Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Excerpt from “New Age Damnation” by Kita Atsushi, published December 1, 2181.

Accessed: March 12, 2232.

“ … they [Quirks] have possessed our society like an illness most fatal. One day, we will be inoculated to the strangeness of these mutations, and the consequences they have on our spirits. God help all those who have passed beyond His sight to embrace their damned abilities.”

Excerpt from DOUGLAS v. MISSOURI (2197).

Accessed: March 12, 2232.

DEFENDANT: This is a violation of my privacy.

PROSECUTOR: Did you or did you not pursue your relationship with the intent of impregnating [REDACTED]?

ATTORNEY MR. EDWARD BROWN: Objection, hearsay.

DEFENDANT: No. I have testified that I was with [REDACTED] before I knew of her Quirk.

PROSECUTOR: Answer the question.

BROWN: Objection, client already answered.

PROSECUTOR: Let me repeat my question, which the defendant has not answered. Did you or did you not pursue your relationship with the intent of impregnating [REDACTED]?

DEFENDANT: I did want—I mean. I didn’t discuss having a family with her. I’ve always wanted a family.

PROSECUTOR: Answer the question.

DEFENDANT: Yes, I did want to have a family with [REDACTED].

PROSECUTOR: And have you sought out partners in the past with Quirks similar to [REDACTED]’s with the intent of fathering a child?

BROWN: Objection, leading.

DEFENDANT: I have had relationships in the past with girls who had similar Quirks. We did discuss having a family. But I have not and will never engage in Quirk breeding.

PROSECUTOR: On the night of February 10th, 2190, did you advise [REDACTED] to abort her child?

BROWN: Objection, leading.

DEFENDANT: I told her—I said—I advised her to make the right choice.

PROSECUTOR: This was after you discovered that the child had a higher than fifty percent chance of being born without a Quirk, correct?

BROWN: Objection, hearsay.

DEFENDANT: Yes, I had heard that.

Excerpt from “Heritability of Quirked Genetics in Italy” by Andrea Barbieri, published June 3, 2215, annotated by Midoriya Izuku on March 5th, 2232.

Accessed: March 12, 2232.

“Quirks, like all heritable traits, are governed by their environment. Allopatric and sympatric speciation still apply to humans, perhaps especially so in the case of Quirks (Edoardo, 23). In the past year, there was a noticeable uptick in the number of children reported with aquatic-based Quirks. Five years ago, Venice officially went below water. I aim to explore the correlation of the environment on the development of Quirks…”

“Does this mean that Kacchan’s family has a higher chance of dev. heat-based Qrks? SEARCH RUSSIAN QRKS. family tree? ASK.”

Midoriya Izuku learned a long time ago that not all men are born equal. It’s one of the main postulates of Sheila Fairground’s research on Quirks (including, but not limited to: Quirks have three main categories; Quirks are inherently a reflection of their user; and Quirks are dangerous). For him, there’s a distinction that must be made. Not all men are born equal—some are born to be ground into the dust.

Midoriya Izuku, unfortunately, is the perfect size and shape for dust-grinding.

Even before he discovered that he lacked the evolution of a Quirk, Midoriya was used to falling behind his peers and playing alone at recess. He did all the things a normal boy would. He played tag, dug in the sandpit, and went adventuring in the woods even though his mum had wanted him to stay closer to the edge of the park. But—and this is just the start of a long list of grievances that people have with him—he cries. Like, a lot.  

He’s not really good at anything specific, either. He couldn’t read faster than anyone else. He’s no closet genius. He can’t run very well, or quickly. Midoriya is painfully below average in every sense of the word, height included. He tries to make up for it with enthusiasm, but it’s pretty difficult to throw enthusiasm at a problem like lacking a Quirk.

Instead, he throws it at Kacchan’s Quirk. He knows a lot about Kacchan’s Quirk, and Quirks in general. (Also heroes, and their rise, and the laws governing them, and—)

Lately, though, he’s been too busy with high school applications and end-of-term exams to do his usual stalking. He hadn’t even been able to find anything about the heating component of Kacchan’s Quirk, last time he’d sat down to do some reading.

“Mum’s at the hospital until midnight, so I’ve got to make dinner tonight…” Midoriya mumbles to himself.

He carelessly tosses his backpack onto his All Might themed bedspread, tugging his chair out from under his desk and falling into it. His shoulder twinges unhappily. He sighs, and carefully unbuttons the outer jacket of his gakuran, peeling the singed fabric away from the white button-down he wears beneath it. The jacket smells like char and nitroglycerin—not a good combination.

“Thanks, Kacchan,” Midoriya sighs to himself. He’s gentler with his button-down, tugging so that the inflamed skin of his shoulder unsticks from the shirt without too much ripping. Kacchan’s palms get hot. Hot enough to melt his mechanical pencils when he’s not paying attention.

A recurring thought pops into Midoriya’s head, and he mumbles to himself as he tucks his clothes into his hamper to be washed later. He’s always wondered how long it would take Kacchan to melt through flesh—it wouldn’t be particularly difficult, with his Explosion Quirk—but it’s not something he’d ever ask about. Knowing Kacchan, he’d just ask Midoriya if he wants to be the first test subject.

Instead of rolling down that well-worn train of thought again, Midoriya powers up his desktop. Spread across his desk is Barbieri-san’s academic article about environment impacting Quirks that he’d printed off of the Internet two weeks ago, highlighted in yellow and blue, with his scratchy notes penciled into the margins. He taps at the note he’d left himself.

Obasan Mitsuki hadn’t known anything about her family history beyond her own grandmother, when Midoriya had asked her. Kacchan had given him angry looks all through dinner for prying. That had been Sunday, at their joint family dinner in the Bakugous’ house. Midoriya and his mother never host—their apartment is two person, and two person only.

Looks like he’ll have to dig a bit more, and see if he can’t use general information to figure out where Kacchan’s propensity towards heat came from. His mother’s glycerin-producing Quirk generally just makes her thirstier than average and gives her clear skin. Masaru, his father, sweats out an acid of some kind with lots of hydrogen. Midoriya had asked him some years back which acid it was, but Masaru hadn’t known. Only that it exploded with enough friction applied.

Midoriya cracks his knuckles, his fingers poised above his keyboard.

“Let’s figure out why you’re so hot-headed, Kacchan.”

Several hours later, his head swimming with famous Russian Quirk fires from the twenty-third century, Midoriya resurfaces to make dinner for himself. He’s barely gotten the rice cooker started when there’s a knock on his door.

He glances at the clock on the oven. Half-past six.

Midoriya pads over to the door, peering through the peephole confusedly. He blinks.

“Um, hello?” he says, peeking around the edge of the door.

The police officer standing on Midoriya’s welcome mat shoots him a friendly smile. He’s got shaggy, close-cropped brown hair, and kind brown eyes. He’s the type of plain that rarely exists anymore—like Midoriya himself.

“Hello. Midoriya-kun, I presume?” the officer says. The man bows slightly. “Are your parents home?”

Midoriya wets his lips. He’s not little—fifteen is far from a child—but his mother had always told him not to answer the door to strangers. But what was he supposed to do? Ignore the police?

“Ah, no. Okaasan’s at the hospital—” he backtracks slightly at the raised eyebrow of the officer— “a nurse, she’s a nurse, and working until later. Is everything alright?”

“Oh, quite.” The officer smiles pleasantly. “May I come in? I have a couple questions that I think you could help me answer.”

“Um, sure, I guess.” Midoriya steps back from the entryway, holding the door open wider to admit the officer.

“O jama shimasu,” the officer says, removing his shoes one after another. He slides into the seldom-used slippers meant for guests, and gestures at Midoriya. “Lead the way. I think we should have a seat.”

Midoriya, wildly uncomfortable at being commanded in his own home, shuffles out of the hall and into the living room/kitchen/dining room. (His apartment is traditionally Japanese. That is to say, small. He’d said so, before.) He nervously perches on the couch, leaving the taller armchair that his mother never uses for the officer to sit in.

“So, Midoriya-kun,” the officer says once he’s settled, “have you ever spoken to the police?”

A hundred little moments of cops yelling at Midoriya to back away from active hero fights flash through his mind. In his lap, his fingers clench on his pants. He’s not sure what face he makes, but the officer laughs.

“Um, once or twice, maybe.”

“Nothing serious, I hope.” The man’s eyes are sliding around the room, from picture to picture.

“Ah, no. I’m kind of a hero-chaser.” Midoriya blushes.

“I see,” the officer says, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. His gaze lands on Midoriya again, and Midoriya forces himself to relax his hands. “Do you know why I might be here, today?”

“N-not really,” Midoriya says, biting his lip. His foot starts tapping.

“Well, I assume you know about the laws that went into place earlier this year,” the officer says.

Midoriya blinks at the non-sequitur. “Yeah, of course. The Information Protection stuff, right?”

“Right,” says the officer. “That’s partially why I’m here. We received a few… concerning flags from you, today.” He puts his hands up placatingly at Midoriya’s panicked expression. “Now, don’t worry too much. It’s policy to do a little investigation, make sure everything’s alright.”

“Of course, obviously, yeah,” Midoriya babbles. “What—what got flagged?”

If they’re starting in on Quirkless forums again, he’s going to be in a rough spot. He’s only in one (anonymously!), but he doesn’t really want to disappear from it with no explanation. It scares people.

The officer tilts his head. “Well, Quirk registry searches are always concerning. Especially out-of-country. And, not to be gouache, but, coming from someone without one…”

Ah. Midoriya’s shoulders have relocated to somewhere near his eyebrows.

“Right,” he whispers to his lap.

“The most important thing was the news, though,” the officer says. “It’s a class two violation, Midoriya-kun. International news involving Quirks is restricted—you should know that.” With this, he fixes Midoriya with a stern look.

“I forgot,” Midoriya whispers plaintively.

He had! He’s been combing through the Internet for years, and all of a sudden he’s blocked at every avenue. The past few months have been more frustrating than not, trying to work around the iron grip the Japanese government has locked around international information. It had slipped his mind that he isn’t allowed to scan the headlines from the last few years to see if anything had popped up having to do with heat Quirks.

“If Japan had any information—” Midoriya mumbles to himself, eyes still on his fingernails, which dig into his palms.

“What was that?” the officer asks sharply.

“What?” Midoriya yelps, head jerking up.

“If Japan had any information on what?” the officer asks. He’s leaned forward, elbows propped on his knees. His brown eyes are intense.

“Um, Quirk trends.” Midoriya colors in embarrassment. “I’m really into biology, and Quirk theory, and, um… I was trying to figure out why my friend has a heat aspect of his Quirk. Sorry. I really mean it! It was an accident, I swear.”

The man relaxes immediately. He tugs on the cuff of one tan sleeve, pulling out the wrinkles, and laughs lightly. “Oh, that’s all.” He stands, to Midoriya’s relief, and Midoriya follows suit.

“So, so it’s really okay? I won’t do it again!”

“Sure, kid,” the officer says. “I’m marking you with a minor warning—don’t worry, it won’t show up on your high school apps—just make sure you steer clear in the future.” He turns at the front door, his trenchcoat sweeping with him. “Thanks for being honest, Midoriya-kun. If you’ve ever got a question about your record, you can call the precinct and ask for Tsukauchi Naomasa, okay?”

Midoriya nods, closing and locking the door behind the officer. When he’s safely out of sight, he sags against the door with a great, heaving sigh.

So much for learning about Kacchan’s Quirk. He’s pretty much dead-ended from here on out, with the limited access to research that the school library gives him. He laments his poor notebooks, which he imagines he can hear crying out for his writings. Maybe people at school will ease up on him, without them.

He slumps over to his computer, ready to close out of the still-open tab. Then, halfway down the screen, something catches his attention.

Midoriya bites his lip. “It’s already open, right?” His eyes dart left and right like Tsukauchi might materialize through the wall and scold him.

Over the mouse, his finger hesitates.

With a determined gulp, he scrolls.

Chapter Text

Excerpt from “Russia’s Last Great Fire: Underlying Suspicions Confirmed?” by Anya Sokolov, published October 2, 2221.

Accessed: March 12, 2232.

“Out of forty subjects found, less than 10% survived. Two of these survivors had the capacity for human speech—one of which died hours after the raid ended. (See: Mistreatment of Quirked Animals by Veterinary Services here.) The second is the world renowned principal of Japan’s Yuuei High School, Nedzu.

“His ability to speak Russian allowed him to communicate with the on-scene Heroes of his rescue, and divulge the location of other victims before the lab’s collapse. One such victim, Aleksandr Novikov, served as a witness at Nedzu’s subsequent trial for Beastial Rights. (See: Nedzu v. Appellate Collegium of the Supreme Court of the Russian Federation here.)

“The flames that engulfed the laboratory Nedzu escaped from stoked the fire within the Appellate Collegium, and Nedzu won unheard of rights for Quirked animals. Shortly thereafter, he left the country and reappeared in Japan with a Heroics license and a position as a professor at the Hero high school, Yuuei. Since his own revolutionary trial, we have not seen Nedzu enter the court. Japanese Quirked animals remain without rights.

“Will he ever repeat his great stand on another animal’s behalf?”

Captioned clip from Nippon Hōsō Kyōkai ’s “General TV” broadcast, aired on March 1, 2232, 17:04.

Accessed: March 12, 2232.

NAKAJIMA: Some people have serious doubts about the competency of an animal as the head of a school.

PRESENT MIC: Well, I may be a bit biased here, since he was my homeroom teacher, but Nedzu-sama has always had our best interests at heart. And I think Yuuei’s success speaks for itself.

NAKAJIMA: So, you agree with Nedzu’s proposed idea of turning Yuuei into a boarding school?

PRESENT MIC: I think that it’s still a ways off in terms of becoming reality, but if it’s in the best interest of the safety of our students, I support it, one hundred percent!

NAKAJIMA: And what of Nedzu’s ability to handle the population of students? The recent class size reduction has been drastic, and the Hero Public Safety Commision certainly had things to say about it. Do you think his animalistic nature is to blame for these changes?

PRESENT MIC: Nedzu-sama has things well in hand, and his decisions are made with both the Yuuei School Board, and the staff, so it’s not just a one-and-done deal. I trust his High Specs to make educated changes to our school system.

NAKAJIMA: Is this in an effort to reduce the number of Heroes being produced from Yuuei? The non-Heroics course sizes all remain the same size, while the Heroics course will be seeing a more than two hundred percent decrease this coming year!

Excerpt from the Hero Public Safety Commission database. “Yearly Safety Statistics” by unknown, published December 31, 2231.

Accessed: March 12, 2232.

Villains in Custody: 1,656,213

Villains Captured: 1,900,983

Villains Released: 200,730

Current Heroes: 15,218

Heroes Inducted: 421

Heroes Retired: 984

Click here to see the Top 10 Heroes of 2231!

Heroes Fallen In Battle: 741

Deceased Villains: 42,567

Heroes Missing In Action: 243

Unlocated Villains: 1,473

Midoriya Izuku sits with his head in his hands, hyperventilating.

“I’m so going to get arrested. I deserve to be arrested! They should just lock me away, and be done with me,” he groans into his fingers. The sun set hours ago, yet he’s still sitting awake in the brilliant blue light of his computer.

He shamefully peeks from between his hands at the screen, screen displaying the tab of Russian news written more than ten years ago. He can’t help it! Midoriya abhors rule breakers, criminals, and Villains—they make everyone else’s lives hard, and the rules are there for a reason—but here he is, staring at an illegal website. The cops had told him to stop looking, and he can’t!

He shudders, snapping his hands together and hiding the screen from himself.

It’s just that… he’d seen Nedzu’s name, and been too intrigued to close out of the tab. Midoriya may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but he knew that an article that made the police come knocking on his door must be important. He wonders why the website wasn’t simply blocked, like most of the other illegal ones, and thinks that perhaps he accidentally snuck onto some kind of contraband darkside page.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d done it—accidentally!—and probably won’t be the last.

