blue and gray. He could see the streets and alleys abandoned when he passed by, save for a few stray cats idling that he had half a mind to take home. So, besides his footsteps disrupting the quiet, he could safely say it was peaceful. 

…Therefore unsettling.

The uneventfulness of his evening was probably the reason why fate decided to chuck an anomaly at him, answering the call of his paranoia. Even then, all he felt was relief when that certain feeling of wrongness dispelled at the sight of something out of the usual.

There, a block to his left, stood someone in dark clothes and wielding what seemed to be a pair of thin and identical weapons. No unique characteristics could be noted from where the hero was. The black hood hid the person's face, and the baggy sleeves and pants hid whatever defining traits their figure had. Some lights from below shone behind them, though, letting Shouta know that the subject of his scrutiny was rather short. 

It led him to conclude that this was either a teen, or an adult with a mutation that gave them a small build. Either way, they were dressed in a similar fashion to the underground heroes' personification of headaches.

Vigilantes.

Lowering his stance, Shouta approached the unidentified person as he rifled through a mental list of vigilantes that operate within the city. Monarch works with Ms. Joke and has a quirk that requires her hair to be out in the open for it to be functional. It couldn't be her, with the hood’s edge hanging just over the person’s eyes. The only other one he could think of at the top of his head was Razor. But with his quirk, which other underground heroes had taken to calling PaperCut, he usually opted to keep his hands free. Razor didn’t wear gloves because of it, which gave them a lead to figuring out his identity when he once escaped by climbing a balcony and left fingerprints.

This was a new one, then. Either someone new to the scene that hadn’t been caught under the UGH’s radar yet, or someone about to enter it.

With the distance he covered, Shouta was one building away from the person. A part of him was concerned that he wasn’t noticed yet. They continued swinging the weapon that loosely resembled an escrima stick, blissfully unaware of the hero they caught the attention of.

They definitely shouldn't be a vigilante at this rate. Who knew how long they'd last out there on their own.

He waited for the right moment where they had their back facing him before he pounced, clearing the gap between the two rooftops effortlessly. He activated his quirk and shot out his capture weapon towards them, hoping that the loss of their quirk would be enough to disorient-then-immobilize. It was probably the whir of the hero’s scarf that alerted them of his presence, since they turned around and extended their arm, letting the stick they were holding get wrapped by the cloth instead. Properly assessing the situation in a split-second, they let go of it and jumped backwards, creating more distance between the two as Shouta landed in a crouch with the grace of a cat.

“Whatever it is you’re planning, stop.” Noting their wide eyes, Shouta relaxed his posture in faux idleness. He couldn’t have them jumping off of a two story building in a desperate attempt to escape, and this would save him from spending stamina when he had barely begun his patrol. He noticed that they were wearing a black mask too, so any facial features that he could run through the database was out of the question. That would only mean he had to acquire any defining characteristics in another way. “Vigilantism is not only illegal, but something most people don’t last a week on without getting grave injuries. I’d suggest a different and much more logical part-time job.”

As if it were even possible, their eyes widened more. They looked at their hands, and then shifted their gaze onto their get-up like they saw it for the first time. With a squeak, they started waving their hands in a gesture that could be commonly interpreted as denial, looking back and forth between the discarded bamboo stick, and a building from across the street.

Shouta kept them in his peripheral area in case they ran away as he read the signage of the building they were looking at. And it turns out, he didn’t even need to read anything when the second floor had windows for a wall facing towards the street. It seemed to be a martial art class of some sort, eskrima judging by the familiar set of weaponry. A group of seven were repeating common drills for… self-defense.

Gaze retreating back towards the unidentified person, he asked, “What are you doing here, then, if you’re not a would-be vigilante?”

And that’s when he noticed it.

The red shoes.

The exact same shade, design, and brand that he had seen far too many times serve as a paperweight to last written words. Never do they seem well taken care of, and it wasn’t due to the owner’s lack of maintenance. Shouta often saw them charred, torn, hanging by the threads, discolored by splotches of dark brown that could either be blood or dirt or both. Any other forms of damage imaginable, he saw, and all of them painted a story that could only be called a tragedy.

And he was seeing another pair of them right now, on another rooftop. The only difference it had to the others was that the owner was still wearing them, breathing and alive.

In hindsight , he thought, what an awful mental quip I made earlier.

“You’re… only trying to learn how to defend yourself,” Shouta stated, more as a fact than a question when he got his bearings at the internal storm that was his fluctuating emotions.

He received a slow and wary nod as a reply.

Trying to hide his unease ( because they were the ones who he was always unable to save, and he had an opportunity right now— ), Shouta spoke again. “They didn’t let you enroll in the class seeing as how you’re learning here, alone on a rooftop without supervision, instead of inside the room with the other students; Or, you didn’t receive parental consent, so you couldn’t have enrolled either way.”

Another nod, more eager this time. And after a beat, they raised a hand that only had the index finger up. The first assumption was right on the mark, apparently.

Huffing, Shouta picked up the discarded bamboo stick and took a few telegraphed steps to get closer to the teen. Fortunately, they didn’t retreat, but their eyes were still wary and untrustful of the stranger that essentially attacked them then gave a lecture over something they didn’t plan on doing.

What a bad start to building a rapport.

“You’re bound to make mistakes without a teacher guiding you through your stances.” The teen took the offered stick, but their gaze never left Shouta’s person. “So… I wouldn’t mind teaching you a thing or two.”

Shouta knew he would probably look back at this moment and think this was the illogical thing to do, that there were far better decisions that could have been made instead. He could have saved more time, energy, and talked to one person less in his overall day-to-day interactions. But with his heart beating erratically and his head racing with thoughts, memories, and an internal voice screaming this is your chance, he could find it in himself to forgive past-him. Besides, this would soothe his worries of the lessons being ineffectual when applied in a real life setting. Shouta would make damn sure that the kid could make it out of most situations unscathed using nothing but their own hands.

Tearing up, the kid ducked his head and choked back sobs. The hero could only awkwardly look away to let them regain their composure at what was probably a rarely offered hand that wasn’t out to get him hurt.

“I’ll come and meet you here by nine every evening and I’ll teach you for an hour or so, save for the weekends… Is that alright with your schedule?”

They nodded.

Gritting his teeth, it came back to him that he really needed to continue on his patrol. But in good conscience, both of Shouta’s and Eraserhead’s, he couldn’t leave a teen alone on a rooftop.

He sighed and combed his fingers through his hair.

“Go home, there’s no use learning by yourself anymore when lessons start tomorrow.” And at that, he walked away and jumped to the next rooftop where he originally came from. Once he had gotten far enough, he looked back to see if the kid listened to him, only to see no one there. He hoped that they used the fire-escape to get down, at least.

The rest of his evening shift went smoothly despite the earlier encounter, with only a few small muggings and that one drunk he had to fish out of the garbage bin. He had just ended a call to the police about picking the unconscious but definitely inebriated man up when he heard a noise behind the same bin. Something small then nudged at his ankle, followed by a light weight that tugged at the hem of his pants.

Looking down to see what it was, he could only call it a moment of weakness.

Shouta sighed.

He hoped Hizashi wouldn’t mind another mouth to feed.

Cradling a cup of tea, a blond sat at the chair that was situated right next to the open window. It was sometime in the early morning, and even without a clock he knew that he woke up at least an hour before he should have.

He took a sip of his drink and let the warmth of it soothe his unease. Waking up from nightmares was never a fun experience to handle alone, and although he knew his husband wasn’t coming home for a while, he waited for the tired hero to arrive anyway.

He and their neighbors were fortunate enough that he didn’t scream when he did wake up alone.

Being a part of the hero industry for as long as he had, it was a learned behavior to always be cautious, regardless of how seemingly peaceful it was at the moment. All heroes were taught to remain vigilant, of being able to throw themselves into action in the flick of a switch. It bordered on paranoia, Hizashi was well aware of that fact, but it was a balance that everyone in the profession eventually learned how to manage.

And being dragged back to consciousness, lungs greedily gasping for air, and choking back cries as he felt death brush by his neck once more… It’s hard, to say the least, to think rationally when you’re off-kilter. So having someone like Shouta to keep him grounded gave him comfort similar to a safety blanket.

The fear was there, it always was, but the worry of having to face it alone would’ve been abated by his partner’s presence.

So here he was finishing his tea, surveying the nearby rooftops for a dark-clad man hopping towards his general direction. Shouta had his personal brand of cautiousness, preferring to enter via window instead of the door. We can’t be seen living together , his husband said, but not out of embarrassment—never out of embarrassment. Having two heroes together in the same location was just asking for an ambush, a kill-two-birds-with-one-stone kind of scenario.

It was the man’s way of showing his worry, despite not saying it outright.

And it seemed like Hizashi didn’t wake up that early, when he heard a familiar whir of a capture scarf. So it was 4AM, then.

“Why are you up?” A wild Shouta appeared hanging upside-down by his scarf, the tip of his nose mere inches away from his own. The underground hero was probably anchored to the rooftop’s railings, seeing as how he was already halfway inside.

Used to his husband’s behavior, the blond only asked, “Why are you hanging upside-down?”

“To see you.”

“Same answer.”

Shouta huffed, the closest anyone could get to a laugh, and flipped himself over to enter the living room proper. He removed his boots and his scarf, opting to place them near the entrance for when they leave later that morning for UA. But the way he carried himself was, dare Hizashi say it, more careful than he usually does.

“Is there something you have to say, Shou?”

Said Shou froze in his tracks. “...Nothing, really.” He tilted his head to the side, contemplative as he continued to disarm himself of the weapons he always carried on his person when on patrol. “Is it an ‘ I’m home ’?”

Hizashi narrowed his eyes, and his suspicion was proven to be justified the moment the other placed their scarf on the table.

The tiny meow might as well have been a gunshot in their silence.

“Another one?” Hizashi chuckled, amused as he approached the unexpected visitor.

“In my defense, they’re the one that latched on to me.” He didn’t even bother an attempt at denial, and the fact only made Hizashi grin wider.

“How many strays have you picked up by now?”

“...Five.”

Hizashi blinked as he carried the little dirty kitten just under their front legs. They didn’t seem to be injured, and he assumed the fur was white under all of the grime. “You mean there’s one more?” He looked at the scarf he carried the kitten from.

“No,” Shouta sighed. Once he was done unlatching his hidden knife holster from his thigh, he sat down on the couch, leaning his head back to rest on the cushion. “They’re the only one I brought home.” He gestured to the rather stinky kitten. "The other one's… a work in progress."

“Well, they’re a she from what I could tell.” The Tiny Meower needed a bath before they could drop her off to the vet later, but before that… “So, remember that you’ve been revoked of kitten naming privileges right?”

“Illogical, and too late.”

“Well whaddya name her then?” He carried her off and walked towards the bathroom. Shouta followed him to continue their conversation, but stayed at the open doorway, leaning against the frame as he watched the other try to clean the kitten up to the best of his abilities.

“She’s Whiskey.”

“That’s… a rather tame name compared to Bastard.” The black cat Shouta brought home over a year ago had a bad habit of taking anything she could carry in her mouth to some secluded corner. One too many times had she displaced their pens, shoes, and reading glasses when they needed it most that Shouta had taken to calling her bastard when she still didn’t have a name.

And unfortunately, it stuck.

“It was either that or Garbage Bin.”

“And that’s because…”

“...I found her beside a garbage bin.”

“I figured.” A fond smile made its way to Hizashi’s face as he scrubbed the Tiny Meower clean.

The talk didn’t last long since they still had to catch an hour of more sleep, but it was enough for the blond to keep the memories of his nightmare away. His husband’s raspy and monotone voice was what he needed to hear to drown out the noises in his head.

So as they got back to sleep, the other’s arms wrapped around his torso and head on top of his chest, the phantom pain of the scar on his neck was practically gone.

Safety blanket was an apt name indeed.

Izuku quickly got used to his daily routine despite the sudden change in activities… which, somehow, included his nightly excursions.

When the man lashed that cloth whip-like thing towards him, he thanked his bullies for inadvertently developing his reaction time. Otherwise, he probably would have gotten caught if he hadn’t batted his stick for it to take the blow. The meeting only got weirder when Izuku was blamed for committing vigilantism, or that he had at least planned of doing so. He would have laughed at the irony, but he was still petrified of being caught in the act of something probably illegal on his first day.

And then the man offered to train him.

Well, not really ‘train’ him, but more like teach Izuku how to defend himself for reasons he didn’t say. And as much as he was tempted to decline, his place for watching the eskrima classes was known to the other. It was where he was caught red-handed, after all. He had to find some place else, but something told him that he would’ve been found anyway.

So he accepted the help, paired with the usual Midoriya Tears™ when he couldn’t voice his emotions. Gratitude, confusion, relief, happiness, reluctance, fear…

And speaking of, he would do his best to avoid talking to the stranger (teacher?) for now. His voice would be too recognizable as belonging to someone in their teens, and he didn’t think he could keep the fact that he was quirkless left unsaid for long. Izuku wanted to know if the man would still stay to guide him if he knew, but he also couldn’t risk it when he was already given a rare opportunity. It wasn’t often he was offered help. He couldn’t remember the last time it happened. And if the man didn't ask, he couldn't a see a reason why he should give that information any time soon.

In the end, he chose to keep silent, no matter how the quiet made his skin crawl.

The first teaching session was weird given how seemingly normal it was. He was taught to react appropriately to a punch, that is to not blink and direct the fist away from him. He was also shown proper footwork when having to move towards or away from an attack, which was essentially summarized to never cross your legs. He learned that lesson the hard way the fourth time he took a stumble and fell. And then after an hour or so, the man just nods and leaves.

It was something that Izuku didn’t know how he normalized, but did.

And even though the black dressed man said he would only give him a lesson or two, they still met up after a week, then a month, then a couple of months, until it was nearing UA’s entrance exams. He said he wanted to make sure, but didn’t elaborate on it either. Izuku eventually realized that although the man was as straightforward as one could possibly be, he never said more than he had to.

So considering the time frame, it was understandable that something that resembled shenanigans ensued. But… serious shenanigans. Shenanigans taken seriously.

There was the time he started cultivating skills in spatial awareness and vigilance. The man scared him occasionally by arriving either late or early then popping out of nowhere, startling him badly. And no matter the short teasing the man did, Izuku did not jump like a spooked cat . Odd that the man said Izuku reminded him of someone, though.

Then there were lessons on playing dirty. The teen already knew the importance of fights being a matter of victory or loss, where pride had no standing, but the way the man taught it delivered the message home differently.

Training couldn’t be training without some hits taken and bruise coloring skin. They were a part of it, inseparable even. And though he knew that, some part of him (his poor nether regions) couldn’t help but think that maybe the lesson could have made an impact without making an impact . Izuku didn’t voice it, but the man read his clearly displayed body language anyways and responded with a dry, “If you think that hurts, imagine inflicting it on others in a fight. Think of it as a reminder that it’s always an option.”

Izuku would’ve nodded if his forehead wasn’t firmly on the ground.

Knife lessons were also pulled out from somewhere, with the man saying “just in case” as if it were a valid justification to include it in their arsenal for means of self-defense. The knife training equipment was made of rubber, thankfully, but it didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. It also concerned Izuku that it didn’t feel wrong to hold one so naturally, like it was something he could get used to wielding. He was eventually taught how to hold two when the other noticed his proficiency with them.

And the man was a good teacher overall; unexpected, given the man’s rather disheveled appearance. He didn’t get mad when Izuku made mistakes, or when he broke a stick with how hard he hit the other one, and the way the man gave an approving nod when the teen got a move right… Izuku was confused, actually. It worried him that questioning ‘is this normal?’ was becoming a common trend.

Maybe that’s what he gets for having a not-so normal childhood.

And the reason why he doesn’t know if it’s right of him to trust the man when they don’t even know each other’s names; or the other to the fact that Izuku was quirkless.

It was a week before entrance exams and he had to dedicate the rest of the time reviewing subjects to pass the written portion of the test. He hoped to inform the man that they couldn’t meet up anymore, and that he was grateful for investing so much time on someone who was practically a stranger. That meant talking, though. And after so many months of biting his lips to not do it by accident, his nerves paired with the silence weren’t helping him to any degree in building confidence for it.

Waiting on a rooftop, Izuku heard the faint footfalls coming from behind him, so he turned around to greet his teacher with a nod. The other nodded back as he approached, landing near Izuku with grace and fluidity that he had grown accustomed to seeing.

“There won’t be anymore lessons, seeing as how what you’ve learned should be enough for most situations.” He adjusted his scarf to hang more loosely on his shoulders. “So I better not see you on another rooftop late in the evening, Problem Child.”

Keeping his age a secret was a bust, then. He didn’t know how Sensei figured it out, but he knew the man was smart. Smarter than what others might credit him for, given his appearance.

But from what Sensei said, he also didn’t need to inform the man that tonight was their last meeting. The man said it himself, but…

Taking a deep breath, he thought he might as well do it anyway if they weren’t going to cross paths after this. And if the man attacked him out of anger or something, then it’s fortunate that Izuku had gotten good at defending himself. The irony wasn't lost on him.

“S-sensei,” he started. If the man was shocked he was speaking for the first time in nearly ten months, he didn't show it. “Thank you for teaching me…” He lowered his head slightly in resemblance to a bow. “Thank you for spending time where others thought it would be a lost cause. Or that I’ll break. Or I’m too weak. I’m just… even if you’ll come to hate me for confessing it so late, I'm grateful that you helped someone quirkless.”

Nothing happened for a moment.

Izuku didn’t hear any scoff or footsteps, but then again the man could clear a two meter jump without alerting an alley cat. Maybe he left.

( He was five years old when he learned quirkless was a word that drove others away. )

Many others did the same when they heard that nine-lettered word. Izuku didn’t think the man would be an exception.

It was the reason why he was shocked to have a weight placed on his head. It wasn’t heavy, or light, but then the weight disappeared only to reappear again. Firmer, this time. Comforting in a way that felt reassuring, like he wasn’t in the wrong.

“Stop that,” the man said, still patting Izuku’s head as the teen’s mind blanked from shock, confusion, and relief. He opened his eyes after, but he didn’t know when he closed them in the first place. “I can handle drunkards and muggings, not tears. And besides, I already knew you were quirkless since the first time we met.”

And like the other times, he didn’t elaborate. Izuku chuckled at that, albeit wetly from crying.

Of course the man didn’t say more than he needed, it was in character for him not to. But the fact that he already knew but still decided to help Izuku? Or the fact that he had been patient, never mad at the mistakes he made, and dedicated so many hours to someone the majority thought was a waste of time baffled him.

“I-I don’t know what to say—”

“You don’t need to say anything,” A gentle interruption was emphasized by another pat on the head. “That thank you was enough. You’ll make it far, so at least use what I taught you to protect yourself until then. That’s the only way I can think of properly showing gratitude, anyways.”

On impulse, he reached forward and wrapped his arms around the other. He knew future-him would be mortified for hugging his teacher, but at the moment it just felt right. “I will,” he said, muffled.

The man tensed at the action, and slowly but surely his muscles relaxed as he resigned to his fate.

So maybe it wasn’t normal to trust someone Izuku didn’t know the name of. Though, the fact that he knew the teen didn’t have a quirk and essentially did what others didn't... Well, it was enough of a reason for Izuku to think he earned it.

No one had to know he hugged a little tighter at the thought besides Sensei himself.

Chapter Text

Standing in front of the infamous gates of UA, one thought prevailed in his perpetually active mind.

Too bright.

Izuku couldn't help but miss the late night training sessions, where the only thing that let him see his opponent was the moonlight and flickering lamps from the street a few floors below. And despite his dislike of the quiet the night cloaks itself with, thuds from deflected punches and landed kicks had a semblance of a rhythm that comforted him similar to how music did. The noise was subdued, and his Sensei only talked when he needed to, but something was always making some level of sound that settled his unease.

Now, he didn't mind the mumbles that escaped the lips of anxious applicants that passed by him. He himself was nervous, since this was a test where only thirty-six were accepted out of thousands. He just needed to pass here. Even if that meant he got thirty-sixth place itself, getting in by the skin of his teeth… Well, that still counted as a pass.

It'll have to do.

No, what bothered him was how bright everything was. UA was a prestigious school, it had to be for it to claim the title of being the best hero school in the country. He just never thought it would be so blinding.

The gate's archway was accented by metal, glinting in the sunlight the same way the windows of the main building did. Everything had the illusion of being sparkly and shining, and even the surfaces that weren't reflective made up for it by their strong colors.

With a huff, Izuku walked through and skipped over the loose brick on the pathway. Guess spatial awareness training was paying off at the expense of his already small pride. Perhaps it was some social experiment by Nedzu, only the animal himself knew whatever was going through his mind.

The students were guided by signs to separate rooms they were taking the written portion in, shepherd off by teachers on standby. And once he entered the classroom, he set his sights on an unclaimed chair at the last row. It was while walking there that Izuku noticed that the room was half-full by now too, but it was odd that little to none of them were sitting by the back of the room.

And then he heard the whispers.

"Seriously? So the rumors were true?"

"They thought he was joking."

"Joking? I thought it was a threat."

"Can't believe they even let him in here."

"I heard from someone that he convinced them, just for fun."

"Why's mindfreak even taking his chances?"

"A thing like that wouldn't get him far in a hero school."

"Haven't you heard? Shinsou's only a villain in the making. "

Izuku searched for who was at the receiving end of those pointed glances and found that it was the purple-haired guy that's on the seat next to him. He sat down and brought out the pens and pencils he'd use for the exam, and turned to smile at the teen. 

The smile wasn't big nor booming, because he didn't want to send a message of 'everything will be okay'. No, that was All Might's trademark. This was more of a simple 'good luck'. 

Ridiculously normal for the majority, and not so much for the minority.

Izuku could only assume, but he thought that maybe no one bothered cheering the other on with the closed expression he had. Half-lidded gaze that paid little attention at Izuku, an aura radiating apathy, and posture slouched, leaning against the back of the chair. Despite shown signs that he wasn't bothered by being the topic of teenage gossip, his shaking hands gripping the cloth of his pants told a different story. And getting to see his reaction to the nonverbal gesture, the smallest widening of his eyes, the teen could probably say his guess was mostly true.

Then someone walked in.

"Exam starts in five minutes," who Izuku assumed to be the proctor said. "Once the packets are handed in, don't open them until I say so. And when you do, you aren't allowed to speak or leave your seat until you are done. If the time comes you want to pass it before the timer runs out, raise your hand and a clone of Ectoplasm would retrieve the packet for you. He would also guide you to the amphitheater for those who are looking forward to joining the hero course. As for General Education, you may leave and wait for results via letter. That is all, please take your seats."

With tension returning full force in the room, this time for a completely different reason, it felt like the minutes passed slower than it actually did. But now with the daunting packet right in front of him, and the proctor calmly saying start as if the papers weren't an inch thick, Izuku thought to himself that maybe the nervousness was present for good reason.

Then when he actually got to open the packet, the first subject being Math.

The grin he wore then wasn't unlike his Sensei's.

Three hours later and a good five minutes of biting his lip to not bombard the hero-escort with probably invasive quirk-related questions, Izuku arrived at the amphitheater. He was given a pamphlet of the rules before he was left alone by the clone, only two pages long complete with pictures and a little smiling Nedzu at the corner explaining the details. Looking up from the paper, he found that his assigned seat was right next to Katsuki’s since they go to the same school.

Life was unfair like that.

At least the blond wouldn’t risk his chances of getting in, so there wouldn’t be any physical altercations.

Izuku sat down on the cushions and tried his best to ignore the glares given to him by his seatmate. He was only early by a few minutes, so he didn’t have to wait long for whoever was going to explain the rules.

Izuku blinked.

Wait, if the rules were already going to be explained, why the pamphlet? Sure, some students might have difficulty listening and had to read instead, but it seems as if there were more things to cover in the paper than what’s realistically possible for someone to say in a short time frame. And the rules were only stating the obvious, like they didn’t even really need to be explained in detail in the first place. Don’t harm other applicants , it said. Applicants involved in the takedown or immobilization of a bot gains the point/s that the bot is worth . It seemed redundant for the staff to have these out when they could have easily projected them onto the big screen at the front. These were essentially useless and could have been replaced by something else, or simply be a passing comment since it would’ve been easily remembered by the majority.

Unless… They wanted the students to be reminded of the rules, and the pamphlet was what they could use to go over them once more. He wouldn’t put it past the facilitators to subtly do so.

So Izuku read and reread the pamphlet, taking in the surface level meanings then finding what was and wasn’t mentioned. Loopholes were something that Izuku doubted to be unintentional by the Nedzu of UA; but with the plan he had in mind, he didn’t think that they were meant to be used in a way that he would soon exploit.

Sure, the lack of details on the zero-pointer was basically a red flag that meant no good. And sure, the free-for-all design of the physical exam would encourage the applicant’s competitiveness to be among the thirty-six best of the best. Although he saw and understood all of these, they didn’t seem to have a rule against one thing. To him, it was the most efficient way to receive more points with less villain-bots.

Students came pouring in as Izuku bit his lip and polished his half-baked idea, hoping that any deity that bore witness would let him have this one thing go according to plan. Because as much as he knew that this would go well once executed, the first step was the crux for their success. And as they say, the first step was always the biggest hurdle to overcome.

Then Present Mic came to the stage in all of his DJ-themed glory, smiles and all as he tried to cheer the crowd up with a shout of ‘YEAH!’.

Izuku huffed, smiling at the voice’s familiarity from all of his radio shows. He could do this, the plan would be enough.

Or something like Plus Ultra, and all that.

Once he passed through the gates of UA, Hitoshi expected to be an unknown, another unimportant face in the crowd. It turns out some of his old schoolmates also planned to take the Gen Ed’s entrance exam, and unfortunately, word of gossip travels fast.

So, he changed his expectations accordingly.

Now he assumed that a considerable portion of the applicants knew of him, or at least, knew of his quirk. This led to quietly walking down the halls and into his assigned room, never bothering to give others a passing glance lest he accidentally met their eye. He sat down at the last row so he would be safe from any projectiles from the back, and moved his gaze downward to where his hands laid on his lap.

He only had to wait, take the exam, and hopefully pass. Those were the agendas he had lined up that day, the three steps that would lead him into UA’s hero course. Anything else was just an annoyance, a distraction to his goals that would only hinder his progress.

It didn’t mean that he could simply unhear the whispers.

They hurt like they usually did, but it was a pain that he had long gotten used to. A little nick on his skin that he brushed off and left to heal, maybe even scar if it was a deep enough wound. He was often bruised, battered, left bleeding without anyone offering a helping hand.

Hitoshi learned how to toughen up because of it.

He built walls, protective of the parts that hurt too much even if it was only grazed. He learned to be apathetic, to be indifferent, because maybe then their comments wouldn't bother him. It wouldn’t change the way he saw himself.

(And maybe if he said it enough times, it would come true.)

But then for the second time that day, he had to reset his expectations all because of a goddamn smile.

On the rare occasions that he receives kindness, it was with a tinge of pity. He could tell it was with the sadness in their eyes clouding their judgment as if he was something to look down on. Hitoshi wasn’t less. He wasn’t unfortunate. It was others’ standards and prejudices that made them think he was those things. And even if those kind people are offering their compassion and whatnot, it doesn’t change the fact that they view him in the same light as the others do.

But, that freckled teen’s smile was something else. It didn’t express the cliche ‘it’ll turn out alright in the end’, because it never does. Life doesn’t work that way. Instead, it was reassuring, like he was cheering Hitoshi on not because he needed good luck. It was more of… plain moral support.

He could count on one hand the number of times he had gotten one of those since he was four.

The exams took a while to finish, and he had done well on the mock tests so he had no worries of at least passing the written portion. Nope, all those anxious thoughts were reserved for the physical part of the exam.

They were fighting fucking robots.

Guided to head to one of those buses to bring him and the other applicants to their testing grounds, he heard an overly cheerful voice that called his name. No one ever calls his name, much less in a friendly manner.

“Hey, Shinsou!” It was the freckled teen from earlier, jogging to catch up with his long strides. “You wanna sit together on the bus? Sorry if I called you Shinsou, by the way. I just thought that it was your name considering the, uh, less than good gossip from the other applicants which is so rude now that I get to say something about it. Like, wow you have an exam that basically decides your future and you’re talking about middle-school gossip? You should set your priorities straight!”

Raising a brow, he glanced at the shorter teen and hoped that was enough of a question in itself. If he heard the rumors, they probably wouldn’t want to be asked verbally.

“Sorry for not introducing myself first, I’m Midoriya Izuku. And do you wanna team up with me in the exam?”

That did not answer his question at all.

In fact, that just made him confused all the more.

They entered the bus and sat at the last row of seats again. And since the applicants were split up on multiple buses heading for different directions, the vehicle wasn’t at full capacity. No one sat beside them at the very back, or at the two rows in front of them for that matter.

“I get that you’re probably confused.” said Midoriya, lowering his voice to probably not be overheard by the others. “But the rules didn’t mention anything against teamwork. I think because it’s an every man for himself kind of test, no one thought strangers would be willing to work together. They split up students that were from the same school, but it didn’t entirely get rid of the possibility of a match-up, y’know?”

Testing the other’s limits, Hitoshi spoke to contribute to the rather one-sided conversation. “The points are only given to one applicant, though.”

“Oh no,” Midoriya grinned. This grin and his smile from before were so different that it made Hitoshi blink a few times to see if this was the same person. That thing could inflict fear on All Might himself, given the chance. “What the rule seven stated is ‘ Applicants involved in the takedown or immobilization of a bot gain the points that the bot is worth’. Involved is a rather unique word choice, don’t you think? So as long as we both contributed to defeating one of, let’s say, the three-pointers, we’d get three points each.”

“Others might steal our kill.”

“When they see two students gunning for the same robots, they’d rather find ones that are free to take than to fight for it against two other applicants.”

“Teachers might call it cheating.”

“Principal Nedzu wouldn’t call it cheating if the rules didn’t directly state against it. I think he’d actually enjoy the unexpected turn of events if my old analysis of him still holds true.”

“We don’t have weapons to fight them.”

“No weapons on hand. You’d be surprised how far resourcefulness could take you.”

“And why team-up with me ?”

Shit.

Hitoshi didn’t mean to ask.

Body tensing, he warily looked at Midoriya to see his reaction. The other knew and heard the gossip, so he must’ve known how it works. That’s what those assholes always do; telling people to never talk to Hitoshi, don’t go near him or else he’d make you do things against your will. It was a miracle in itself that Midoriya even had a stilted back-and-forth with him, but Hitoshi was sure that he finally crossed that ever-present line.

…This was the third time his expectations were unfounded that day.

“Because, I can’t work with quirkists,” Midoriya looked down to his own slightly scarred hands and closed them into fists. “You’ve been untreated fairly, I think. I don’t want to assume, and I don’t want to say we have the same experiences, but y’know that saying? Birds of the same feather flock together?” He smiled that same goddamned smile that threw him in a loop. “Well we don’t really aim to be the highest here. All I want is to pass even if it’s in last place, and I’m guessing you do too?”

Hitoshi nodded.

“Well, if we team-up with each other, we should have enough points to scrape by. Trying the same with anyone else would end up with them thinking that we’re trying to drag them down the rankings. It isn’t a mutually beneficial relationship for them. Plus, I had a feeling you’d say yes.”

“I haven’t.” Hitoshi crossed his arms, defensive at being read so well.

“But you didn’t say no either.”

The bus halted at their stop, the applicants at the front standing up to leave the vehicle. Him and Midoriya had little time to finish the chat and it seemed the other was aware of the dwindling seconds as well.

“So?” the freckled teen asked. He stood up before Shinsou and offered a hand for the deal. “Gonna kick some robots with me?”

What followed that question was a murmur that suspiciously sounded like 'Is it really kicking though if we're going through the plan?'.

And Hitoshi?

Hitoshi only grabbed the hand to shake it and said, “You’re crazy.” The small grin he gave as he said that dismissed any negative connotations to that statement. Midoriya just simply was.

They exited the bus and walked towards the testing grounds, Hitoshi slowing his pace so that the other could walk in comfortable strides. The other perked up at the descriptor, and with a tilt of a head commented, “I haven’t been called that before. Is it a good thing?”

Hitoshi huffed. “Yeah, sure.”

It was, in fact, not a good thing.

When the time came where Midoriya explained the plan, it was essentially divided into four steps.

1. Get a group of robots’ attention.
2. Get those groups of robots into one secluded place so others won’t steal them.
3. Play one highly risky game of dodgeball; where instead of rubber balls, it was huge fucking robots hitting each other until they’re scrap metal.
4. Repeat the cycle.

And Hitoshi was proud of being a rather fast runner. He had to cultivate his speed seeing as how his best chance to escape a beating session was to run the hell away.

The problem? Well, here’s the thing.

Hitoshi had shitty stamina.

They were on their third round of grouping up robots when his legs gave up on him, shaking from exhaustion. Midoriya was a good number of meters away so he couldn’t run to carry him either, and that moment of distraction cost Midoriya as a robot swiped its large cylindrical arm towards his torso. The freckled teen did manage to dodge, but his footing was off and balance was shot. With both teens down for the count, and four one-pointers and three two-pointer bots surrounding them… well, they were fucked.

Or at least, they thought so until some white sticky thing wrapped around both of their abdomens and pulled them upwards, just as an onslaught of attacks rained down on where they once were. With their targets gone, the projectiles either ricocheted or swings were over done, fortunately leading to the take down of six of the villain bots. The only one still functioning was a one-pointer with its main joint busted, so it was lying down on asphalt, practically harmless.

Looking up to see their knight in shining armor, both of the fallen down teens still swinging like pendulums from the force they were pulled at to save their asses, Hitoshi saw a black-haired guy in a spider-designed shirt standing on the edge of a rooftop. His elbows had a mutation on them and were probably where those white things (tape?) came from, and was currently pulling up Midoriya using what he was attached to.

“Wow!” Midoriya exclaimed, finally lifted up to be able to perch himself onto the ledge. “Thanks for the save! Um…?”

“Sero Hanta at your service!” said Sero, now pulling up Hitoshi as tired limbs dangled below him. “I saw you two workin’ together and got curious. Good thing, though! I managed to save you in the nick of time!”

Plopped onto sweet solid ground, Hitoshi took a moment to breathe before sitting up and surveying the area. Most of the other applicants seemed to have congregated towards the main street of the fake city, leaving metal carnage in their wake. The robots they collected for the third round up were the last of them in the block they were in, so they had to move to find more.

“We’re moving.” Hitoshi said to Midoriya.

“Yup!”

“So hey, uh,“ Sero interrupted before they got down using the building’s fire-escape. “Can I come with?”

The two looked at each other.

“Sure.”

“Nope.”

The two looked at each other, again. Longer this time, until Hitoshi had to look away since they were wasting precious time. It was definitely not because his mind flashed the memory of that grin and his survival instinct kicked in. Definitely not.

Midoriya smiled, gesturing for Sero to come along. “You can come with us! And hey, your shoulder doesn’t dislocate when you try swinging with your tape, right?”

Sero’s eyebrows scrunched up together in confusion, which honestly, same.

“Just answer him.” Hitoshi jumped down the steps and ran towards the general direction of the main road, the other two quickly catching up with him. “He asked me what I could do against robots, too.” He jumped over a pile of green deformed metal and a torn off arm. These applicants were brutal, what the hell? “Get it done and over with before you try answering while dodging. That’s not a fun thing to go through.”

“Uh,” Sero said. Hitoshi looked back to see if they were keeping up, and they were. Midoriya looked as if he was going through a jog and Sero was in a slightly worse condition compared to the freckled teen. “Yeah, it doesn’t really hurt me when I do.”

“Great!” Midoriya ran ahead and into the path of a three pointer. “Let’s mess the joints of this guy up so me and Hitoshi can safely behead him!”

Sero wisely ignored the morbid word choice and followed the order, shooting his tape into the open crevices of the three pointer, blocking the gears and jamming it so it couldn’t move or try to swat at the other two like they were flies. Midoriya and Hitoshi ran up to it as Sero immobilized its arms, sticking it to its sides.

“Kick it by the neck!” Midoriya shouted, and Hitoshi followed the other’s lead. With a short run up, they both jumped and planted both of their feet firmly on the metal. Hitoshi could feel it deforming until it snapped clean off, the metal head bouncing on the road.

“Whoa, how’d you know that work?” Sero asked, walking near the shut-down contraption and lightly kicking it with his shoe.

“The robots we passed by were a little trashed up, but from what I saw they had a really weak framework around their neck. The main body was too large for us to hit and it’s center of gravity was too low for us to trip it so—”

The ground rumbled.

Hitoshi looked down. The pebbles from all the applicants’ collateral damage were being shaken up, too. “What the…”

Then there was a shadow that blanketed over them.

A really fucking big shadow.

Slowly bringing his gaze up, he saw the body of a green robot in his peripheral vision. And when he thought it couldn’t be bigger than a three-pointer, he just continued looking up and up until oh.

Present Mic wasn’t kidding when they said it was a distraction, because he was feeling really distracted at that moment.

With a painted 0 on its side, the twenty story tall zero-pointer loomed over the entire main street, eight red glowing eyes trained on all the applicants that had the terrible luck of ending up within its field of vision. He could hear a quiet ‘oh shit’ coming from somewhere near him—and Hitoshi didn’t know who, it could be anybody, it could be him—as if anything louder would invoke the wrath of that titanic machine.

And then someone screamed.

“ RUN! ”

A stampede of middle-schoolers ran for their lives, tripping and stumbling on debris just to get away from that thing. Something primal waking up inside them and all nerves flaring to just go and run, jump, go somewhere safe and—

A plea for help, almost drowned out by terrified shouts, brought some of the teens out of their heads.

“Help!” A feminine voice said. “I-I’m stuck. Help, please!”

“Shinsou, Sero, with me. Let’s go save her!” and Midoriya runs in the entirely opposite direction of where people are headed. Forget a rock in a river, the freckled teen was the fish that climbs up waterfalls! He had a goal in mind and some current that goes against him isn’t something that could make him stop. An admirable trait, if it wasn’t matched with the survival instinct of a lemming.

Either that or he has confidence that whatever plan he had in the making would work. And seeing how his previous plans had gone despite Hitoshi’s own shortcomings, he ran to follow the freckled teen, going against the wishes of every fiber of his being.

Well , he thought, he hasn’t failed yet and I don’t think he will now when it counts the most.

“Shinsou! Help the girl up from there and get her away from here.” Hitoshi nodded. That’s something he could do. Easy. “And Sero, help me get up there!”

“What?!” Never mind the fact that his voice pitched a little higher than it usually did, he blamed the adrenaline coursing through his veins. No, he was too busy being confused over why the freckled teen wanted to get even closer to that thing.

“I have an idea, just trust me on this!” Midoriya pleaded, eyes set in determination as he looked back and forth between the approaching steps of the zero-pointer and his two temporary teammates.

“Just-just stay safe.” That’s all he could say, really. Hitoshi didn’t think anyone else could stop Midoriya if that intimidating figure couldn’t fulfill that job. Hitoshi ran towards the stuck girl and assessed the problem, hearing a shout of ‘just catch me when I say so’ from Midoriya before he paid all his attention to the situation at hand.

“Um, okay,” What a great start. “Details.”

“I-I think I sprained my ankle,” the brunette readily answered. “And this slab of concrete is putting weight on my leg so I can’t get out. I would’ve used my quirk to make it weightless, but I-I think I’m gonna vomit if I use it one more time.”

“Okay, so mental block.” She hummed a questioning tone but he ignored her, opting to observe the concrete trapping her leg instead. He wasn’t strong enough to lift that, he thought, not when he was already spent as it was. Probably at top condition, but right now he had to think of an alternative.

…The alternative he came up with sucked.

Then as if on cue, a loud and ominous sound of groaning metal kicked his apprehension into a for-later box. If he couldn’t come up with another solution right at that moment, that was the best he could work with.

“Are you alright with me using my quirk on you?”

The brunette’s gaze was stuck on the zero-pointer that was still approaching, even with its arms’ movements stuttering as it turned.

“I-If it helps, just do it.”

He latched onto the connection and ignored the awful feeling of emotions welling up inside of him. Those things are for later. Right now, there’s a thousand foot tall intimidating machine out to get them like they were prey.

“ Make the concrete slab weightless. ”

Pressing all five fingers onto it, her face turned noticeably green but was able to lift it off of her injured leg. He murmured a quiet sorry as he carried her bridal style and brainwashed one of the stragglers to carry her off near the testing grounds’ entrance. As he transferred the girl onto some six-arm guy’s hands, he let go of their connection.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t—”

“SHINSOU!”

Hitoshi’s head snapped to look wherever Sero was because that did not sound like a good scream. Once he found the other, he ran as fast as he could towards the panicking teen. Sero was producing a considerable length of tape and connected the ends to the others. It was as if he was creating a small-holed net, improvising with what he had.

“I’m here.”

Sero looked up at him, eyes crazed and wide then up to the eerily still zero-pointer. Which, apparently, had an unharmed Midoriya waving at them from a joint on its unmoving arm. “He said he’s gonna jump.”

And Hitoshi’s only appropriate response to that was to drop his jaw.

“I know,” was all Sero said in kind. He gripped the edge of the improvised tape net thing and gestured towards the other end with his head, silently asking Hitoshi to grab it. “Now help me catch someone with this.”

“Whose idea was this?”

“ His ”

“Figures”

They stepped away from each other and let the center of their tape-net be a few feet above the ground. Tugging at the edges with as much strength as they could, bodies angled in a way that they were almost leaning towards the ground, they heard a faint ‘I’m jumping!’ before the most terrifying seconds in Hitoshi’s life started counting down.

Then something fell onto the net with an ‘oof!’ and once the lunatic was done bouncing, Hitoshi let go of his end and ran towards the cocooned teen.

“What were you thinking?!”

“That Sero’s tape has some degree of elasticity seeing as how he doesn’t dislocate the bones in his arms. And that it would make a great safety net for when I wanted to take the quick route down the robot!”

The mentioned Sero let go of his end of the net and approached Midoriya with shaking hands, wrapping the left over tape-net around him. It made the tape cocoon thicker.

“And that’s the end of the exam!” Present Mic’s voice announced, garnering an area wide sigh of relief from every exhausted applicant present. “See Recovery Girl if you have any injuries and wait for the results to be delivered in two weeks time! That is all, Plus Ultra y’all!”

Walking towards the entrance of the training grounds, Sero now carrying Midoriya in a fireman’s carry, Hitoshi walked behind him to talk to the freckled teen.

“You’re crazy. You know that.”

“Of course!” he cheerfully replied. “And it’s a good thing, right?"

Looking back at that still frozen zero-pointer standing there a couple blocks away, eight red eyes still glowing, he brought his gaze back to the tape-covered teen whose creative intellect bordered insanity. Effective plans, don’t get Hitoshi wrong, but certainly not ones you’d think just about anyone would pull from somewhere and live to tell the tale.

“Yeah, sure.”

The grin he received was wide, but not in the same way that most Daylight Heroes annoy him.

It was more… content. Not boastful, just glad that whatever occurred was satisfactory.

And it was only after Hitoshi got home with two phone numbers on hand that he realized he asked more than one question that day without receiving silence as a reply.

…He didn’t know how to feel about that.

(The warmth in his chest answered that for him.)

Chapter Text

“Oh my, what a pickle we’re in.”

The faculty involved in the physical portion of the entrance exam sat around a large table for a meeting with the principal that same day; the principal, who had no right to be as amused as he was with the situation. Loopholes and technicalities were involved, so while no rule was violated, it did bring some points to light that made their stances differ on the matter. That is, whether or not to accept three particular applicants into the hero course.

Maybe Nedzu already had an idea, and he was entertained because of the others’ cluelessness. Shouta wouldn’t put it past that sadistic rat. He had reacted that way countless times for previous problems more serious than this.

“Well, one of them is quirkless, no?” The new faculty member said. “Certainly, they couldn’t be accepted. They would be left behind should the time come that they train with their quirked peers.”

“‘Dunno if we saw the same thing.” Snipe leaned forward to address the Number One Hero, eyes observing the other from under the brim of his hat. “But defeatin’ a zero-pointer all by himself is enough to disprove that, dontcha think?”

An exasperated sigh caught the attention of the heroes, bringing their focus towards the source. “Bringing it back to the topic,” Vlad King interrupted with a subdued glare before another thinly-veiled discriminatory debate starts. “Our main issue here is that they broke the rules.”

The rest of the table’s occupants muttered at that, having their own opinions they weren’t quite ready to bring to the table. It wasn’t as if they had to re-examine the guidelines for every entrance exam. Most students would be too wary to break those rules, so they wouldn’t dare risk being rejected for crossing an already predetermined line. It would’ve been a wasted opportunity. The last time they had a meeting like this was regarding an applicant whose quirk needed the stamina of others to strengthen the user, which they then denied the application of once they realized the teen did it with intent to sabotage others.

The two cases were different for sure, but the importance of being addressed was to the same degree.

Midnight hummed, tapping her fingers on the table. “Actually, they didn’t break any rules.” She quickly raised a finger when Vlad King was about to object. Turning to him, then to the others to address them as well, she continued to clarify herself. “I don’t remember any of the rules saying that a lil’ match-up was bad. They were all good boys during the whole exam, even saved a young lady while they’re at it.”

“I gotta agree with Midnight here, especially since I’m the one who explained it during assembly!” Shouta burrowed his head a little deeper into his scarf to give cover for his ears. Beside him, Mic was getting a little too enthusiastic at defending the teens. Seeing as how he was the most vocal of his support to the trio during the exam, it made sense that he still was after. “What we really ought to talk about is how we’re dividing up the points between them!”

“Oh, it seems we’ve come to a misunderstanding.” Nedzu clapped his hands together, hushing all the pro-heroes present. “Rule seven stated that ‘ Applicants involved in the takedown or immobilization of a bot gain the points that the bot is worth’ .” He paused for a moment to let that statement sink in. “I must admit. When I had first written that, it was with the intent of subtly informing some that defeating bots using unconventional quirks with indirect methods still count as an earned point. I hadn’t anticipated that not two, but three would take it as being able to work together in a free-for-all examination without consequence! But they are not punished for their cleverness, no.”

Nedzu started typing on his laptop, little tapping noises accompanying his monologue. “Because they have not broken any rule that explicitly states teamwork isn't allowed, they will be given the villain points as if they defeated them on their own, as they were ‘ involved ’ in their take-downs! Considering how Shinsou Hitoshi and Midoriya Izuku accumulated thirty-two points as a pair, and another three with Sero Hanta, they will be scored accordingly.”

He stopped typing to press enter, causing a projection to show on the screen behind him.


Midoriya Izuku | 35 Villain Points | 50 Rescue Points
Shinsou Hitoshi | 35 Villain Points | 40 Rescue Points
Sero Hanta | 27 Villain Points | 35 Rescue Points



The silence that prevailed over the room was enough to hear cloth rub against one another as someone shifted in their seat. Despite the talk surrounding the applicants, no one actually knew how many points they had garnered when they were more focused on ‘how they did it’ than on the ‘what score they got’. Villain points were often censored to prevent bias when the time came to give rescue points, so they had only assumed up until this point. Perhaps some of them expected twenty points at most, or maybe somewhere in the mid-twenties. All Might would definitely grow more fervent to argue for his side if he knew how many points Nedzu was distributing to the three middle-schoolers.

Meanwhile, if someone were to look at Shouta and comment on his reaction, they would have said that he regarded the scores with little interest; a stark contrast to his seatmate whose mouth hung open as he stared unblinkingly at the numbers.

But internally, he was impressed.

Back when he watched the testing grounds’ camera footage, he paid most attention towards those who were making the least flashy displays of garnering points. Those were easy to pinpoint, seeing as how he only needed to look for screens with people but without much action. It was due to this that he saw Midoriya devise plans and execute them with a partner on his side, no physical signs of quirk usage from as far as he could tell. Without any explosions or light shows distracting him during his observations, he was quick to realize that Midoriya’s plans were made on the spot, quick to adapt if the situations changed, and surprisingly resourceful compared to his peers who over-relied on their quirks. So for the teen to catch the attention of Nedzu, while terrifying in its own right, was a testament to itself to what feat they managed to accomplish that day.

(HIs heart pounded at the sight of him jumping off of the zero-pointer’s arm.)

And speaking of which…

“W-wait,” All Might coughed out, looking back and forth between the smiling principal and the trio’s scores, now included in the overall ranking of the thirty-six qualifying applicants. “That can’t mean—”

“Why yes, it does.” Nedzu grinned the same grin that smothers all attempts of objections into nothing. Shouta and the other faculty members, after bearing witness to that unnatural expression far too many times in the years they’ve been working in UA, was only marginally affected compared to the new employee. “Impressive, isn’t it?”

“And that settles it, then,” Shouta huffed, leaning back against his chair. He couldn't let Nedzu fall into a rant. No need to traumatize new blood way before the first day of classes start. That's what initiations are for. “No more agendas?”

“None left, Eraserhead.” Nedzu then looked towards All Might, the grin never leaving. “The meeting is adjourned! You may all proceed with whatever work you have left for the rest of the day. And All Might, please stay for the recording of our acceptance letters. That is all.”

As Shouta stood up, so did the rest of the teachers save for All Might and Nedzu. He gave one more cursory glance at the scoreboard and left for the faculty room with Midnight and Mic on either side of him.

While discussing the quirkless applicant, he couldn't help but be reminded of a hooded figure on a moonlit rooftop; red tattered shoes and broken bamboo sticks. He wondered how the problem child was faring now that he could at least defend himself on his own. They went their separate ways, but he was attached. And with that attachment came the ever-present worry.

Still, he hoped that he had gotten over keeping quiet. The silence he forced himself into for ten months concerned Shouta, as much as he never verbalized it. And as Mic dragged him to the counter for his ginger tea and Shouta’s black coffee, he entertained the thought that one day the Problem Child would be a chatter-box, making the man regret for wishing for it in the first place.

Well, whatever made the kid happy or something.

“Hey Shou, you drifting a bit over there. What’s got your mood in the down low?” Mic handed him his mug as he leaned against the counter.

“Nothing,” he said, taking a sip of his beverage to avoid elaborating.

“...Are you thinking about Fifth?”

“You call him Fifth?”

“All I hear is a bad attempt at a subject change, not a no.”

“I asked a question, and I already answered yours.”

"A question is a good way to change the subject if you do it correctly, which you didn't, and your answer doesn't count!"

Shouta took another sip. "Of course it counts."

"Uh-huh."

"...Nothing is a perfectly rational answer."

Hizashi gasped, smiling all the while. "Was that a pun ?"

"No, that wasn't a pun."

"It definitely is a pun and a good one at that—"

“Get a room, you two!” Midnight shouted from her cubicle on the other side of the room, startling the pair from their conversation.

Mic’s eye twitched at the hypocrisy. “Says you! ” He stomped on over, batting her head with half-hearted karate chops as she dodged them to the best of her abilities. Considering how she was avoiding the hits while sitting down, it was a decent attempt. “You out of all people have no right to say that! That’s like hearing Vlad talk bad about chest windows!”

“Don’t you bring me into this!”

Watching another argument unfold from a safe distance, Shouta sighed. He would definitely regret his wish should the time come he jinxed it.

Mind and body were abuzz from both nervousness and excitement, the repetitive pacing digging trenches on the small rug of the living room. Sure, he executed his plan from a to z with the help of two others, and nothing really went so crazy that he had to rehash the plan from scratch. Even the zero-pointer part only needed a few adjustments. He gave it his all. He did what he could. That was the best he could offer at the time, and he hoped it was enough.

It had to be enough.

He was content with what points he counted—a little over thirty if he was right—and surely that was enough to pass. He tried computing what score was likely to be the cut-off to qualify, and his best guess was somewhere mid-thirties, too.

Then again, he could be wrong.

Sighing, Izuku picked up his phone and opened the newly made group chat. It was surreal to be a part of one, but the feeling he got from that was easily overshadowed by a need to say one thing. Both verbally and through text.


[ The Test-Taker Trio ]


He who needs to be leashed:

Who's available to bonk me on the head to knock me out


The leash maker:

dude… theres like, ten other ways to say ure nervous for the results


The leash holder:

And that's his way of saying so


He who needs to be leashed:

Exactly, Shinsou understands me


The leash holder:

No I don't


The leash maker:

no he doesnt


He who needs to be leashed: 

The betrayal

My first friends in years

And they don't get the need of being unconscious to escape anxiety


The leash holder:

I'm literally an insomniac…


The leash maker:

he has a point there ngl


He who needs to be leashed:

Okay but I really do need some distraction because I think my neighbors downstairs are this close to sending over a noise complaint from how much I've been pacing the past two weeks and jogging really isn't helping besides making me physically tired and trying to do my analysis hobby is going to steer back to thinking about the exam since heroes to hero-school entrance exams isn't a large leap of logic to make and I think those two are just making me even more jittery because I'm anxious that I can't stop being anxious and the possible consequences of being anxious for too long is making me have a third wave of anxiousness


The leash holder:

…When I saw you typing for two minutes straight I didn't expect an essay

Not that it's bad Midoriya

Just that I didn't think your mumbling habit translated to text too


The leash maker:

^^

and relax dude

with the teamwork and heroic rescue we did theres no way they wouldnt accept us

plus you guys got like 40ish villain points right? thats already somewhat high


The leash holder:

Sero I swear if you jinxed it

…But he does make a good point

There isn't any need to worry Midoriya


He who needs to be leashed:

Thanks guys

Ohmjyfod nevetmind

The letter id here

The lrTERS HERE


The leash holder:

Oh shit maybe ours are here now too

…

Sero's offline

For someone who said to relax he sure did jump ship the moment the iceberg arrived

…Yeah I'm checking if mines here now too

Tell us what your class is when you're accepted

I need to know if I'm going to have to hold this leash for another three years


Izuku stared at Shinsou’s message for a little while longer, the letter in his hand momentarily forgotten. ‘When’ , he said, ‘when you’re accepted’ . Shinsou said it as if Izuku was going to get in, without a doubt.

He blinked back the tears before he could accidentally damage his letter with them.

“Think about it later,” he muttered, wiping some stray droplets from his cheeks with the back of his free hand. “Letter now, thoughts later.”

Izuku walked to his room and passed the kitchen on the way there, his mother still oblivious to the reason why he was rushing. She didn’t bother to ask, so he didn’t go out of his way to answer. A strained relationship, but… it’s what worked so far.

Izuku closed the door behind him and made a beeline for his desk. Sitting on his chair and clearing his table to place the letter in the middle, he took deep and even breaths to calm himself down.

Relax.

Then he broke the wax seal to open the letter.

Out came a metallic disk that clattered on his desk. It was gray and circular, a tiny lens-like thing in the middle as the only other detail he could identify. Leaning forward, Izuku did it with the intent of inspecting the small device more. What actually happened was that a light suddenly came from the device (a mini-projector, his mind supplied), startling him not unlike the times his Sensei popped out of nowhere.

That is to say, he fell out of his seat. It’s been a while since he was spooked that badly.

Peeking from behind the chair, he saw a hologram of All Might in a yellow suit floating just above his desk. The perpetual smile and two tufts of gelled hair was present in all of their iconic glory.

“I AM HERE,” he said in his usual booming voice. “TO ANNOUNCE YOUR RESULTS!”

Izuku clambered up to get back into his seat as the hero continued to talk, wondering why the Number One hero was playing representative of UA high school. Was this just a guest appearance? None of the forums online mentioned having All Might in their acceptance letters before.

“You, Midoriya Izuku, have done well on the written portion of the exam, scoring remarkably high in Mathematics in particular! Your overall grade was enough to pass and be a part of the twenty percent of the highest scoring students, but that only counts as half of the requirements to enter the hero program! Which brings us to the physical portion of the exam.” The smile looked a little strained now, even if Izuku was observing through a pre-recorded video. Maybe All Might remembered him from their last meeting… Or it was because his quirk status was documented as quirkless. It could be both.