But he’d shamefully read the rest of the article, and then opened a new tab (the other one still painfully waiting for him to click back), and fallen down a rabbit hole of Nedzu-information that left him slightly befuddled. His notebook (Hero Analysis for the Future Vol. 8, 2229) lays open on his desk, his other articles shoved aside haphazardly to make room for it. On the page, a drawing of Nedzu grins up at Midoriya. He’d written this entry long ago, when he’d first left primary school and realized the path to being a Hero is straight and narrow. A parade of known ex-professors fill the pages after him, but Midoriya isn’t concerned with them.

Midoriya is concerned with Nedzu.

Nedzu, who runs Yuuei which Midoriya had applied to so desperately, and so exquisitely failed to get into on all counts. Nedzu, whose past is now illegal contraband. Midoriya has a thousand and one questions for him, not the least of which is, “Can I please attend your school?”

However, if Midoriya can’t even get information on Kacchan’s stupid Quirk, how’s he supposed to figure out how to make his appeal?

(This plan had come to Midoriya midway through his third article following the Russian one. He suspects that, though Nedzu has been absent from all things involving the press since his release from imprisonment, including the court of justice, he still has a streak of vindictive goodness. His rule-editing that allowed Quirkless to apply to Yuuei only passed this year, afterall.)

So Midoriya swallows his fear down, and carefully searches his local library’s web database for computer textbooks. The next day after school, he makes the trek and slips inside. What follows is a convoluted process of scrambling the data from his old-school desktop and hoping that it’s not too obvious. They were already monitoring his searches—how will the police react to all their information suddenly becoming jumbled?

After a week of sleepless nights that leave dark bags under his eyes (“Damn, Deku, I didn’t know you could get any uglier!”), he assumes that nothing will happen. Perhaps the precinct is using a computer program themselves to sort through the influx of information, and only investigating what throws up flags. It certainly sounds easier to do that, than to comb through it all by hand.

It does mean that Deku is paranoid enough to devour another three textbooks, taking his computer apart piece by piece with raw fingers, and painstakingly putting it back together once he’s deduced that there’s no suspiciously out of place chip implanted in it.

He’d never been interested in computers before, but he’d do anything to keep from being discovered. And, further, he’d do anything to get into Yuuei.

Kacchan had pointed it out in class the other day.

“After this, you’ve really got nothing left, hah?!” he’d said, his sharp teeth on display with his bared grin. “I told you, Deku. You’re nothing. Learn your place, or die trying to figure it out.”

Midoriya’s fingers hover over the keys. His green eyebrows furrow with determination.

“After this, I’ve got nothing left. So, let’s give it my best. Ganbate, Dekunobu. ”

A month prior, Midoriya had tried to get into Yuuei High School by traditional means. Though All Might had told him to give up on his dreams of being a professional Hero, and disappeared after rescuing both him and Kacchan from the Sludge Villain, Midoriya couldn’t help himself. His whole life, he’d done nothing but dream of an existence where he could be useful—where he could help people.

He’d been so nervous through the written exam that he knew he’d bombed epically. Midoriya isn’t a great test-taker on the best of days—let alone on a day where he has to physically compete for his future. Of course, if he’d known that the task had been to destroy robots, he would have given up before he even entered. (He wouldn’t have; he just liked to tell himself that he would have saved himself from the embarrassment of it all.) So, when he got a measly twenty points for trying to tug a girl out from beneath a huge chunk of rubble, and a below-average score on the written portion, it hadn’t been a surprise.

Midoriya is pretty sure his mother kept the rejection letter, dried tears and all.

But, still. Even though he had proven himself incapable… he can’t stop himself from wanting to help. Everyone at school knows that he’d made an utter fool of himself, and the jeers have turned more cutting than ever before—now that they’re founded in truth—he still finds himself standing between Kacchan and whatever “extra” he’s seen fit to bully.

His whole life has been spent stepping between Kacchan and the people that annoy him. Failing a heroics test isn’t going to change that instinct.

This is his last-ditch effort. He doesn’t have much to offer, and he burns with humiliation just to think about baring himself to someone like Nedzu, when he did so poorly on the test, but he’s got no other option. He has to prostrate himself, and beg for something—anything.

His mission, now, is to get himself in front of Nedzu.

It takes ages. Midoriya takes several more high school entrance tests—the ones that he can, as a Quirkless person. His mother urges him to enroll in the most prestigious program that will take him, which happens to be a science-based school an entire prefecture away. Even as she fusses and plans for Midoriya’s leaving, he doesn’t stop searching.

Nedzu prefers to stay locked on the grounds of Yuuei whenever possible. Though it feels wrong, and like something a deranged stalker might do (and deliberately unheroic, to top it off), Midoriya spends many, many of his evening hours tracking Nedzu’s every move. He learns when Yuuei receives their food shipments. He learns when they have fire safety drills. He learns exactly what happens to nosy reporters who don’t know their boundaries. Midoriya skulks around outside the notorious gates, hovering as unobtrusively as he can.

He speaks to no one. He looks at no one. He barely even breathes in the direction of the staff who are leaving for the day, though they surely notice his presence after the first few times.

Today is his last chance.

Today, the annual announcement of curriculum changes will air. All of the so-called “Hero” schools with Hero Public Safety Commission sanctioned Heroics programs are required to publicize any changes being made to their programs for the upcoming school year. It is filmed live, and, most importantly, the principals of the participating schools must attend.

Nedzu will be leaving his sanctum. Midoriya knows the route that the principal will take, assuming he uses his usual mode of transportation—which happens to be carpooling with his professors. School isn’t in session, but many of the Yuuei staff reside on the grounds year-round. Midoriya would know; he’s got an entire notebook dedicated to Nedzu, now.

He clenches his hands on his backpack straps. He’s got one chance at this plan, and he can’t chicken out.

There! A small smart car with darkly tinted windows turns around the corner, getting up to speed. Midoriya takes a breath. On the edge of the curb, the toes of his red trainers strain towards the asphalt as he balances.

“Sorry, All Might,” Midoriya whispers. The sound is lost under the noise of tires on the blacktop.

He throws himself forward.

A few things happen very quickly after that. One, the smart car lurches to the side, the squeal of brakes tearing through the peaceful afternoon. Two, Midoriya hits the passenger side of the car with a crunch and a groan, and bounces off far more roughly than he thought he would. His head smacks the pavement, sending stars shooting across his vision. Three, screaming starts up from the people who were pacing their way down the sidewalk.

Midoriya hisses through his teeth, grasping the back of his skull tightly.

“Hey, kid! What’s the big idea?!” a gruff voice shouts.

“He threw himself in front of that car!” someone shouts shrilly from the direction of the sidewalk.

“Is he a Villain?” someone else asks tearfully. Midoriya can hear the crowd draw back fearfully, and he pushes himself up on one arm.

“Kid,” the gruff voice says, much closer now. Midoriya looks up, squinting through the throbbing in his head.

Vlad King! The man leaning over him in a pressed, dark suit can be none other than the Blood Hero: Vlad King, dressed down in his civilian clothes. The spiky silver hair and his wide set build are dead giveaways, as is the fact that the driver’s door of the car is wide open.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Vlad King asks Midoriya.

“I’m really sorry,” Midoriya says, half-bowing. His head swims, and Vlad King has to reach out a hand to steady him. “I-I… I just really need to speak with Nedzu-sama, if that’s possible. Please, sir.” He grabs Vlad King’s cuff in his hand tightly. Midoriya stares at the burly man through watering eyes, and begs. “Please, let me speak to Nedzu-sama.”

“Now, now,” a high voice calls. “What is the reason for all this commotion?”

Midoriya narrowly avoids being beaned in the face by the car door. Sitting on a child’s booster chair in the front passenger seat is none other than the white-furred principal of Yuuei.

“Nedzu-sama!” Midoriya gasps, lurching forward dizzily. Vlad King catches him around the waist with one shovel-sized hand. “Please, Nedzu-sama, let me attend Yuuei this coming semester!”

Nedzu laughs. It is a piercing, unnatural sound that raises the hairs on Midoriya’s arms. His head pulses in time with his heartbeat, and he’s sure that something in his chest isn’t in the right place. Nausea swirls thickly in his throat.

“What a curious request. One would think that a suicide attempt is not the best way to plead your case,” Nedzu says, his tone impossible to place. It remains levelly cheerful through the word “suicide,” which makes Midoriya twitch unhappily.

“Kid, you’re bleeding,” Vlad King says.

“I didn’t think I’d hit you that hard,” Midoriya says apologetically. “Or you’d hit me… whichever it is.” His mouth is starting to run away from him. Spots are sticking in his eyes that he can’t blink away. “But it wasn’t a suicide attempt, I swear—no way. I’d never make the heroes clean up after me like that. Nuh-uh,” Midoriya assures. He pauses for a moment, losing his train of thought. “I’m pretty sure I had a speech. I can’t remember… Sorry for making you late to your broadcast,” Midoriya says, attempting another shallow bow that Vlad King tugs him back up from.

“We’ve gotta call an ambulance,” Vlad King says.

“Just a moment please, Kan-san,” Nedzu says, holding up one paw. “Young man, what prevented you from attending my school?”

“Oh, well,” Midoriya says, and then swallows down a surge of vomit. When his eyes have stopped watering, he can’t remember the question. “What?”

“What is your Quirk?” Nedzu asks.

Midoriya laughs. “That’s easy. I don’t have one.” He begins to laugh again, and that is when the nausea wins. He throws up all over the street, and his own desperate hands. “Sorry,” he chuckles. “I spent so much time stalking you, just for a concussion to mess everything up. Guess it was a pretty stupid plan, after all.”

Then, Midoriya blacks out.

When he wakes up, he understands at once where he is. There’s an IV stuck to the back of his left hand that tugs unpleasantly at his skin. Several things give away his location: the white sheets pressed neatly over his legs; the decal on the tile flooring that spells the English letters “U” and “A”; the Youthful Heroine: Recovery Girl sitting on a tall stool at the foot of the bed.

Her stern, wrinkled face doesn’t move.

“Ah, hello,” Midoriya says nervously. His mouth tastes a little like the way roadkill smells—which he supposes is apt.

“Hello, troublemaker,” Recovery Girl says. She folds her hands over the plunger of her syringe-shaped cane, which rests needle-down on the floor. A memory of that same needle skewering straight through a villain’s palm flashes across Midoriya’s mind, and he swallows anxiously. “I was told to summon Nedzu-sama when you awoke, but I’m not sure if I want to do that.”

Midoriya’s eyes pop wide. He has a vague recollection of throwing up near Nedzu and then passing out, and not much in between. “Oh, God,” Midoriya says faintly.

“Quite,” says Recovery Girl dryly. “I believe you are a health risk. No normal child throws himself in front of a moving vehicle to get the attention of a school principal.” She eyes him shrewdly through the lilac lens of her goggles. “What was so important that you had to risk death to tell him?”

Midoriya is rather affronted. “D-death?! It was a light car crash. I wouldn’t have died. Though it did hurt a lot more than I thought it would…”

“Young man, roughly two thousand people die in car accidents every year in Japan alone,” Recovery Girl tells him sternly. “You are not invincible—though you kids seem to forget that more and more each year.”

“But, but I planned it! Oh, I had it all thought out so well,” Midoriya cries, digging his hands into his thick fringe and tugging it meanly. “I had this whole speech to give Nedzu-sama, and I was going to show him my analysis, and that essay that I got published in the local newspaper—though they did take it down when they found out that I’m Quirkless—and I—” Midoriya pats around for his backpack, where he’d had all his supplementary materials. “Oh. Where’s my bag?”

Recovery Girl raises one silver eyebrow at him. Midoriya colors with shame.

“I’m sorry for the trouble,” Midoriya mumbles, tucking his chin to his chest.

Recovery Girl sighs. “I swear, you lot just keep getting worse, year by year. What’s next? Someone hanging onto All Might as he jumps, and expecting him to do an interview?”

Heat bursts across Midoriya’s face, but Recovery Girl has turned away from him, and pokes around her desk. Besides, there’s no way she knows about that. All Might had asked Midoriya to keep it a secret, and he hadn’t told a soul.

“It wasn’t an interview,” he mutters to himself.

“What was that?” she asks abruptly, desk phone halfway to her ear.

“Nothing!”

Recovery Girl harrumphs and finishes typing numbers into the keypad. She speaks a few short, clipped words into the phone, and Midoriya spies his bright yellow bag sitting on top of her desk, by her right elbow. It’s unzipped, he sees, betrayal rippling through him. His notebooks have been stacked neatly on the edge of her steel workspace, binder with all of his meager accomplishments sitting primely at the peak.

“Now, I’m going to need you to promise me that you won’t attack the principal the moment you see him,” Recovery Girl says, spinning her stool in a half-circle so that she’s facing Midoriya again.

“What? Why would I do that?” Midoriya asks, baffled.

“How should I know? Why would you throw yourself in front of a moving car to speak to him?” she asks sarcastically.

She’s not nearly as nice as she seems on TV, Midoriya thinks, taking great care to bite his lips so the thought stays internal.

“Why did you go through my backpack?” Midoriya asks, feeling bold enough with her rudeness to return some of it.

Recovery Girl shoots him a look that Midoriya is very familiar with. It is a look that says “are you even dumber than you seem?” She huffs.

“We couldn’t very well let you on campus without a bag check. Especially after the stunt you pulled to get here.”

Well, it seems obvious, now that she’s said it. Midoriya still wants to stuff all of his books back into the bag and sit on it, and hopes desperately that she didn’t read any of it. It was going to be embarrassing enough to show Nedzu, let alone a hero who has been in the business for longer than Midoriya has been alive. His amateur notes probably seem like the ramblings of a psychotic child, to someone as experienced as Recovery Girl. Midoriya cringes into the pillow at his back.

“Hello!” bursts an exuberant voice, startling Midoriya. “It is I, Nedzu. Am I a dog, a bear, or perhaps a mouse? It doesn’t matter, for I am the principal!” Standing on the shoulder of the hulking Vlad King, Nedzu towers above Midoriya. His pressed suit doesn’t look like it had been puked on earlier in the day, but Midoriya can’t be sure.

Just in case, Midoriya makes a great effort to press his nose to his knees as he bows. “I am so sorry for throwing up on you earlier! And also for possibly damaging your car—and for delaying your travels.”

“Man,” says Vlad King, “he sure does apologize a lot.”

“Please, seat yourself properly, Midoriya-kun,” Nedzu chimes.

“Oh my God, the principal of Yuuei knows my name,” Midoriya breathes. Recovery Girl looks like she might whack him with her syringe, so he shuts his mouth and stares wide-eyed at Nedzu.

Nedzu’s solid black eyes bore into Midoriya. He hates to think about it, but they remind him uncomfortably of the gaze of a stuffed animal, if one were to come to life and possess a Quirk.

“So, Midoriya-kun. You are quite an interesting specimen,” Nedzu says, interrupting his train of thought. Midoriya doesn’t like being called a specimen, but he’s rather sure that Nedzu would dislike being thought of as an animate stuffed toy even less, and Midoriya had just done that.

“Ah, yeah, I guess,” he says. He picks at his fingernails anxiously.

“I take it that our meeting from earlier did not go exactly as you had planned?” Nedzu asks.

Midoriya squints. It’s incredibly difficult to tell if he’s being made fun of, since neither Nedzu’s tone, nor his face changes in the slightest. He takes an educated guess and goes with a neutral answer.

“Um, no. Not quite.” He ducks his head as he blushes, shame rising to the surface. “Not at all, really. I don’t… I don’t actually remember anything I said. Everything just kind of blanks out after I hit the car,” he whispers. Mortification has sweat beading at his brow.