“I’d rather he forget me, really.” Izuku didn’t want to be offered a quirk again. That sudden bout of confidence to say no to the Number One Hero was a once in a lifetime experience he doubted he would get again.

“You, young man, have managed to score thirty-two points as a pair with applicant Shinsou Hitoshi and another three with applicant Sero Hanta, totaling on thirty-five villain points all-in-all! Thirty-five points itself is the minimum requirement and is enough to pass the physical portion of the exam!” The ever-present grin then seemed even more forced, looking like he was gritting his teeth to deliver grim news instead of an announcement to be proud of. “But that’s not all.”

Izuku tensed as the screen changed to what he assumed to be camera footage during the exam, the zero-pointer taking up more than half of the screen. The audio was on while it played, and Izuku could see three little dots going against the flow of dozens of others, heading towards what everyone else was running from. Screams of horrified and probably traumatized teens echoed in his bedroom, conjoined by the groaning metal of the machine. Past-Izuku grabbed the end of a tape and was brought to the rooftop by Sero where one of the robot’s hands had a grip on it as leverage, which he then used as an impromptu bridge to get to its shoulders.

It was when a clip of him pulling at the bot’s wires played that a Mini-Might appeared on the hologram’s bottom right corner.

“You have not only motivated two others to help you in your endeavor, but also made a rather risky plan to simultaneously help the injured applicant and immobilize the threat! And it is for that reason that the secret rescue points exist!”

“...What?” Izuku asked, as the footage changed again to display both his points and over-all ranking.

“How could we call ourselves a hero-school without rewarding heroic traits, after all! The faculty who acted as judges scored you a whopping fifty points for your display of heroism, landing you in first place in the entrance exams!”

Digital confetti popped into the screen and UA’s logo appeared in the background.

“This is your hero academia!”

Then the video stopped.

This was the part where anyone else would be jumping for joy, crying happy tears, and maybe scream their success to the rooftops. At the very least, they would’ve celebrated. Or be happy. Or tell others what good news they received.

Anything could have happened, literally something else that wasn’t sitting there, blankly staring at the device like Izuku did at that moment.

Him at… first place? But he didn’t really aim for the top. Scratch that, he only wanted to pass! Was it right of him to feel wrong about an accomplishment like this? He didn’t want to aim high or be the best, but he still did get the highest score. There was no denying that. On one hand he’s glad that violence wasn’t the only thing that was rewarded in the exam, but on the other, Shinsou and Sero were the ones who saved the girl from more falling debris, and catching him as he jumped from a five story drop!

Did they give Izuku more points because he immobilized the bot? Did they reward villain apprehension more than rescuing those in need? How come he had higher rescue points than Shinsou and Sero despite working together to get the same results? Sero saved the two of them when they later on saved one together !

His derailing train of thoughts came to a halt, a ringtone stopping them in its tracks. Izuku numbly grabbed his phone and pressed the button, noting that it was Sero who started the group call.

“Bro, we passed!” From the tone itself Izuku could vividly imagine Sero grinning ear-to-ear. “I think my rescue points really saved me from being rejected, and I got sixty-two points!”

“Seventy-five,” Shinsou brought up his score. “And I didn’t think I’d get this… high.”

“I know, right? But apparently our little stunt at the end racked us up on more points. They could’ve said that it was a thing during assembly… But I guess that’s what the ‘secret’ part was for, huh?”

“Congratulations on placing first too, Midoriya.” It was still said monotonously, despite the message. “We planned to scrape by, but UA said otherwise.”

Izuku bit his lip as he glanced at his desk. Emotions whirled in his chest, but he didn’t even know if he should feel that way. Not to mention he couldn’t even name what exactly he was feeling. “Yeah…” he mumbled. “It’s, well, I didn’t really expect it.”

“...You doing alright?” Sero asked. His usual tone of cheer and ease was replaced by one of worry. “You don’t sound good.”

Shinsou hummed, sharing the same sentiment. Izuku was already aware of his sensitivity to asking questions, but a spark of warmth flared at being shown concern despite the discomfort.

Which only added to the turbulent mix of emotions he was experiencing simultaneously, but it was still a nice thing to be added to that.

“I mean, I think I’m happy? Probably? Yeah, no… I don’t know.” Izuku groaned, leaning back on his chair to look at the ceiling. “Is it weird I don’t want to be first place? It's not that I'm ungrateful or undeserving, it just feels off?”

“Definitely.” Wow. Thank you, Shinsou, for that wonderful answer. “But it’s not wrong to feel that way. And that sarcasm was unexpected too, but not unwelcome.”

He said that out loud. Of course he did.

“Either way,” Sero butted in to add his piece. “Shinsou’s right. You have your reasons, y’know? And you don’t have to tell us or justify it to others either. What’s important is that we all passed and—wait, what class are you guys in?”

Izuku rechecked his letter to look at the other documents delivered. There were at least five separate papers, and some were stapled together. In one of them, the paperwork for his personal information, had a section that said he was in Class 1-A.

He told the others as much.

“Cool! I’m in 1-A too. You, Shinsou?”

“...I’m holding the leash for another three years, I guess.”

Izuku chuckled at that, the feelings from earlier not quite gone, but lost their intensity thanks to the two. He just had to process it when he actually understood what it was, he guessed. “I’m not that bad, am I?”

Sero squawked. “You jumped!”

“And you two were there to catch me!”

“You’re crazy.”

“I thought we established that as a good thing, Shinsou?”

“It is.” And yet, Shinsou refused to elaborate.

Izuku could only laugh at whatever their group dynamic was called, happy that he wasn’t scolded for reacting weirdly. That’s what he got for lacking proper social interaction for over a decade, probably. And it wasn't that he hated his ranking. It's just that the spot wasn't a place he'd claim for himself.

He'll leave others to fight for that glorified podium. He's content to be right where he was, exchanging banter with his friends.

The top seemed like a lonely place to be at, anyway.

“Mom,” he said, breaking the silence that settled on the dining table ever since ten months ago. Probably surprised for that exact same reason, his mother looked up to pay attention to whatever he was about to say without the usual gloom in her eyes. The news would make her happy. Hopefully. “I passed my high school entrance exam.”

“That’s great sweetie.” She smiled. “What… Which high school did you apply for?”

Izuku bit his lip, but said the name regardless. 

“UA High.”

The smile dropped. “Oh.”

She looked down to her plate, poking at the food with her chopsticks.

The lightbulb above them suddenly felt like a spotlight, putting all focus on them. It made the silence in between all the more deafening, his loud heartbeat setting the rhythm. The divide between mother and son had never felt any wider in that moment, despite how there was only a table’s length between them. So close, yet so far. So very loving, but…

“I need you to sign some papers,” he continued, averting his gaze as well. “Parental consent, and all that.”

“I… sure, Izuku. I’ll sign them after we eat.”

And the quiet returned as if it wasn’t disturbed in the first place. As soon as he was done eating, he stood to leave and fetch the forms, returning only after a few minutes to make sure his mother had time to recollect herself. It was probably a bad thing that he didn’t tell her about this earlier. Then again, once she knew she would have tried to discourage him from even taking the exam in the first place. She worried a lot for his safety, shown concerns over his future, but those were all given without trust in his abilities.

From the moment she said sorry, it felt like she gave up her hopes on him. Like all he could ever do from then on was to disappoint. And the moment he disproved her misconceptions, all that shame was redirected towards herself.

Either way, he was thankful that she signed his papers. And if he heard her gasp seeing his placement in the entrance exams, he ignored the rising amalgamation of feelings he failed to process when he first heard the news too.

The rest of the week was spent following his daily routine, with the added bonus of occasionally chatting or calling with his two friends. He trained, jogged, and prepared to cook the right food for his diet. He continued to analyze hero fights, all the while missing the nightly self-defense lessons that made his body ache when morning came. He also passed whatever forms he needed to submit to make his enrollment to the hero program official, hero-costume design included. Some of its details gave a nod to his Sensei, for being the sole hero (so far) that did what the Number One Hero couldn't, and the base design reminiscent of his vigilante-like get up he’d gotten used to wearing during all those months. 

And then came their first day of classes.

It was when he wore the official first-year uniform that it dawned on him that he made solid progress. Looking at the full-body mirror, red tie in hand, someone that finally had things going according to plan looked directly at him. That person had a lithe yet muscular frame, and carried themself straight that had their shoulders squared and chin raised. Viridian eyes shone with confidence which they lacked for many years prior, proudly displaying its light that was nearly snuffed months ago by one careless dismissal. The uniform they wore was crisp and clean, colors that represented an academic institution renowned for its prestige and reputation that was only furthered by its top-ranking alumni. And they…

They stared at their own reflection in awe.

Izuku looked like a new person and remained unchanged at the same time. It felt like he was finally able to just… be. Be himself, be who he always wanted to be, be the person that he could have been if only he was given the chance to bloom.

And there were no what if's anymore, not when he was realistic. He didn't mind the reality he saw right in front of him. He was proud of where he stood right now, and the steps he would soon take from then on.

With the bag he already packed the day before, he went towards the door and wore his red shoes. Seeing it paired with the clothes he wore was jarring, like it was a combination that shouldn't be made; but it was for that reason he smiled wider . It was a dissonance that settled any sort of imbalance in his chest. A discord that wrought his worries to calm. 

He took his first few steps forward and was about to turn the door knob, arms already outstretched, when he was stopped by a call.

"Izuku?" someone asked.

He looked back to see his mother whose hands fidgeted with anxiety, a kind that he experienced one too many times himself. She opened her mouth to a shape so familiar, one that preceded many apologies and shaky hugs, only to close it immediately after. She swallowed and Izuku waited with bated breath, anticipation being the only thing stopping him from discontinuing the silence himself. He bit his lip to make sure.

"...Have a nice day." She smiled; guilty, but hopeful .

He reciprocated it with a small one of his own, glad that his mother was the one to reach out for the first time since he could remember. And he left the apartment smiling, more subtle than the one he wore before passing through the doorway.

Though it wasn't by any means less genuine. 

And as he took the long route to UA, the little habit of his never broken, that expression of his never faded. So far, it has been a nice day.

He hummed a song to himself during his walk, a pep present in his step along the way.

Chapter Text

Once he arrived at the gates, he saw both Shinsou and Sero waiting for him at the side of the main path. A memory nagged at him like it was clawing to resurface in his mind, the familiarity of the situation not lost on him. Still, Izuku greeted the two with a wave of his hand, a sense of warmth settling in his chest when he received a nod of recognition from one and an enthusiastic reply from the other.

There wasn’t any need to mention who did what given the disparity in personalities.

They entered the building side-by-side chatting all the while, exchanging thoughts and opinions as they wondered what would greet them on their first day of classes. He couldn’t help but compare it to how it used to be back when he was younger and still had friends, and… The similarities stopped at the greetings. It wasn’t because he was dragged back to the present by a direct jab from Shinsou, or teased lightly for his mumbling by Sero.

He simply couldn’t remember a time where he stood with his friends, rather than behind them standing in the shadows they cast. And Izuku wasn’t insinuating his short height, either.

“Everything’s so big in here.” Sero whistled and looked around, trying to find a sign of their classroom based on what little they could remember of the building’s layout. “I think that we could stack three All Mights on top of each other and they still wouldn’t reach the ceiling.”

“Gigantification quirks exist.” Izuku felt the need to point it out, the quirk analysis he had made on Mount Lady weighing heavily in his pocket. “Maybe it’s to accommodate their size?”

What he didn’t mention was that after taking note of the small test Nedzu conducted using one loose brick—a test that he had passed, he mused—Izuku revisited his old analysis of the principal. Watching what few fights the hero had, the way Nedzu executed his moves all seemed so well-planned. It’s as if the steps the villain would take were predetermined, the decisions they had made were predicted, and any sort of surprise would be immediately accounted for with Nedzu taking it in stride. Although fights were often dragged on for the benefit of torturing the by-then-remorseful criminal, there were little to no collateral damage besides what he intentionally broke in apprehending the villain. All in all, there was a reason why Izuku and the other newcomers felt like they were navigating what was essentially a labyrinth scaled to make humans feel small. Nedzu’s sadism towards their kind wasn’t really a well-kept secret, and Izuku was sure that that was intentional—

“Bro, what the hell?”

Izuku blinked. Ah, he said that out loud didn’t he?

“Yes, you did,” answered Shinsou while Sero was recovering from the cluster of information that Izuku had intended to keep undisclosed.

Which Izuku failed to do, so whoopsie?

“Assuming that it was also made for Midoriya’s first guess… public quirk use isn’t exactly legal.” Shinsou then stopped at a door. Looking up, Izuku could see the sign for 1-A painted in bold red. He thought that Sero managed to process the info-dump too, considering how he was also listening to their friend make an attempt to change subjects. “Unless they’re licensed heroes, I don’t see why someone would use their quirks so casually.”

And as if the universe sought to challenge that statement, an explosion could be heard from within the classroom.

It was one that awfully reminded Izuku of fireworks.

“Wanna say that again?” said Sero.

Shinsou’s eye twitched at the disruption as Izuku opened the door. Another creatively strung together expletives was said in a volume so loud that it reached the doorway, with a voice so brash that Izuku pitied the receiving end of those scathing insults. He wisely ignored the source of the commotion and opted to look at the seating arrangement on the board instead. And he had planned on turning a deaf ear until their homeroom teacher arrived, but it was just his luck that he was assigned to seat no. 18.

It was the seat behind Katsuki’s.

“Lucky number eighteen,” teased Shinsou when he noticed Izuku’s crestfallen expression. His voice was monotone as always, but the hint of sarcasm was there. His friend showed no signs of trying to hide it either. “How fortunate of you to have a death not by zero-pointer, but by a constipated pomeranian.”

“Really encouraging, Shinsou.” Sero threw wood to stoke the fire.

“I do my best to please.” And Shinsou poured gasoline on it.

The warmth would’ve been appreciated if Izuku wasn’t the one currently burning.

“You three!”

All of them jumped at the shout, simultaneously pivoting to face whoever spoke in that authoritative tone. They then saw a tall spectacled boy fast approaching, an intense focus in his eyes locking at the sight of a new goal to reach. In a blink, he was only a couple feet away, offering a hand for the greeting.

“I am Iida Tenya from Soumei Junior High! And you are?”

Iida’s acknowledgement of their presence was what tipped the domino, causing the extroverts to pounce on fresh blood like the socialites they were. It would have been a heartwarming thought that they wanted to interact, if not for the fact that only one of the three was decent with verbal communication. Sneaking a glance to his side, Shinsou himself looked like he’d rather face another horde of two-pointers rather than his own classmates.

And then, when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, their voices rose in volume.

“DEKU?!?!” That was Katsuki.

“Oh my gosh, it’s you guys!” The girl they saved during the entrance exam.

“You were the three that stopped a zero-pointer!” A blond with a distinctive black streak.

“THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE, NERD?!?!?!” Another one from Katsuki.

“Isn’t my glitter magnifique?” A… sparkling blond?

Izuku’s senses were steadily becoming overwhelmed, the ones causing it oblivious to him and his friend’s distress. He learned his lesson earlier, so he bit his lip to avoid saying anything potentially insulting and have them think he was replying to them. They were friendly, don’t get him wrong, but his personal bubble felt like it was being invaded ten times over.

And it was foreign presence that made him move.

He jumped away from the front of the room, landing close to a redhead with sharp teeth. His training response kicked in when his mind blanked out, confusing those introducing themselves to him and his friends to silence. Goosebumps ran through from the base of his spine to the back of his neck, alarming him of someone that tried to sneak up from behind. Someone was treading from within their blind-spots. But as familiar as his reaction was, he couldn’t help but feel that he was experiencing it in the wrong place at the wrong time. This sort of presence was particular to that man, after all. Steady and silent, moving with the grace of a cat.

Confusion swirled in Izuku’s head, all until he looked down to see what caused it in the first place.

…Oh.

Well, that explained one thing.

…

Actually, wait.

He had so many questions.

Three feet away from him, lying flat on the ground, the personification of exhaustion stared right into his soul with bloodshot eyes. Those dead eyes belonged to someone he thought he wouldn’t see again after leaving that rooftop. Obviously, he was proved wrong in the form of a human-sized caterpillar.

Maybe Sero wasn’t wrong about UA having everything so needlessly large.

What was Sensei doing at UA? Why was Sensei in front of him? Was this person even Sensei? For some reason, he couldn’t understand how the man who taught him how to survive with nothing but a pen was also the gruff looking insomniac cocooned in a garish yellow sleeping bag.

Wait, he could.

Sensei displayed his duality before, like the time he wore pigtails he couldn’t get undo himself. According to him, he lost a bet. (The cursed imagery was forever seared on the underside of Izuku’s eyelids.)

And then there’s the fact that UA’s security was renowned for being impenetrable, not just anyone could get through the main gates of UA. The only exceptions to the rule were students, guests, and staff. Was Sensei actually a sensei? That explained things a bit, but that made him ask more. Teachers in UA are mostly heroes. Does this mean Sensei’s a hero? Taking into account the time they met, probably during or before patrol, was Sensei an Underground Hero?

Oh God, Izuku hugged a hero. A hero taught Izuku self defense! A hero almost caught him not-being a vigilante. Sensei was a sensei who taught at UA. Sensei was going to continue being his Sensei. Who was still staring at him. Three feet away from Izuku.

The only blessing he had spanning the four seconds he froze like a deer in headlights was that he had enough presence of mind to keep biting his lip. None of his thoughts that were still going at miles a minute passed through his nonexistent brain to mouth filter.

Celebrate small victories.

Tiny, miniscule, infinitesimal victories.

At least he didn’t pass out from sheer mortification, right?

“Good spatial awareness, Midoriya.” Sensei surveyed the others with appraisal as he got up from the floor, sleeping bag drooping at his sides like he was a butterfly going through molt. “The rest of you, it took you four seconds to notice me. That was four seconds too long. If I had been an enemy, everyone besides Midoriya would be dead.”

Good to know that everyone was now reacting the same way he was, staring at Sensei silently as their minds rebooted from the crash.

“Uhm,” the sharp toothed boy he jumped towards spoke. “Who are you?”

“I’m Aizawa Shouta, Class 1-A’s homeroom teacher.”

And that's what got everyone out of their shocked stupor. From the corner of his eye, Izuku saw Iida debating whether it was worthwhile to reprimand his own teacher for his ‘improper’ get-up. Little did he know, this was most likely to be Aizawa-sensei’s hero costume.

Having a name to refer Sensei to was weird.

“Enough with the chatter.” He dropped a stack of uniforms on the podium beside him. “Grab one and change, we’re doing an assessment at the field.”

“What do we need an assessment for on our first day?” It was the brunette from before who asked.

Sensei was already well on his way exiting the room when he paused at the door, turning his head to address the teens.

“You’re here to be heroes, aren’t you?” He faced back to the halls and took a step, then another, and another, uncaring whether they decided to follow or not. “If so, show me why you deserve to stay here.”

When Aizawa-sensei was out of their line of sight, Izuku grabbed a uniform his size and shared looks with his friends, prompting them to do the same.

As much as Izuku was caught off guard from the appearance of a character he never thought he’d meet again, he was glad he remembered a lot of things about Sensei. He meant what he said. He never lied. Half-truths were resorted to sometimes, and so was the refusal to explain himself when he already said his piece. He did the latter more often than not, no matter how cryptic his answer was to someone else.

And it was because he knew Sensei that he hurried to change, slowing his pace as he headed towards the nearest changing room only enough so it wouldn’t be considered running in the halls. He noted that his friends were catching up, having a semblance of the idea why exactly they had to hurry.

Earlier, Aizawa-sensei emphasized punctuality in timing within three or so sentences. He didn’t say any more than he needed to. It was in character for him to do so.

He just never thought he’d be the type to actually teach teenagers as a full-time job. Seriously, as much as he respected the man, he looks like he thrives on isolation and consumes caffeine as a living necessity.

“Explain,” said Shinsou once they finally found the room and started removing their uniforms.

The skin below his lip throbbed when he let it go with his teeth. He’d been biting his lip too much recently. “I, the thing is, uh…” Midoriya pulled his poorly knotted tie loose and unbuttoned his shirt, stalling on the last one as he finished his sentence. “I kinda know who Sensei is? And he knows me? And I think I know he’s him but he doesn't know I'm me?” He removed his shirt and was quick to replace it with the gym uniform. No need to change the subject to his scars.

“And…?” Sero tried to coax more answers out of him while trying to figure out how to fit his elbows through the jacket's sleeves. “I’m sensing a story.”

And oh , what a story it was. But as much as he wanted to ramble on about all the things he was grateful for, the efforts the man had spent on Izuku for his own safety, the clock was still ticking. By the time their other classmates entered the room, spearheaded by Iida, the three of them were zipping up their jackets.

“All I can say for now is that he’s someone you have to listen to.” He recalled some of the more memorable interactions he had with Sensei. From the time he was attacked to the comfort he had been given by head pats, his intent and actions told different stories. And all Izuku needed to do to understand him despite the conflicting messages was to simply read between the lines. “...You just have to listen carefully.”

“How ominous,” was all Shinsou said, but followed him anyways as they exited the room and tried to find the quickest route to the fields.

He felt like jumping out of his skin at any moment, heart beating so loud it set the tempo for his footsteps. Anyone would have felt mortified and downright embarrassed for hugging someone so suddenly. It definitely broke, like, at least four social rules; never mind how his emotions made him caught up in the moment.

But he wasn’t nervous because of that. Or… only that.

It was the excitement, the anticipation of being taught once more by someone he knew who wouldn’t see him as a lost cause. It was at the thought of getting to know the man properly as Aizawa-sensei, his homeroom teacher. It was from the unexpected reunion that was in a pattern not unlike the times Sensei had trained him for spatial awareness.

And when they finally did reach the field, the man standing there waiting for them to come, he smiled. He was happy, content, and now that he thought about it, never could have imagined having any other teacher than Sensei himself. He hoped that his classmates would come to see Aizawa-sensei in the same way he did, too.

Though, he also hoped the man wouldn’t scare them as a first impression like he did with Izuku’s. He wouldn’t wish that scenario upon anyone.

“You brought a notebook with you.”

Hitoshi gave up observing their homeroom teacher when the man stood still as a statue. There wasn’t anything immediately of note to his person besides the aura he exuded, so he couldn’t be blamed for finding interest in the mundane. And if that was one small notebook peeking out from his friend’s pocket? Well, he’s far more likely to be entertained by whatever next plot twist Midoriya decided to pull out of nowhere.

“Huh? Oh, yeah.” The freckled teen took the notebook from his jacket and flipped through it. Empty and clean, it was probably new. “The habit of bringing one never left.”

“Why’d you bring one?” asked Sero. “Were we supposed to? I doubt Sensei would give us a class lecture here, though.”

“They’re for analysis!” Then a spark in his viridian eyes appeared that Hitoshi learned preceded ramblings. Very long ramblings. “I used to only do hero quirk analysis, but a little less than a year ago I started doing analysis in general instead. Weaknesses, strengths, possible improvements, the location of fights or evacuations, statistics, support gear, you know, the likes. Organizing and memorizing them mentally is hard though, which is why I write them down in these.”

Hitoshi then remembered the short spiel Midoriya had after defeating a three-pointer, the one that was cut-off from the appearance of another greater threat. “We should’ve known from the entrance exams.”

“Mhmm. I’m still improving it in on-the-spot situations, but I think I’m doing decently well! Because if others have quirks to help them in heroism, I want my main tool to be this.”

Hitoshi blinked. “You mean—”

“Ten minutes.”

The three of them looked up to see everyone was there, lined up side-by-side facing Aizawa-sensei. Hitoshi put his curiosity aside for later.

“Satisfactory for now, but I expect you to be here in five minutes at most the next time I tell you to change. As for the assessment,” He grabbed a clipboard from somewhere and flipped the papers attached to it. “We will have a Quirk Apprehension Test. I have already seen your performance during the physical portion of the entrance exams, and that tells me little to nothing about your basic skills. I could have checked your information from middle school to see your records, but the higher-ups in education have made it so that you couldn’t use your quirks in physical assessments. I find their reasoning irrational, as quirks should be considered when determining a person’s limitations. And so, you will be completing the eight standard physical tests today, and I task you all to find creative quirk applications to improve your performance.” He looked pointedly towards their trio. "No team-ups this time."

Sensei grabbed a dark-gray ball from his pocket and tossed it towards Blasty. The blond caught it in one hand, looking at it then towards the man with an eyebrow raised.

“Bakugo,” he continued. “You earned the most villain points during the exam. What was your record for the ball toss?”

“‘Round sixty-seven meters.”

“Step into the circle. Do whatever as long as you don’t leave it.”

A tug on his sleeve made Hitoshi redirect his attention to his friend beside him.

“You might want to cover your ears, guys.” Midoriya then turned to Sero. “Oh, and could you tell the girl with purple hair and the guy with a mask over there to cover theirs too? I’m not totally sure, but I think they have sensitive hearing.”

Sero assured him with a grin and walked away to do so.

And even after Blasty was done with his explosive display, Hitoshi was half-tempted to keep his hands on his ears to continue blocking out the noise. What followed was a pattern he already knew with the compliments, praises, the good things and all that. But no matter how many times he had already seen and heard the same song and dance, it never failed to make him miffed.

It was when he reluctantly lowered his hands that he realized maybe he missed out on something important. Who knew what caused that kind of glare from their inexpressive sensei.

“Fun? You think this is a game? Oh, I’ll make this fun.” Gone was his hunched and slouching figure as he stood to his full height. “I believe that UA is an institution that could cultivate teens like you to their fullest potential. For that same reason, I see no use keeping students who have none. ”

“You’re going to expel us?!” someone exclaimed.

“Such is a logical decision. And to the likes of you, those who don’t have potential would be…”

He trailed off, waiting for one of them to finish the sentence for him. No one spoke immediately after, and a few moments later a girl who had her hair in a ponytail stepped forward. “I have reason to believe that it would be the one who places last in the assessment.”

Hitoshi heard others muttering agreements, even though sensei didn’t say anything to confirm or deny her answer. There was only a blank stare. But his lack of a response seemed to be enough as his classmates assumed the girl answered correctly.

“Ponytail’s damn right!” added Blasty. The only one who’s bold enough to support her out loud. "Weak extras got nothing to prove, might as well kick 'em out while we're at it."

“But that’s so unfair!” a brunette complained. Hitoshi had to grit his teeth at the mention of that one particular word. “You can’t just do that, you’re being unreasonably mean!”

And oh how Hitoshi wanted to cover his ears again. He ignored whoever spoke next, opting to separate himself from what's happening in the moment.

Life was unfair. Society was unfair. Being valued solely for a quirk you were born with was unfair. Many things she could have blamed in this fucked up world and it would’ve been true. And towards their sensei’s logic?

She couldn’t have been more wrong.

It nagged at him that when the odds were against them, it was only then they speak about the supposed unfairness. Did they think victory was merely handed to the heroes? Like winning was what they were owed instead of something to be earned? Why was it that they called this assessment unfair, when the entrance exam was equally, if not more, unjust?

Thousands among thousands passed through those gates, and only thirty-six of those did it again the following week. Had the rest not worked hard enough? Did they put in too little effort? Or were they unfortunate to have incompatible quirks on a physically-oriented entrance exam?

Hitoshi would’ve never gotten in without Midoriya’s help. He would’ve been in General Education right now planning for a way to transfer courses if not for his friend going the extra mile to talk to him.

“Are you doing okay?” Sero bumped his shoulder, knocking him out of his spiral. “You’re frowning.”

Hitoshi sighed. “Peachy.”

“We’re going to do just fine.” Considering how it was Midoriya who said it, the one who knew Sensei the best among them, the reassurance did its work. “I know you guys have potential, and so do the others from what I’ve seen…” His gaze landed on the blond.

The two had history together, from what Hitoshi could tell.

Still, Midoriya had a smile despite the circumstances. “There’s nothing to worry about, so just do your best!”

“Midoriya, you got last place.”

‘Nothing to worry about’ his ass.