“Well, you didn’t say much,” Nedzu says with a tinkling laugh. It sounds a bit like barking. “Thankfully, you’ve compiled a very nice resume for me to peruse.” Nedzu’s snout points towards Midoriya’s stack of notebooks, and the blood drains from Midoriya’s round cheeks. “I took the liberty of reading through the binder, and skimming a bit from the analysis journals. It is an excellent showing, to be sure! I particularly enjoyed the theoretical diagrams of the Yuuei sensors, and your thorough tracking of my professors’ daytime lives.”

Recovery Girl swivels to glare at Midoriya. Vlad King’s mouth drops open, his overlarge lower canines gleaming in the light.

“However,” Nedzu says, catching Midoriya’s gaze again, “most students who wish to intern under me simply send an email.” He smiles, and Midoriya can see that he has the sharp incisors of an omnivore. “I don’t believe anyone has ever intentionally been hit by my vehicle to capture my attention.”

Midoriya swallows. The room is utterly silent, aside from the steady dripping of his IV fluids. This is his chance.

He licks his chapped lips. “Well, uh, Principal-sama. That’s… that’s not exactly honest of you.” Recovery Girl’s eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. “The last time you took on a personal student was nearly thirteen years ago, when the Erasure Hero: Eraser Head graduated. That was also the only time you have ever taken a student. And,” Midoriya says, chipping at his thumbnail as he speaks, “that was when Nedzu-sama graduated from being a professor to being principal. Nedzu-sama has no personal email listed online. His office phone is directed to the front desk, who does not answer questions about entrance exam appeals. The exam appeals don’t accept ‘Quirkless’ as a proper response in the Quirk section, and the administrator laughed when I called about it. The front desk lady declined to provide Nedzu-sama’s personal email. She blocked my number.”

Midoriya glances sidelong at the notebook sitting at the top of the stack. He knows that the cover says Hero Analysis for the Future: Vol. UA.

“So I had to find a different way to contact Nedzu-sama. I thought first about approaching a professor, but I’m sure they’ve been trained to tell rejected students what the website says. I needed to speak to Nedzu-sama, personally. ” Midoriya scowls. “That gate is the work of a genius. I spent ages trying to figure out the triggers. You can't even get close enough to register on the cameras without a guest pass—which was a little bit lucky, since I spent so much time standing out there. No one knows anything about Yuuei’s security, not even the HPSC. Though, I suppose their firewall is rather advanced. They must have a Quirk keeping it up, because none of the books helped me get through it.”

His head jerks up. “Not that I was trying to break into the HPSC database! Please, forget I said that!” Midoriya’s arms flail absurdly. “Oh, man, I need to keep my fat mouth shut. I just meant that—that it’s not as easy to email you as you made it seem!” He sinks back into the pillow, arms covering his face.

Nedzu gives another barking laugh, this one longer. His paw clenches at Vlad King’s hair to keep his balance, his tiny sneakers set precariously on the man’s shoulder.

“You know, Midoriya-kun,” Nedzu says, calming slightly, “I was entirely prepared to reject you again. Fanaticism wins no points, in my books. After reading your work, and looking up your entrance exam scores, I thought it would prove interesting to hear what you actually wanted to tell me earlier this afternoon.” His black eyes glitter. “It is not every day that a young man is bold enough to attempt severe bodily harm, just for my meager attention. I am very rarely wrong about interesting things, Midoriya-kun.”

Midoriya stops breathing. “So, does that mean—”

“Yes, Midoriya-kun. I would be most pleased to extend you an invitation to be my personal student, here at Yuuei High School. Welcome to your analytical academia.”

Chapter Text

Excerpt from “The Formation of Japanese Heroics” by Hideo Hitomi, published January 19th, 2227.

Accessed: March 31, 2232.

“The term ‘Hero’ refers to an employee of the Hero Public Safety Commision with permission to use his/her Quirk under the conditions outlined in the license he/she holds. These employees are divided into several shifts, herein referred to as ‘on-hours.’ These on-hours follow the daytime clock. From 05:00 to 10:00 hours, the employees are designated as Dawn. From 10:00 to 15:00 hours, the employees are designated as Daylight. From 15:00 to 20:00 hours, the employees are designated as Twilight. From 20:00 to 05:00 hours, the employees are designated as Underground.

“These designations, while not followed as strictly in companies outside of the HPSC, are the official scale that will be used on form 759B-Omega to evaluate an employee’s pay grade. On-hours were established in the early formation of the HPSC, when they moved away from the jurisdiction of the police force. With the support of the prime minister, Heroes gained the ability to work during their scheduled on-hours, performing their tasks without interruption or disturbance. Any such interruption or disturbance could be detrimental to a Hero’s assigned tasks, and might pose a threat to their livelihood. If such a threat were determined, a Hero would be allowed to neutralize it.”

Excerpt from Shiketsu High School’s “Incoming Student” informational brochure.

Accessed: March 31, 2232.

“Interested in after-school activities? Check out our list of official clubs! We’ve got something to suit every student’s passion.

• Baseball

• Costume Design

• Chess

• Football

• Study Groups

• Welding

• Woodshop”

Excerpt from Ketsubetsu High School’s “Welcome” informational packet.

Accessed: March 31, 2232.

“...every student should feel free to express their truest self, and below is a shortened list of the clubs and organizations hosted by our student body. To view the full list, visit www.ketsubetsu.high.com/official-clubs.

Archery, acrobatics, baseball, basketball, business heroics, chess, coin collecting, fencing… support for support, software engineering, welding, and much, much more!”

Excerpt from Yuuei High School’s official website: “Courses: Electives,” by unknown, published February 3, 2232.

Accessed: April 1, 2232.

“Our wonderful staff offer a wide variety of perspectives from many aspects of the Heroics Industry, including top of the line analysis courses, and business management classes that help prepare our students for their careers. Yuuei aims to be a flexible learning environment, and many second-year students have the opportunity to take electives outside of their chosen departments. If this interests you, view our proposed course plans here. A list of our electives can be found here. For more information on the qualifications of our staff, visit this link.”

Midoriya is going to be sick with excitement. He’s also quite possibly going to be late, since he spent too much time trying to watch videos that would help him tame his necktie. Most schools don’t require one, but the bright red tie is a staple of Yuuei’s uniform. He had to settle for a semi-crooked, too-short monstrosity that he tugs at anxiously.

“Izukun, are you absolutely sure that you’re allowed to go?” his mother asks, her own nerves showing through.

“Okaasan, you read the email, too,” he reminds her.

Midoriya Inko’s shiny green hair sways as she nods. She smooths it down with one hand, taking a calming breath. “Right, you’re right. Oh, it’s all so sudden!” She lunges forward, catching Midoriya around the middle.

In his second year of middle school, Midoriya had outgrown his mother. Now, her cheek rests low on his chest, and he has to bend a bit to get his arms around her shoulders. Midoriya hugs her back, trying to absorb her warmth before he leaves.

“I’ve really got to go,” he says, breaking away. Her green eyes—their green eyes, since Midoriya himself has an identical pair—are slick with tears.

“Izuku,” she says, her voice choked with emotion, “I am so proud of you.”

Midoriya smiles a tiny, pained grin. He’s pretty sure she would be livid if she knew what he’d done to get his spot at Yuuei, but he doesn’t regret it one bit.

“Thanks, Okaasan. Have a good day at work!”

Midoriya tears out of his apartment complex, and down the sidewalk. In short order, he’s passing the yards of houses like the one Kacchan lives in, and he picks up the pace, weaving around schoolkids on their way to the local primary school—which he and Kacchan had both attended. Midoriya ducks into the train station.

What feels like a blink later, Midoriya is standing before the entrance to Yuuei. He’s familiar with the sight. In fact, he’s probably a little too familiar with the imposing gates, and the shape of the sensors attached to the towering brick fence. The only unfamiliar part of the scene is the mob of reporters crowded around, pressing a little too close to the gates for comfort.

Any closer, and the steel door will slam down. What will Midoriya do, then? Is there a second entrance for students? He hasn’t even gotten a student ID, yet! How would anyone know that he’s a student—oh, right. He tugs at his suffocating tie, which is only the linchpin of his iconic Yuuei uniform.

It seems that as soon as Midoriya has remembered that he’s in uniform, the press has noticed it, too.

“Hey, you! Kid! Are you a first year student?” A dark haired woman jabs her microphone a centimeter from Midoriya’s nose. He goes cross-eyed trying to see it.

“Aw,” groans a man on his left, plucking at the shoulder pad of Midoriya’s uniform. Midoriya jerks back instinctively. “He’s not even Heroics. Move along, Midori-kun,” the man scoffs.

“What?” another, louder voice calls. “Not Heroics? What’s the use of him, then?” A ripple of mean laughter goes through the crowd of reporters and their camera crews, but they do part for Midoriya. He ducks his flaming face to his chest, and high-tails it inside the gates as the vultures descend on some other student behind him.

“Sheesh,” he mutters to himself, hooking his fingers into his backpack straps. “Would it kill them to be a little nicer? Or quieter?”

He glances up, and his frown dissipates. Here he is, inside the gates. Not staring at Yuuei creepily from the sidewalk, or sketching the sensors from half-a-meter away. The trees around him rustle in the breeze; sun gleams off the reflective surface of the windows blindingly. In Midoriya’s head, he can hear the echo of Principal Nedzu’s voice.

“Welcome to your analytical academia.”

His chest squeezes tightly, but he breathes through it, taking small, tentative steps forward. Would anyone believe that he had made it here? He’d already been laughed at, but Midoriya looks back at the crowd of reporters, and sees what separates them from him. The harsh line of the outer wall is unforgiving.

Midoriya grins to himself. He may not be Heroics, yet, but being on the inside is the first step.

It takes Midoriya a little too long to find his class. He has to pause at the end of the staircase and study the floorplan on the wall intently, following the invisible path of the arrows in his mind. Around him, the letters on the doors count up one by one. Finally, he comes to a stop in front of a truly enormous steel door, which dwarfs him so much that he’s a little afraid he won’t be able to open it.

When he tries the handle, his hand sweating nervously, it swings inward on well-oiled hinges. The inside of classroom 1-H is unlike anything Midoriya has ever seen. His mouth drifts agape in awe.

The ceiling arcs high over his head, bare silver beams crossing the width like fishbones. Bright, industrial lights dangle down, metal cages over their white fluorescent bulbs. Oversized—as everything here is, apparently—windows line the far wall, and Midoriya can see straight across campus. With the way the building is shaped, they’re situated in the right wing, in the tower furthest from the entrance.

Seated at long desks that appear to be welded to the floor, the students stare curiously at Midoriya. He’s barely had any time to turn his gawking on them, when the door slams open again.

“Well, well, well!” shouts a bare-chested man. “Look at the fresh meat! Unconstrained by age and stupidity—that is, if you’re all as talented as you seemed to be during the entrance exams.”

It’s the Excavation Hero: Power Loader! Midoriya dithers in the front of the class, glancing around until he sees a free seat in the middle of the center row. With a sigh of relief, he slides into it, keeping his eyes locked on the Hero.

“Good. Now that everyone is seated, we can do roll call. I’ve let you seat yourselves, but if you feel too stifled by the desks, feel free to figure out your own,” Power Loader says. He doesn’t seem to be joking. Midoriya glances around, and a few people are grinning at the implied permission they’ve been given to change their desks.

“My name is Maijima Higari. I am the Excavator Hero: Power Loader. Go ahead and call me whatever you find shortest. Just Sensei is fine, too.” Power Loader flicks through the papers littering a—you guessed it—massive desk at what seems to be the front of the room, though there’s no whiteboard or blackboard that Midoriya can identify. Midoriya stares ravenously at the tips of Power Loader’s fingers, where his Quirk protrudes like safety-orange finger caps.

When Power Loader calls Midoriya’s name, he starts slightly, and receives a commiserating look from the pink-haired girl at his side. They’re seated two to a desk, and she is his deskmate.

“Ah, present!” Midoriya calls nervously.

“So,” the girl says, turning to him fully, ignoring the roll still being called. “Midoriya? Pretty on the nose, if you ask me.”

Midoriya titters anxiously. He tugs a strand of his two-toned green hair, and tries for a wobbly smile. He’s never really talked to a girl, unless you count the time that he’d been tricked into waiting around after school for an hour by a girl last year who swore she had something important to tell him.

“Ah, yeah,” he says. “Green is a family trait.”

“I can tell,” she says, though not meanly. She blinks her luminous yellow eyes at him, her irises focusing and dilating unusually. “I’m Hatsume Mei—and I know you weren’t listening to anyone else’s names even a lick.”

Midoriya flushes. “Was I being that obvious?”

“A little,” she shrugs with a grin. “I only paid attention because I wanted to hear if anyone is here from a big engineering family, but you’re more interesting.” Hatsume pokes at his arm with one finger. “You’re way too noodly to be a hands-on inventor, like me.” She flexes one bicep, popping an impressive bulge in the gray fabric of her uniform. “I’d guess—”

But Hatsume’s guess is interrupted by Power Loader clearing his throat at the front of the room. They fall silent, Midoriya burning with shame at being caught talking out of turn on the first day.

“Now, here at Yuuei, us professors get a lot more freedom than your average lecturer. Very conducive to an inventor’s mind, and I applaud Nedzu-sama for thinking of it. Most of the Gen Ed. classes will be attending the annual start of term announcements, but not us.” Power Loader’s sunshine yellow headgear swivels as he takes in his twenty students. “Don’t forget, although you will participate in many of the same classes as the average student, you are not one. You are Support Course students. So, rather than attend a boring speech, I will be going over safety procedures with you all, so we can head straight into the lab portion of the homeroom.”

Midoriya blinks. He knows Nedzu had instructed him to join class 1-H for the morning, but he isn’t sure exactly what he’s doing here. He’s wildly grateful for Power Loader’s earlier interruption, now that he thinks about what the girl had been probably about to ask. Midoriya definitely isn’t some prodigal inventor, like any of these students are.

“Oh, except for you, Midoriya-kun,” Power Loader says, jolting Midoriya out of his thoughts. “You’ll be joining class 1-C for the presentation. I’ll give you the safety overview later. Go ahead and take your bag, and have fun.”

It takes Midoriya a moment to register this dismissal, but Hatsume is digging her elbow into his side, so he lurches up out of his seat woodenly. When he reaches the door, feeling the prickle of everyone’s judging stares on his shoulders, he looks back at Power Loader. His skinny sensei gives him a firm nod.

Midoriya tugs open the door, and finds himself immediately lost in a flood of students. They all seem to be heading in the same direction, so he tries to let the flow of them guide his steps, though his head is ducked until his earlobes touch the collar of his uniform. After a few terse moments of bumping arms and rubbing shoulders, he manages to find his rhythm behind a squat, round girl with her poofy brown hair in two buns on her head, and her lanky friend.

“Maa, maa,” the lanky one says, “this crap is always so boring. I wish Sensei would let us skip, like the Heroics classes. What the hell does Business need to know about the Gen Ed. exam schedule?”

“Come on, relax,” the girl replies, jostling the lanky one with her shoulder. Midoriya slows a half-step so they don’t bump into him and notice his eavesdropping. “It’s not like an hour will kill you. Besides, we might even get to see All Might-sama!”

All Might?

But as the lanky person is gearing up to answer, they burst into the same cavernous amphitheater that Midoriya had sat in when he’d received the instructions for his practical entrance exam. As he’s blinking in surprise, the two people he’s been following disappear into the throng.

It looks as though the students are sorting themselves, somehow. Some head all the way to the front of the room, working their way into the seats without much fuss, while others tuck into back rows, waving to friends. Midoriya is utterly lost.