Teamwork wasn’t allowed as explicitly stated by their sensei, so Hitoshi couldn’t even brainwash Midoriya to do the exercises without his mental blocks. (What a thought that was, willingly using his quirk for others’ sake.) His friend did have a decent physique, and the stamina he displayed during the endurance run was clearly above average. But compared to a class that excelled in at least one test thanks to their quirk? Midoriya did his best, but his scores and theirs had a gap too wide to diminish on his own.

There wasn’t much creative thinking he could do in such a simple, straightforward exercise.

“I know,” his friend answered.

“And?”

“I believe this was a Quirk Apprehension Test.” He took out the notebook from his jacket. “And I think I did well in that.”

Midoriya flipped the pages, and from this close Hitoshi could see that the empty notebook from earlier was now filled. Names at the top were written in neat hiragana, probably taken from when Aizawa-sensei called out their names. Quirk analyses were below descriptions of his classmates’ physical appearances, taking note of both vestigial and quirk mutations. And most importantly…

“I did some analyses on the quirks used today and how they could’ve better utilized it on some tests. Hagakure could have removed her clothes and lied about her results in sit-ups, seated toe touch, and repeated side-steps. It might sound unfair or wrong but it’s well within bounds of ‘using her quirk to its fullest’ given that no one could prove she lied. Then there’s Sero who could have sling-shotted himself for the fifty-meter dash by attaching the ends of his tape to a nearby tree and quickly retracting it to his… dispensers? Is that what they’re called?” He received a nod from Sero. “Yeah, he could have retracted them back to his dispensers instead of running on foot like he did. Sorry by the way, Sero, for not suggesting that sooner. I didn’t know you could do that until I saw it after the test was done.”

“And there are more analyses in that notebook besides those two students?”

“Yes.”

The man stared at Midoriya for a few moments before sighing. “Hand me the notebook tomorrow at homeroom when you’re done organizing the information. I need to see if this analysis of yours can be furthered with help.”

“You mean you're not going to expel him?” Ojiro asked.

“No.”

Their classmates murmured and looked at him with different reactions. Half of the class was relieved that none of them were sent packing home, and the other was confused as the man seemed serious with his threat.

“You said whoever gets last place would get expelled!” said Mina.

“I didn’t.” He shifted his gaze towards Yaoyorozu. “She did. What I said was that whoever had no potential would be expelled. Your collective interpretation of that, as stated by Yaoyorozu, was this would be someone who ranks the lowest among all of you. You assumed my intentions without me confirming nor denying her hypothesis, and it was your own biases that made you overlook what little facts there were.”

Hitoshi stood a little straighter.

“Let this be your first lesson.” Aizawa-sensei leveled them all with a look that urged them to take whatever he would say next to heart. “Rank does not dictate your worth.”

He gave them a few seconds to let that statement sink in. Hitoshi took those moments to realize that maybe this was why Midoriya respected the man so much, and why he wouldn’t be opposed to doing the same too. The first adult-figure he’d come to respect ever since… well, ever since. He’s been experiencing a lot of firsts, lately.

“Anyways, grab your syllabus before you head home,” the man continued. “Dismissed.”

Everyone turned to get back inside the building, but Hitoshi noticed that Midoriya didn’t immediately do the same as the others. He turned just in time to see his freckled friend give a nod of acknowledgement to their sensei before heading inside himself. And it was for that same reason he saw their sensei lose composure for the first time that day.

Huh, weird.

As the class walked back to their room, many shared their opinions on their homeroom teacher amongst one another. It wasn’t like any of them expected that they’d get threatened with expulsion and be taught an important life lesson in the same hour. Not to mention the fact it all occurred when they should have been attending orientation with the rest of the student body in the first place.

“So…” Sero started. “He’s sorta intense.”

Midoriya chuckled at that. “You could say that.”

“You told us to listen,” said Hitoshi. “And I’m guessing he always plays with logic.”

“Haha, yeah…” He answered with a fond expression. “You have no idea.”

“And he’s a sadist too.”

“Oh definitely." Midoriya met his gaze and stated, "he kicked me between the legs that one time.”

Sero tripped and caught himself before falling face-first. “He did wHAT?! ”

So it seemed that Midoriya worrying the fuck out of Sero was going to be a common trend. Hitoshi could only watch as one shook the other back and forth as if to rattle the answers out of the freckled teen.

God how’d Hitoshi get friends like them.

“You can come out now.”

The silhouette of a spindly man jumped out of their skin the moment they were called out. Shouta didn’t know what else they were expecting when they decided to hide behind a tree. Stealth was an act that needed the appropriate amount of skill to pull off, and it doesn’t seem like they put much into it considering the result of their efforts.

“How long did you know I was there?” they asked, scratching their head as they approached. They seemed sheepish that they were caught in the act, or that they were hiding to spy on Shouta’s class in the first place.

“Irrelevant,” was all he answered. “What I would like to know is why you were there.”

Then they started sweating bullets.

Shouta didn’t need Tsukauchi’s quirk to know they weren’t going to be entirely honest for the next few seconds.

“Oh! It’s, you see, I wanted to know how the heroes here teach in a reputable school like UA! And during the orientation I… and probably the rest of the school, couldn’t help but notice the significant lack of your students. I got curious, that's all!”

Shouta didn’t need to respond to that, so he didn’t. Instead, he got to cleaning what few tools and devices he used for the apprehension test, now ignoring the presence of the hero as much as he could. He picked up the last box that he needed to carry back to the faculty when they spoke again.

“...Don’t you think you were a little too hard on young Midoriya?”

It took all his control to not drop the box right then and there. It was for that same reason he wasn’t able to hide how his body tensed at the mention of his name. How was he supposed to know those two quirkless teens were one and the same? He was hoping to shove that for later when he was somewhere more secluded, not when he was with the company of the wrong loud blond.

Shouta took a breath and released it, bringing with it the tension he built on his shoulders.

Later. He could unpack that later.

“Midoriya’s stronger than you give him credit for, and I would’ve given the same treatment to anyone else should they place last.” He started walking towards the entrance to the building, the steps taken well-memorized through muscle memory. “I needed to send a message, and it had to have an impact.”

The blond persisted to continue their conversation, not taking the hint that Shouta wanted to leave it at that. “What was it? The message, I mean.”

He abruptly stopped in his tracks, making the other stumble in their steps to avoid bumping into the underground hero.

Turning slightly, he observed the unwanted company with critical eyes. He didn’t think this would fly over their head. No, Shouta simply knew. It was why he had to construct that whole situation earlier to let the students witness it first-hand. Experience was one of the best teachers there are.

“It’s a lesson you’ll come to learn yourself,” he simply said to the Number One Hero, then turned to leave.

By the time he entered the faculty room and dropped the box of tools on Maijima’s desk, he took the shortest route to his table. Perhaps it was also the Gods taking pity on him that Hizashi was also lounging in his own cubicle, the one right next to his.

“Hey Shou! Whatcha—Oh you’re whipping out the sleeping bag this early?”

“Long day.”

He shuffled until he was mostly lying underneath his desk, pulling the zipper up to his chin.

“Have you expelled any kids?” Hizashi sat on the floor beside him, thankfully blocking the lights from directly hitting his eyes. “The betting pool’s still open until Nedzu comes by to drop the expulsion papers.”

“...I wanted to.”

His husband hummed. “So you didn’t.”

“Mm.”

Shouta closed his eyes and sighed, making an attempt to further dispel the stress and tension from his body now that he felt as safe as he could be. He was still ready for any hero-related emergencies, but for now… he could afford to lower his defenses in these few moments.

Then he realized his need to bring it up.

“...Remember what you say when I worry too much?”

Hizashi huffed. “That I could take care of myself? I say it like, every week. Of course I’d remember!”

Shouta opened his eyes ever so slightly to peer from behind his draped hair. There wasn’t any need for this much caution, he knew. It was mostly for his own peace of mind that he did what he could to prevent situations from happening. Or be made worse. Or result in what he loathed to think of the most, even if it was a non-zero possibility.

No matter what he did it was always a non-zero possibility.

But he also knew that a worry to that degree was unwarranted, given that he should trust in Hizashi’s abilities as a fellow hero. And following the same logic…

“I didn’t expel Fifth.”

Hizashi choked on air. Recovering, he managed to say, “Oh. Okay, that’s—say that again, but from the top, because it feels like I missed something important here.”

“I wanted to expel Fifth, but I didn’t.”

“My darling, my beloved, my homo hobo, you know that doesn’t explain anything.”

“It explains everything, actually.”

Immediately after, cue a longer than necessary spiel about his pseudo-adopted kid attending UA. And Hizashi could disguise it as an endless rant all he wanted, but Shouta was all too aware of the intended effect he wanted his monologue to have.

But his voice never failed to ease his worries, so he didn’t complain about it now.

Chapter Text

Thankfully, the first half of the following day was somewhat normal. Or at least, it was as normal as it could be when they were taught by well-known heroes.

Homeroom was spent filling them in on the details that they were supposed to be aware of during orientation. Schedules, basic rules, alarms, the faculty… and what made it interesting wasn’t the words Sensei said. Most, if not all, students were taking notes as they listened with rapt attention. No one wanted to fall for another logical ruse, it seemed. Once was enough for them to know Aizawa-sensei meant what he says, and only what he says.

It was only their second day and the man encouraged vigilance without even lifting a finger.

Impressive, but here Izuku hoped that Sensei wouldn’t scare his classmates.

He passed the notebook just as homeroom was ending, exchanging nods with Aizawa-sensei as per routine. As far as he could tell, only one of them was taking their unexpected reunion well. Identity reveals too, but knowing each other’s names didn’t have as much impact as seeing his mentor in UA.

“Oh, and one more thing.” Sensei was already exiting the room when something in the halls caught his attention. “Those with good hearing, cover your ears.”

Everyone covered their ears immediately.

And it was only a few seconds later that they internally sent their thanks.

Yamada-sensei entered their classroom with a quirk-augmented “GOOD MORNIN’ NEW LISTENERS!”, the greeting rattling the windows beside Izuku. Strutting his way to the podium with the confidence his hero persona was known to have, the hero flashed them a wide grin and started his overly enthusiastic introduction to his lesson.

…Yeah, it was as normal as it could be.

A tap on his shoulder had Izuku directing his attention to the classmate behind him. The trio were ridiculously lucky that they were all seatmates, with Shinsou on the one behind him and Sero to his right. It made talking during breaks easier when they didn’t have to ask a classmate permission to sit in their place.

“I’ve been meaning to… ask… about this Midoriya.” Sero noticed Shinsou initiating a conversation and repositioned his chair to face his table. “But it’s fine if you don’t want to answer,” he rushed to tack at the end.

“I don’t mind answering your questions, Shinsou.”

“You say that now.” He scoffed, still unable to meet either of their eyes.

Worried at his friend’s tone, Sero raised his hand to place it on Shinsou’s shoulder to reassure, but it only made him tense more. He settled with patting it instead, retracting his hand after.

“Before the apprehension test, you mentioned having analysis as your main tool.” One of his hands retreated to rub the back of his neck. The next words he uttered were barely above a whisper. “The reason why you won’t use your quirk, is it because it’s dangerous, too?”

“I-”

At first, it was a relief that Shinsou didn’t see his quirk as villainous. The way he disagreed with the rumors from expression alone was enough for Izuku to tell. It was that sort of perspective that took him years too long to realize that he wasn’t what others described him to be; that quirkless didn’t mean useless or worthless. So speaking from experience, he was grateful Shinsou wouldn’t have to go through the equivalent of a villain attack for him to realize his own worth.

But while Izuku had to battle with acknowledging that he was enough, Shinsou had trouble being identified as someone other than a ticking time-bomb. He carried his quirk more like a burden rather than a fragment of what made him whole. He had to be careful of how he used it in every waking moment or else he would be labeled by another unwanted name.

It didn’t take much work to connect the dots that this was his reason why he never asks anything.

Except when Shinsou felt it was most needed, Izuku assumed. So he had to respond to that with something of equal appropriateness. It was the least he could do.

“I’m quirkless." He could see Sero’s eyes widen in his peripheral vision. He ignored it for now, in lieu of focusing solely on Shinsou. “And I don’t think any quirk is inherently good or bad, like how tools are only tools until someone uses them.” He said these words slowly, both for Shinsou to absorb them better and for him to think through them carefully. Izuku didn’t want to mess this up. “Your quirk doesn’t define you. You define your quirk.”

“That’s the thing—”

“And so far,” he interrupted. “You’ve only been heroic.”

“I… what?”

The look Shinsou wore was uncharacteristically… expressive, more so than usual.

“Mido’s right, bro!” Shinsou brought the hand down from his neck and turned to Sero. “I only caught a brief glimpse cuz’ I was too busy worrying about Mido here, but you saved Uraraka with the help of your quirk, right? If anything, you’ve only been heroic as far as I’m concerned.”

Their friend didn’t seem to know what to say. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came out, voice stuck in his throat as he processed what he’d been told. Reassurance was all they were, that his actions were good in intent.

Those spoke louder than words, after all.

(Izuku ignored the flashing memories of Kacchan’s heroic quirk)

In the end, all their friend could do was sigh, combing their hair back with his fingers. “Fuck, okay, I got it.” He crossed his arms, but the upturn of his lips betrayed his portrayal of annoyance. “You guys are gonna be the death of me.”

Izuku scrunched his nose. “But we’re complimenting you though?”

“Exactly.”

…Weird. But if there’s one thing Izuku learned from Shinsou, it’s that weird wasn’t necessarily wrong.

“I just want to make it clear, though,” Sero spoke seriously. The tone made the two of them sober up, seeing as how he never acted like this before. “If anyone gives you shit about your quirk, or the lack of one for Midoriya’s case, tell me so I can shut them up with my tape.”

Shinsou blinked and Izuku gaped, desperately pushing back the tears for later.

It was the former who broke out of the trance first.

“Oh shit, you can curse."

“I-I think you corrupted him, Shinsou.”

“You give me too much credit," he snapped back.

“Don’t sell yourself short.”

“You're telling me I’m a bad influence.”

Izuku didn't dignify that one with a proper reply. He shrugged. “It’s self-acknowledgement.”

“That's rich coming from you.”

Sero watched them incredulously, muttering ‘the audacity’ under his breath. “...The one time I showed my concern without screaming.”

And at that reaction, they finally laughed, carefree as the pressure from their conversation dispelled at the friendly banter. It was then Izuku noticed familiar footsteps approaching them while the other two exchanged short and witty quips. Ones with a steady pace to their languid strides, weight heavy with confidence that was a mix between a march and a stomp. It seemed that Katsuki returned from his bathroom break.

The ten minute peace they had for a chat didn’t last long after his arrival either, but it wasn’t broken because of the blond.

Well, not that particular blond.

“I AM HERE—”

Sero’s chair screeched as he pushed it back towards his desk, and Izuku shifted in his seat to face the right way. The rest of their class jumped at the sudden boom of a voice the entirety of Japan heard on a regular basis, and all heads whipped to see whoever slammed the door open.

But they already knew who it was.

“ —AS YOUR HEROICS TEACHER!”

Let it be said that UA had an abundance of loud blonds.

And judging by the snort Sero let out, and the growling he could hear directly in front of him, he said that out loud. Time to bite, then.

The skin beneath his teeth throbbed.

Before participating in the exercise, they were sent to change into more appropriate wear. Hitoshi never thought they would be thrown into the deep end so soon into the school year, but then again this was essentially school-sanctioned violence. All Might seemed cool about it too, so it couldn’t be that bad. He’s the number one for a reason, right?

And now that they had more allowance to change into their hero costumes, Hitoshi took his time to admire the case in his hands. 19, it said, it’s weight grounding him that made his acceptance to UA feel all the more real.

He unclasped the latches that kept it locked, opening the case to see the gear he would wear for the first time. Between writing down the details in their forms and having it right in front of him, the latter had much more impact even though he already knew what to expect. The top was long-sleeved and high-collared, so high that it covered until his nose. The material it was made of was fire-proof, acid-proof, and slash-proof that Midoriya had recommended them to specify. Some portions, particularly around the neck, were stiff and had armor-like plates to protect potential weak spots from blunt attacks.

It was the voice-changer that interested him the most, though.

He requested for it to be similar to Present Mic’s directional speaker, a design Midoriya referenced when Hitoshi hinted he didn’t want anything mask-like that covered his mouth. It was a function embedded somewhere near the base of his collar that used vibration and pitch sensors to impersonate someone else. It also served as a cover to conceal most of his face. Hiding his identity was a priority of his to make sure he wouldn’t be recognized when in civilian-wear.

As a whole, his costume was mostly black with dark purple highlights streamlining at the sides. Gloves for protection, combat boots for ease of movement, and a utility belt filled with items he thought he would need as a hero-in-training.

He was stretching his limbs to test his range of mobility when someone tapped his shoulder. Tensing, he had to take a breath to once again loosen up. When he turned to see who it was, he stopped for a moment to assess their own get-up.

In short, Sero’s costume was colorful, fitting for someone who planned to get into Daylight Heroics. The tape dispenser gimmick was clearly there to boost his appeal to the public, and the costume itself was skin-tight, accentuating his lithe figure. With the black, white, and orange color scheme he had, it wouldn’t be that hard to catch the attention of passing pedestrians either. Even Midoriya had little to comment about it, save for the suggestion to have his helmet be made of the same lightweight metal as PowerLoader’s iconic head-piece.

“Is Midoriya done?” Sero asked.

Instead of answering, Hitoshi walked towards the stall Midoriya locked himself in and knocked on the door.

“Ah, i-is that you, Sero?”

“Shinsou,” he corrected. “The rest of the guys left just a minute ago, but we’re wondering if you need us to wait for you.”

“Umm.” Hitoshi could hear Midoriya tapping his foot, pondering. But if he wasn’t mistaken, it was to drown out the noise of something else. “You guys can go ahead. I-I think I’m just missing something, s-so I’ll recheck my case to f-find it.”

At that, he just shrugged. “You heard him, Sero.”

The trip to field Gamma was quick and quiet, the rest of their classmates having already left to not repeat whatever yesterday was. Partially, Hitoshi thought it was because Midoriya wasn’t with them. His mumbling acted as some sort of comforting backdrop to their walks, half of the time the mumbler was unaware that he was even doing so. Not that they minded, really. They wouldn’t ask him to stop when it did no harm.

“I meant what I said, y’know.”

Hitoshi gave his friend a side-glance but otherwise kept his head straight. “I know. You’re not the type to curse so casually.”

“Unlike you.”

He sighed, the ends of his lips curling against his will. “Unlike me.”

Another few seconds passed without any need for words to fill their silence. They took a turn at the end of a hall, the doors to the observation room for field Gamma within their sights.

It was in that moment where Hitoshi didn’t know what came over him. In hindsight, he could only assume it was gratitude of some sort, the type he couldn’t bring himself to say outright. Alluding to it, though…

“I know you think he doesn't seem that affected by it.” Hitoshi ignored Sero’s noise of confusion. “But he really appreciated what you said.”

“...Midoriya?” He hummed, placing a hand to his chin. “How could you tell?”

Hitoshi thought back his creeping suspicion when Midoriya took longer to change, even though the three of them were the earliest students to leave the room last time. He thought back to the noises Midoriya made in the stall, which was louder than how he usually carried himself during class. Then there was his stutter that appeared ever since Sero’s offer, disappearing and reappearing irregularly on their way to the changing room.

Hitoshi didn’t want to say it was obvious, but he simply knew their friend needed somewhere private to cry.

Happy tears, he could already imagine.

“I just do.”

Hitoshi couldn't blame Midoriya for reacting the way he did when he would've done the same. Now he and Sero only had to wait for when their friend felt more comfortable to show himself again.

(And Hitoshi to make eye contact with either of them, too)

They entered the room, All Might greeting them as he waited for the others to arrive. The two headed to the back of the room so that they would be able to see the entire area, with Hitoshi taking the lead since old habits die hard. From where they were, leaning against the wall, they watched as their classmates interacted with one another. A number of them were attempting to form groups, experimenting to see if they clicked with similar personalities. Some of them were comparing costumes while flaunting their designs; a blond in particular made it a point to show off his sparkly cape. Meanwhile a courageous few bothered the pomeranian with gusto, even if he made his displeasure as clear as day.

Hitoshi’s attention was on them, mostly brought upon by their volume. Midoriya wasn’t wrong in his claim that UA had a concerning amount of loud blonds, both students and in the faculty. It was why he saw the only redhead of that group perk up at something Hitoshi had yet to notice.

“Hey,” Kirishima called out. “Who let a kid in here?”

And every head turned to see what he was referring to.

Someone of small build swathed in a dark green bunny hoodie barely passed through the doorway before jumping at suddenly being the center of attention. The unidentified person’s clothes were plain and inconspicuous, something any other typical civilian would wear. With a mask covering the lower half of their face and the hood hiding their hair, the only skin they had exposed were from fingerless gloves.

They had no way of identifying who this person was… until they spoke.

“I’m not a kid!” They pulled both hood and mask down to reveal their increasingly flushing face. Hitoshi doubted it was caused by anger, though. “I know I’m short but I’m not that short.” And in typical Midoriya fashion, mumbled whatever followed next. What were the chances that Midoriya would have a friend like him who could read lips.

‘That’s what I get for copying him,’ he gleaned. Hitoshi could only guess who ‘him’ was.

As Midoriya approached the two, he put the hood back on to try and hide himself in embarrassment.

“When you said you didn’t want to be flashy…” Hitoshi trailed off as Midoriya hid himself from the rest of the class by shuffling behind him and Sero. “Neither of us would’ve thought you’d only wear a pair of pants and a hoodie. Even your boots seem so… standard.”

Midoriya huffed. “I was supposed to have more support gear, but I don’t think they were able to fit it in the case. It was either that or they thought my quirk-inspired ideas were too complicated concepts to replicate so I don’t have anything besides my paralytic-lined sheathes which is weird because they didn't approve the serrated knives. I also wrote in my specifications that I wanted my costume to look like normal clothes. It would’ve been helpful for disguises, recon, and blending in and stuff, to look like an unassuming civilian…” He tugged at the black face mask, which Hitoshi saw had three wire-like whiskers on the side. “I think they saw my height from my measurements and took… liberties, some illusions to make me seem smaller than I already am. Now I look younger than I already am.”

“So you’re like a wolf in sheep’s clothing,” commented Sero as he appraised their friend’s costume.

“Yeah… but I didn't ask for the ears. It's fine for now but I might have adjustments for it later.”

Hitoshi turned contemplative at that. “The design change would still be helpful.” He slapped his back to make Midoriya reflexively straighten up, then pushed his shoulders a bit to have him widen his stance. “The others don't know about your quirk status. Having you dressed so disarmingly might lower their defenses and underestimate you. It'd be your greatest strength."

“Yeah!” Sero agreed. “If they’re going to judge you like shit, at least make them regret it in the process.”

Hitoshi made a face at Sero. “You know, I don’t think I could ever get used to hearing you curse.” He then turned to Midoriya. “Remind me to never piss him off.”

But their friend’s response to that was to blink, looking between the two of them. “But I want to see who’d win in a fight between you two.”

He felt so cared for.

…But to be fair, they had been too honest with emotions for the past few minutes or so. That simply wouldn’t do. Hitoshi had to somehow restore balance to their dynamic even if he knew being able to confide in each other was a positive trait friendly relationships should aim to have. And as if fate decided to have things finally go well for them, that opportunity came in the form of the room’s door being slammed open.

And the one who opened it being a grimey, pink-haired student who still had her arms outstretched.

“WHERE IS THE EIGHTEENTH STUDENT?!” she shouted. No one knew how to react, even All Might himself gaping a bit at the sight of the crazed teen.

And like the good friend Hitoshi was, he shoved Midoriya to his front. The freckled teen looked back at him in betrayal, being offered like a sacrificial lamb to a hungry wolf.

The girl descended on him as a blur.

Izuku didn’t know what to expect when another student their age came looking for him.

But whatever he could’ve come up with, that wasn’t it.

“YOU!” She shook him back and forth, Shinsou had long taken a step back to avoid being hit by a stray limb. “YOUR BABY IDEAS ARE AMAZING !”

“W-what?” Grabbing her hands to get them off of his shoulders, he looked at her confused. He never even thought of kids for the past month!

She was happy to answer his inquiry, though. Izuku had a feeling she would have answered regardless of what he said.

“So us support gear students were tasked to look at your costume forms and basically criticize your baby designs which—” Her head snapped towards the rest of the occupants, “—SUCKS BY THE WAY! You have little to no creativity! Why so close minded?!?! Why only coolers when you could also have boosters? Why only boosters when you could have an entirely different power-source! BUT YOU EIGHTEENTH!” She faced him again and this close he could see her iris zooming in on him not unlike a focusing camera lens. “THEY’RE SIMPLY UNHEARD OF! TELL ME, my unofficial partner, how’d you come up with those?!?!”

“I took inspiration from quirks…?” He turned to the others, silently pleading for guidance on how to de-escalate the situation. He received nothing but an encouraging thumbs up from Sero. “I-the paddings on my gloves were from Rebound, Hazard’s quirk? And the ones on my elbows and knees have an extra cushion that I asked to be somewhat similar to Fatgum’s quirk that could stockpile force from blunt attacks—”

“ —that could be used later to augment your attacks with almost as much force!” And she beamed. “The fact that other support students saw your ten page form and strayed away from it made me interested because who would include so much detail into their costume as a first year and from then on I just knew I had to meet Eighteenth in person!” She wrapped her arm around his shoulder, dragging him to lower to her height. “You, my friend, are now my hero partner!”

Izuku stared at nothing as the girl beside him continued rambling. From more quirk-inspired gear to his written quirk analyses that he thought no one bothered to read. And yet here this student was, who not only listened to him now after getting out of her way to meet him, but was also overjoyed at what he had to say, as little as it was.

(When was the last time his words made someone smile?)

A cough startled the two and both of them faced the source.

“Uhm,” All Might started. “Miss…?”

“Hatsume Mei!” She extended a hand and gave out a professional looking, albeit oil splattered, business card to the hero. “Future CEO of Hatsume Industries!”

“Miss Hatsume,” he then continued. “If I remember correctly, support students aren’t supposed to partner with hero students for at least a semester into the school year.”

“Pfft, that’s an easy problem to solve!” She directed the next question to him. “You won’t mind bein’ reserved as my pre-partner right?”

Izuku blinked. “I mean, sure? Would that mean I could get some of my gear approved?”

“Some?! Make that all of them and more!”

Another cough came out of All Might, interrupting Hatsume before she could go off on another tangent. “Well, we still need to get on with the exercise. So if you could…?”

“Of course!” Then she went back to ignoring The Number One Hero. “Lunch with me tomorrow okay, Eighteenth? I still gotta work on some of your babies this break and—”

It took another five minutes before All Might was able to shoo her out. He even called another hero to escort her back to class.

During those five minutes, Izuku wasn’t so sure what to think of Hatsume. Based on what he had heard from his classmates’ gossip, they saw her as weird and obsessive. Someone who probably had a few screws loose and had no cap to limit her rambunctiousness. Shinsou and Sero weren’t as critical of her, but were definitely wary of the way she acts around him. They were only being protective friends, so he could easily rationalize their behavior.

But Izuku? Izuku then saw the passion she had for what she loves. It was a reflection to how he views his own analysis, the fixation they had to improve it just because. Even then, they celebrate the results of their efforts regardless of what the outcome was. It was the mere experience of being able to do it that brought so much joy, the process of carrying it out without fear of failure.

So maybe he wouldn’t be so opposed to going out and meeting her during lunch… Birds of the same feather stick together, right?

UA Analysis. Vol 2.

Battle Training Exercise No. 1 : Refer to Vol. 1 for quirks of Class 1-A

Hero Team D: Ojiro and Tokoyami vs Villain Team A: Yaoyorozu and Shouji
Pair A used hit and run tactics using Shouji’s quirk to provide reconnaissance. They had managed to capture Ojiro as Pair D decided to split-up, catching him off guard and knocking him unconscious by a sleeping gas made by Yaoyorozu. The same tactic did not work on Tokoyami who guarded the bomb. Despite having been knocked unconscious, his quirk, Dark Shadow, wasn’t recalled. (Hypothesis of being a separate sentient being proven true, note to update Vol 1.) This made Pair A be unable to ‘capture’ Tokoyami with the provided tape, and was soon overpowered by his quirk. Match won by Hero Team D, while MVP was Yaoyorozu as voted by majority.

Sidenotes:
Ojiro has little to no further inquiries in regards to his quirk itself. Might suggest having support gear to cover it, however. Something light and durable seeing as how he uses it as another limb, must have full range in mobility, and protection from fire and acid.

Tokoyami has a bird vestigial mutation, does that make him have similar characteristics to them? Allergies, molt, and others. Research more and observe, update Vol. 1 once questions are answered.

Yaoyorozu’s creation quirk could produce gas. If so, liquids are hypothetically possible as well. Suggest her emulating Midnight with her Somnambulist quirk whenever possible. Copying Mina would be unfavorable considering her skin hadn’t built up resistance to the pH levels of acids, but could be referenced to neutralize acids by instead producing weak bases.

To be able to hear that clearly, does Shouji have sensitive auditory nerves? Does it imply the same degree of sensitivity to other senses? Does his sense of touch limit itself to augmenting his strength, or could he tell textures by grazing with his fingertips? Would that make punching with his bare knuckles hurt, considering the sensitivity of his nerves? Update Vol. 1 once questions are answered.


Hero Team H: Mina and Aoyama vs Villain Team B: Bakugo and Kouda.
Kacch Bakugo left Kouda in charge of protecting the bomb and left to capture the heroes. He made contact with the hero team as Mina asked Aoyama to split off and capture the bomb. She dodged and attacked explosions with great mobility and flexibility, but was captured as she had wrongly assumed that Bakugo wasn’t adept at close quarter combat. Kouda had managed to scare off Aoyama as well by having rats block his passageway. Bakugo was able to capture him not long after. Match won by Villain Team B, while MVP was Kouda, though voted reluctantly by the majority.

Sidenotes:
Could Mina control the viscosity of her acids? Are the acids reliant on a requirement of being hydrated to a degree? Suggest possibility of having support gear with canisters to prolong the use of her quirk on-field, possibly bases too for when accidents occur. Update Vol. 1 once questions are answered.

Suggest the removal of a cape for Aoyama, or at least make it detachable from the shoulders. The risk of having it grabbed or snagged is too high. Resolve fear of rodents, too? Support gear like glitter bombs would be preferrable to not be overly reliant on his quirk, and it would fit his motif as a sparkly Daylight Hero as well.

Are insects within the domain of Kouda’s quirk? Are people with animal-like vestigial mutations within this domain? (Ie. Tokoyami, Asui, and Gang Orca) If so, does he have to communicate with his quirk active or is it satisfactory without? If not, what is his quirk’s criteria of what’s considered as talking to animals? DNA? Species? Family? Presence of a Quirk Alpha? What about the absence of a Quirk Alpha? What would happen if he talks to Nedzu? Research more about biology and update Vol. 1 once questions are answered.


Hero Team E: Shinsou and Kaminari vs Villain Team J: Hagakure and Asui
The capture of Hagakure was quicker than expected. Most had thought she would have the advantage of surprise attacks considering her quirk, but Shinsou’s passive skill of hypervigilance and maintaining a poker face aided him in fooling her to approach closer and wrap the tape around her general area. They encountered Asui in the second room to the left of the third floor. Kaminari shocked her with a low voltage, only enough to have her jolt midair and land wrongly. Shinsou captured her immediately after while she was disorientated. Match won by Hero Team E, and MVP were both Shinsou and Asui as the majority couldn’t decide between the two.

Sidenotes:
Kaminari could discharge electricity from the palm of his hands, could he do the same to other parts of the body? Does his quirk also react strongly to emotions like with most emitter quirks? Does he build resistance to electricity naturally or does he have to expose himself to it on a regular basis to build up tolerance? Update Vol. 1 once questions are answered.

Most light passes through Hagakure. And as far as what could be observed by a typical human eye, she’s invisible. Do lights outside of that spectrum bounce off of her? Could she be seen by animals who have a wider range of color receptors (Was that the right term?). Research more about light and ask her when possible, update Vol. 1 once questions are answered.

Asui probably dehydrates easily considering her quirk, perhaps suggest support gear to help combat that? That is, if she hadn’t thought of it herself yet. Poisoning her would be concerningly easy considering her frequent use of her tongue. Does she have immunity since she has a frog mutation? Could frogs even be immune to poison? Research more about frog anatomy and ask her when possible, update Vol. 1 once questions are answered.


Hero Team C: Todoroki and Jirou vs Villain Team I: Sero and Uraraka
Sero and Uraraka did what no previous villain team did before, placing their bomb outside of the building. Considering how the rule was to hide the bomb within the general area, Uraraka floating the bomb and Sero taping one end to the edge of a rooftop didn’t break any of the rules All Might had given them before the start of the exercise. Todoroki froze the entire building, but the ice didn’t reach the bomb. He entered without Jirou with the assumption of it being an easy capture, instead they spent the entire fifteen minutes searching for the bomb then trying and failing to climb to the rooftop. Todoroki because of quirk overuse, and Jirou as she assumed there was no way for her to get there on her own. Match won by Villain Team I by default, and MVP was Sero as voted for unanimously by the class.

Sidenotes:
Todoroki has excellent control of his quirk. His costume of having actual ice on one half of his side worsened his quirk overuse though, redesign is a must. Overall attitude, although the cameras had no available audio, was incompatible for teamwork seeing Jirou’s reaction after the match. Shinsou, through lip reading, said that Todoroki also ordered Jirou to stay put outside of the building. He seems rude and standoffish according to Sero as well. Perhaps counseling is also a must…

Jirou wasn’t able to show off her quirk much due to poor match ups, but creativity and resourcefulness are limited from what she displayed during the rest of the exercise. Suggest support gear for mobility; grappling hooks or something similar.

Uraraka would benefit from having dense projectiles on her person for when she floats and directs them towards opponents. Something similar to a slingshot might be useful considering the activation requirements and the projectile taking on a straight path until it hits its trajectory. Research more about density and mass and its relation to force and momentum.


"You're up next." Shinsou bumped his shoulder, knocking him out of his mindset for analysis.

Izuku thanked his friend as he wondered how he would take on both Iida and Satou with him and Kirishima as the heroes. They were up against both brains and brawn. While Izuku knows he could at least defend himself from most things, (thank you, Sensei) he needs to actually subdue his opponents. That was what his paralytics were for, to cover his one weakness of having no offensive training. Without his knives, he can't put the solution into his enemies' blood streams.

"So uh, bro?" Kirishima asked. And now that Izuku was actually looking around, they were at the front of the fake building. "You gonna let me in on that plan of yours you're writing?"

Writing.

Izuku looked at his pen.

…They did say the pen was mightier than the sword.

"Hey Kirishima?"

"Yeah?" he answered, the tone implying the feeling of being put off that his own question wasn't given the same courtesy.

"If you punch hard enough with your quirk active, could you make someone bleed?"

If Izuku looked up from his pen back then, he would've seen Kirishima's disturbed expression. An appropriate reaction to Izuku's out of context questions, really. That same expression was worn by the rest of the class, save for Sero and Shinsou, once the match was called to start.

Izuku was only informed of what he had caused the morning after.

Chapter Text

[The Test-Taker Trio]

He who needs to be leashed:

Uh, @Shinsou? Since you’re not here yet, I feel the need to warn you that there are a couple dozen reporters blocking UA’s gates

The leash maker:

i counted 50ish

wait are the news van drivers and the like included in the headcount? If its just the reporters its at around 50

If not i count around 60

He who needs to be leashed:

50 still counts as a couple dozen :P

Anyways yeah, you might want to avoid your usual route, they’re kinda in the way

The leash maker:

i told him that we walked the last few blocks together yesterday in case u were wonderin how he found out

pretty sure he wouldve noticed after a week or smtn

wouldnt put it past him with his analysis

He who needs to be leashed:

Oh

That gives me an idea actually

It should be fine by the time you arrive Shinsou, assuming your ETA is like, a little over a minute

The leash holder:

Dont traumatize anyone

Or hurt yourself for that matter

Or fuck someones life up

He who needs to be leashed:

C’mon, I’m not that bad

The leash holder:

Our group chat nicknames say otherwise

The leash maker:

He has a point

He who needs to be leashed:

Still, I need Sero’s help for this so we’ll be disappearing for a few

See you soon Shinsou! :DD

The leash holder:

Ominous

Just so you know Im not helping you hide a body

Even after deliberately going out of his way to arrive at UA later than he preferred, he came across both of his friends waiting for him just outside. None of the reporters they warned him of left a trace that they were even here. Hitoshi looked around to reconfirm his initial observations, or rather the lack of one, wondering how sixty people practically disappeared in under a minute. Midoriya took his silent confusion as his cue to answer.

“We sort of just… shoo-ed them away.” He nodded towards the clear path, free for them to pass through without the fuss they would have otherwise gotten a few moments earlier. “Sero did most of the talking though, he’s good at people things.”

“What Midoriya meant to say was,” interrupted Sero. “He told them about All Might appearing all over Musutafu this morning and strongly suggested to wait for him there instead of camping at UA.”

That answered some things. Still, Hitoshi had to wonder. “And they believed you.” Doubt wasn’t necessarily what pushed him to indirectly ask. Clarification was all that he needed.

“Yeah!” answered the orchestrator of the plan. Said manipulator gripped the straps of his yellow path as they skipped over a loose brick on their way to the main building. “It was their news channels that were reporting it, so they had no reason to not believe us. Besides, All Might’s known to talk a lot to the media! They’re likely to encounter him if they intercept him on his way here, especially since his whereabouts are closely monitored right about now…”

Midoriya went off tangent immediately after that. The last few phrases Hitoshi had managed to understand were ‘I’m seeing parallels’ and ‘Maybe he’s different to a degree’. On their own, without context, Hitoshi could only guess how those were related to All Might. Maybe Midoriya had changed topics entirely and it wasn’t about him anymore. Either way, he and Sero went through the never really planned upon formation of keeping Midoriya in between them as they headed towards their classroom. Not once did they see Midoriya bump into a wall or a person in the middle of his mumbling modes before, but they’d rather not risk it given the chance.

“So yeah,” continued Sero. “He made me do most of the talking once he said the important parts, mostly convincing this one hoodied guy to go ask for a signature somewhere else or something. Awfully persistent, I'm telling ya. He was giving off bad vibes too…”

Hitoshi huffed when Midoriya took a notebook out to write down some of his ideas for later. Shifting his gaze back to Sero, he once again asked, “They might bother All Might.”

“They would," he readily answered, and Hitoshi had to take a moment to digest the little things he had noticed. Particularly, the ones that never ceased to make his chest feel warm.

After confessing some details of his quirk, Hitoshi thought they would come to ask him more about it. Or at least, have him ask questions in their casual conversations. They already proved themselves before that they would respond to him regardless, though at the time that was without knowing the specifics of his quirk. And once they did learn some bits, they showed no signs of fear or regret he had seen many times before.

They were different, this he knew. They would answer, this he also knew. These were his friends, and though his last experience of having dated back for at least a decade, he doubted that they wouldn’t stay by his side.

He still couldn’t bring himself to do it, though. Who knew that friendship didn’t just suddenly fix your problems.

“Didn’t think Midoriya despised All Might that much," said Hitoshi. Let it be said he knew how to shift subjects. “Sending sixty vultures after one man seems overkill.”

“Mido said he doubted they’d actually find him on his way here, something about being able to slip under their radars. He didn't explain but I'd believe him if he has a reason to.”

Hitoshi hummed when his friend finished giving his side of the whole ordeal. It did sound in character for Midoriya to pull that sort of plan off, as roundabout as it was. The trio only knew each other for a handful of days, but with their distinct and contrasting personalities, it was easy to identify who was what.

Credit was given where credit was due, and Hitoshi internally gave more to Sero.

He simply had to admit, those group chat nicknames were on point.

“Midoriya,” Aizawa-sensei called.

Izuku jumped at the mention of his name. Announcements were already finished, so the class as a whole thought he would leave right after. Maybe with another warning or something. Evidently, that wasn’t the case.

The whole class shifted, murmurs giving a slight rumble to the background noise of the buzzing lights and distant explosions from the support course. Izuku heard whispers of expulsion, but that was outnumbered by the number of times he heard suspensions instead. Too bad, Izuku knew Sensei enough that he wouldn't say that.

"Nice thinking on weapon improvisation. I don't know why your knives still aren't approved, but catching your opponents off guard was an advantageous outcome. And another thing," he sighed. “Meet with Present Mic either during break or after classes.” Sensei shuffled through his scarf to retrieve Izuku’s notebook— his scarf doubled as a bag?! —and placed it on the podium for Izuku to have back. Once Izuku had it in his hands again, not sparing Katsuki a glance on his way to and from, he checked the pages for any damage. Teachers writing or tearing apart his analysis notebooks wouldn’t be a new development. But as much as he wanted to believe UA would be different, experience gave lessons that only imprints more with time.

And seeing his notebook in pristine condition despite being fetched from a scarf moments earlier, it was enough to disprove his doubts.

That, or it was because Sensei was the subject of his criticism, and the man had already earned his trust months prior.

Oh wait, he realized, he still had to answer Sensei.

“Understood. I’ll meet with him after the last period.”

The man nodded, always preferring the option to communicate with the least words possible. And if it was none? Nobody had solid reason to have him speak more than he needed to.

“Anyways, there’s one last thing we need to settle.” The voice was slightly muffled as their Sensei buried his head deeper into his scarf. “You would need it for all your years here in UA, and must be taken seriously as all of you are partly responsible for the decisions you’d make in this particular necessity.”

Murmurs began to arise as more and more students offered inputs to what he could possibly mean.

“Maybe we have a long-term project?” suggested Yaoyorozu.

“Are we choosing someone to expel?” asked a horrified Hagakure.

In place of a sigh, Aizawa-sensei grinned, which only heightened the class’s apprehension further. They may not be able to see the Cheshire cat grin Izuku knew he was sporting, seeing as how Sensei’s head was only half-visible, but that amused glint in his eyes could only mean one thing. But then, “You need to elect class representatives.”

At that, Class 1-A could only collectively give a sigh of relief. And once they processed his words, which only registered as ‘not dangerous’ at first, only then did they have an outburst. Izuku now understood why Sensei protected his ears.

Would’ve appreciated the warning, he thought, as he covered his own.

“Hey, hey, pick me!” Ashido stood to gesture wildly towards herself. “We could have weekly parties if you have me as the Class Rep!”

Kaminari leaned back from his seat to address the people at the back. “Nah, it should be me! I’d be, like, the coolest Rep ever!”

A slam resounded as Katsuki hit his table, making Izuku jump in his seat. The blond stood up to proclaim, “Like any of you extras could be a leader worth shit. Obviously you should pick the best damn person for the job!”

If one knew Katsuki, one would know that he was referring to himself.

Izuku did, and Kirishima did not.

“He’s right!” the redhead agreed. Smugness permeated from Katsuki’s aura, ego inflating at the assumption that he was validated. It was probably for that same reason his reaction worsened when Kirishima didn’t name him. “We could have Midoriya as the Class Rep! You guys saw how manly he led during the exercise yesterday!”

“Fucking Deku?!”

Oh no.

Well, there are many reasons someone could have easily said they didn’t want to participate for that title. Perhaps they couldn’t handle the added stressors that stem from representing their class, or maybe they already have prior responsibilities that they can’t make room for one more. For Izuku, it would put him directly in the spotlight. It was the last thing he would need as an aspiring Underground Hero.

That, and he couldn’t dismiss the possibility of the others questioning his spot as a hero-in-training once they know of his quirk status. The thought of them actually listening to him couldn’t even be the main concern when the former worry wasn’t even resolved yet. He may have thought he was adequate for the job, but his enough usually wasn’t satisfactory when compared to their standards. That’s how it has always been. He had no reason to believe that the pattern wouldn’t repeat this time.

Still, stepping down wasn’t in his choices. That meant foregoing his competition with Katsuki, which to the blond translates as Izuku looking down on him, even if he didn’t feel that way. Looking at it from another perspective though, Katsuki would’ve made an excellent leader. With a keen battle-sense that was second-to-none, boundless tenacity that only pushes him to persevere through greatest odds, he’d stand tall as their Class Representative.

Ability-wise.

His attitude, however…

“Say that again to my fucking face, Shitty Hair!” His chair screeched when it pushed backwards, the noise grating to the same degree as his voice. “No way useless little Deku’s a better candidate than me!”

“His name is Midoriya, you potty-mouthed Pomeranian.”

Izuku turned to face Shinsou, discreetly shaking his head no at provoking the explosive teen. Not for the reason that Izuku was in the direct line of fire, Sensei taught him well enough to redirect most attacks away from himself. He just didn’t want Katsuki’s ire to be aimed at his friend.

“Shut up, eyebags. If you’re siding with him, you got a shitty quirk, dontcha? Only weak extras believe in strength in numbers.”

Shinsou stiffened.

And Sero made it a point to stay true to his promise.

Their friend stood to his full height and blocked Katsuki’s sight of Izuku and Shinsou. Smile so strained, it felt out of character for Sero to be stiff. It was from this sight alone that Izuku thought perhaps earlier that morning when he had been telling the reporters to go away, he had been holding back.

“Chill out, dude,” he said, raising his hands as if to placate a rabid dog. “I think you’ve had enough PSA’s for the week. Hey Iida!” Their mentioned classmate perked up. “Decide on a voting system or something before I tape this guy’s mouth shut.”

One of Katsuki’s eyes twitched. “You—”

“Of course, Sero. We shall decide the representatives by vote!”

Having been interrupted twice only made Katsuki’s anger flare even more. But one sentence from the right person was apparently enough for him to sit down; he did so begrudgingly, but it was the better alternative compared to starting a fight.

“Five minutes left.” All heads whipped to face their Sensei, presence forgotten in the middle of the commotion. “Any more tangents and I’ll decide who the Class Representatives would be.”

…Correction; it was everyone who shut up, for that matter.

They quickly ran through the election process. With permission, Iida used his quirk to gather all votes in record time and assisted Yaoyorozu in counting the tally. It was then announced that with four votes, Yaoyorozu was elected as Class Representative. Sero, the Vice, received three votes.

Izuku knew he and Shinsou voted for their friend, though they had to wonder who the third was.

The rest of their classes went as normal as it could pass, considering the fact that Math was what came after homeroom. Ever the outlier, he was one of the few who seemed to enjoy the topic. He could tell as much when Shinsou silently pleaded for guidance from behind him. Then after that was science by Snipe, PE with Sensei, and finally lunch. It was arguably the most favored time block in their schedules.

Izuku felt like he was forgetting something, though. Lots of something’s that he hasn't had the chance to write down in his notebook.

Fortunately for him, the reminders came from three directions.

To his left.

“Young Midoriya!”

“A-All Might?!”

To his right.

“EIGHTEEN!”

“Oh, Hatsume!”

From the back.

“Shinbro!”

“Don’t call me that.”

Wait.

“Shinbro?”

“Midoriya.”

“Sero!”

All five including Izuku looked at Sero, who only blinked at having all their attention on him. “What?” he asked. He simply defended himself with, “I didn’t wanna feel left out.”

All Might cleared his throat, facing Izuku as he held out a bento box. “Would you care to have lunch together while we talk?”

“Beat it, bub!” Hatsume shoved herself between them before he could reply. She waved a monkey wrench she retrieved from somewhere and aimed it threateningly against their teacher. “I already asked him yesterday! Eighteen’s lunch is gonna be spent with me and our babies!”

As the forefront of his mind went wild at the words ‘our babies’, the rest of his logic said farewell at the chaos he was in the middle of. Only God knew how he’d fare against Midnight’s lectures.

…On the plus side, at least he didn’t have to reject All Might’s offer all over again.

Whatever situation their friend found himself stuck in was escalating at a faster rate than Hitoshi could process it. Still, the presence of another loud blond was clear on his radar. Instincts didn’t require much thought, after all.

“Saving the fact that she said babies for later,” Kaminari whispered so he wouldn’t be overheard by the arguing pair. He scooted closer to what’s left of the trio, not prying his gaze away from the comical sight of Support Student versus Symbol of Peace. One of em’s winning by a landslide and it wasn't the one most people would expect. Unless they were here to witness it, of course, which Hitoshi was. “You’re not stoppin’ her to let Midoriya answer?”

“Midoriya would’ve said no anyways,” whispered back Hitoshi. “Neither of us are big fans of Daylight Heroes.”

Sero coughed.

“Sero’s an exception to the rule.”

The monkey wrench was replaced by a multi-purpose screwdriver within the timeframe they had their exchange. Motivation reinforced by the sight, Kaminari asked another question. “Then you’re not stopping her for All Might’s sake either?”

All three of them stood by and watched as Midoriya was possessively hugged from behind by the one and only Hatsume. In the process of showcasing her strength Hitoshi didn’t expect of her to have, she walked backwards as their friend’s feet dragged across the floor. He showed minimal signs of struggle, more so at being pressed against a certain something rather than being hauled away from the hero. Without fear, she glared daggers at the supposed paragon of heroism most villains wet their pants at the sight of, as if she dared him to take Midoriya away from her.

In one interaction they learned she stopped at nothing to meet ‘eighteen’. In two interactions they learned that she was genuinely an unstoppable force. And as it was, she was the personification of a rather effective All Might repellant.

She was someone that’d fit right into their group of misfits.

So Shinsou shrugged. “Nah.”

If Midoriya’s aversion to that blond in particular was anything to go by, Hatsume was doing a fine job of winning the whole trio’s favor.

“You three!” she called.

Finally taking the hint that the student wouldn’t budge, much less properly acknowledge his status as the Number One Hero, All Might sighed and retreated to fight for another day that wasn’t against Hatsume. The same student who had now let go of her hostage’s waist to instead keep his bicep in a two-armed grip.

Poor Midoriya looked like he was about to faint at the constant contact, though.

“You’re Eighteen’s friends, right?” Without any other reason to be stopped, they continued their way to the cafeteria to grab lunch. “You can come with us!”

“Come with you to where…?” asked Sero.

“My support lab! PL-sensei was kind enough to give me my own! Something about disturbing my classmates and whatnot, not like I could hold back from making my babies. Stop at nothing for innovation, is what I say!”

Kaminari jogged up farther to be at the front of their group, walking backwards to face Hatsume and the now less-red Midoriya. “You’d be fine with four guys alone in a room with you though? Sounds scandalous.” He cheekily grinned.

Hitoshi raised a brow. “I don’t have to remind you who she won an argument against.”

“Touche, Shinbro.”

“I said don’t call me that.”

“Fine then, Dudesou.”

“That’s somehow even worse.”

It wasn’t that Hitoshi was starting to regret inviting Kaminari over. He overheard how Jirou joked about Kaminari’s past-the-limit state during yesterday’s exercise, and that didn’t sit right with him. Being teased was fine if it wasn’t actually attacking a person’s insecurities. And while his name being changed around wasn’t something he was sensitive to per se…

“Dudesou Hibroshi? Shinbro Hiptoshi? You liking your name?”

…It sure did annoy him to a degree.

“No, I don’t.”

“No to your last name?” Kaminari winked. “If you want, you can have mine.”

At that, Hitoshi could only respond with a blink. And a sigh, that too. “You can try flirting with someone else. Pretty sure it’d be more effective compared to me.”

Kaminari shrugged. “Nah, I’m not in it for that. Aro I may be, flirting’s still fun!”

That’s another weird but not wrong thing in Hitoshi’s book. “Yeah, sure.” And another thing that’d make Kaminari feel at home in their group too. If Sero didn’t mind his not-really-a-question questions, then he probably won’t mind Kaminari’s flirting. Their atypical talks were going to be normal within their dynamic, it seemed.

The same can’t be said for Midoriya on the flirting part, but they’ll figure that out when the time comes.

Scraps fell to the floor when she made a sweep with her arm. Meh, they weren’t needed anyways. What they did need was the table, and it was the cleanest in her room. The others probably weren’t used to eating with food on one hand and screwdriver in the other, so she had to make do! Chairs were aplenty considering this was an extra support lab slash classroom, so no problemo there. Ventilation is also pretty darn good because of how often her babies explode. Smoke doesn’t help with visibility at all—Oh, now that’s another baby idea. They only had to eat and then back to her main agenda of getting even more baby ideas!

Whatever PL-sensei was saying about influences, this was probably it. But now she had a partner instead of simple references and he was a literal cave of pure knowledge!

She still has a copy of his ten page form!

But while she’s munchin’ and they’re talkin’, she grabbed her smallest metal rod to multitask on fine-tuning her latest lil’ boyo. One part of being a good inventor was to never waste time! And another part was to observe. Because one man’s problem was another man’s opportunity, and havin’ a baby to patch one crack up was exactly that!

“Uh, Hatsume?”

“You can call me Mei, Eighteen!” she cheerfully replied. She gestured the metal rod towards the other three. “You can call me Mei too, but I won’t guarantee I’d listen unless it’s an idea for a super cute baby!”

“Um, okay.” Eighteen turned bright red, but he repeatedly slapped his cheeks immediately after. Mei can’t have that! Her partner needs to be in spick and span shape, or else he wouldn’t be able to help her out! “So why not eat first and then continue with your… mask?”

“This is your mask, first of all, with added adjustments!” She waved it around for emphasis. The adjustments were based on his own notes too! “Plus, I gotta do something while eating. I don’t have two hands for only one task.”

Purple lowered his chopsticks to give her a look. “Your attention would be halved.”

“And you don’t need much to eat or align a few wires in. Besides, I’m almost done!”

Eighteen frowned then grabbed a notebook from somewhere, she didn’t really see what was written on the cover cuz’ he hugged it protectively. She took note about proofing paper; fire-proof, slash-proof, rip-proof, could she make it water-proof? But what if he can’t write with typical pens because the ink can’t be absorbed? What if she makes an ink for that specific paper so he won’t need to protect his notebook so much? What if—

“We can compromise, if you’d like? If you finish your food first then I can lend you my analysis notebook.” Analysis notebook? “They’re kinda like the notes on my form—”

She gasped.

“SAY NO MORE! But what kind of notes do you have there? Whose quirks did you write down? Are baby rec’s in there somewhere or are these pure inspo?!”

The tall guy chuckled, the same guy who had black hair and calmed Eighteen down after her argument with the blond hero. “Go eat, Mei, then I think you two can talk for the rest of the break.”

“There’s two of them now,” muttered Purple.

Well that did it for her, now to eat and then talk to Eighteen! She’d ask if he could borrow or copy some if not all of the pages too to post on her corkboard. Never has it ever been so full of notes!

An explosion rang a few meters behind them, barely any of the flying shrapnel reached the table they were at. She took note that baby number 38 probably needed adjustments for its cooling system then. If it couldn’t last for more than an hour even though it was only active, then it can't survive during use! One look at the people with her and she could assume they didn’t have the same thoughts. She never really was good at reading people, so guesstimates it was!

“That’s normal?” asked Blondy.

“Yup! Only means I gotta fix somethin’ in baby number thirty-eight!”

Another explosion, closer this time. The shrapnel for this one was a lot smaller but didn’t hit any of them. Or their food for that matter, most of them were already eaten though.

“I’m assuming that’s another baby,” said the tired guy.

“Right again, Purple!”

And then came another noise, loud and echoing, but the source of which wasn’t coming from inside their room. Alarms maybe, judging by the sound. Not the concern of a Hatsume Mei, though.

Tall guy’s eyebrows scrunched up together as he turned his head to look at the door. The sound seemed to be a touch too loud from outside. “...Is that from another baby?” he asked.

And to that she could only answer, “Nope!”

PL-sensei forbade her from bringing any untested children outside of the room because of how often they go kaboom. Which wasn’t fair, since the standard support lab rooms don’t have any testing areas attached right next to it! Hence, why two babies had to be tested five tables away from the one they were eating at.

But Mei was an opportunist at heart so that lack of something didn’t stop her from testing them either way. If her numbers were right, five tables were more than enough to keep them at a safe distance!

There's also the fact that if her numbers were right, it wouldn't explode in the first place; but those were the finer details.