He feels a bit as if this entire day is going to be one minor test of his determination after another. He grits his teeth, and begins scanning for a particular, well-known face. It’s lucky that he’d done his research, and knows exactly what class 1-C is, and the professor that teaches it.

“Or maybe I’ve barely passed the first hurdle,” Midoriya mutters to himself. He’s caught sight of his target, and determination floods through him. He’s not going to let Nedzu push him out of this program—if, indeed that is what’s happening.

It’s also quite possible that Nedzu simply believed that Midoriya is more laid-back than he is, and can handle last-minute switch ups. If that’s the case, he’s dead wrong.

By the time Midoriya has backtracked, and reentered the auditorium from a different door, a hush is starting to fall over the students. He hurries forward, nearly tripping over the toe of his trainer. A sturdy hand catches him around the arm, tugging him upright.

“Thank you!” Midoriya gasps.

“No prob, little listener!” Present Mic grins down at Midoriya, his tinted sunglasses flashing. “Need help finding your seat? It can be confusing on the first day.”

“Yes, p-please,” Midoriya says, pulling back slightly so that he can see all of Present Mic in his leather-clad glory. “My name is Midoriya Izuku. I was hoping you’d be able to point me to where class 1-C is sitting?”

“Oh!” Present Mic’s blond eyebrows lift above the edge of his glasses, and a smile flashes across his face. “Well, aren’t you a smart cookie? I was told to be on the lookout for you. Just go on, right up front! See that empty chair at the edge, there?” Present Mic points to the end of the very first row, which sits level with the stage, though several yards back. “That’s yours. Go ahead and get settled. The show will start in a few!”

Midoriya thanks him again, and manages to get to his seat without falling over or screaming in fanboy glee. Present Mic had touched him! Present Mic had called him ‘little listener!’

Midoriya sinks into his seat, tucking his backpack between his feet securely. He glances to his right, where a purple-haired boy slouches with his eyes closed. The boy’s long legs splay out in front of him, and he looks, for all intents and purposes, to be entirely asleep. This is why Midoriya leaps half out of his chair when the boy speaks.

“Got a staring problem?” The boy’s eyes blink open, so Midoriya can see that they’re a similar purple to his hair.

“N-no! Sorry!” Midoriya squeaks. He tucks his hands tightly into his lap so he won’t flail them around. “I just—just got here, so…”

“Good,” the boy grumbles, his head rolling back so that his Adam’s apple pokes out of his throat prominently. “‘Cause you’re the late one, so I don’t want to hear any judgment for napping.”

“I-I’m Midoriya, Mid-Midoriya Izuku,” Midoriya says, cringing at his stutter. He’d kept it together in front of Present Mic, and Hatsume earlier, but his voice is getting away from him, now.

The boy cracks open one eye to stare at Midoriya’s hair, and then at his eyes.

“Yeah,” he drawls. “I could’ve guessed. Shinsou Hitoshi—pleasure, and all that.”

Then, the lights on the stage flare on, saving Midoriya from having to make more awkward conversation with Shinsou. On stage, a small contingent of adults sit behind a table draped in navy blue fabric, some of them in Hero costumes, some of them in starched suits. Behind a tall, wooden podium, Nedzu stands.

It’s impossible to tell where his fathomless black eyes are looking, but Midoriya feels like Nedzu’s sharp-toothed smile is aimed at him.

“Good morning!” chirps Nedzu, the microphone in front of his snout amplifying his words to everyone in the room. “I thank everyone for being here with me on this fine Monday. Let’s welcome our newest students, and give a warm welcome back to all of our returning pupils!” Here, polite applause sounds, startling awake Shinsou, who had already fallen asleep again at Midoriya’s side. “Now, I know that for some of you, the information we will be addressing is routine, however, for many of us it will be our first time hearing it! Please bear with us, and I thank you all for your patience.”

Nedzu turns slightly, gesturing with a paw to the panel of people behind him. “I have with me today a few of our illustrious staff members! I trust you are all familiar with Kayama-san, the R-Rated Hero: Midnight!” On stage, Midnight gives a flirtatious wink, and wiggles her fingers in a teasing wave. In the audience, Midoriya can hear a chorus of adoring sighs. “This year, Kayama-san will be transitioning from teaching marketability, to being the head of our Art and Design Department. We are eager to announce Yorifuji-san, the Suggestive Hero: Broadcaster as our new marketability professor!” At Midnight’s side, a white-haired man dressed in a costume that’s even more BDSM-style than hers flashes a beaming smile. Midoriya’s heart gives a little lurch in his chest.

His eyes blow wide. Of course, that’s Broadcast’s Quirk, Attraction, at work! Like Midnight, Broadcast uses his sensuality as a gimmick to draw the eye. Unlike Midnight, though, his Quirk is actually based on the responses of his audience. If they find him attractive, Broadcast has the ability to perform minor emotional manipulation on them. Obviously, it works best when the emotion he’s trying to provoke is lust, but he can do others. Why, even last month he’d saved a woman from suicide by—

“Dude, shut up,” Shinsou whispers, elbowing Midoriya in the arm. The long-limbed boy is sitting up straight, eyes locked on Broadcast with an almost reverent light. Midoriya snaps his mouth closed.

“Sorry,” he mutters, sinking lower in his chair. He hopes he wasn’t as loud as he had been during his entrance test, when that stiff-armed boy had told him off.

On stage, Nedzu continues to go down the line of staff members. There’s the Hunting Dog Hero: Hound Dog, who Nedzu introduces as both campus security and a member of the guidance counseling team; the Steel-Toed Heroine: Lace, who teaches the costume class; the Construction Hero: Cementoss; and several pant-suited third year professors from the Management department that intimidate Midoriya more than the Heroes.

He tries not to project a guilty air as he thinks about the articles that are open on his computer back at home.

When all the people on stage have been introduced, Nedzu gives the room a squinty-eyed grin. “We have one final professor to introduce to you all today, and I expect even our returning students will find themselves surprised. Please, let us all give a warm welcome to our newest Heroics professor, the Number One Hero, All Might!”

Midoriya’s jaw drops open.

“No fucking way,” Shinsou breathes, stealing the words right out of Midoriya’s mouth.

Uproarious, earth-shaking cheering fills the amphitheater, so loud that Midoriya is sure that the reporters who were buzzing around the entrance can hear them. No wonder they’d been here! Though he has to ask how exactly the reporters had known before the students had.

Now, Midoriya has met All Might. He’s spoken to All Might, been saved by All Might, even. The Hero may have been a little harsh about Midoriya wanting to be a Hero, himself, but Midoriya can’t fault him. After seeing the horrific scarring that layers All Might’s left flank, Midoriya knows that the man was only trying to give honest advice about the mortality rate of the industry. That doesn’t mean Midoriya has to listen to him.

It also doesn’t mean that he doesn’t still love All Might with every fiber of his shrimpy being.

“Thank you, Nedzu-sama,” All Might booms. He’s wearing a pinstripe suit that matches the bright yellow of his hair, and Midoriya doesn’t know if he’s ever seen a larger man in his entire life. “It feels great to be back at my alma mater. Just like coming home at the end of a long day! And to see all of these wonderful, youthful faces is a pleasure! I am excited to get to know you all, and I hope that my time here as a professor will be well-spent. Thank you, everyone.” All Might bows at the waist, his pointed hair pieces swaying.

Midoriya feels close to tears.

Nedzu takes the podium again, allowing a moment for the student body’s chatter to swell and die. “Yes, we are all very excited to have All Might-san be a teacher here, this year. I do want everyone to be sure we are clear on expectations of how he must be treated—which is to say, All Might-san is like any other teacher. You will not mob him, nor will you congregate outside of his office, or the teacher’s lounge. You will not wait for him after classes, or take unsolicited photos of him. As with any other professor, your non-disclosure agreement covers All Might-san. Please, everyone, let's take a moment to review the packets that were placed on your seats. In them, you will see an outline of the policies and procedures that you are to adhere to in accordance with our school rules.”

Beside him, Shinsou slides a trifold pamphlet out from beneath his leg. Midoriya checks under himself, and sees that his pamphlet has fallen into the aisle. Nedzu begins to summarize the privacy expected to be given to their professors, and Shinsou sighs. The purple-haired boy tips his head back, letting his eyes fall shut again, tucking the pamphlet into the side of his blazer.

“There goes all the excitement,” Shinsou says. Midoriya rather agrees.

At the end of the presentation, Present Mic reappears in the aisle, beside Midoriya.

“Hey, hey!” he calls, using a smidge of his Quirk to enhance the volume of his voice. “Class 1-C, follow me! We’re heading back to the classroom, to finish up before lunch.” He lowers his voice to a normal level before saying, “You, too, Midoriya-kun. I’ve got a schedule for you, back in the room.” Present Mic begins walking backwards up the sloped aisle, somehow not hitting any students as he guides his class through the maze of people and hallways. Midoriya tries to pay attention to the route they’re taking, but Present Mic begins making conversation with him, and he abandons the attempt.

“So, you’re pretty special, lil’ listener!” Present Mic says.

“What do you mean, sir?” Midoriya asks cautiously, wondering if Present Mic is going to ask about his Quirklessness in front of so many other students. He knows that, at minimum, Shinsou is listening to the conversation as he slouches along behind Midoriya’s right shoulder. It’s anyone’s guess as to how many others are keeping tabs on what their professor is saying.

“Well, it’s not every day that Nedzu-sama takes on a disciple!” Present Mic says, grinning widely. “In fact, my best friend was Nedzu-sama’s last personal student.”

“Oh, that’s right!” Midoriya says, bouncing eagerly on his toes. “I always forget that you and Eraser Head-san were classmates, when you went here. You guys still do duo-work, too, even though you’re strictly a Daylight Hero, and he’s strictly Underground. It must be so hard to plan those missions, what with all the paperwork. Like that time with the Villain, Hardshell! All of his victims were taken at night, so the Underground were on the case, but then that girl was found on your patrol route,” Midoriya says, half to himself, half to Present Mic. “What was the process like? Did you get to choose to work with Eraser Head-san on that case, or was it random? The news never mentioned any other Heroes being involved at all.”

Present Mic laughs, interrupting Midoriya before he can keep talking. “Wow! You sure do know a lot about me. And I’m surprised you even know who Eraser is, honestly. Most kids don’t know anything about Underground Heroes.”

Behind him, Shinsou scoffs. “Eraser Head-san is only the most prolific Underground Hero in the last thirty years. You’d have to be deaf, dumb, and blind to not know who he is.”

Midoriya nods eagerly. “Not to mention, even before he went pro, Eraser Head won two consecutive Sports Festivals. He’s the only known General Education-to-Heroics department transfer that Yuuei has actually admitted to, and that’s only because the announcer mentioned it during the second Festival! Eraser Head-san is a living legend.”

“And a total badass,” Shinsou says.

Present Mic laughs again. “Alright, I think I get it, now. You guys are fanboys, huh?”

Midoriya nods vigorously, but Shinsou’s face flushes blotchily.

“No way!” he denies, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I just keep up to date on the Underground. It would be kinda stupid not to, since I want to be Underground, one day.”

Midoriya squints, cocking his head and tucking his chin into his fist. “I dunno. I think Shinsou-kun likes Heroes a lot, not just Underground ones. He seemed to recognize the Suggestive Hero: Broadcaster-san, even before I started mumbling, and his reaction to All Might was just like mine. I’ve never met anyone else who knew Eraser Head-san by name, either, and the Hardshell case was three years ago. Shinsou-kun—”

“Would you be quiet?” Shinsou barks, face burning even redder. Midoriya startles.

“Sorry, Shinsou-kun,” he says, shrinking into the collar of his blazer.

Present Mic stops, and Midoriya stumbles, trying not to plough into him. “Well, we’re here, anyway. Thanks for the info, listener.” He steps aside, opening the huge metal door of classroom 1-C so that the students can file in. Midoriya waits beside him, watching the students take their seats.

This classroom is nothing like 1-H’s at all. It looks almost exactly like every other classroom Midoriya has ever been in, with single-person desks in orderly little rows. On the far wall are windows, but they are average-sized, rather than floor-to-ceiling like the ones in 1-H. Here, the lights are set into the ceiling, too, not hanging down over workstations. All in all, it’s rather boring to look at.

At the very back of the classroom, by the windows, one seat is left open. Present Mic swipes a sheet of pale green paper from his desk, passes it to Midoriya, and points to the empty chair. Coincidentally—or not, Midoriya thinks—Shinsou-kun is in the chair right in front of him. Midoriya sits in desk number twenty, and keeps his backpack with him. Everyone else must have put theirs in the cubbies at the back of the room before the presentation, because he’s the only one with it.

Present Mic leans against the edge of his desk, crossing his skinny legs. “So, that was educational, right? If anyone has any pressing questions about safety and security, or the class schedule, go ahead and ask ‘em, now. We’ve got a couple minutes before we head to lunch.”

Midoriya studies his schedule.

08:25 - 10:30 1-H: Homeroom/Support Laboratory

10:40 - 11:30 1-I: Introduction to Costume Production

11:40 - 12:30 1-C: Algebra

12:30 - 13:20 Lunch

13:20 - 14:10 1-C: English

14:20 - 15:10 1-C: Chemistry

15:20 - 16:00 Principal’s Office: Personal Lessons

Man, he’s going to be running around the school like a headless chicken. Where even is 1-I? The presentation today took up the time that he would have been in there, and he assumes that 1-I had been there, too.

Suddenly, the paper is plucked from his fingers. Nimbly, Shinsou turns to face the front again, Midoriya’s schedule laid flat on his desk. A plain white sheet flutters down on Midoriya’s desk, with Shinsou’s name and ID number printed at the top. He blinks in confusion.

Before he can say anything, the bell sounds over the P.A. system.

“Alright, listeners! That’s lunch. Go ahead and grab it if you brought one, and follow me to the cafeteria.”

Shinsou stands, Midoriya’s schedule in his hand. “Dude, who the hell are you?” His purple eyes scan the timetable, and then flick to Midoriya.

“Um, Midoriya,” Midoriya says, flushing. “Just Midoriya.”

“You’re not ‘just’ anything.” Shinsou stabs a finger at the final line on the page. “You’re the principal’s personal student. I kinda thought Sensei was covering for you needing supplemental help, or something.”

“Ah, I think we’re supposed to be leaving,” Midoriya says, peering around Shinsou anxiously. They’re the last two people in the classroom.

Shinsou lets him stand, but then leans down into Midoriya’s space. He’s really tall—which Midoriya only just noticed, because every centimeter Shinsou has on Midoriya is being leveraged against him.

“You know, I’m not here to make friends. I came to Yuuei to be a Hero, and I’m going to get there, one way or another.” Shinsou’s purple eyes bore into Midoriya’s. “I think you could help me, because, here we are—literally on day one—and you’ve already got all the rules bent for you. So, tell me. What’s your Quirk?”

Midoriya’s blood turns to ice in his veins. “Um, can, can I tell you at lunch? I-I’m really hun-hungry.”

He’s not. In fact, he thinks that any food would taste like sawdust in his mouth if he ate it, right now.

Shinsou’s face tightens, but he relents. “Fine. Don’t think you can run away from me, though.”

“N-no! No way,” Midoriya assures, even though about five different plans on how best to duck away from Shinsou are flying through his mind. Just in case. You never know when things can get ugly, and Midoriya is excellent at evasion. Kacchan taught him that.

They manage to catch up to the tail end of class 1-C, thanks to Shinsou’s ability to see over most of the students in the hallway, and enter the nicest school cafeteria that Midoriya has seen in his life. He follows Shinsou into one of the lunch lines at random.

“So, ah… are you sure you want to know?” Midoriya asks, cringing.

Shinsou narrows his sleepy eyes. “I asked, didn’t I?”

“It’s just, well. It’s—it’s probably not what you expect,” Midoriya dodges. He takes his lunch tray, which seems to have some kind of soba on it.