“We’re safe here, though. There ain’t any need to worry.” If what PL-sensei said was true, then her reassurance would also be true. “He said most things can’t break through that door, so I have no worries about anything that isn't stronger than the big blond's bam!"

Eighteen fidgeted beside her, still worried, she thought. "But those were alarms for intruders."

"Still no worries!" When PL-sensei she could do anything for the room—except make nuclear reactors of course—her first tweak was with the door! "You guys only got in here because I let you in here, and that's all thanks to baby number fourteen!"

"Haha, what're the chances of that exploding too?" asked Blondy.

And hmm, wasn't that a question? In five digital test runs it exploded three times until she realized the mechanism had a loose bolt. And then she ran that through again twenty times, and the prototypes, and the actual one but that still exploded…

"I'd say it's a little less than five percent!"

Blondy moved his chair a little farther away from the door.

Which didn't make sense, considering how that's the lowest compared to the rest of her babies. 14 was a super cute and super good one, very strong too!

Well after some time, the alarms stopped and they all finished eating. Eighteen carefully gave her the notebook and oh for the love of all things greasy.  

It wasn't often Mei had to exercise self-restraint, and only now was she pushing it to her very limit. Turning the pages one by one, she read and read with her quirk zooming in on every detail and she couldn't believe there were over 40 pages of this!

Wait, she almost forgot!

"Eighteen!" 

All of them turned but Mei was too busy aligning the last little wire in their baby. When she did, which only took like five seconds, she handed it over to her partner.

"So I saw the scar below your lip with my quirk which I guessed to be from biting it but then I thought hey why do you bite your lip and then realized of course you couldn't keep your ideas contained! I'd know! I'm the same! So anyways it may look like a cloth mask which fits your whole 'I'm normal, no biggie here' motif and it muffles—"

"Sounds that are below a certain volume," he muttered with wide eyes. "I-I thought I asked for something that blocked sounds completely, but it wasn't approved."

Mei's face scrunched at that. "Ew, that sounds more like a plain old muzzle, and I don't want you to stop talking!" Purple and tall guy perked up at that. "Our babies rely on it!" Now Blondy too. "And I didn't make it so you'd stop talkin', I made it so you'd stop bitin'! I need my partner in good condition for baby making purposes!"

Blondy shuffled closer to the other two, but she could hear him well enough. He's a bad whisperer. "This is so bad out of context."

Purple bonked him on the head. "Shut up."

"I-Mei." Again she faced her partner, expecting a thank you or a reply but why was he crying?!?! "T-thank you." 

She blinked repeatedly, then took it in stride. "No problemo, partner! Now off you go with your buddy and pal and blondy, can't have you getting in trouble this early into the year! Why waste time with detention when you could spend it with our babies!"

She received tons of goodbyes in return, taking her tray with them to take back to the cafeteria. Not a second later after stepping foot in the hallway though, Purple came back.

"...What're the chances of his mask exploding?" he asked.

And that question was way too easy to answer.

"For Eighteen, I made it as close to zero!"

That satisfied him she guessed, since he just nodded and went back to his merry way.

Speaking of, now on to reorganize her corkboard! She had way too many pages to make copies of and way too little time left for break! 

Time to multitask!

Despite the commotion during lunch, afternoon classes passed by smoothly. It was when they were supposed to be dismissed after the last period that they were stopped by Shouta. They were surprised, he could tell. None of them hid their shock.

"Sit down, I have some last few things to say."

It took a few seconds, but the class settled down as per his order.

"The companies whose reporters were involved in activating the alarms are being given restriction forms as we speak. The next time you, a student of UA, are pestered by those in particular, you are advised to remind them of their situation. If they persist regardless, inform a member of the staff."

He then regarded two students. "Yaoyorozu, Uraraka, good thinking on the megaphone. You informed the students to prevent further injury, and it was decently executed considering neither of you received formal training in crowd control." They preened under his praise, though he was only stating facts rather than flattery.

And lastly, "You have a field trip tomorrow. Don't be absent if you can help it. Dismissed."

Shouta stood there as the occupants of the room dwindled, most not wishing to dawdle without reason to. Friend groups were now tentatively formed as far as he could tell, with even Bakugo having his own centered around him. Kaminari seemed to have latched on to Shinsou, though. And in the process, integrated into Fifth's friend group.

Great, now Shouta also called him Fifth.

But that reminded him…

"Fif—Midoriya." The mentioned teen looked up from the mask he'd been fidgeting for the past minute. "Present Mic is still preoccupied with the forms, you can meet him tomorrow after the field trip instead."

"Understood, Sensei."

And with nothing else he had to announce, Shouta left the room. He still had other tasks to do, namely the investigation on the gate. The reporters as intruders excuse he had given to his class was a cover up, and there likely had been an actual intruder none of the staff had spotted the presence of. All they knew of the perpetrator was that they were smart, using the vultures as a distraction. A means to their own end. But that's all Shouta and the other heroes knew, seeing as how they have nothing else to go by besides a half-gone metal gate.

Logic was what he had to prioritize. It was what the situation called for. Still, he couldn't help but worry of the instinctual danger he sensed from suspicion alone.

But that wasn't for his own sake, rarely was it ever a worry for himself. As he walked towards the faculty room, he had to repeat it in his mind like a mantra. Say it enough times that he had to believe it was true. It is, it was, and it always will be.

Those he cared for can take care of themselves. At the very least, he should trust them on that.

Chapter Text

One step out of his boss’s office and the tell-tale shunk of the door sliding shut behind him would’ve spooked a lesser man. No one in the UA faculty even came close to that, save for maybe Toshinori. It wasn’t that he was inadequate in any regards to his person, rather experience and some semblance of knowledge to how their boss regularly asserts his dominance over his employees.

Or what Hizashi and other heroes exasperatedly call Nedzu's theatrics.

Leave it to the bear-mouse-cat to unsettle the average person with a simple sharp toothed smile. Only those who knew him familiarly would chalk it up as a daily occurrence, yet even then the prolonged exposure didn’t grant total immunity.

Still, Hizashi was one of the apparent few that had slight resistance to the intimidation tactics, so he brushed off the subtle power play and continued with what he had been planning to do. He had to get his forms signed by the last person he needed signatures of to make it official. The same forms that spontaneously appeared on his cubicle, Nedzu’s signature freshly written with barely dried ink.

Hizashi was starting to doubt whether God’s omniscience covered whatever Nedzu was.

Again ignoring the occurrence with a work-acquired skill, he instead wondered if his husband would be overjoyed by his unannounced presence. Sure he hadn’t been informed at least a week beforehand, which is usually what protocol required to do, but it wasn’t as if he’d get kicked to the curb once he stepped foot into the bus! It was neither of their fault that yesterday’s intruder delayed Hizashi’s meet-up with the little listener. Besides, it’s more likely that Hizashi would be brought along purely for the sake of Shou not wanting to waste time having papers signed to essentially undo Hizashi’s forms.

Exploit weaknesses, his husband once said. Hizashi was only putting to use what he learned, is all.

Being a little shit was what the other would call it.

Humming the melody of an old pre-quirk classic, he gathered the papers he needed and patted his pockets to check if he brought a pen along with him. No need to repeat the incident of having to take notes with a chewed up pencil. He was just about to leave for the fourth period with a thermos on hand when he was stopped by a call from his colleague.

“Mic,” said Maijima. Hizashi did a complete 180 to face the fellow pro hero, head tilted in inquiry. “Are you meeting with Aizawa?”

In return, Hizashi raised the hand that held the scalding hot beverage. “Oh c’mon, you know I’m not much of a coffee guy. Who else am I gonna give this to?”

PL looked at the bright yellow thermos, then at Hizashi, and you could practically hear the gears turning in his head. “Point made. Can you give him a message for me though? I don’t think it’s so bad that it warrants an email, but he does need a heads-up more than anything.” He sighed and grabbed one of two Recovery Girl approved painkillers from his desk. The same bottles could be found on every cubicle given how uncannily often it was to get headaches. It was to the point RG was justly concerned she’d one day find her colleagues overdosed if precautions weren’t taken, so substitutes were had. “One of my students staked her claim on one of Aizawa’s. Honestly, if it weren’t for the kid’s notes, I’d be worried for his well-being.”

“My hunch is telling me that I know who this kid is.”

The mention of notes was a dead give away. Hizashi was literally going to meet him to discuss his notebook, from one unrecognized analyst to another. Nedzu might’ve been the ‘obvious’ choice with his intelligence, but the boss and Aizawa came to agreement that the approach of ‘to disarm, not to intimidate’ fit the best for the little listener. And who else could teach him the ways of being underestimated that wasn’t Present Mic himself?

People often forget he had a brain in his noggin.

“You should know him,” PL huffed, somehow conveying both his disbelief and fatigue. “Remember when All Might had to call Ectoplasm to escort a student back to her classroom yesterday? That was Hatsume after she barged into Observation Room 3. The student she came for was, as she called him, Number Eighteen.”

“So I need to warn Aizawa that Hatsume might stalk one of his kids?”

“No.” But then PL paused and looked at the ceiling. “Well, I don’t think so.”

He’s still taking note of that concerning answer. “What’s the message then? I still gotta go before this coffee cools. Y’know how Aizawa gets if his coffee’s temp is any lower than boiling point.”

“I was getting to that.” Rifling through a folder of forms, he grabbed one and showed it to Hizashi. “Hatsume Mei has this submitted to officially partner with Midoriya Izuku as her Hero Student pair. The only reason it isn’t official yet despite having both of their signatures is because I don’t accept submissions until second semester.”

“And you have that because…”

“If I didn’t keep this fifty-third form, she’d somehow slip in a fifty-fourth by the time I turned my back around.”

Hizashi raised both eyebrows at that. He’s not touching that near-Nedzu-duplicate dilemma even with a ten foot pole.

All of them had their fair share of supervision-needed students. It just so happened that the hero and support classes are those with the most of ‘em. It was the same reason why their homeroom teachers had two bottles of painkillers instead of one, those poor souls. Good thing he had a Gen Ed class this school year.

“I’ll make sure to tell him once I get there. That’s all?”

“Yep.” PL placed the form back to its folder and leaned back on his chair. “Pray for his sanity for me. I’m speakin’ from experience when I warn y’all that the duo in the making would give you gray hairs. Only Nedzu knows what that Midoriya kid wrote that had Hatsume scrambling to keep him all to herself.” Probably why Nedzu also let Hatsume in with more signed forms to replace the rejected ones when he could’ve easily blocked her out of the faculty room. Give you gray hairs indeed.

“Sure thing,” Hizashi waved off. “As if I don’t already wish him that every time he has a morning period to teach.”

Maijima’s face scrunched at that. “The only one who gets out of there smiling is Snipe.”

“Snipe’s always an exception,” he said, rolling his eyes. Hizashi made his way past the doorway as he finished with a, “Always has been ever since he got stuck with support as his mornin’ period!”

Each step taken thereafter had him remembering certain memories of that certain hero. The faculty should’ve known that putting one gunman and twenty craftsmen into one room would have brewed trouble. Maybe then they wouldn’t be as surprised when Snipe upgraded one of his own guns to be a half-flamethrower as a close combat weapon.

Hizashi discarded his thoughts when he neared the parked bus beside the main building, a familiar dark clad figure in sight. The man turned around and had an amused glint in his eyes the moment it landed on Hizashi's form.

He, on the other hand, simply responded with a grin.

Frankly, Hitoshi was well aware that they only had to wait two more minutes. Everyone heard Aizawa-sensei loud and clear when he expected the class to change uniforms at five minute tops.

It just so happened that some of them had more complicated costumes than others; or on the other side of the spectrum, had less layers.

Yaoyorozu’s costume was an obvious example for the latter, wearing only a sleeveless leotard and two large utility belts. Another was Midoriya’s costume that consisted of a hoodie, belt, and pants which only had to tighten the straps for the sheets of his still unauthorized blades. At first glance it was deceptively plain, the ones who made it had a good job at keeping it simple considering how they bedazzled Uraraka’s costume to be more marketable. Hitoshi’s design was also relatively untouched, save for a few practical tweaks, like the secret pocket spaces on the inside of his top.

So really, for some of them it was a quick change.

He only had to wonder if that was truly a good thing.

A third of the class shuffled from where they stood and made an attempt to pay no mind to the scene before them. Meanwhile Hitoshi had an internal debate. Should he play a laugh track or prepare a hero’s eulogy? Decisions decisions. He didn’t even know if he should categorize the back and forth as banter or argument.

He was leaning towards the former.

“Give me one good reason why I should sign this form.”

And with the confidence Hitoshi could only wish he had, Yamada-sensei said, “I wanted to meet the little listener!”

“I said a good reason.”

Gesturing towards the form, Yamada-sensei practically asked him to read it. Which Aizawa-sensei did not, probably opting for a brief summary from the man himself.

“Uh,” he eloquently said. “Does it count if I also wanted to see you?”

Fingers gravitated towards Aizawa-sensei’s face to pinch the bridge of his nose, eyes closed as he sighed. He let his shoulders sag to look at the cloudy sky, clearly resigned.

“What gotcha speechless?”

“I’m contemplating whether or not a rightful assault on a colleague would get me suspended. I wondered if it would be worth it.”

“Because of the guilt?”

“Because I wouldn’t get to drink UA’s good coffee.” Aizawa-sensei dodged the other’s half-hearted bat of an arm. “And because it’d cost too much energy.”

“Knew there was nothin’ to worry about! Now let’s get—wait no!”

“I’m only grabbing a pen.”

Hitoshi murmured low enough so that only his friends could hear him. “If Midoriya learned what he did at battle training from sensei, I’d be worried what he would do with the pen.”

“Maybe he’d, I don’t know, sign the papers?” suggested Midoriya.

“Or sign Yamada-sensei’s death certificate,” said Sero.

Kaminari hummed. "I don't think sensei's the type to leave witnesses, though."

Much to their undue surprise, Aizawa-sensei only signed the papers, and it was then the rest of their classmates finally arrived. The class representative and vice ushered them all to enter the bus now that complete attendance was confirmed, not wanting to waste time or be behind schedule. None of them entertained the thought, especially when their sensei was right there.

The two heroes situated at the front seats while the class took full reign of their seating arrangement behind them. The only condition their sensei gave them after seeing the commotion, one that could only be caused by a rowdy group of teenagers, was to do it quickly and quietly. It was two Qs they were going to hear more often, Hitoshi could tell. Iida made an attempt at corralling nineteen teens to have some approximation to order, and ultimately, it was fruitless.

His failure wasn’t due to a lack of determination. In fact, he had that in spades. It was more like the rest had an over abundance of youthful energy to them, amplified by their excitement for the field trip. Hitoshi was excited too, but he could only wonder where they get their endless vitality from. If knocked, Hitoshi’s battery would resound; empty and given no chance to replenish thanks to insomnia. He could share the feeling of anticipation quite well, only that he couldn’t say the same for the urge to constantly move and do something .

Soon enough chatter started just as the bus did, swiftly heading towards their destination. Beside him, Kaminari and Midoriya exchanged ideas on support gear once the blond came around to ask what was in the other’s notebook. Some suggestions and counterpoints were raised by Sero when it went too far, though.

No one needed a glitter bomb gattling gun, except maybe Aoyama if he had the required licenses.

Sero also had his own ideas to add to their hodge podge of hypothetical gear, particularly an eight-legged machinated exoskeleton that resembled the legs of a spider. Midoriya could deny it all he wants but Hitoshi can and will brand him as a bad influence. Or Sero came that way and Midoriya’s only making that side more apparent than it already was. Still, it'd be Midoriya's fault.

“Shinsou? Kero.”

Hitoshi glanced at the classmate on the other side of him and raised a brow.

“I apologize in advance if it comes off as rude, kero. I’ve been told I could be quite blunt.” Asui placed a pointer finger on her chin. “Neither you nor Midoriya showed us your quirks yet. What are they?”

The chatterbox stuttered in his mumbling spree, while his own mind screeched to a halt. The question piqued the interest of everyone who overheard it, so now he and Midoriya were now center spotlight.

Internally, alarms blared at the indirect question. Of course they would want to know what their quirks were, this was a hero class for fuck’s sake.

Externally, all he did was slowly blink. He couldn’t have them think he wanted to hide it, that would make them pry all the more.

“We haven’t, yeah.” He turned to address the eavesdropping others. “We didn’t use them during battle training, so you couldn't have seen them then.”

“Why didn’t you? It could’ve made fighting easier!” asked Uraraka.

He turned the words over in his head, making sure to answer them without giving anything away. “My quirk isn’t combative. It wouldn’t have changed anything significantly.” Technically true. “As for Midoriya, he’s in the same boat as I am.”

“Oh, a non-physical quirk then,” said Hagakure. “That would make sense!”

“A transformation type. Or perhaps an emitter?” Yaoyorozu chimed in.

“It certainly ain’t flashy, that’s for sure.” Kirishima activated his quirk to harden his forearm, jagged edges replacing smooth skin. “Kinda relate to that.”

By then the conversation smoothly switched topics from the pair’s quirks to their own. Some of the remarks brushed sore spots of Hitoshi’s, but he kept quiet lest he dragged their attention to him all over again. He didn’t want another instance of that happening on the same day.

Then, there was a tug on his sleeve.

“Thanks, for covering me back there.” Midoriya brought his mask down so his whisper wouldn’t be nullified by his updated gear.

“You’d think after Aizawa-sensei’s logical ruse they’d stop assuming,” he whispered back.

He chuckled. “But, um, I was wondering if you could teach me how to do… that.”

“You have to specify what that is.”

Midoriya bit his lip. Now that Mei pointed it out, he noticed that his friend frequently did it whenever he was thinking. No wonder it scarred. “Y’know, answering questions without really answering them? You didn’t lie, but you didn’t tell the truth either. Kind of like how Sensei speaks.”

“Hmm.” For someone as talkative as his friend, one would think he would learn how to skirt around invasive questions himself. Turns out, he hadn’t. “Tell them the answer as indirectly as possible. Describe it. Allude to it. Heck, say the pieces without giving them the whole picture. Just make sure when you do, it sounds complete.”

“That… I think I’ll get it.” A smile slowly formed. “Thank you.”

“I’d rather you say ‘smartass’. It feels weird to be thanked without insult.”

“You’d better get used to it, then.”

The moment the bus parked, their sensei told them to get off. That’s how Hitoshi interpreted the deadpanned, “Scutter off, hellions.” anyways. It was a stark contrast to Yamada-sensei’s megaphone levels of loud instructions to enter USJ.

Inside what greeted them was a space packed with things he hadn’t expected after seeing the infrastructure from the outside. UA managed to fit different zones of sorts. From what he could distinguish, each one seemed to be designed as realistic as possible. 

There was a goddamned boat in an artificial lake.

So this was where their tuition went.

“Welcome to the Unforeseen Simulation Joint!” Thirteen proudly gestured from where they stood further in, near the stairs. Considering they’re the one who designed this facility, it was understandable they took pride in their work. Aizawa-sensei informed them as much.

They gathered before the hero as their sensei approached, whispering something to Thirteen. A scowl took over his face from what little the class could see above his scarf, an aura of irritation wafting the moment the rescue hero raised three fingers. Now everyone’s on high alert. That couldn’t mean anything good.

It was then the speech Thirteen gave after that Hitoshi’s mood dipped even lower. A decline that was steeper than when he was on the bus. The topic their guest chose was fitting, that’s all.

Rephrase a few of Thirteen’s sentences and it was a lesson that he learned a little too well too early with the quirk he had. A lesson his mothers had to drill into him at a young age with good intentions. One slip-up could lead to disastrous consequences, the only redeeming qualities being how useful it could be in one field or another.

High risk, high reward. Mom used to joke about that whenever he said he wondered why.

Not ask, never ask.

He hadn’t asked for this quirk either, a tightrope he was tossed to and was expected to hold on, never allowed to slip or let go. There weren’t any second-chances, he had been told. And if he ever lost his hold… Well, there wasn’t any other way for him to go except down. He would fall to a level lower than where he already was.

So no one could fault him for the death grip he had.

He could empathize with the hero and the lesson they tried to imprint on his classmates. Any quirk could be used to harm others; the oddly shaped scars hidden beneath his costume was a testament to that. Some were only more volatile, where an uncapped glove could have you sucked into a black hole, or mere words could have someone jump off the roof against their will.

He’s had many reminders of that possibility, the speech being one of them. At that point he’d lost count of how many he had, only that it often started when others knew of his quirk, sympathetic or otherwise.

Sero nudged him every now and again so he wouldn’t spiral any farther than he should. It helped, albeit marginally, but it was the thought that counted. He was fine most days but reminders dug up intrusive thoughts he’d rather turn a blind eye to. He was conscious of pressure on his shoulders, as to the weight settling on his chest that made it hard to breathe. Every time, he thought he had gotten used to it, and every time after he realized he was wrong.

This was one of those times.

Distractions. It was distractions that he needed, whatever so that he wouldn’t confront what he couldn’t listen to. But then, the hero finished speaking with reassurance and encouragement, an appreciated effort to lighten up the dimmed atmosphere. Their introductory ‘your quirks could kill’ was a hook that turned the class solemn. Either way, it was over.

Yet, maybe the Gods up there didn’t get the memo, or maybe they didn't see that Thirteen was done. There no longer was any need for interference.

So when it came in the form of dark swirling portals, a passageway for over a hundred villains to trespass into All Might’s alma mater? Well, now he learned why people say to be careful what you wish for.

Hitoshi didn't wish for this shit, though.

The moment Izuku saw a familiar mop of ashy blue hair, one that he was pretty sure he last saw when he shoo-ed away dozens of reporters, his first thought was ‘what a persistent fanboy’.

When the man screamed that they were here to kill All Might, his second thought was ‘oh, he isn’t a fanboy’.

It would’ve been an astute observation if the man hadn’t been accompanied by people who clearly came from the wrong side of the law. But Izuku wasn’t to blame for his initial reactions. No one taught him how to think about situational irony to this degree.

His classmates, on the other hand, reacted appropriately.

“Uh, sensei?” asked Kaminari. “Are those—”

“Villains,” said Sensei through gritted teeth. He exchanged a split second glance with Yamada-sensei before diving into the fray, lashing out his capture weapon to knock out three thugs in one blow.

Yamada-sensei started barking out orders augmented by his quirk to be heard over the commotion behind them. “Iida, you run ahead and inform the faculty. Kaminari, try calling them through your comms. Everyone who doesn’t have fighting experience, stay in the middle so others can protect you, especially if you have strong quirks. We can’t have friendly fire! If anything goes wrong, I give you permission to use your quirks only in self-defense. Worse case scenario, pair up with someone if you get separated. Thirteen! I’ll leave evac to you.”

“Sensei!” Iida weaved through their classmates to approach him, and Izuku was close enough to overhear. “I couldn’t possibly leave you all behind, that doesn’t befit the image of a proper hero!”

Izuku spoke before sensei could, giving the hero the opportunity to give last orders to Thirteen instead. “You coming to get help is a part of being a hero, Iida! This is for everyone’s sake, not pride!”

After a moment of reluctance, sheer determination took over Iida as he sped to the front of the group. Thirteen continued to help the others where they trip or fall, answering questions of, “Where was Yamada-sensei going?” with a quick, “Giving Aizawa back-up” as they rushed towards the entrance.

All of it would’ve gone according to plan if it weren’t for the swirls of dark smoke that coalesced right in front of their escape route. Growing bigger in the space it occupied, getting more opaque as it condensed, it culminated until a figure appeared from the inky black void.

They all came to a halt for fear of getting near the shadowy figure, golden glowing eyes surveying their every move. They wore a complete gray suit, save for the jacket, pressed and clean. If the circumstances were different, one would’ve assumed they were here for a business meeting and not trespass a school.

And then they spoke.

“My insincere apologies, but we can’t have you departing so early; not when we haven’t had the chance to introduce ourselves.” They spread their arms and smoke billowed around them, blocking Izuku’s view of the only exit to the facility. “We are the League of Villains, and our leader has given you a benevolent offer to witness the end of a legend. Or… a symbol, if you will.”

It was only because Izuku was so close to Thirteen that he heard them shift, arm ready to raise and cap to be removed with a flick of their wrist. But that wasn’t the only thing he heard, no. Even with the distance between them two, Izuku could recognize that sound anywhere. One that he never ceased to associate with a word ever since he saw it spark.

Fireworks.

“GO DIE YOU SHITTY VILLAIN!” Katsuki aimed an explosion towards the villain’s chest as Kirishima from the opposite side leveled a hook to their head. The resulting smog from the attack obscured their vision and had some of their classmates coughing, accidentally inhaling it. Izuku made it a point to thank Mei later for making a filter built into his mask.

When the smoke eventually dissipated, everyone stood stock still as they took in the view of the villain merely patting down the signed cloth of their vest.

They were uninjured after taking two attacks at point blank range, one from one of their class’s powerhouses.

The gravity of the situation dawned on them all, then and there. How it would take much more to bring down one single intruder when there were multiple others waiting behind them.

“Pesky, aren’t you all. Though I suppose that’s a given since you’re heroes in training.” They took advantage of their stunned silence and let his quirk envelop them, the drop in temperature a sharp contrast to the earlier explosion’s spike in heat. “Why don’t we entertain you then, heroes.”

Startled screams cut off as quickly as it started, limbs reaching out for one classmate to another as Yamada-sensei’s last order for them rang in their minds. He absent-mindedly remembered that Kaminari was in the front, only hoping that he had been teleported with someone else. Izuku himself could feel the floor disappear beneath him, cold smoke swallowing him whole. Goosebumps wracked his body despite the added layer of his hoodie.

And he was sure he would’ve fallen wherever that portal led to if it weren’t for the white binding that latched onto his abdomen, hauling him outside of the quirk’s range. He would’ve mistaken it as Sensei’s scarf if he hadn’t already known he was preoccupied at the central plaza. It was when he hit the ground and heard Shinsou grit out a ‘knight in shining armor’ from beside him that he realized he now owed Sero twice.

“Fuck, could use a warning next time,” said Shinsou, winded as he hastily stood up and kept his eyes trained on the threat.

“You’re welcome,” he bit back. "Where's Kaminari?"

"Was at the front." Izuku grabbed his left arm, sore from the impact. "He was with Mina but I don't know who he's with right now."

Shinsou gritted his teeth. "He better not use that all or nothing move of his, or else I'd knock him out myself."

The three of them and those who were left stayed behind Thirteen. Iida managed to evade thanks to his speed, Uraraka her reaction time, while Shouji and Satou were already out of range prior to the surprise attack. Although their diminished numbers had them worry for the others’ well-being, Shouji’s mollifying news that they were all within the building calmed their nerves somewhat.

They still had to go through the villain to call for backup, or at the very least have Iida escape. Their only problem now was how.

Thirteen had an answer to that.

“Victory isn’t set in stone, villain!” Uncapped, the blackhole sucked in all those near it, to the point that Izuku could feel the air shift. And with the wind, the quirk-produced smoke and of those that constituted the villain were getting dragged by its relentless pull. But Izuku felt that something was wrong, a crack in the plan that they overlooked.

One that they came to when it was already too late: the villain could teleport more than just people.

“THIRTEEN!”

With the hero’s attack redirected, injuries self-inflicted, he and his classmates were down the only person that had formal combat training while their enemy stood unharmed. They had to do something and had to do it quickly.

Izuku turned to ask the others for input when he saw Sero eyeing the villain with contemplative silence. Maybe Izuku was a good influence, at least in regards to unconventional plans, and he’d rub that in Shinsou’s face once this was all done and over.

“Uraraka, remember what we did with the bomb?”

Her eyebrows rose near to her hairline, but didn’t dismiss the idea. “I’d need distractions if we do. He might teleport me if I get too close!”

Satou clasped both of their shoulders and exchanged looks with Iida and Shouji. “On it,” he said as he opened a pouch and popped three sugar cubes into his mouth.

Izuku took note of that detail for his notebooks later. “Me and Shinsou would try to treat Thirteen, we know a thing or two about first-aid.” Never thought he would live to see the day where he’d thank his old bullies for giving him serious wounds. “Good luck you guys, especially you, Iida.”

And after exchanging nods, they were off.

The sounds of battle reverberate within the USJ. A cacophony of screams, explosions, and crumbling structures alternating between white noise and being so loud that it rattled their ear drums, making it ring for a few moments after. Try as they might to block out the distracting racket, it was too real and too close for them to even have semblance of success.

Trying to cover the wound of a body they couldn’t see or touch wasn't much of a triumph either in that regard, not when all there was inside the suit was a black gaping void. Neither Izuku nor Shinsou have treated someone of different anatomy, but they were the best they’ve got. The others were busy with their own tasks.

Closing Thirteen’s suit with Sero’s cut-off tape earlier was what they eventually resorted to, and making sure the cap on their glove was properly closed shut. They couldn’t have friendly fire, as Yamada-sensei said. And with the last of the tape used and the rest of the hole wrapped with bandages, they checked to see how their friends were faring.

And what a sight they were gifted with, one they couldn’t entirely process.

Perhaps their brain was too addled with adrenaline, or they finally went into shock to be so detached with reality that they started hallucinating. Or maybe Satou really has one end of the tape in his hand while the villain’s metal collar was on the other. Satou wildly waved his arms around like a six year old on a tantrum that had a balloon tied to his wrist. If smoke could turn green from nausea, maybe the villain would be the same shade as Uraraka was right now.

Izuku almost felt bad for the floating villain.

Almost.

“Iida escaped,” said Shinsou, the first to recover.

Now that Izuku saw it, the edges of the metal door were dented from what could only be prying strength-enhanced hands. While the sounds of battle hush behind them, Izuku’s heart soars with hope now that it felt like things were de-escalating. His class was going to be fine. More and more villains were being knocked unconscious from the less voices he could hear, and the same train of thought could be used for Yamada-sensei’s infrequent need to use his quirk. It was steadily becoming quiet.

“Backup will arrive soon and their teleporter is busy for now.” Sero approached with Uraraka’s arm slung over his shoulder, placing her beside Thirteen’s prone form. “Our classmates are with each other so that leaves—”

“Noumu!”

“Mic!”

But Izuku should’ve known that things would turn for the worse.

After all, he was at an age too young when he learned what the quiet meant.

Chapter Text

A cold wave of dread choked one word out of Shouta.

“Villains.”

When he thought the situation was bad enough, larger portals followed soon after, teleporting more criminals onto school grounds. At first glance, he could estimate their numbers to be a little over a hundred. It was with the assumption that no other villains were placed outside of the central plaza.

As much as he hoped that all he saw was all they were, his instinct refined from years worth of hero-work nagged otherwise. Trepidation turned spine-chilling when he realized what that move could mean; he wouldn’t be able to protect all of them.

In his head he made a headcount.

Thirteen, his colleague.

His class, twenty students.

Hizashi, his husband.

Fifth, his—

Shouta had too many enemies to fight against if he took on all of them alone. He was well aware of where his limits lied. But the mere idea of him having more to lose if he let the others stay and fight made the hero choose the lesser of the two evils.

The students are inexperienced even if they have that raw determination to fuel their efforts. Having gone through no more than training and simulations so far in UA, no amount of will can compensate for their lack of skill that can only be cultivated through practice. Ruthless he may be with his methods and no nonsense words, this was one of the well-drawn lines Shouta wouldn’t dare cross. A list of unspoken rules that he had taken care to never break in either of his careers.

So when he made his decision, he didn’t deign his choice a second guess. He exchanged one glance with Present Mic before Eraserhead grabbed his scarf and dived headfirst into the fray.

Must protect, he thought, a single-minded goal of utmost priority. Keep them safe.

He was sure there was some form of poetic irony in the way he lectured his class over unfairness as he knocked three disoriented villains out in one swift movement. Eraserhead wasn’t complaining that he was far outnumbered to the point of being near overwhelmed. He didn’t think it was unfair that one downed villain was replaced by two others like a decapitated hydra. Fangs bared and claws sharp, quirks at the ready, wielded to maim. This supposed unfairness was simply in the job prescription of being a Pro Hero, as was the requirement to face these great odds with the relentless pursuit to win.

He delivered a punch to the jaw to one of the emitters, immediately knocking them out cold. They fell limply to the floor in the middle of the mayhem, limbs sprawled to the sides. A kick to the liver had another villain curling in on herself with a wheeze, spittle escaping parted lips. So far that made five down and around ninety more to go.

He took note of his stamina. He would make it work.

Attacks from all sides had him handspring over the incapacitated woman’s shoulder, making her fall to her knees and give him a chance to avoid most attacks aimed below the neck. It gave him enough air time to activate Erasure and take advantage of their bewildered states. Two ends of his scarf latched at the feet of those nearest to him while at the same time he landed in a crouch, sweeping a leg under the rest.

All of them came crashing down in the next moment.

One move after the other only to push on and fight for the sake of someone else. This was what heroism meant to him, and this was what he knew his students’ futures hold. To have unfairness as an occupational hazard, equipped with the skills he taught that they would need to be the last ones to stand, uninjured to the best of their abilities.

But despite all his rationalizations, having his class go through this was unfair. They were kids, caught in the middle of their adolescence. At that age, they were meant to be trained, nurtured, guided, and eased into the dangerous profession of having to face villains on a daily basis. They were supposed to be raised as heroes-in-training under his watchful eye, to be corrected and given a reality check when the time was right.

It was unfair for them to be exposed so early to this; not as spectators that most of the public already were, but as unwilling participants.

Though, there was no use lamenting on what should’ve been now.

“BACK OFF!” A glass shattering scream came from behind that had the group on Eraserhead’s left covering their ears. Granted the opportunity, he deftly had his knee meet the heads of those still standing to take them out of the fight.

Eraserhead then turned to the only person he knew who could shout that loud.

“Why are you here?” He elbowed the unsuspecting villain to the nose, one that approached not-so-silently from his right. That made another blond with underdeveloped stealth skills.

“No one told me I can’t, and it’s to provide you backup! DUH!” Mic directed that last word towards another group that were about to pounce while they conversed. Eraserhead wrapped his scarf around the arms of the one nearest to him, a stocky bald guy with a swirling tattoo on his scalp, and swung him towards the rest. They didn’t dodge quickly enough and tumbled down like bowling pins.

Of course Mic wouldn’t hear him asking to go stay with the others, he thought, as he readied for the next onslaught of attacks. It’s exactly what silent communication stood for.

For years they’ve been sending and interpreting ideas with mere looks and the occasional glance. It came to the point where they could hold whole conversations with gestures alone, as close to telepathy anyone could get without a mind-reading quirk. Hizashi always knew what Shouta meant, and vice versa.

And now that the fight had taken its toll, energy steadily depleting as another wave of criminals flashed their quirks with reckless abandon, Eraserhead was thankful Hizashi didn’t take any of his bullshit.

Only God and Nedzu knew how Hizashi tolerated Shouta at his lowest.

“Cover my back?” The question answered more than it did ask, a message that he wouldn’t get in Mic’s way.

“Always,” said Hizashi.

A single word carried more weight than it ought to.

Whipping scarves, dropping high kicks, and interspaced quirk usage were made left and right to thin the horde. Eraserhead made sure every time he activated Erasure, it was when he didn’t have Mic within his line of sight. The same courtesy was given when his partner screamed.

They functioned like a well-oiled machine, gears turning smoothly as if they were perfectly crafted for each other. So in tune that there was no such wasted movement to do what needed to be done.

Eventually, breathing came as panting, sweat beaded bruised skin, and muscles burned with exertion by the time the last criminal crumpled on concrete. Mic stopped using his quirk a while ago to avoid straining his old injury, so Eraserhead had to compensate by persevering with his own.

Of course, they weren’t let off so easily after; not when two of the three main threats stood at a distance, observing them. The third left moments earlier at the command of the man armed with dismembered hands.

A nauseating yet casual display of grotesque accessories earned the thin villain some levels of wariness, but not enough that he was the more daunting of the two. The other had muscle mass thrice the villain’s size, an exposed brain bulging from an uncovered part of their skull, and leathery black skin that stretched taut over the area too large for it to cover.

If Eraserhead hadn’t already hypothesized the giant villain’s quirk to be a transformation type going by his lack of recognition— an appearance like that would have Shouta remember the person very clearly— he would have thought they merely had a strengthening quirk.

He still had his doubts, but it was the only logical conclusion he came up with.

“So it seems the fodders’ been culled by two side characters, the big boss nowhere to be seen.” The young man’s voice was rough, texture like the exposed patch of scabbed and irritated skin not covered by the collar of his shirt. “Is there a prerequisite to his appearance? The info can’t be wrong. This is UA, after all.”

The pair of hands twitched.

“Heroes cheat, but they also have pride.”

“What are you aiming for, villain?” asked Eraserhead. “Why are you here?”

“What if… a quest has to be completed first?” He continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted, too lost in delusions of an imaginary game he played. The hero slowly approached the threat while Mic stood behind, covering blind-spots and to offer long range attacks if push came to shove. “Yes, that’s it. To unlock the main story quest, you have to finish everything leading up to it! And that—” They locked eyes, deranged bloody red meeting its cautious counterpart.”—includes you two.”

The opposing sides pounced, clashing at the middle with finesse, showcasing skill that Eraserhead didn’t expect from a villain as young as the other. With Erasure activated in short bursts, he lashed out his scarf when given enough distance and kicked to deal more damage with more range. The exchange of hits was fast and brutal, pale hands outstretched that implied a physical contact quirk, supplemented by speed that rivaled his own. Merciless were the villain’s attacks with no consideration to avoiding fatal blows, a characteristic that Eraserhead didn’t reciprocate but redirected to avoid having an early death. At the same time, Shouta came to a conclusion that had him stiffen not solely to block a kick aimed for his chest.

The villain was trained for years.

He had fallen to villainy as a child.

“You’re a handful, aren’t you?” The man asked once both of them put a distance between themselves. “Annoying, but respectable. You live up to the whispers of the Underground, Eraserhead.” Then he grinned; wide, awful, and unnerving. “But you forget we’re playing in multiplayer.”

And the meaning behind the man’s words clicked.

“Noumu!”

“ Mic!”

Erasure activated in a desperate attempt to cancel out the Noumu’s quirk, wrapping his scarf around the outstretched hand. Millenia seemed to pass by during that split-second silence.

It was the eye of the storm, deceptively peaceful and calm.

It was what’s past that had hurricanes be called devastating disasters.

Shouta felt his quirk take effect as the scarf bound the thick forearm in hopes of holding it back. Within the span of a blink, the world turned upside down. He had just enough time to process the familiar ache of pulled shoulder muscles when his back slammed against something.

Hard.

Bones creaked until they snapped, air completely knocked out of his lungs. Black spots swirled in his vision as everything else was reduced to a gaussian blur of colors too bright. The stomach-turning visuals made him squint his eyes.

He was thrown, some subconscious part of his mind noted. He slowly recovered from the shock of being effortlessly flung away like he weighed nothing.

It hurt to breathe, to feel splintered bone grating against one another as if one wrong move could puncture his lung. His head throbbed, pulsating in waves that even without an official diagnosis he could tell he was concussed. Thoughts moved with the viscosity of putty, processing the pain taking over mental facilities. Blood dribbled down the side of his head in a small but steady stream, trailing down dity cheeks until he could taste iron on his tongue.

He bit his lip, reigning in strayed pieces of his consciousness to focus and think.

One hit was all it took from that thing. One hit and he was out.

And while it was a struggle in and of itself to choke back a whimper, no injury on any part of his body could compare to what he heard.

Shrieking metal and crumbling cement, the cackling drowning out the sound of gurgling liquid.

His vision cleared just enough to see what lay meters ahead of him, and it was at the cost of his ability to breathe. Shouta simply couldn’t, no matter how much his body craved air.

The constricting grip on his chest had nothing to do with pain.

Nothing to do with physical pain.

It was hard to discern whether they shuddered or felt the ground tremble beneath their feet. Nerves were live wires, sensitive to the touch.

Perchance, it was both.

One was still worse than the other.

“We need to do something,” said Sero, heard past the loud pulse in Izuku’s ears. Muddled and detached, it was hard to process anything when denial dominated thoughts. Everything was in a third person perspective, and yet he could see with startling clarity.

The contrast of red on gray had never seemed so sharp before.

“How’d you like my Noumu, heroes.” Once he stopped laughing, the man spoke with child-like glee. His voice reached the top of the staircase given how everyone else was rendered speechless. “It was designed to be on par with All Might. Its strength and speed stats were maxed to ensure its victory, and you thought you side characters could reduce its HP?”

A shaky scoff from beside him.

Izuku glanced at his friend.

“No shit, Sherlock,” said Shinsou, locking eyes with Izuku. “So, tell us your plan.”

Izuku brought his gaze back to the main threat, unable to bring it anywhere near the injured heroes. “I’ll think of one.”

The villain slowly approached the crumpled form of Sensei, pace languid and cocky, as if his victory was ensured. “You’re underleveled. The only hero that comes close is your dear number one, and he’s not here.” Shadows appeared beside him, and that was when the heroes-in-training realized the teleporter managed to escape. “And what makes it perfect is that it only listens to me.”

Izuku gasped. “Shinsou,”

His friend was openly shocked. “I can’t believe I know what you mean.”

“And I’ll take care of what happens after,” said Sero. He raised his elbow and reeled the extra tape back like a cocked shotgun. “Hopefully my aim improved.”

“Shigaraki,” the smokey figure called. Nausea from the earlier distraction brought the teleporter down to their knees. “One of… the students managed… to escape.” They brought a hand to where their mouth was supposedly placed. “I apologize… for my inadequacy.”

“We’re on a timer.” Shigaraki paced, scratching his neck. “Would the other NPCs or the big boss arrive first? At this point we’re playing a waiting game we have no time for.”

Shinsou shuffled from beside Izuku, adjusting his gear. “You’re crazy for coming up with this.”

“I thought we already established that as a good thing?” joked Sero, slightly easing the tense atmosphere.

“Still, I need the blue haired guy to move away from sensei. Midoriya…”

“I’ll be fine, Shinsou.” Sensei taught me well. “We only need to stall until the heroes arrive.”

The scratching stopped when the villain crouched before Sensei. He tilted his head, quiet in contemplative silence.

Izuku tugged on his hood and placed the mask over the lower half of his face. For once, he was thankful for his dismissively average appearance.

Sero and Shinsou ran away from Izuku with determined faces. They had their support gear ready and were hiding in position.

“Might as well take care of future problems now,” Shigaraki hummed. The hand that eas stained with red came closer to Sensei’s face.

And now was the time to put their plan into action. Izuku hoped he was a convincing actor.

“H-HEY!”

The hand stopped its approach as the two villains turned to whoever was dumb enough to catch their attention. To them, it was a child wearing a bunny-themed hoodie standing where he wasn’t supposed to be; a villain attack at a highschool.

“What’s a brat doing here?” asked Shigaraki. He was still crouched near Sensei, it wasn’t safe to proceed onto the next step.

Izuku had to compel him to move somehow. Anger? Interest? Curiosity? Either of the three could work.

“I-I’m here to p-protect them!” The tremble in his voice wasn’t any less authentic than the shake in his legs. He was terrified; utterly and genuinely afraid of having to face such a daunting enemy face to face.

But someone once said that courage wasn’t the absence of fear, it was persevering despite it.

“You?” The man’s amusement could be heard all the way to where Izuku stood at the top of the staircase, a wry grin forming behind the dismembered hand. He stood, all his focus on Izuku as arrogance made him blind. “Two pro-heroes got KO’ed in one hit, it’s obvious which side has the upperhand.” A turn of his head. “Noumu! Leave Present Mic there, he’s out of the game, and so is Eraserhead.”

With a sickening squelch, it loosened its grip on deformed metal. The crater made from the earlier impact, dust long settled to mix itself with pooled blood, shuddered at the weight of the monster’s footsteps. An unmoving body was haphazardly discarded dead center of the wreckage.

More red dripped from the Noumu’s fingertips, the sight only furthering Izuku’s determination to see to it that the heroes would be alright.

Good news, it’s kind of going according to plan.

A growl slipped past gritted, misaligned teeth that jutted out of the Noumu’s beak.

Bad news, Shigaraki’s this close to siccing the creature on him.

“It’s pitiful to watch a kid do a hero’s job. An embarrassment, I’d say.” The villain stepped forward, thumbs in pockets. “So, you’re their knight in shining armor?”

“Y-you’re wrong.” Izuku breathed in, body tensing at the prospect of shooting forward the moment after. A steeled gaze, much unlike the character he played seconds before, met the villain. “He is.”

A white blur came out of nowhere, and Izuku was sure Shigaraki would have easily swerved to dodge if not for the confusion made by the main attack.

“NOUMU, SLEEP! ”

Izuku came rushing down the staircase at the same time as Shinsou, his hiding place in the bushes. Tremors ran through the ground when the creature fell face-first at the order, making the two stumble in their steps. Izuku caught himself and pushed forward, seeing Sero come running towards them from the opposite side of the plaza.

The shot made its mark on Shigaraki’s face, taping his mouth shut, resulting in zero chances of undoing Shinsou’s order using his own voice. It was a strength they took advantage of and made into a weakness to exploit. Thank goodness Shinsou had a voice-changer.

The three ran until they skidded to a stop a few feet away from their teachers, putting themselves in between the threat and those they swore to protect. Izuku’s heart pounded with adrenaline with a beat so fast he worried it would jump right out of his chest.

“What are you doing?” The forced words caused Sensei to cough not soon after. Shinsou helped him sit and lean against the crumbling fountain, cracked because it was what Sensei was thrown to. Meanwhile, Sero attended to Yamada-sensei by removing the damaged support gear, freeing him of anything that could trouble his breathing. It was shallow, concerning. If not for the rise and fall of his chest, the trio would have assumed the worst.

And it wasn’t due to habit that Izuku didn’t answer Sensei’s question, rather he wasn’t given the chance to. The interruption came in the form of a silenced villain fast approaching whose silhouette radiated with palpable killing intent.

Muscle memory kicked in and Izuku defended himself from the barrage of hits, redirecting the open hand strikes with a swing of his padded forearm. The adjustments on his costume allowed for minimal input and maximum output, letting Izuku both conserve stamina while dealing strong blows. Footwork was fast and calculated to bring the fight away from the injured, all the while dodging the speedy comebacks of the enraged villain. A part of him was miffed that his knives still weren’t approved for his hero costume, bad timing being the understatement of the century.

Good thing he always came prepared, though.

Given the small opening, Izuku grabbed the one constant he always brought with him and wielded it as an improvised weapon. Everyone who saw the battle simulation knew that, though unconventional, it still got the job done. Sensei meant it when he said he’d teach Izuku how to protect himself even only with a pen.

So when Shigaraki attacked again, Izuku deflected the arm and swung the hand that held his weapon, aiming for the wide open shoulder. As bad as he felt for literally puncturing someone, piercing skin and hitting bone, he knew this was an injury the other could recover from with the right treatment. Izuku was taught to defend himself first, yes; but he was also told to do it in a way so that he wouldn’t be assaulted once more by the same trick.

A torn shoulder muscle should make it so that Shigaraki couldn’t raise his arm.

Too bad he underestimated Shigaraki’s agility.

Time stood still as Izuku’s breath stuttered, peering through the five heavily scarred fingers that without context could be said was giving him a soft caress. Izuku should be feeling something, those open handed attacks weren’t just for show. A physical contact quirk that at that moment wasn’t working.

Finally having the time to remove the tape from his face—which took numerous attempts until Shigaraki dug his finger in to catch an edge, breaking skin in the process—he turned to face somewhere else. His hand was still on Izuku’s face.

“Really cool of you to hang on, Eraserhead. Guess I was wrong when I said you were out of the game.”

The hero-in-training batted the hand away and jumped back, nerves returning full-force after his brush with death. He left the pen behind when he did, lodged between flesh and muscle. If he removed it, the villain would’ve bleeded out. Self-defense or not, he couldn’t have Shigaraki go into shock.

“You good, bro?” asked Sero, mere feet away from where Izuku now stood.

“Y-yeah. I-I-I’ll be fine.”

“Kurogiri.” At Shigaraki’s call, the unmoving form of black smoke rippled until two golden slits glowed from within the void. “Wake the fuck up.”

The figure, which they now knew as Kurogiri, dusted themself off as they readjusted their solid vest. “Of course, Shigaraki.”

“Hey, bunny.” Good thing Shinsou caught onto Sero’s avoidance of actual names. Izuku would’ve preferred a different codename, though. Also spoken without the sound-altering device, because hearing the voice of the man that almost killed him refer to Izuku with an endearing nickname is off putting. “Tell us what we’re doing now.”

And… wait a minute.

Izuku glanced at the Noumu while the villain was busying himself with another monologue.

His friend’s eye twitched, and he could practically hear the question of ‘are you crazy’ at the realization.

“Oh you’ve got to be fucking kidding with me.”

“...Sorry, but would you care to say that again? I wasn’t able to, uh, write that down.”

Hitoshi could only sigh at the detective’s reaction. Not that he could blame the guy, really. He met the plan with the same disbelief.

It didn’t erase the fact that he was annoyed that he had to repeat himself, though. The fight turned into an impromptu game of Screaming Simon Says, causing a grating and scratchy feeling in his throat once the battle reached its climax. Expletives may have been thrown here and there at the height of their anger, the kind where mothers would cover their children’s ears for if caught within hearing range, but he told himself that it was merely a part of playing his role.

But also because it felt good insulting Shigaraki and it only had the bonus of making the guy more pissed off and reckless with his own actions.

Even so, because of his add on flairs exasperatedly dubbed as ‘potty-mouth behavior’ by Midoriya, the extra effort took its toll. Yes, he was still kicking; Midoriya and Sero handled the physical fight while he did the verbal. It was just that he was tired of speaking. The offered water bottle didn’t do anything but quench his thirst.

What he’d do to have a sip of Nedzu’s acclaimed tea right about now.

“After Kurogiri was ordered to wake up, which he did by the way, Shigaraki had another rant.” The collar, unbuttoned minutes before to give himself room to breathe, was opened wider to place a hand on his nape. “Short version is that he hated heroes, especially All Might. You can ask Sero for the long version. The villain said too much. My throat hurts.”

Detective Tsukauchi had enough decency to look sheepish.

“Yeah, well, then I turned to Midoriya and he told me what to do next. So for the next two minutes until All Might arrived, me and Shigaraki had like… a mental quirk tug of war. We ordered the things he called Noumus using the same voice.”

The guy clicked his pen. “One of your statements registered as a lie, could you please elaborate?”

“...Midoriya didn’t say it.” Hitoshi paused to take a sip of water. “But I knew he was going to. He only gave a glance, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Alright, noted.” Then Tsukauchi warily eyed the creature being poked at by Midnight, unresponsive despite the repeated stimulus. “Is that why the Noumu you speak of is standing behind you obediently?”

“Yes… and no.”

“Could you please elaborate?”

Hitoshi’s voice box gave a hard no. As a compromise, he raised his hands to answer, ‘I can if it’s in sign.’

There passed one of the longest five minutes of his life, only second to the time it took him to open his UA acceptance letter with his mothers by his side. Hitoshi gave a somewhat brief summary of events since he was sure Midoriya already gave his statement with excessive detail. He only had to say his side of the story because of standard protocol.

‘Shigaraki managed to escape with Kurogiri when All Might arrived. The Noumu wasn’t able to hear him because of the noise, and Kurogiri couldn’t hear me for the same reason.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t know what would’ve happened if All Might didn’t come by the time he did. The villains could have all escaped with the Noumu, or I could’ve made it so that Kurogiri couldn’t teleport them out. Either way, I knew I wouldn’t have lasted. It’s been a while since I last raised my voice.'

That was putting it lightly. It’s been a while since he talked this much, period.

‘After that, he helped carry Thirteen, Aizawa-sensei, and Yamada-sensei to the stretchers. The rest of the teachers gathered the students by the entrance. It was then the Noumu… followed me. I think it’s still waiting for orders since I still have Shigaraki’s voice saved in my support gear. The villain mentioned that the Noumu only listens to him, and here we are.’

“For the record, was all that you signed the complete truth?”

“Yes.”

The recording device Detective Tsukauchi brought with him stopped at the push of a button, clicking as confirmation. He tugged the lapels of his coat, an attempt to fix himself to a point that he looked almost as decent as Aizawa-sensei was on a good day.

If there was such a thing as a good day.

“Good thinking with the plan you came up with.” The detective brought Hitoshi out of his thoughts. “When we were called, I half-expected the ones who confronted the main threats to be heavily injured. More often than not, people fight with their fists first instead of this.” He pointed at his head. “Seen lots of people with that mindset given my career, and sometimes even All Might makes that mistake.”

Hitoshi stewed in his curiosity, wondering where this was headed.

A pat to his shoulder confused him more, and only worsened by the words that followed.

“You did the right thing, kid.” The detective bit his lip. “But only continue with your hero-ing once you have your license. Otherwise, that would be vigilantism. Today’s only an exception because the attack was on school grounds.”

If the man saw the dumbfounded expression Hitoshi knew he was wearing at that moment, then he made no mention of it. He simply tipped his hat in bid of farewell, leaving Hitoshi alone with his thoughts.

Which he refused to do, so finding his friends was now on the agenda.

Go leave the existential crisis for later, was his new motto in life. It was what changed the old once ever since he stepped foot into UA, and wasn’t that a sign?

He found Kaminari nursing a headache after overusing his quirk, sitting by the entrance with his head atop his knees. Thankfully, it wasn’t enough that he went into one of his modes, but the severity still warranted some painkillers going by how a medic regularly checked in on him. Sero on the other hand sat with Kaminari while acting out what happened at central plaza. The gash on his arm was bandaged, leaving none of that skin deep injury out in the open air. The three of them figured out Shigaraki had a decay quirk the hard way.

It was also how they realized Aizawa-sensei had a concerningly high pain tolerance.

His continued observations made him notice the lack of a certain chatterbox, one that would have usually supported the conversation or dominated it entirely. So he searched in the areas that didn’t seem to be restricted from the heroes-in-training, seeing none of the bushy green hair in any of the huddled groups scattered here and there.

Well, there’s only one other place he might be.

Hitoshi eyed the ambulance that still hadn’t departed for the hospital.

The approach was slow and wary. He didn’t think he’d be scolded for wandering over to the vehicle, but he didn’t have much of a solid reason to head there either. The only ones that had to be transported to the hospital were the three injured Pro Heroes, and only two of the three went and left.

One of the heroes was too stubborn to leave, according to a murmur he overheard from a frustrated medic. The man said they didn’t need immediate medical attention and that his injuries could wait. Snippets were all they were, but from the way they were said, one face was more prominent than the rest in his mind.

It turns out Aizawa-sense stayed to see to it that his class was alright.

Hitoshi’s respect for the man had risen a little, at that. And maybe, perhaps, some form of admiration too.

He was about to reach the back of the ambulance, quite a distance away from the rest of the crowd, when the sound of hitched breathing had him stop in his tracks. Slowly, he took a few steps closer to the side of the vehicle. While taking care not to make any noise, he peeked from the corner.

Midoriya was crying on Aizawa-sensei’s shoulder.

Huh.

“I-I’m sorry. We couldn’t just–but then I, and y-you–” he hiccuped, wiping away tears with the damaged sleeves of his hoodie. “I’m s-so s-s -sorry, I thought I was enough but then you had to strain your quirk and Sero got hurt and I-I’m—I’m still so—I couldn’t even do what you taught me right!”

Sensei interrupted by giving a pat to his head. A rather hard one that was soon compensated by softer headpats, the occasional hair ruffling in between. Judging by the way Midoiya slumped, it calmed him down enough to reduce his sobbing to wet sniffles after a minute of no reply.

“I thought I told you I don’t handle tears well,” the man said. His volume was so low that Hitoshi had to inch closer to hear it. “Besides, it wasn’t a fight I expected you to win. I only knew you would survive. That’s what I taught you.”

“But—”

“No buts.” Another pat. “You don’t need to apologize for what you weren't expected to do in the first place. I should’ve done better so that you and your friends didn’t feel the need to jump and fight in our stead. And… if anything, you showed me your gratitude.”