“It’s harder to surprise me than you think.”

Midoriya swallows, letting Shinsou lead them to a small booth, partially hidden by the fronds of a potted plant. He twirls a chopstick in one hand, his foot tapping.

“I’m… I’m Quirkless,” Midoriya says, so quietly that Shinsou has to lean forward to catch the words.

Shinsou’s face twists angrily, and Midoriya presses back into the seat cushions, bracing himself.

“Dude, you don’t even know me. You don’t have to lie—I’m not stupid,” Shinsou says, his fists clenched around his chopsticks.

“I’m not lying!” Midoriya bursts. “I swear, I really am Quirkless. I could—I could show you my bus pass, I guess? The Quirk database takes too long to log into.”

Shinsou sneers. “Yeah, right. Go ahead, prove it.”

So Midoriya digs his wallet out of his pocket, and hands over his train pass, which has the bright red word “QUIRKLESS” printed in bold under the Quirk Status section. Shinsou’s face goes slack when he reads it.

“Oh, God. You’re seriously Quirkless?”

Midoriya nods, and starts shoveling noodles into his mouth so he won’t have to say anything.

“Dude, that sucks.” Shinsou passes his bus pass back, and Midoriya slips it into his wallet where it belongs. “So, are you some kind of closet genius?”

Midoriya makes a time-out gesture with his hands, and finishes chewing. “Hold on, Shinsou-kun.” He gathers his courage. Just another minor test to pass, right? “I think you should tell me what your Quirk is, since you were so rude about mine—or, my lack, I guess.” His hands fidget in his lap. “Think of it as quid pro quo. We’ll be even.”

Shinsou’s face goes kind of gray, but he screws up his mouth. “I really wish I hadn’t asked,” he mumbles, jabbing one chopstick into his bowl. “Yeah, whatever. Quid pro quo.” He stares right into Midoriya’s eyes, and says, “My Quirk’s Brainwashing.”

Midoriya blinks. “What does that mean?”

Shinsou gives him a look. Yup, there it is again, that ‘are you dumber than you look?’ look. “It means that I can make you do anything I want you to if you answer a question.”

Midoriya curls his fingers over his chin. So that’s why Shinsou-kun was so excited when he saw Broadcast on stage this morning. Their Quirks sound highly similar—Attraction and Brainwashing are both Quirks based in manipulation. Shinsou’s sounds like the standard catch-and-release kind of Quirk, with a vocal activation. But what did he mean about answering a question? Quirks are a confusing mix of biology, technology, and what people in the consulting business often call an idiopathic aspect. Shinsou’s seems fairly ordinary—Midoriya is pretty sure he just means that his Quirk relies on a certain intonation to activate on Shinsou’s side, and a verbal response on the other end to hook. However, Shinsou-kun saying he could make Midoriya do “anything he wants” sounds promising. Does he mean that he can physically control Midoriya? Or is it more of a mental type, where he guides Midoriya’s thoughts? The name Brainwash implies—

“Okay, okay, hold on,” Shinsou says, holding his hands out, palms forward. “Just stop, for a second.”

Midoriya’s mouth closes with a clack of his teeth.

“God, no wonder you’re Nedzu-sama’s personal student. You are a closet genius.” Shinsou’s tired eyes are wide.

“No way,” Midoriya denies. “I just really like Quirks, and Quirk-based biology. I’ve done a lot of research.”

“Yeah, right,” Shinsou scoffs. “You sound just like that lady. What’s her name? The one who came up with the three Quirk types.”

“Fairground Sheila!” Midoriya says, leaning forward excitedly. “She’s done some totally awesome work in the field of Quirks, but I have a real bone to pick with her about that classification system. It’s totally arbitrary! There are Quirks—”

“See? This is what I mean,” Shinsou says. “You’re like… a super nerd.”

Before he can respond, something slams into Midoriya’s side, hard. He skids a ways into the booth, going down like a sack of bricks, the table rattling and almost falling over. Broth from Shinsou’s bowl sloshes over the rim and into his lap.

“A super nerd?!” an excited voice shouts into Midoriya’s ear. “No wonder you disappeared, Midoriya-kun!”

Midoriya gasps in a winded breath, turning over so he can see what has him pinned to the seat. It’s Hatsume Mei, his deskmate in 1-H. Her pink dreadlocks hang down around her tanned face, tickling Midoriya’s freckled cheeks.

“Who the hell are you?” Shinsou demands, affronted. He grabs a wad of napkins from the dispenser and starts scrubbing angrily at his uniform pants.

In a twisting, acrobatic move, Hatsume leans across the table while still trapping Midoriya between her knees.

“I’m Hatsume Mei of Hatsume Industries! Great to meet you, Super-Nerd’s friend! Super-Nerd here is my desk partner in Support—not that he knows what that means, since he had to leave to listen to that boring opening talk.”

Shinsou leans away. Hatsume’s enthusiasm seems to sap what little energy Shinsou has to spare, leaving him blinking exhaustedly.

“My name’s Shinsou, not Midoriya’s friend,” he says.

Hatsume turns back to Midoriya, cocking her head curiously.

“Are you ever coming back to class with me?” she asks.

“Uh, not today,” Midoriya says. Shinsou passes her Midoriya’s schedule, which Midoriya would eventually need back.

“Ooh!” squeals Hatsume, sitting on Midoriya a little more firmly. “So you’ll just be with me for our lab—that’s totally convenient! I’ve already got loads of plans for what we can make for the first project. Oh,” she blinks down at him with her strange eyes. “I guess you don’t know what that is. Don’t worry, Super-Nerd. I’ll catch you up to speed!”

“Thanks, Hatsume-san,” Midoriya says, wincing. “Um, would you mind letting me up?”

“Sure!” She rolls backwards off of him, her legs flailing out and nearly taking the table down again. Shinsou spills more broth into his lap. Midoriya gets poked in the eye by his stray chopstick.

“You sure are something,” Shinsou says, a bit snidely.

“Thanks,” Hatsume replies distractedly. She picks Midoriya up by the biceps, lifting him clear off the bench and putting him down, upright, further in. Then she takes the newly opened space as her seat. “Are you gonna finish this?” she asks, pointing at Midoriya’s lukewarm soba.

“Ah, no.”

She tilts her head back and pours it into her mouth, chewing the soggy noodles and drinking the broth simultaneously. Midoriya and Shinsou exchange a glance. Midoriya thinks that Hatsume is possibly the most genuine person he’s ever met in his life. He likes her spunk.

Shinsou must decide this, too, because he continues the conversation they’d been having before Hatsume had joined them without delay. “Anyway, I'm going to use the shit out of you. I don’t care if you’re Quirkless. Obviously, you know something I don’t. And if you can be Nedzu-sama’s personal student without a Quirk, you can get me into the Hero department with one.”

Midoriya wishes he’d laid down some ground rules about his Quirk status.

“You’re Quirkless?” Hatsume asks, setting the empty bowl down on Midoriya’s tray. Then, after a second, she follows it with, “You’re Principal Nedzu-sama’s personal student?!” in a much louder voice.

Midoriya rubs his eyes. “Yes, and yes. Shinsou-kun, can you please not tell people about me being Quirkless without my permission? Not everyone will be pleased that a Quirkless kid got into Yuuei. And, maybe don’t talk about the personal student thing, either?” 

Hatsume grabs him by the shoulders and shakes him. “Super-Nerd, that is so cool. You have no idea how cool that is. You’re like ten thousand times cooler, now. I am so glad you’re my desk partner. I am going to use your giant Super-Nerd brain, and my giant inventor brain, and we are going to make so many awesome babies.”

Shinsou chokes on his water. Midoriya chokes on air.

“Babies?!” they shout in tandem.

“Support babies,” Hatsume confirms with a determined nod.

Midoriya lets out a long breath, and Shinsou starts laughing so hard that he has to rest his head on the table.

Is this what every day is going to be like? Midoriya wonders, watching Hatsume start in on Shinsou’s food. I don’t think that would be too bad.

Chapter Text

Captioned clip from Nippon Hōsō Kyōkai ’s “General TV” broadcast, aired on April , 2232, 07:39.

Accessed: April 1, 2232

NAKAJIMA: Last night, the Hero-Killer: Stain struck again. The Growth Hero: Blossom will forever be in our hearts, and we thank them for their service.

SATO: The rise of fanatics following in Stain’s footsteps continues, and we urge anyone who believes they may know anything about Stain’s whereabouts to contact their local police force, and report it.

NAKAJIMA: Please be on the lookout, and stay safe at night. Copycat attacks on ordinary citizens have been reported, and you may be next.

Excerpt from the comments on a HeroTube video titled “Hero-Killer or Villain-Killer: Who is Stain Targeting?” uploaded on March 31, 2232, 14:03.

Accessed: April 1, 2232

anon99999 : I say good riddance. Stain is taking monsters off the streets parading around in hero costumes.

HimiChan : Stainy-chan is the best!!! Keep up the good work!!! We’re all rooting for you!!!!!

herochasertakashi : that guy is a fckn villain. hope a hero gives him wat he deserves

Excerpt from “Hero Analysis (For the Future?)” by Midoriya Izuku, written April 1, 2232.

“Stain has a pattern. All serial killers do. What is it? Who has his case? Underground would have been likely, but National news makes me hesitant to say that for sure. If Daylight, who? All Might? He has no time to be tracking Stain. I hope not All Might. Signs point to Nighteye Agency.

“Do the copycats get sent to the agency of the main case? Who handles them? Where is the information? NHK is hiding things again. Perps must still be at large, or their capture would be noted.

“How many are taking after Stain?”

By the time his personal lessons with Nedzu have rolled around, Midoriya is exhausted. Class 1-C aren’t exactly a talkative bunch, but they are intense. Midoriya guesses that being the “normal” students at a Hero school probably means that they’re really intellectually gifted—otherwise, what would be the point of having a General Education department at all?

He’s sitting in the waiting room of the front office, scribbling madly into his most recent Hero Analysis journal. His page on Shinsou is beginning to devolve into wild speculation, so he stops himself, and flips to a clean one to start sketching Present Mic. He’s got several iterations of Present Mic in different volumes, but meeting the man in person is reason enough to redo his page. Besides, now that Midoriya has seen his Quirk in action, he has new questions.

The secretary sitting at the front desk keeps looking up nervously, like Midoriya is scaring her. He would apologize, but he thinks that this is probably another test. (Like not squealing aloud when he realized that his chemistry class is taught by the Ancient Hero: Carbon Date. Or when he got lost, and had to ask a janitor for help. Or not crying when he’d bumped into one of the management professors by accident, and they’d told him off.) Instead, Midoriya grasps his mouth with his off hand, using his elbow to hold his notebook to the coffee table while he writes.

The woman relaxes, and the dark, wooden door to the left of her desk flies open. Just as Midoriya thought, then.

“Hello again, Midoriya-kun!” Principal Nedzu says. “Why don’t you join me in my office?”

Midoriya quickly gathers his backpack and journal, following Nedzu into his well-lit home-base. He wonders where Nedzu sleeps, and then hopes desperately that he didn’t say that out loud. Judging by the fact that Nedzu’s round ears haven’t twitched or moved since they’ve sat down, Midoriya thinks he hasn’t. He lets out a breath of relief.

“How has your first day been? I’m always curious to hear from our new students before they’ve cemented any strong opinions on my school.”

“Um, it’s been great! Seeing all the professors and getting to know them is really cool.” Midoriya picks at his nail bed absently as he speaks. “I’m excited to work with different courses. Though, I am a little nervous about having lab with the Support students.” He glances up shyly from beneath his lashes. “I’m not sure if my notebooks gave you the wrong impression, but I don’t really have any experience with inventing, or building things in general.”

“Really?” Nedzu asks, setting down a delicate porcelain teacup. “Based on your estimations of the schematics of our security sensors, I’d assumed that you had some technical background. Your notes on several Heroes’ support items also suggested that you had at least a rudimentary understanding of the mechanics of how they were put together.”

Midoriya flushes. “Ah, well, maybe just a bit. I learned how to build computers from a library book not too long ago, and I tried it on my own. I guess I just thought that most mechanical things must be connected similarly, and that contributed to the whole… sensor thing.”

Nedzu hums inscrutably. “Today, Midoriya-kun, I would like to spend our time together getting more familiar with each other. I know several basic things about you—such as the fact that you would throw yourself in front of a vehicle to achieve a goal that you believe is worthy, and that you prefer not to be the center of attention if possible—but I would like to know more. I apologize if this is abrupt, but please rest assured that our conversations will not be shared with anyone else on my behalf.” Nedzu’s eyes glimmer wetly. “I expect the same courtesy from you, as well.”

“Of course,” Midoriya hastens to say. “Wh-what do you want to know?”

“Upon our meeting, you mentioned that you have attempted to breach the Hero Public Safety Commission's private database.” Nedzu holds up a single paw to forestall Midoriya’s panic. “As I said, anything you say to me will be kept a secret. I swear it.” Midoriya swallows thickly, and nods for him to go on. “I would like to know the information you were searching for, when you made this attempt, and how you remained undiscovered.”

Midoriya takes a deep breath. “Um, well, it kind of takes some explaining. Let me just say that I did try to figure it out by legal means, first. Um, it’s just that sometimes…” He huffs a frustrated breath. “Ever since those stupid Information Protection laws were passed, it’s impossible to find anything online through legal means. Actually, that’s why I learned how to take my computer apart. A few weeks ago I got flagged for looking into Russian Quirk statistics from the past thirty years—and I swear, I had a reason for that, too—but, well, a police officer stopped by my apartment.”

“Was the officer rude?” Nedzu asks, taking a sip from his cup.

“Oh, no. He was really nice, actually. But I was frustrated. I’ve been using the Internet as a tool my entire life, and now I get flagged for innocuous things.” Midoriya looks at his clenched fists, resting on his knees. “It doesn’t help that I’m Quirkless, either. I guess it looks really suspicious that my research is all about Quirks, and Quirk biology, when I don’t have one, myself. An-anyway,” he says, waving his hands to dispel that topic, “I was trying to figure out how to, um, how to knock, basically. All my research said that you rarely leave Yuuei’s grounds, and my own—let’s say scouting—showed that you never really go anywhere away from Yuuei. If I wanted to speak with you, I would need a way to catch your attention.

“My first thought was to just come in. I knew the gate would close on me, but I thought that it might catch your attention, since it was spring break. But, well, when the school isn’t open, you can’t get anywhere near the gates without at least a guest pass. The cameras probably didn’t ever even catch sight of me, where I was standing all that time, since I was at the outer gate. I couldn’t catch it when the professors were coming out, because then the professors were there. I didn’t exactly want to get tackled.”

Nedzu nods sagely.

“I thought that some information on how to trigger the security might have been somewhere online. Maybe a past incident, or a false alarm, or something. The only thing I found were the proposals for when one of the off-campus buildings was created, and the electromagnetic field used to keep the security connected to the main campus. That didn’t really help me, since I wanted the gate to activate, not to take down the whole system. So I tried to look elsewhere.

“I knew the HPSC had to have the data. It’s a safety requirement, just like the annual broadcast about curriculum updates. I looked; it was behind a sign-in wall. I thought I might be able to scramble some password crackers and get it, but it locked me out right away, and I didn’t want to throw up any flags. I had to look up what to do, then. The book I found said to try a cookie catcher, which I thought might work if I posted it in the section where you can report bugs to the site. It sort of did…” Midoriya sighs. “I got someone’s information, but every time I tried to read their login info, it would come out all wrong. I tried copy-pasting, and the same thing happened. I figured out that it was a Quirk pretty quickly after that.”

Nedzu hums. “That’s an excellent deduction, Midoriya-kun.”

“Ah, not really. It was obvious.”