At the sight of his friend shifting, HItoshi moved back so he wouldn’t be caught eavesdropping. He didn’t mean to do it, it just sort of happened.

Sure, he could’ve left at any moment, but hearing their sensei speak so… not necessarily softly, a rough grumble was more apt of a description. It was spoken in a way that Aizawa-sensei addressed Midoriya’s worries with carefully chosen words that left Hitoshi stunned. It wasn’t dismissive nor apathetic. It was what Hitoshi’s friend needed to hear, words of comfort without overly putting everything in a positive light.

He wasn’t going to lie if time came and someone asked what his first impression of the man was; strict, ruthless, would probably sell your soul to the devil for a night of good sleep, but that private moment changed things.

After the quirk apprehension test, their sensei seemed thoughtful and wise.

After this, Hitoshi learned that their sensei simply cared.

If this is what Midoriya meant by ‘listen carefully’, then he now understood why Midoriya’s eyes sparkled at every mention of the hero.

He was about to leave them be when he heard a sigh, followed by a, “If you’re finished soaking my scarf, Shinsou’s there to fetch you.”

Hitoshi jumped at the mention of his name, stepping out into the open with a hand rubbing his nape. He should’ve known Aizawa-sensei was perceptive.

“And remind me to give your class stealth lessons, including All Might. I’ve seen one too many bad attempts at sneaking around recently that it’s becoming a concern.”

The gruff man was driven off to the hospital not soon after, having finally exhausted the paramedics’ patience. After waving goodbye, the pair walked back to where their friends were grouped together, waiting for their guardians to come bring them home.

Sero waved at them.

“Yo! They just finished calling our emergency contacts now, our parents should be picking us up soon.” Hitoshi has no idea where Sero kept this much energy.

“Oh, okay…” Midoriya trailed off when something caught his eye. “Uh, why’re they glaring at us like that?” He pointed to the two powerhouses of their class, scathing looks that were given no effort to hide.

Blasty, Hitoshi could easily ignore. The guy was always angry that it quickly became the norm.

Todoroki, however… A part of him pitied Sero for having to talk those two down enough to settle with glaring. Bakugo was trigger happy with his explosions while the other could effortlessly freeze an entire building.

“Oh, they’re just pissed,” answered Sero, like the sky was blue. “They’re throwing a tantrum over not being able to join in on the action earlier. And not that I regret helping y’all out, but it wasn’t something to be jealous of.” He rubbed the bandaged part of his left forearm.

The look on Sero’s face sent a different message.

He was about to ask—Yes, ask. He himself couldn’t believe it—if that’s really all they talked about, but a familiar call of ‘Toshi!’ made his mouth clamp shut.

His Mom arrived and was dragging ‘Ma by the sleeve of her shirt. Guess he would leave his questions unanswered for now.

[ Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse + Shinbro Hiptoshi]

Sero-tonin:

So are you guys back home alright?

Muppeteer:

If I dont count having the air squeezed out of my lungs by my mom, yes

Mi-dont-riya:

Same as Shinsou :’DD

Sero-tonin:

Go drink some water midobro

Dont think you had me fooled you need it

Same to you shinbro

Muppeteer:

I knew Kaminari would be a bad influence on you

God-nari:

Hey!

I take offense to that >:((

Besides, midorbro literally has dont in his nickname

Muppeteer:

I didnt say there could only be one bad influence

Plus get off of your phone the medic said no gadgets

God-nari:

…touche

And cmon im like, a human battery, I cant be noping on myself

Self love bro

Mi-dont-riya:

Am I really that bad?

Sero-tonin:

Yes.

Muppeteer:

Yes

God-nari:

Yeah

And you know its bad cuz sero used the right grammar

Muppeteer:

You mean punctuation

God-nari:

Potato potahtoe

Muppeteer:

…Fine I cant fault your logic

Oh and Midoriya

Mi-dont-riya:

What is it, Shinsou?

Muppeteer:

Thanks for saving our asses back there

Your help was more than enough

[ Muppeteer is offline ]

Chapter Text

A soft murmur filled the plain room, as did the intermittent rustle of thin cloth rubbed together. Fainter yet steady beeps accompanied by the constant whisper as it tried to ease the tension with mere words. However, the speaker wasn’t quite sure if it was meant to comfort the unconscious receiver or himself.

Everything was deathly still, save for the rise and fall of Hizashi’s chest and the thumb that rubbed his unresponsive hand. Shouta trailed his gaze from the CPAP mask to the heart monitor on his left. The sound of the machine couldn’t compare to the beat of the real thing, not when it had none of the warmth and life each pulse beat. But his feelings had nothing when weighed with the facts, and he could settle with knowing what those beeps meant. 

Rationally, he was okay with knowing Hizashi was here and alive. Emotionally, memories stained his vision red.

Which led to him sitting beside his husband’s bed, clutching his right hand as if it were a lifeline. The physical contact eased his worry, but it still wasn’t enough to settle the ever-present buzz thrumming in his veins. It wouldn’t be until he could hear the heartbeat straight from the source.

Shouta told him as much.

“Before you worry, RG healed my bones first. I think she knew what I’d do once I was conscious and aware.” He sighed. “She didn’t let me go without a scolding, though. I jostled a fracture when I sat up straight looking for you. It turns out we were placed in the same room. Still, nothing would have stopped me from searching for you even if we were on separate wings.”

He shifted closer until he could feel the cool metal frame through his clothes, diminishing what little space left they had between them. Another sigh escaped his lips when it was still farther than he would’ve liked.

“She’d get an aneurysm if she saw me lying on the same bed as you. She only managed to convince me from doing it when your doctor reported that your throat was in the process of healing. Healing quirks and throat injuries don’t mix well together. So… I’ll wait until you’d let me get closer to you.”

As you did with me, he left unsaid. Careful fingertips traced the lifelines of a still hand, the movements mirroring the same action that felt so long ago. The touch lingered on his skin after all these years, imprinted deeper than what time can fade away.

“The kids are also fine, the most serious injury was Sero’s contact with the decay quirk of a villain. He was treated immediately once the paramedics arrived, but from what I heard, he was left with a hand-shaped scar.” With that knowledge in mind, it answered the question of why he saw Sero rubbing his bandaged arm often while Shouta was doing a headcount. “Shinsou also had a throat injury. He screamed it raw while handling the Noumus. The kid figured out a weakness that was exploitable with a voice-changer. You were… unconscious, while he dealt with them. It was the most I’ve seen him talk, now that I think about it. The last time I heard him raise his voice was during the entrance exam.

“Todoroki and Hagakure had frostnip from Todoroki's quirk, but Hagakure was nearing superficial frostbite considering her thin costume. Thirteen passed out from blood loss but they’re recovering in a room across from ours. Most of the others had minor scrapes and bruises. Otherwise, they came out relatively unscathed. Thankfully.”

Still no reply, not that Shouta had expected one. Hoping for one, on the other hand, was a different story.

He gripped the hand in his hold a little bit harder.

“Midoriya cried–a lot. I can’t help but think he should’ve approached you. You could’ve handled it exponentially better than me. He has… problems that I don’t know how to help solve. Back then it felt more like sticking a band-aid on a headwound. Some temporary treatment that only helps a little, if at all.”

The moment he paused, the quiet took his place. Unsettling and unwelcome when Hizashi was with him. Shouta never knew peace the moment they were within proximity of each other. So when he did, it felt fundamentally wrong. Like meeting a stranger he hadn’t seen nor heard of in years, one that they parted with once Shouta met the right person.

His mouth went dry and his chest ached.

“I need to hear you.”

Not want; nothing as shallow as a want that only craves to fulfill wishes and desires. Something skin-deep that couldn’t even seep through blood vessels, tissue, or bone. What he felt wasn’t so trivial that he’d label it facile.

It was a need. A necessity to be here, present, and felt because it was one constant in his life that was taken away without warning. A weight-bearing pillar that cracked at its foundations, left to recover on a scratchy hospital bed. How could Shouta stand tall when one gust of wind could topple him over?

“I know it’s selfish and you’re in this state because of my mistake, but I need you. It hurts, to see you like this, to see the consequences of my actions and what could happen if I wasn’t able to do any better. It’s–I don’t want to lose you. I can’t afford to lose someone else.”

“...Are you okay?”

Shouta chucked his plastic chair straight at the intruder before they even finished speaking.

They caught the projectile by reflex and barely stuttered out a response.

“A-Aizawa?!” exclaimed Yagi, repeatedly looking between the thrown chair and Shouta. “What if it had been a doctor or a nurse that entered instead!”

Of course, he was concerned over others, not himself, that self-sacrificial symbol.

“A doctor or a nurse would’ve knocked before entering a room occupied by a high-strung pro-hero.” He gestured to give back the chair with his free hand, not wanting to be farther away from Hizashi than he had to. “Especially after one of them received a near-lethal injury.”

Yagi rubbed the back of his neck as he closed the door and approached Shouta, returning the chair. “Ah, my apologies.” Worried gaze shifted towards the more injured of the two as he went towards an untaken chair for himself. “And how is he doing?”

“He’ll live.” Shouta pursed his lips. “As for his voice, we don’t know. He won’t make a full recovery, the shrapnel made sure of that.”

“I offer you my condolences then.”

“He’s not dead,” he snapped. Yagi paused from taking a seat himself, startled at the suddenness of his volume. “Sorry, he’s… there was a lot. Of blood, at the time. And seeing him covered in it had me expect the worst.” His calloused thumb caressed Hizashi’s knuckles, tracing scars both new and old. “Before he was carried to the ambulance, he had a brief moment of consciousness. He called my name.”

The other hummed a tone of understanding. “What’s to fear, then? If he’ll still be by your side?”

Shouta tore his eyes away from the Symbol of Peace and let them stay on the unmoving figure on the bed. The grip he had on Hizashi’s hand tightened and then forcibly relaxed. He let the heart monitor remind him of what he still had, and the warmth under his palm ground him to reality. At least he had this. At least they’re here now.

“Unpleasant memories.” The word unpleasant was very loosely used.

“Then I simply wish him well.” Yagi rectified his earlier statement, continuing with a warm smile. “I wish both of you a speedy recovery.”

Shouta blinked.

“...Thank you.”

One wouldn’t expect the number one hero to be so normal, in times like this. His name hangs warmth suspended in the air, permeating the surrounding area with concentrated energy. His mere presence was enough to have the atmosphere shift in less than an instant, turning what used to be hopelessness into blanketing relief. And now, in the privacy of a hospital room, Yagi slouched on his plastic chair with nothing on him but the omnipresent weight on his shoulders. It wasn’t anything near-heroic or charismatic. Daresay, he looked tired.

“As much as I appreciate your visit,” drawled Shouta. “I need to ask why you’re still here.”

“I was about to get to that. I would’ve started on it too if it were not for someone throwing a chair toward me.”

“Be thankful it was plastic and not metal.”

The man chuckled, whom he hoped was aware that Shouta could and would have thrown a chair regardless of the material it was made out of. It could have been barbed with wire and he’d still use it as a weapon against anyone if he felt threatened.

He had someone to protect, after all.

“Tsukauchi reported that, after multiple ‘tests’, they figured out that the Nomu had multiple quirks. This confirms that the villain didn’t lie about it having more than one quirk, which means—”

“It had more than one quirk factor.”

“Yes.” Yagi’s mouth settled to a grim line. “And based on our students’ testimonies, it led us to believe that your Erasure could only affect the quirk factor that was currently active. By the time you attempted to restrain the Nomu, you only erased its strength-enhancing quirk. It still had enough force to pull you off your feet since its speed-related quirk wasn’t affected.”

An unnamed feeling found its way to slip deep within his chest and nestle within his lungs. The realization made it hard to breathe when the mass wouldn’t let him take in more air. Releasing air, on the other hand, was still possible.

“So anything I would have done wouldn’t matter,” he sighed.

“I’m sorry if this would sound rude, but the fact that you moved had meaning on its own wouldn’t it?” Yagi brought his gaze down to the plain white tiles of the room, his attention placed somewhere further than that, judging by the unfocused eyes. “Moving without thinking, all for the betterment of someone else; I believe that’s the true essence of a hero.”

“...I can’t argue with that.”

“And speaking of which, three of our students came to your aid.” He brought his head up to meet Shouta’s eyes, a spark reignited when Shouta didn’t even notice it dim. “This gives me hope for the next generations, seeing their heroic spirit blossom despite the darkness of adversity.”

“And they’re incredibly stupid for that.” Yagi choked on blood. Shouta didn’t bat an eye. “But I’ll admit that without their interference, things would’ve turned out… much worse.”

They’re still weak with what little strength they had at the moment, but they have the potential to grow into something more. Time and patience would go a long way into cultivating that sort of inherent quality of theirs. A natural yet influenced progression that would lead them to fully realize who they are as heroes. Like refining iron through countless hours of relentless efforts, extracting out impurities to bring out their true worth.

His entire class this year displayed potential, significant amounts of it. And if that on its own was enough to save his and Hizashi’s lives, he could agree with Yagi’s sentiment.

And the other man continued, “I’ll admit that they’re… not fitting as they are now, but they could be something more if they allow themselves to be. Especially for young Midoriya.”

Shouta raised a brow.

“He does show promise,” said Shouta. “What limits him isn’t anything physical or emotional, though. He’s above average in speed and his smarts compensate for his power. It’s much more complicated than that.” Hell, complicated might not even cover it.

“Glad we agree then.” Yagi smiled. “But I do have to wonder, why entertain my questions now? You’re being awfully chatty today…” Brows furrowed in concern. “Do they still administer you with painkillers?”

Shouta scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I talk only when I have to.”

Someone needed to fill the silence in Hizashi’s place.

A clatter, a thump, and a knock.

“Izuku? Honey? Are you alright in there?”

“I’m fine, Mom!” With one glance towards his sketch, he could already tell it didn’t share the same sentiment. “I just got spooked, that’s all!”

He sighed as he grabbed the dirty white eraser from his pencil case, carefully removing the one garish line that struck through his drawing. Thankfully it wasn’t that long or pressed too hard, it just had the unfortunate placement of having been smack dab at the middle of his page. Many details had to be redrawn because of it, but at least it was a chance at revising some parts that didn’t seem all that practical. Unless… he could make it useful.

“So…” The video on his screen shifted until Sero’s phone faced right back up again. Good to know he wasn’t the only one caught off guard by that sudden explosion. His friend pressed another button that changed his screen back to his indie band icon not too long after. Izuku could only guess from the commotion he heard, but it was safe to assume Sero fumbled with his phone and accidentally turned his camera on. “Are we addressing the fact that Mei’s Rubik’s Cube spontaneously combusted or are we moving on?”

Another sigh came from the upper right corner of Izuku’s screen, right where the default icon that every account was set to on the website. It was still uncustomized despite it being owned for longer than Izuku had his. Too much effort, as his friend put it. “I doubt there’s even anything to be said about that, Sero.” Some rustling could be heard from Shinsou’s end of the line until it stopped. “I bet she only has to wipe the soot off her camera before rejoining the call.”

Lo and behold, Mei’s gear icon popped up not one second after. “Shorvy!” The apology came muffled as she presumably wiped her face (or her phone) with a wet cloth. “I think some of the gunpowder fell between the cracks and made sparks when I turned the cube too fast.”

“Is no one going to ask how she had access to gunpowder in the first place?” asked Kaminari.

“No,” the default icon said, “and moving on.”

A chuckle escaped before he could stop it, making Kaminari squawk in indignation. “Exactly as Shinsou said, we’re planning on catching up, right? Plus I think we should get used to the explosions real soon…” And Izuku should already have been too. He had lived nearly his whole life alongside explosions, but Mei’s were different. It didn’t remind him of fireworks.

Aside from shrapnel, it reminded him of that sudden slam of metal doors, of pink blurs rapidly approaching, of the loud shout of ‘Number eighteen!’.

The click-boom was distinctly, uniquely, Mei.

“Speaking of,” Shinsou derailed his train of thought and snapped him back to the conversation. He dropped his eraser and made a move toward his pencil instead. Maybe he should make the cloth sensitive to pressure? Annotate that thought around the margins… “I never did get told which zone you were thrown to, Kaminari. All I know was that you were near Mina at the time of the attack.”

Well, it made sense that Shinsou didn’t know. Neither did Izuku but that was because Shinsou was questioned extensively and had to fetch Izuku from the… situation.

That, and he made Shinsou swear to not tell anyone about his moment of weakness. That also took quite a while.

“So here’s the thing right, and promise don’t laugh.” Kaminari’s Pikachu icon went still for a few seconds, until, “I was going to run away. Mina was already sliding when I, well, tripped on my shoelaces. My arms windmilled and one thing led to another then whoosh, we fell right through.”

“Your shoelaces were untied???” The fact that Shinsou asked added emphasis to his incredulity.

“For some reason, yeah? Now I know what to request for my costume change, though. So there’s a brighter side!”

“Boots would probably be more practical,” Izuku absentmindedly hummed, ”it would be useful to hide a knife in there; or if the sole were thicker, Mei could give you some add-ons to better use your quirk.”

The tip of his pencil drifted from one page to the other, outlining the vague shape of shin-high boots. He drew another sketch right beside it from a bird’s eye view, making a small pocket on the sides for the knives. Throw knives, maybe? Something that resembled rope darts with conductive material instead of ropes. It should be thin and strong to fit inside the small pocket, lightweight so as to not slow Kaminari down, and aerodynamic for speed and precision.

He was well aware he was mumbling at this point, as he wrote down his comments on the side of the page, but none attempted to stop him until he finished the rough draft.

So much for catching up. He should’ve known when all of them were prone to making tangents and sticking with it until they forgot the topic of the main conversation. But then…

“And besides,” Shinsou added, “boots fit more with thigh pants. Your current fit just looks bad.”

“Well, I’m sorry my style doesn’t suit your tastes, Mister I-leave-my-bed-hair-as-is.”

“My hair is simply untameable, your outfits leave much to be desired.”

“He’s got a point there, Shinbro.” Sero pointedly ignored the grumbles over the nickname. Izuku didn’t think Shinsou actually minded though, not when Shinsou wasn’t the type to stay quiet about it. “What if you’re on some undercover mission when you’re pro? You need to be able to change it somehow. Surely Mei could whip something up for ya.”

And as if on cue, the gear icon unmuted itself. “I’m a support-gear student, Eighteen’s friend, not a chemist!” A dull clang could be overheard from her side of the call. “Some of my colleagues are, though. I could redirect you to ‘em! As long as you solemnly swear–and sign a not-really-official-contract-but-we-need-official-documents-so-it-kinda-counts-as-one typa contract–that I’ll be your support gear designer then we’re good!”

“I’ve got no problems with that,” he hummed. “I have one condition. The effects on my hair aren’t permanent.”

“That’ll be easy! The only thing they’ll ask for now is exposure to the upcoming Sports Festival.”

Izuku’s pencil stopped mid-stroke and fell from loosened fingers. He completely forgot about the festival!

Sero huffed. “The festival’s near? Good. It’s honestly kind of tiring to have the class’s two powerhouses breathing down my neck. They’ll do good by hogging the spotlight there instead, yeah?”

If he already hadn’t dropped his pencil, then he definitely would have after hearing his friend’s tone. What exactly did he talk about with Kacchan and Todoroki?

“Oh no, here we go,” Kaminari muttered, clearly having been at the receiving end of this for far longer than anyone should have been subjected to.

“Surprising to hear Sero so miffed,” Shinsou also said. “And I thought I was the asshole archetype.”

“Oh, they’ve got you beat ten times over Shinsou. Because who blames the victim for defending themself! Like yeah, they got stronger quirks, but we’re all decay-able all the same. Mc’splosions over there have to take care not to grievously injure or miss the guy, and we all saw how fast the mophead was. And Todoroki’s ice woulda been useless when the guy can disintegrate his ice too! Hell, I doubt he even has the control to just aim for the villain’s wrist when all he did so far was glacier here and glacier there. Seriously, he’s just like the ice version of Endeavor.”

“Bold claim over there, dispenser. I’ll assume that was why Ice Prince was one word away from murdering you.”

“I mean, I guess? Out of all the things I said, he looked really shocked over the last one. His face didn’t change, but it got real cold. Like, freezing cold to the point that Tsu had to be moved away from our area.”

“Huh… He’ll probably gun for your ass during the festival.” A little crude, but Kaminari had a point. “Especially if you reach the one-on-one's.”

“Not if we kick him out first,” Shinsou said. “One-on-one's are usually reserved for the last round. Before that, we can try sabotaging him during grouped activities.”

“Shinsou,” Izuku warned. As much as he also wanted to help Sero with the class drama, he didn’t want to do it if it meant getting another friend disqualified from the competition.

“While abiding by the rules, of course. Using the loopholes to your advantage counts.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Kaminari laughed.

“I learned from the best.”

The best in question was too busy writing down tentative plans to properly come up with a retort.

It wasn’t as if he could make one anyway. It was true.

He let them fill the conversation as he put the finishing touches to his notebook. The two-page spread contained a variety of notes, sketches, and the occasional streamline of thought he figured would be useful for later. It wasn’t as organized as his previous analysis volumes. Rather, it was a big downgrade compared to before.

His handwriting was barely legible, the sketches were rougher, and he hadn’t been able to use highlighters or multi-colored pens either. The graphite on some corners was smudged because of all the annotations he had written on the sides, and the left page’s paper was slightly crumpled to erase the stubborn line in the middle of his notebook. Kaminari’s boots on the bottom right corner looked more like a doodle than an outline for support gear in his rush to put thought to paper, and the boot itself shared more similarities to a bean than footwear.

Despite all that, Izuku couldn’t find it in himself to feel disheartened with his progress. While the visuals still had lots of room for progress, the contents felt less… clinical; less hollow. All his life so far, he had only been taking notes of heroes, sidekicks, and the occasional villain. They were people he only saw and knew the existence of from the other side of a TV screen, maybe live if he were lucky to witness a villain fight on his way to or from school.

The one in front of him was more grounded, more connected, more real. It wasn’t as distant as seeing All Might’s smile broadcasted for the world to see. This was thought, processed, and written in a private group call.

This was something else.

So when they later said their respective goodbyes, with Mei being last to leave because she couldn’t touch her screen with protective gloves, he pondered for a moment. He took his notebook with careful hands and placed them on a separate shelf from his other analysis volumes. Fingertips lingered on the spine of his notebook, slowly pushing it until it settled nicely between his school books.

If he were starting over with his dream, he might as well start over with this too. Maybe then everything would finally fall into place.

Everything was falling apart.

Externally, it didn’t seem like it. With his hands behind his head, eyes staring steadfastly at the one permanent stain on the ceiling, he would seem calm to the average person. Anyone within his semblance of a social circle wouldn’t garner much either. His posture was lax, brows furrowed as per the usual, perpetual frown plastered on his face, and no tells that could hint the outside world into the whirlwind causing a mess in his head.

Maybe it was because he didn’t know how to react, much less process what was going on in there. His go-to-anger to drive out built-up energy in his system wasn’t an available choice. It was the dead of the night. He was one explosion away from a noise complaint by the nosy neighbors.

That, and he couldn’t let Deku know how he was faring at the internal conflict waging wars in his head.

Of all the people that could read him the best, it just had to be Deku that’d know what every single tic, flinch, and flex meant. Sometimes he wondered if Deku understood what he was feeling before Katsuki did.

But pride stopped him from even considering that option, of letting his tells show just to fucking figure out what his body was trying to say. Anger was the expected emotion of seeing dreams fade away because someone couldn’t do their part. Contempt, after rehashing goals to exclude Deku from his vision. Satisfaction, when he eventually gave up crawling to the same pedestal as Katsuki.

If things were that simple, he wouldn’t be pondering while staring at nothing.

The problem always stemmed back to that shitty nerd.

As for when it started, all he could answer was ever since. With the naivete of a three-year-old, and the cognitive capacity to at least understand the existence of those thoughts, long-term plans were made. It wasn’t anything really unique. Hell, he’d say it was the dream of literally everyone his age. But what set them apart from the shitty extras was that they had the drive; they had support; they had each other.

They were practically made for it, he thought once upon a time.

As they grew older, they grew bolder. They were more certain of the choices taken while they walked down their path, with him to pave it and the other to follow. Everything felt right from their pace to their gait and even just their presence that served as reassurance. Things will go the way they know they would.

Get their quirks, train like hell, get into UA, and become heroes. Simple, quick, and doable. That was if everything went according to plan.

At four years old he saw his goal down the horizon, up for the taking. He only had to continue on this road. And so focused was he on his journey that he didn’t notice his partner’s path diverge until he received the news.

Quirkless.

The domino that toppled Katsuki’s plans.

The Bakugos weren’t the kind of people who give up. It wasn’t in their vocabulary. Every choice and battle was always all or something. They wouldn’t dare go home with nothing. So for one hopeful moment, Katsuki thought they could be heroes together—be the best duo, even.

Everything was possible with the power of friendship, he heard once. And with their type of bond, they would be unstoppable. Then when the next second passed by and the world continued to turn, so did his thoughts move on. Iku didn’t have the means. He was quirkless for fuck’s sake. He didn’t have the strength either if he were to cry at every single little thing that happened every damn minute. Katsuki knew to drop a lost cause, even if Iku didn’t learn how  to let go.

No, not Iku, because he wasn’t with Katsuki anymore. That traitor ditched him by not being able to keep up.  Despite that, the guy kept trying when time and time again Katsuki, Iku, and everyone knew how it would end.

With blood, bruises, and tears.

At that point, Deku should’ve been thankful that Katsuki was going out of his way to remind the nerd who he was and where his place was in life.

Feelings of betrayal fueled his actions. Purposeful and loud to discourage his once friend from a hopeless dream. Yet undeterred, the guy stuck to him like a celestial body revolving around something far greater. Thousands if not millions of miles away, but still there, drawn by Katsuki’s presence.

And now he wasn’t there.

Deku hasn’t so much as glanced in his direction ever since they started UA, so why was he so fucking upset about it? It’s what he wanted in the first place, wasn’t it? The slapped-on patch to his flawless plan of being the best hero there is, even better than the goddamned Symbol of Peace. So why was he agonizing over something he should be glad about?

Katsuki shot up from his bed, heart racing with empty lungs and trembling hands. The answer to his incessant questions finally dawned on him after hours of pondering:

They were headed in the same direction.

Parallel paths separated by a divide so wide Katsuki couldn’t ever hope to close it. But that didn’t stop him from hearing, from seeing Deku be happy despite that. Surrounded by classmates he called friends, another barrier to re-establishing their connection.

(One thing he would never admit was the fear of that connection having long been severed.)

“Fuckin’...” His fingers combed sweaty strands of hair back, some stubbornly clinging to his forehead. He glared at nothing as his ire was directed toward someone that wasn’t even in his bedroom. “Why would I even want to?”

The unfocused gaze traveled until it lingered on a faded poster on the far side of his room, a bright silhouette of All Might and his smile covering the expanse. A rectangle of the same size was right beside it, the patch of the wall several shades lighter.

Even that thing’s absence left its mark; unable to be forgotten when the imprint of the past persisted until the present.

“I don’t need him to beat you.”

The All Might on his poster still smiled. Neither did it confirm nor deny the ramblings of a near madman.

“I don’t need him,” he said more resolutely. He didn’t need an answer from someone else when he knew the truth. He said the truth. He can do it if he was the best damn version of himself. He will have the strength, stamina, and all other characteristics of a hero in spades.

But as he eyed the poster, his gaze flickered to the space beside it. That limited edition poster came in two.

“I don’t…”

Yet that word denied being given any shape or form when Katsuki knew it would come out hollow—a lie. Similarly, he refused to acknowledge that it was a lie because then the opposite would ring true. And it couldn’t be true.

He could only sigh.

“I don’t have time for this,” he muttered. “Shitty nerd ain’t worth my time.”

Katsuki lay back down and tried to fall asleep through sheer force of will. By laying on his side, he faced the alarm clock that he knew would ring by 5:00 AM sharp tomorrow.

He turned a blind eye to the fact that it was hours long past his bedtime.