Nedzu taps his well-trimmed claws on the surface of his teacup. “Every time I hear you speak, it reaffirms that I made the correct decision in bringing you on as my student,” Nedzu says conversationally.

Midoriya splutters. “T-thank you, sir.”

He smiles. “Are there any questions you would like for me to answer? I believe we both learn best in an auditory manner, which is perhaps the reason for your mumbling habit.”

Midoriya thinks for a moment. There are the obviously off-limits topics, like Nedzu's past, and his duties as principal. But something he’s been thinking about for a few days swims to the forefront of his mind, and he knows he has to ask about it.

“Um, I’m sure you’ve been keeping up with the Hero-Killer: Stain’s case. I had a conversation—well, I guess Present Mic didn’t really answer my questions—but, I asked Present Mic this morning about a past case he’d been a part of, where Underground heroics got involved. My question is sort of similar, for the Stain case.” Midoriya unzips his backpack, tugging out the notebook with his most recent personal, non-Quirk notes in it. He flips to the page where he’d copied down all the known information about Stain’s victims. “So, all of his victims so far have been attacked between midnight and four in the morning, which puts him strictly in the on-hours of the Underground. However, he’s made national news multiple times, which makes him extremely high priority. Usually, a case that goes to the national news level is handed to a ranking Daylight Hero or their agency within a week. So far, I’ve seen no signs of any particular agency undertaking Stain’s case. That, however, isn’t my question.” Midoriya taps his own writing, where he’s noted the mention of “copycat” killers. “I want to know, when it comes to Stain’s copycat killers, who is taking charge of those cases?”

Nedzu gives a strange little jitter, the fur on the back of his neck rising and falling.

“That, Midoriya-kun, is a most excellent question to be asking.” He places both paws around his teacup. “As I am not assigned to any such cases, I have utterly no idea the answer.” As he speaks the words, Nedzu shivers again, paws clenching around the cup. He grins. “I would be so very delighted to help you find out, Midoriya-kun.”

Midoriya finds his own mouth starting to curl up at the corners.

The next morning, Hatsume ambushes him the second he steps into class 1-H. She nearly bowls him over in her excitement, and Midoriya flushes head-to-toe when he sees what she’s wearing. Rather than the normal Yuuei skirt, button-up, and blazer, Hatsume wears a black tank top, goggles, and navy blue mechanic’s pants, with her blazer tied around her waist.

“H-Hatsume-san!” Midoriya cries. “What are you wearing?! You’re breaking the dress code!”

Hatsume laughs, planting her fists on her hips. “You’re so silly, Super-Nerd. When we’re in the lab, they can’t expect us to wear our uniform! We’d have to replace it every single day with a brand new one. Support students are allowed to wear whatever we want while we’re in homeroom, so long as we follow safety protocols. But enough about that.” She grabs him by the shoulders and shakes him violently. “How were your lessons with Principal-sama?!”

Once she’s released him, Midoriya answers. “They were awesome,” he says, grinning.

They walk to their shared desk, where Hatsume’s uniform is folded up neatly on top of her backpack. Roughly one thousand loose pieces of paper cover the surface of the desk, so Midoriya pulls his chair out and hooks his bag over the back.

“So, spill! Did he tell you all about his dark and mysterious past? Did you build any awesome machine-gun wielding drones? Did you make yourselves enemies of the state, and have to adopt new identities?” She gasps, grasping Midoriya again. “Do you have to flee the country?”

“What? No, Hatsume-san, I don’t have to flee the country. He taught me about how active cases can be reassigned depending on urgency and threat level.” And how to find easier government websites to hack, he adds, mentally.

Hatsume pats his shaggy hair, much like one would pet a dog. “Oh, good. I would hate to have to scrap my babies before they’re even built. Some of them I designed specifically with you in mind.”

Midoriya blinks. “Really? Why would you do that? How did you do that? We’ve known each other for barely twenty-four hours!”

“Really: yes. Why? Because you’re the base model, of course! You’re built for support gear, Super-Nerd. How? With my giant inventing brain, duh. It never stops ticking away in there,” Hatsume says, knocking lightly on her temple. She gestures to the papers covering absolutely every inch of their steel desk. “Take a look.”

“Oh, wow,” Midoriya says, lifting one gingerly. It’s in light pencil, on see-through paper. It looks kind of like a pair of prosthetic eyes, if the eyes needed to be able to work independently of the body. He picks up another, seeing a sketch of some kind of extendable fingers that remind him of Power Loader- Sensei and his old middle school classmate’s Quirks. As he continues sifting through the many, many designs, a theme starts to come to Midoriya.

“Are these… are all of these based on Quirks?”

Hatsume beams. “Got it in one, Super-Nerd! Man, you are totally living up to the name. Our first assignment in homeroom is to design a functional piece of support gear that mimics the effects of a Quirk.”

Midoriya’s eyes blow wide. “That’s freaking awesome,” he breathes. Before him, all the sketches take on a new meaning. Each one is a different Quirk, replicated using machinery. “But, that’s so broad!” he says, turning to Hatsume.

“Exactly the problem I had.” She spreads her hands, indicating the flood of papers. “There’s only about a million and one Quirks to choose from. We can’t build them all.” She frowns.

Midoriya is struck with guilt. Hatsume had probably spent the entire past day thinking about these designs, and Midoriya has contributed nothing. They’re supposed to be partners, as she’d explained at lunch yesterday. They get graded together. They work as a team, splitting up the processes to keep up with deadlines in the fast-moving course. It’s obvious that Hatsume is a certified genius. What can Midoriya even offer her?

He clenches his fists, determination streaking through him. She’d said it yesterday: his Super-Nerd brain would combine with her giant inventor brain, and make something amazing. Her problem isn’t a lack of ideas, it’s a lack of direction. Hatsume may be a support genius, but Midoriya is a Hero nerd. He’s absolutely sure that he can help guide her into making something that will blow everyone else out of the water—especially since it looks like the other teams are just starting to brainstorm ideas.

Support is a competition. It is cutthroat, and people can get hurt on the path to victory.

Well, Midoriya is willing to throw himself in front of a vehicle to achieve his goal.

“Okay, Hatsume-san. You sit back for a minute, and let me work,” Midoriya says, cracking his knuckles.

“What are you going to do?” she asks excitedly. Hatsume bounces in her seat.

“I’m going to sort these by Quirk type, and then by relative design size. After that, we can start figuring out what’s worth our time. Until then, I think you should explore the workshop, since, I’m sorry to say, I know literally nothing about actually putting a machine together.”

“That’s okay,” she says, fire blazing in her crosshair eyes. “I’m great at that stuff. I can totally teach you.”

“Good,” Midoriya says, clenching his fist determinedly. “I want to learn everything you can teach me. Plus Ultra!”

Power Loader enters the classroom right as Hatsume tackles Midoriya out of his seat in an overzealous hug.

When the bell rings signaling the end of second period, Midoriya waves goodbye to Hatsume. He leaves her with three very organized binders, stuffed full of her designs, in order from smallest to largest. They’d spent the last twenty minutes talking about which project to start with—because it was obvious that they were going to be attempting more than one.

Now, he’s got to find classroom 1-I, and have his first lesson in costume production.

Yuuei is shaped strangely. From the front, it appears to be a large English H, which he assumes is a nod to the Heroics industry. However, it’s actually shaped more like a cube, only, without the sides filled in. The four towers—Heroics, General Education, Support, and Business Management—are connected by the ground floor, and glass walkways on the fourth floor. (There are no diagonal ones, which Midoriya finds out right away.) The Heroics and General Education towers are those connected to the front entrance of the school, with Support and Management being the ones on the back side. Support and General Education are on the right, with Management and Heroics on the left.

The path that Midoriya is to take every day begins with crossing the entirety of the ground floor, which has the attendance office, nurse’s office, and the cafeteria, and going up a flight of stairs. On the second floor, class 1-H is the very last first year Support studio. Then, he must go back downstairs, to the Management tower, and up one floor. Here, class 1-I is the first one he sees, thankfully. After third period, he will have to return to the ground floor a third time, and head to the General Education tower, and up into class 1-C. Then back down for lunch, and back up for fifth period, where he will stay until his lessons with Nedzu, which are on the fourth floor of the Heroics tower.

Midoriya sighs. His legs are going to get quite a work out, carrying him around this massive school.

For now, he lets himself into the 1-I classroom. The chattering of the students goes silent when the door opens, and he can feel himself flushing darkly. Like the Support classroom, this classroom is made with more than just lecturing in mind. In fact, it’s almost identical to the build of 1-H, except for the tables, which are set up like the General Education seats. Once again, seat twenty is open, waiting for him.

Just another test, he assures himself, skittering to the empty desk and tucking his backpack underneath it. At the front of the room, the door opens again. The Suggestive Hero: Broadcaster, in his risque Hero costume, slinks in. His white hair swings around his face, hanging in pretty curtains on either side of his vibrantly pink eyes. Midoriya’s heart gives that peculiar little lurch in his chest that he associates with Broadcast’s Quirk hooking him.

“Good morning, class,” Broadcast greets, his voice honey-smooth. He cocks one hip, leaning against the podium at the front of the class, rather than standing behind it. He doesn’t need to yell to get their attention; the class is utterly rapt.

“Good morning, Sensei,” Midoriya says, along with the chorus of Management students.

“Welcome to an Introduction to Costume Production. The purpose of this class is to educate you on the mechanics of designing a functional costume, and balancing that with a stylish, unique motif that will convey the personality of the wearer.” Broadcast drags his hand up his thigh to his chest, the rasp of skin on leather ringing clearly in Midoriya’s ears. His throat clicks on a dry swallow. “A costume can alter a person from meek to domineering. It can disguise an identity, or highlight one. My goal is to teach you how to identify a strong costume versus a weak one, and to be able to design a strong costume of your own.

“Today, we will start by looking through several designs that the first year Heroics class have submitted for themselves. For the first four weeks, they will stay with these costumes, which we have made exactly as they asked. Your first assignment, at the end of these four weeks, is to present them with a new version of their costume.”

Blood starts pumping to Midoriya’s brain again. The challenge ignites in his heart, the same way it had when he’d heard the prompt in Support.

This can help people. It will literally improve the lives of his fellow Yuuei students, and make them better at their job, which is to do the actual saving. This brings Midoriya one step closer to being a Hero in his own right.

Broadcast passes packets out to the students at the front of the rows, which they hand back. The girl in front of Midoriya eyes him with frank curiosity when she turns to give him the last packet, and he ducks his head shyly. The packet has twenty pages, front and back, each with a different costume on it. One costume per Hero student, obviously, with class 1-A on the fronts, and 1-B on the backs of the pages.

Midoriya skims through the packet as Broadcast instructs them to get out a pen. On the third-to-last page, his hand freezes. There, staring up at him, is Kacchan’s Hero suit. It’s unmistakable. The orange X motif across the front; the round, grenade-shaped gauntlets; the spiked, explosion-shaped mask. It’s clear Kacchan has put a lot of thought into his costume.

Midoriya wonders if Obasan Mitsuki or Ojisan Masauru helped him design it.

He flips the packet back to the front page again, tuning back into Broadcast’s words. Even Kacchan needs help sometimes, and Midoriya is happy to give it to him. He always has been.

Shinsou grills him much the same way Hatsume had when he reaches class 1-C, still blushing from Broadcast’s wave goodbye that he’d sent Midoriya.

“So?” Shinsou says, turning around fully in his chair, arms crossed over the back.

“Huh?” Midoriya asks, a little dazed.

“What’s with you, man? You came from your sewing class, right?” Shinsou asks with a smirk. “Too much for you?”

Midoriya blinks himself out of his stupor. “It was really interesting,” he says honestly. “We basically tore apart the Hero classes’ costumes the entire time. They all suck pretty bad.”

“Who’s the teacher?” Shinsou asks.

“It’s Broadcast-Sensei ,” Midoriya says, dreamily.

Shinsou goes slightly pink in the cheeks, himself. “Lucky. He’s so cool.”

“Absolutely.” Midoriya nods. “And he knows so much about costume design. His whole gimmick must have taken ages to formulate—he said that even his shibari can be used functionally, if he unwraps it.” Midoriya shudders a bit, thinking of the bright red ropes knotted so tightly across Broadcast’s torso and spine. Shinsou’s already half-lidded eyes sink lower.

“Forget about him,” Shinsou says with effort. “How was Nedzu-sama? He seems terrifying.”

“It was pretty nerve-wracking, at first,” Midoriya admits. “He mostly just wanted to get to know me. I think we’re going to get pretty familiar, spending so much time one-on-one. He’s very… observant.”

Shinsou doesn’t get a chance to reply, because Ectoplasm-Sensei sweeps into the room, then. After a review of basic algebraic functions, fourth period is over, and it’s time for lunch. Shinsou and Midoriya meet up with Hatsume straight away this time, which is lucky, because the cafeteria is twice as packed today as it was yesterday.

“Woah,” Midoriya gasps, floored by the sheer number of students. “It wasn’t like this yesterday, was it?” he asks.

Shinsou shrugs, and Hatsume says, “Nope! I wandered around for a while after eating my lunch, and there weren’t any Heroics students at all.”

They bounce ideas around of why the Hero students might have all disappeared before lunch yesterday as they wait in line at the sashimi station. Hatsume gets a veritable mountain of food. Midoriya and Shinsou get normal-people portions. When they turn around to try and find a seat, Midoriya nearly drops his tray in shock.

There, over by the windows, is Kacchan. He’s sitting quietly, a vague scowl on his face, picking at his sushi with one hand, and shoving a red-haired boy aside with the other. The table laughs. When the boy leans back over Kacchan, reaching around like he’s trying to hug him, Kacchan snaps, shoving the boy back roughly and using his teeth the way an animal might. He glares forward, glancing across the length of the cafeteria sulkily. His ruby-red eyes look right over Midoriya for a moment—then, as if drawn by a magnet, they snap back to him.

Midoriya squeaks and ducks behind Hatsume.

“Finally found one,” Shinsou says, craning his neck above the crowd. Hatsume follows him, and Midoriya continues to use her as a human shield. When he peeks around her breasts, Kacchan is still staring at him, his face so incandescently angry that it has circled back around to calm. In his palm, his wooden chopsticks are aflame.

Midoriya swallows dryly, and is happy to duck into the furthest corner of the booth Shinsou found them, letting himself be shadowed by the leaves of a huge monstera.

“What was that about?” Hatsume asks, her mouth full of raw fish.

“What was what?” says Shinsou, who missed Midoriya’s little act, as he was too busy being a good friend.

“Super-Nerd used me as a meat shield, I think,” Hatsume says. Midoriya shrinks in his seat.

“I didn’t mean to!” he whines. “Well, that’s a lie. I did. But I’m sorry!”

Shinsou’s eyebrows raise. Hatsume shrugs enigmatically, her mouth too full to ask him anything. Midoriya takes it as the question it is, and answers.

“There’s a guy I went to middle school with, over by the windows. Bakugou Katsuki—Kacchan. He’s uh… not likely to be very happy to see me, here.” Midoriya’s shoulders come up to squeeze his ears. “In fact, I think the word I would use is ‘livid.’”

“Sheesh. Sounds like a nice guy,” Shinsou says.

Hatsume finally finishes her bite. “Do you want me to beat him up for you?”

“I don’t think you could,” Midoriya replies sadly. Both Hatsume and Shinsou do a double take at this.

“Wait, wait,” Shinsou says, using his chopsticks to point at Midoriya, “is this guy one of the Hero students? Is that why you only just now saw him, and not yesterday?”

Midoriya nods miserably, and hangs his head. “Kacchan sugoi,” he sighs, unable to keep the admiration out of his tone.

“Shit,” Shinsou hisses, palming his face tiredly.

Hatsume bucks up, unafraid of the challenge that Kacchan poses to her. “I could take him. You’ve just gotta help me make a Support baby strong enough to beat him.” She punches him lightly in the shoulder.

Surprisingly, this succeeds in making Midoriya feel better.

“Nah,” he says, sticking some sashimi into his mouth, “I’d rather just leave Kacchan alone, and watch him from afar than face him head-on.”

Hatsume is opening her mouth to reply to this when a blaring, deafening alarm cuts her off. Lights on the walls begin to flash, and rice goes flying out of Shinsou’s chopsticks in surprise.

“What’s going on?” Hatsume shouts over the alarm and the din of chairs being scraped back. Shinsou, who had been asleep through most of the start of term announcements, looks lost.

“This is why everyone should have gone to the start of the year announcements! They explained all the safety protocols!” Midoriya yells back. “There’s been some kind of security breach! We’re supposed to get out of the open, to a secure location!”

They stand, wedging themselves into the crowd. Midoriya catches an elbow to the jaw immediately, and goes stumbling back. Then, while he’s rubbing his face, he catches sight of the back of Kacchan’s blond head. No way is Midoriya getting stuck in some “secure location” with Kacchan. Any secure location with the two of them in it together would rapidly become the least secure location on the planet.

With his friends already lost in the crowd, Midoriya darts across the empty cafeteria. The large majority of the crowd had gone to the left, towards the Heroic tower. Midoriya goes the opposite way, and up the stairs into the General Education tower. He’ll have to be here later, anyway, for class.

He’s bending over, catching his breath, when he sees someone at the other end of the hall.

It’s a man, dressed in black. Midoriya doesn’t know every staff member working at Yuuei, but he’s pretty sure none of them wear skinny jeans with chunky red trainers as part of their Hero costume. The man has the hood of his jacket up over his hair, and his shoulders hunch inwards.

“Um, h-hello?” Midoriya calls, feeling both extremely stupid, and extremely brave.

The man turns. Midoriya recoils instinctively at the sight of his peeling, scarred face, and then tries to cover for it by taking a step forward.

“Are—are you a student here?” Midoriya asks tentatively, wincing at himself. Obviously the man isn’t a student. However, playing dumb might just help him get out of this. This man is the cause of the breach, right? So people—Heroes—must be looking for him.

Perhaps Midoriya can stall him.

“Do I look like a student here?” the man sneers, his voice reedy and whispery, like his throat is dry.

“Um, ah, n-not really.”

“Whatever. All you Hero-wannabes are dumber than rocks. Just like those reporter NPCs outside.” The man’s mouth twists into a half-grin. “Hey, kid. How about you give me directions to the teacher’s lounge. This place is a damn maze.”

Faster than Midoriya would have thought possible, the man is standing in front of Midoriya, hand outstretched. They’re close enough that Midoriya can smell him—like dry, old parchment in the library.

“Show me the teacher’s lounge, and I won’t turn you to dust where you stand,” the man whispers.

He tugs lightly on Midoriya’s misshapen tie, drawing Midoriya closer with it, before the red fabric crackles and sifts through the man’s fingers. Nothing but ashes.

Midoriya swallows thickly.

“Okay. F-follow me.”

Chapter Text

Excerpt from “Supporting the Heroics Industry” by Seiko Koichi, published November 6, 2218.

Accessed: April 2, 2232.

“Heroes often forget that they are not lone pillars in a sea of villains. Even Japan’s Number 1 Hero, All Might, once had sidekicks doing the legwork for him. Heroes everywhere are supported by intricate webs of people, created to put them in the exact right spot at the exact right time.

“It is our job, as Support, to make it look like the Hero has done that on their own.

“The life-saving piece of equipment attached to their belt may have been one that they vehemently refused. The mission that puts them in the rankings might be one that they begged to get out of. The Villain that takes them out might be one that their sidekick told them not to engage with.

“Support teams are the invisible strings that guide our Heroics industry.”

Excerpt from the Daily News website, posted April 1, 2232, 05:00.

Accessed: April 2, 2232.

“Recent footage has surfaced of the catastrophic arson of the Greenview apartment complex in Hosu. Preliminary police reports say that there is one perpetrator of the incident, who may have been spotted at the scene of the crime hours before. The footage suggests a tall, skinny humanoid with short, dark hair. This person was wearing a long trench coat or dress. If you have any information on the Villain, please contact the Hosu police department.”

Excerpt from the Griffin Potholder Case, No. 84 (2231).

Accessed: April 2, 2232.

PLAINTIFF: Article thirteen of the Constitution of Japan promises equality before law.

DEFENDANT: I realize this.

PLAINTIFF: When I was assaulted, my rights were infringed upon. I, and others like me, deserve to live safe, happy lives. I will suffer permanent damage to my hands, due to this attack. Your laws prevent me from prosecuting the one who is truly at fault.

DEFENDANT: Japanese law extends to those of humanoid features.

PLAINTIFF: Do I not deserve the opportunity to pursue life, liberty, and happiness? Do the claws on my hands, or the feathers on my face prevent me from feeling pain?

DEFENDANT: It is not the place of the law to determine the feelings of an individual. It is the place of the law to protect the majority.

PLAINTIFF: Your laws protect criminals, and prosecute mutants.

DEFENDANT: Objection!

Midoriya is sweating like a stuck pig. His palms, the back of his neck, and his armpits are slick with it. This is partially because of the Villain with his hand on Midoriya’s wrist, and partially because Midoriya’s prone to nervous sweating.

He vaguely knows where the teacher’s lounge is. He’s never been there, but he’s pretty sure it’s in the Heroics tower, on the fourth floor. All the offices are on the fourth floor, hence the sky bridges that connect them. In fact, Nedzu’s own office is on the fourth floor of the Heroics tower.

The villain mutters to himself as they walk.

“This fucking place… why’s everything so huge? Is it made for genetically engineered super soldiers? Oh, wait…” he chuckles dryly to himself. “Hey, kid. NPC. Midori-kun.” He jerks Midoriya’s arm, making him stumble back into the Villain’s chest. Midoriya tries not to flinch at how close the Villain has come to his actual name.

Through Midoriya’s uniform, and the man’s baggy hoodie, Midoriya can feel the solidity in his body that you can’t see at first glance. Under his arm, muscles bunch rigidly.

Midoriya has none of that. He’s a bird, with hollow bones.

“That’s what I’ll call you,” the Villain says, satisfaction licking at his words. “Midori-kun, who’s your favorite Hero? And if you say All Might, I swear to God…” The Villain’s grip on Midoriya’s wrist tightens painfully, squeezing the space where his joint juts out.

Midoriya draws a blank. For a stunned, panicked second, Midoriya can’t remember the name of any hero besides All Might, and he’s scared that he’s going to have to say it, even though he was just warned not to.

“B-Broadcast,” Midoriya croaks. Then, a blush so hot that the tips of his ears burn with it climbs up his overheated skin.

The Villain raises one pale blue-gray eyebrow. Midoriya’s heart gives a solid thud against his ribcage. “And you seemed like such a stand-up guy, Midori-kun.”

“N-not—not because of his motif!” Midoriya protests, but then cuts himself off. Who cares what a Villain thinks he likes in a Hero? Plenty of guys would call Midnight their favorite Hero shamelessly.

“Oh? Then enlighten me. NPC dialogue can be insightful, sometimes. Do you have a sidequest for me?” The Villain asks, somewhat rhetorically. His video game metaphors only make sense to Midoriya half of the time.

“I—I like Broadcast be-because… well, a lot of things!” Midoriya says, terrified into honesty. “He’s got excellent Quirk control, and a well thought-out gimmick that works for his Quirk and his rescue style. He’s a pretty good teacher, from what I’ve seen.” Something else pops into his head that he’s been thinking about recently. “He’s also a Hero with a Quirk that people commonly think of as Villainous.” The man’s hand clenches around Midoriya’s wrist, stopping his words right as Midoriya registers who he’s said them to. He could slap himself.

“What do you mean by that?” the Villain asks, voice a deathly chill.

For a moment, there’s just the sound of their footsteps on the stairs. Midoriya stares at their matching shoes as they climb, the Villain a half-step behind him.

“My friend, he’s got this Quirk. It’s called Brainwashing. He really wants to be a Hero—has his whole life, just like anyone else. Only, everyone he’s ever met has told him he can’t do it, because Brainwashing is a Villain’s Quirk. Then there’s someone like Broadcast, with a Quirk like Attraction, proving them all wrong. Broadcast’s Quirk is literally emotional manipulation. Imagine growing up with that, and trying to tell people you wanted to be a Hero.” Midoriya’s mouth twists. “But he did it. He may play with sensuality, and paint himself as a sex icon, like Midnight-san, but that’s just to help him with his Quirk control.” Midoriya stands firm for a moment, fully invested in saying his opinion, no matter if it’s to a man who’s literally holding him hostage. “I think that, if something helps you control your Quirk, people should respect that. There’s a lot of hate in the world to people with so-called villainous Quirks, but I don’t think such a thing exists.”

The man’s grip slackens for a heartbeat, and then redoubles to a bruising, constrictive grasp. Midoriya gasps in pain.

“Oh, yes,” the man breathes, tugging Midoriya back so that he stumbles down into his sturdy chest again. Their eyes meet, and Midoriya can see the fervor in the Villain’s. They’re blood red, just like Kacchan’s irises. Midoriya chokes in his next breath, inhaling nothing but the smell of him—that brittle paper scent of an old book. His skin burns where the Villain holds it. He wants to rip himself away, but doesn’t dare to.

“You do have a sidequest for me. Tell me, Midori-chan, what’s your Quirk?”

Midoriya goes bloodless. It makes him woozy, and he’s steadied unintentionally by the hand holding him as they resume their ascent, slower now. The Villain keeps his eyes locked on Midoriya, now, and his skin tingles with it. Anxiety pushes nausea into Midoriya’s throat.

“Are you sure you want to know?” Midoriya whispers through numb lips.

“Why wouldn’t I?” the Villain asks joyfully. He’s like a kid, bouncing on his toes as they climb. “If it was something physical, you’d have used it against me right away. If it was something telepathic, the Heroes would have been here ages ago. I’m curious about you, NPC. The mods put you so perfectly into my path—like you were made for me.”

That doesn’t sound good. Midoriya rushes to distract him. 

“I—I’m Quirkless,” he says. They’ve reached the fourth floor landing.

The Villain laughs.

He pulls back, takes in the look on Midoriya’s face, and laughs even harder. It’s like the cawing of a crow, and the hair sticking to Midoriya’s neck raises. The Villain takes a moment to pat Midoriya’s cheek condescendingly, keeping his thumb pulled away so he doesn’t disintegrate him. Midoriya’s blood turns to ice.

“You really were made for me, Midori-chan. Now, why don’t you tell me how a Quirkless got into Yuuei while I loot the teacher’s lounge for any rare drops.”

Midoriya leads them on, down the glass bridge, and straight into the lounge. Words stick in his chest. These last two days, no one has reacted the way he thought they would when he’s told them he’s Quirkless. All his life, people have physically recoiled when he’s told them.

Never once has someone looked at him with pure glee, the way the Villain had.

The Villain drags Midoriya along by the wrist, unwilling to let him go. At this rate, the bruise on his tan skin will be permanent. He still doesn’t dare to even tug against the Villain’s grip, letting himself be led limply like a lamb.

“I, uh. I threw myself in front of Nedzu-sama’s car,” Midoriya says distantly. The Villain pauses in rifling through files to turn and shoot Midoriya an incredulous look.

“You know, you say such amazing things with the most boring look on your face,” the Villain says. “I’d almost think you were lying, if I couldn’t feel your heartbeat.”

In his chest, like it’s heard his words, Midoriya’s heart trips and misses a beat. The Villain laughs, throwing his head back. Over Midoriya’s pulse point, his fingers squeeze. He goes back to searching, and Midoriya tries to pay attention to what he pauses at.

There’s no way Midoriya is telling him that he’s Nedzu’s personal student, so he stays silent.

The Villain seems to be searching for things having to do with All Might. In the filing cabinet, he only searches through the “A” section before moving on. He scours the papers sitting on top of desks. Finally, in the very back corner of the room, on an undecorated desk, he finds something.

“Ha!” he squawks. “Here it is.” He shunts Midoriya to the side, snapping a quick picture of the entire desk before Midoriya can see what he’d pinpointed. “All right, mission accomplished. I think my distraction timer is probably running low, or I’d stay to talk with you longer, Midori-chan. You’re so very interesting, for an NPC.” For a moment, the Villain looks deeply into Midoriya’s eyes. “You’re not a Player Character, are you?”

Midoriya has no idea how to answer this.

“Nah, didn’t think so,” the Villain sighs. “Maybe I’ll catch you again when I’m destroying All Might.” He pokes around on his phone with one hand, texting someone.

Suddenly feeling desperate to know what the Villain had taken a photo of, Midoriya blurts, “He’s been spreading himself a little thin lately, hasn’t he?”

Slowly, so that Midoriya can feel his veins ice over with every passing second, the Villain looks up. He cracks a smile—and Midoriya means that literally. The vertical scar on the left side of his mouth stretches wide, exposing his gums. The little beauty mark on his cheek disappears into a smile line.

That had definitely been the wrong thing to say.

“Now, how do you know that, Midori-chan?” the Villain purrs in his hoarse voice.

In the air beside them, a rip appears in the fabric of the universe. Midoriya thanks God for the distraction. Within the unnatural darkness, swirling like an up-close galaxy, two yellow, vaporous eyes peer out. Midoriya shrieks. God isn’t being nice to him, today.

“Shh, Midori-chan,” the Villain hushes.

“Shigaraki Tomura, I have heeded your call. Are you bringing your guest along with you?” asks the void with eyes.

The Villain, Shigaraki Tomura, grins again. “Nah. I have a feeling the game devs will put him in my path again. Besides, he knows plenty of interesting things, and I want to see how long he lasts here. Quirkless.” He laughs again, exposing the long, ravaged line of his throat. “Come visit the League of Villains when the Heroes kick you out on your ass, okay?”

He steps through the void, hanging onto Midoriya’s hand until the very last second.

“Oh, fuck, ” Midoriya says to the empty room. His heart beats unevenly in his chest.

Midoriya is excused from classes for the remainder of the day. He sits on a sofa in Principal Nedzu’s office that he hadn’t even bothered to look at the day before, his backpack clenched between his knees tightly. There’s a steaming cup of tea sitting on the coffee table in front of him.

Delayed tremors are shuddering through his hands, so he leaves the teacup where it is for fear of spilling the entire thing on himself.

The room is slightly overcrowded with people. There’s Nedzu, standing on his desk, Power Loader by the bookshelf, Broadcast leaning against the window, and Present Mic on the other end of the sofa from Midoriya. All Might is there, too, in his skinny form, which Midoriya doesn’t know what to do about. Everyone seems full of nervous energy, but unwilling to do anything with it.

At last the door creaks open, admitting one final person. Midoriya’s fingers go numb, and he’s glad he’s not holding the teacup.

“Sorry for the holdup, everyone! Thank you for waiting for me,” says the police officer. It’s the same man who once visited Midoriya, with his tan duster sweeping the floor in a very official manner.

Midoriya’s eyes flick up to Nedzu. Nedzu, who is the foremost expert in jumping to conclusions, possibly because of his Quirk, seems to put the pieces together instantaneously.

“Hello, Detective Tsukauchi-san! I regret to say that it isn’t quite a pleasure to see you under these circumstances, but I welcome you to Yuuei, again. I believe you may be familiar with Midoriya-kun, here. I have taken him on as my personal student this year.”

Midoriya grips the straps of his backpack until his knuckles go white, and his hands stop shaking.

Nedzu is right. Midoriya is his personal student, and he’s got to prove that he’s still worth it, even after Shigaraki.

“Hi, Detective-san,” Midoriya greets with a shallow bow. Tsukauchi blinks at him, and Midoriya can see the recognition click into place in his head.

“Oh, hello Midoriya-kun! I trust you’ve been staying away from foreign Quirk databases, since I haven’t been back to speak with you again.”

Midoriya decides to take a chance on the tea, avoiding making eye contact with Tsukauchi. Across the room, Broadcast chuckles.

“Unfortunately,” Tsukauchi says, tactfully moving on before the silence can stretch longer, “I’m here to take your statement on what happened today, not to make pleasantries. I see your guardian isn’t present—would you like us to notify anyone, before we begin?”

Midoriya shakes his head. “My mum was worried enough about me coming to Yuuei. She would be really… upset to know what happened today.” Midoriya picks at the zipper of his bag.

“And your father?” asks Present Mic.

Midoriya shakes his head again, and Mic lets out a thoughtful little hum.

“Okay, Midoriya-kun. I will be recording this conversation on this device,” Tsukauchi says, wiggling a little black recorder that he places on the coffee table. “If at any point you need a break—for anything, water, bathroom, to catch your breath—just let me know, and we’ll pause the recording. I’m also going to be taking notes. Like a therapist, you won’t be able to know what I am writing, but I promise that my aim is to get all the details of the case, not implicate people.” He taps his pencil against the paper of his pocket-sized notepad. “I am also legally obligated to tell you that my Quirk, Lie Detector, is always active. When I ask a question, I can determine whether your answer is true or false, so if you don’t want to answer a question, please just say ‘skip’ and we will move on.”

Midoriya nods.

“I’m going to need verbal consent that you have heard, and understand how this interview is going to proceed. Do you understand?” Tsukauchi asks.

“Ah, y-yes. I underst—understand,” Midoriya says.

“Great. Let’s begin with something easy. Is your name Midoriya Izuku?”

“Yes.”

Tsukauchi marks something on his notebook. “What did you have for lunch today?”

“Ah, um, sashimi. But I didn’t eat very much,” Midoriya says, thinking back. It already feels like so long ago that he was at lunch, but it was an hour at most.

“Can you explain why not?”

“Well, um, I was nervous about seeing a guy I know from middle school. I was explaining to my friends—Hatsume-san and Shinsou-kun—who he was. So, so I didn’t have much time to eat anything before the alarm went off.”

“And when the alarm went off, what did you do?”

“Well, I was the only one who knew what the alarm meant. Shinsou-kun was asleep for that part of the welcome presentation, and Hatsume-san is Support, so she wasn’t there. I told them we were supposed to get to a secure location, and we stood up. Everyone was going into the Heroics tower, and we tried to follow.” Midoriya blushes, holding his still-sore jaw. “I, um, I got hit by someone in the crowd, by accident, I think, and stopped for a second.” He bites his lip, editing Kacchan’s involvement out of his decision to leave. “I decided that I would go up the General Education tower, since almost no one was going that way. And, um, my class was that way, too.”

“So how long do you think it took you to get up to the second floor of the General Education tower?” Tsukauchi asks.

“Um, prob—probably about two minutes.”

“And, how long would you say it had been since the alarm had begun?”

“I think maybe around four or five minutes? By the time I got up to the second floor, the alarm had stopped making any sound, and the emergency lights had stopped flashing.”

“Alright. What did you do once you got there?” Tsukauchi asks.

“Um, I took a second to catch my breath. The stairs take a lot out of me,” Midoriya says, flushing again. “But, ah, at the other end of the hallway, there was a man.”

“Can you describe the man for me?” Tsukauchi interrupts.

“Um, yeah. He was probably around a hundred and seventy five centimeters tall, maybe a hundred and seventy six. He was wearing all black—black skinny jeans, with holes in the knees, and a black hoodie, with the hood pulled up over his head. His shoes, though, they were red. They looked a lot like mine.”

“And did you see this man’s face?”

“Yes,” Midoriya says shudderingly, thinking of the feverish light that had been in Shigaraki’s eyes when Midoriya had told him that he doesn't think villainous Quirks exist. “He had, um, very cracked skin. Dry. His eyes were red, and the left—no, it was the right. His right eye had a scar through it. His mouth, too, on the left side. And he had a little black beauty mark, right here,” Midoriya says, tapping the spot on his own face where Shigaraki’s mark was. In his head, he can see the mark folding away into a smile line.

By the desk, All Might twitches.

“Were there any other defining features? Hair color?” Tsukauchi presses.

“Um, hair color was gray, I think. It was kind of blueish, but more gray than anything else. And um, defining features…” Midoriya shakes his head. “Aside from his skin condition, and maybe the scratches on his neck.”

“Explain, please.”

“Well, like I said, he looked really dry. His voice, too, like he was dehydrated. His skin was cracked and flaky around his eyes and mouth, like eczema. His neck had all these deep, red scratch marks, and peeling patches. It was hard to see with his hood up, though.”

Tsukauchi writes frantically. “Perfect. Thank you, Midoriya-kun. That’s all very helpful. Now, back to where you left off. You had just seen the man at the end of the hall.”

“Um, yeah. I stepped forward, and I said, ‘Hello?’”

“Any particular reason for engaging?” Tsukauchi asks.

“It was pretty obvious he didn’t belong there. He was looking at the floorplan layout on the wall, I think. I thought… well, at the time, I didn’t know about the press being inside the gates. I thought that he had set off the alarm, and someone would be looking for him. I thought maybe I could stall him, since he obviously hadn’t reached his goal, yet.”

Tsukauchi’s face remains impassive, but the Heroes in the room don’t.

“That was very risky of you, Midoriya-kun,” says Broadcast, eyebrows angled disapprovingly.

“Yeah, lil’ listener. Engaging with a person you thought had broken in isn’t the smartest idea,” Present Mic tells him.

Midoriya burns with shame. He hugs his backpack closer to his chest, pressing his cheek into it.

“Okay, guys. Save the lecture for after the interview, please,” Tsukauchi says. “Continue, Midoriya-kun. After you said hello, what then?”

“I, I asked if he was a student here. He turned around, and said, ‘Do I look like a student here?’ I told him no. I think, um, I think he called me an NPC, then.”

“NPC?” Tsukauchi cocks his head quizzically. “And do you know what that was in reference to?”

“Ah, uh, yes. NPC is a video game term that means non-player character. Basically, the characters that are programmed into a game with set dialogue, and set actions or tasks. He was insulting me, and insulting the press outside by calling us NPCs, and meaning that we’re like sheep,” Midoriya clarifies.

“You understood that right away?” Tsukauchi asks.

“Um, y-yeah. I play video games, sometimes,” Midoriya says.

“After he insulted you, what did you say?”

“Nothing, actually. He didn’t really give me a chance. He said that the school was a maze, or something, and all of a sudden he was in front of me. He was so fast,” Midoriya says, remembering how his heart had leapt into his throat. “He told me to take him to the teacher’s lounge, and he wouldn’t turn me to dust.”

“What did he mean by that?”

“Well, I didn’t know, but he showed me. He grabbed my tie,” Midoriya says, mimicking the gesture. “He pulled me forward a bit, but then my tie fell apart. It turned to ash—or, more likely, dust.”

Tsukauchi raises his eyebrows. Behind him, Nedzu turns to stare out the window, towards the front gates of the school. “And what did you do?”

“I, I told him okay. I didn’t really know where the teacher’s lounge was, but I thought that it was probably where the rest of the offices are, up on the fourth floor. So I took him up the staircase, and he grabbed me around the wrist, as collateral.”

“Excuse me, Detective-san,” Nedzu says, turning back. “I would like to interrupt for a moment.”

“Absolutely. Interrupt away,” Tsukauchi says, sitting back to run a hand through his brown hair.

“Midoriya-kun, I would like to hear your hypotheses on his Quirk, and how it works, please,” Nedzu says. Midoriya blinks in shock.

“Um, are you sure? He didn’t explain it to me,” Midoriya says.

“Quite sure. I would like to know your thoughts.” Nedzu’s eyes glitter.

“Ah, well… He said he would turn me to dust—not ash. His Quirk was obviously five-point touch activation. It took my tie about half a second to begin crumbling, starting from where he’d touched it, and spreading to the rest of the fabric. However, it didn’t affect any of the rest of my uniform, though they were in contact. Before the tie turned to dust, it lost color and became flaky, kind of like his skin. I think the dehydration of his skin is very telling. A tie isn’t an organic item, with cells to suck moisture from, but I believe that’s the true function of his Quirk. I think, on a molecular level, his Quirk aged my tie. It mimics what would happen if I left my tie outside for an extended period of time—the loss of color, the fragility, and eventually turning to dust. I think he, like the Sun does, sucked all the moisture out of the molecules, which made it brittle and then it broke apart.

“It would make sense, then, that he would need so much extra moisture. His skin being so dry and flaky can be explained by not getting enough of it—possibly because he doesn’t really understand the mechanic of what his Quirk is searching for when it dehydrates things. I wonder, though, if it is possible for him to only partially dehydrate something. What happens when he touches water? I don’t think it would work correctly on a liquid, being five-point touch, but that’s a myth, anyway.” Midoriya taps his fingertips together. “It’s just a mental block. But, how much finite control does he have on the level that he uses his Quirk to? Can he only slightly dehydrate something? What is the range of the dehydration? If he were to put his hand on the ground, how far would his Quirk stretch, before giving out? Does it return the moisture it gathers to his body, somehow?”

“Thank you, Midoriya-kun. That will do, for now,” Nedzu says, startling Midoriya out of his muttering.

The people in the room stare at him, mouths agape.

“Holy shit,” skinny All Might says, in English.

“S-sorry,” Midoriya says. “I got carried away.”

Tsukauchi sits, stunned, before he regains his composure. “Sheesh, Midoriya-kun. No wonder you were researching foreign Quirk databases. I think ‘an interest in Quirk biology’ is kind of an understatement. “Let’s… let’s get back on track, why don’t we? You left off when the villain grabbed you by the wrist, you said as ‘collateral.’”

“Right,” Midoriya confirms. “I led him upstairs, and he held me so that I wouldn’t run away, I guess. He kept making these derogatory comments about the size of Yuuei, and saying that the students are genetically engineered super soldiers, or something. He tried to get my attention, and yanked me back a bit so that I fell on him. He said he was going to call me Midori-kun, and asked me who my favorite Hero is. He hinted that if I said All Might, I wouldn’t like what happened.” Midoriya blushes. “I, uh, I said Broadcast-Sensei is my favorite. He made me explain why, when I said it wasn’t because of his gimmick. I said a couple things, but he made me explain what I meant when I said that he’s a Hero with a Quirk that people consider villainous.” Midoriya covers his face with his arms.

“Are you alright, Midoriya-kun? We can take a break, if you need one,” Tsukauchi says.

“No, no, I’m fine. It’s just really embarrassing to talk about this like he’s not standing right there,” Midoriya mumbles, face aflame. Broadcast has his arms crossed over his chest, and a smug little smirk on his lips that keeps tripping up Midoriya’s heartbeat.

The room at large chuckles at Midoriya’s embarrassment, and he tries for a wobbly smile.

“Anyway, I explained that Broadcast-Sensei breaks all kinds of stereotypes just by being himself and a Hero. And at the very end, I said that… well, I said that his gimmick is partially based on the fact that Broadcast-Sensei needs people to find him attractive, to use his Quirk to maximum potential.” Midoriya licks his lips. “I said that, that there's no such thing as a villainous Quirk.”

Nedzu gives a little grin. Tsukauchi blinks. “Was that important?”

“Um, yes,” Midoriya says, thinking about how close Shigaraki had pulled him. They’d breathed the same breath, and Midoriya had stared right into Shigaraki’s intense eyes. “He said that I had a sidequest for him—another video game reference—and asked me what my Quirk was.”

Tsukauchi frowns. “What did you tell him?”

“Well, I asked him if he was sure he wanted to know. I always ask that. He told me that he knew it couldn’t be something physical, because I would have used it against him already. It couldn’t be telepathy, because I would have called the Heroes right away. He said… he said it was like I’d been made for him. That the mods—that’s moderators, like of a game or a chat—had put me there for him.”

In his notepad, Tsukauchi circles something. Across the room, the Heroes grimace.

“So I told him I’m Quirkless.”

“You didn’t lie?” Tsukauchi asks.

“No. I got the sense…” Midoriya closes his eyes, and takes a breath. “I wanted to be honest with him. He seemed to like my honesty, and I didn’t want to upset him. We’d reached the teacher’s lounge, and he told me to tell him how I’d gotten into Yuuei without a Quirk. So I said that I’d… I’d thrown myself in front of Principal Nedzu-sama’s car.”

Tsukauchi’s eyebrows shoot up. All Might spits blood in surprise. Midoriya jumps in shock, and the man waves him off, pulling a handkerchief out of his suit pocket to dab at his mouth. Power Loader, who has been utterly silent, gives a startled cough, while Broadcast and Present Mic both turn to look at Midoriya more fully.

Midoriya flushes.

“That’s true,” Tsukauchi blurts, his eyes wide. “You actually threw yourself in front of Nedzu-sama’s car?”

“Um, yes. But it was just a light car crash!” he says, and immediately feels foolish.

“Young man, there is no such thing as a ‘light car crash,’” All Might says, sounding remarkably like Recovery Girl.

“Let’s move on,” Midoriya says hurriedly.

“Alright,” Tsukauchi laughs incredulously. “What happened after you told him you’d done… that ?”

“Um, well, he told me, ‘You say the most amazing things with the most boring look on your face. I’d think you were lying, if I couldn’t feel your heartbeat.’” This sobers the room up instantly. “After that, I just stayed quiet until he found what he was looking for. On the desk in the back corner of the room, he found something. He pushed me behind him so that I couldn’t see what it was, and took a picture with his phone. Then, he asked me if I was actually a player character.”

“What did you say?” Tsukauchi nudges.

“I didn’t say anything. He kind of sighed, and said, ‘Maybe I’ll catch you again when I’m destroying All Might.’” This part of the conversation is engraved on Midoriya’s psyche, word for word. He grimaces down at his backpack. “I got a little… I guess I panicked. I’d been trying to figure out what he was looking for, and it was pretty easy to tell that he’d been looking for documents about All Might. But what did he find?” Frustration tears through Midoriya again, and he grabs at his fringe with one hand. “So I said, ‘He’s been spreading himself a little thin lately, hasn’t he?’”

The silence is suffocating. Midoriya looks up from under his hair, and Tsukauchi has another inscrutable look on his face.

“He smiled, and asked me how I knew that. Then, some kind of portal opened up next to us.” Nedzu hops forward interestedly at these words. “I screamed, and he shushed me. The portal was a man—or it had a voice, I guess. The portal said, ‘Shigaraki Tomura, I have heeded your call.’ He asked—”

All Might lunges forward, his gangly body nearly knocking into the corner of the coffee table in his haste.

“Wait, wait—” Tsukauchi starts to say.

Skinny All Might swells up, his muscles ballooning and expanding into his normal All Might form. He grasps Midoriya by the arms like Hatsume does, and lifts him off the sofa, backpack and all along for the ride.

“Did you say Shigaraki?” All Might demands, his chiseled face terrifyingly stern.

Behind All Might, Tsukauchi puts his head in his hands. Present Mic has leapt to his feet, and stands rather unsurely by All Might’s right arm.

“A-All Might! Ah, um, yes? The portal called—called him Shigaraki Tomura, I’m sure of it,” Midoriya says, his legs dangling limply. This doesn’t feel at all like when Hatsume picks him up. In fact, he’s not really enjoying being in All Might’s grip—though that might have something to do with the fact that his face looks so scary.

“Toshinori,” groans Tsukauchi.

“Yagi-san, please unhand my student,” Nedzu says pleasantly.

Tsukauchi pauses the recording device. “I’m sorry, everyone. This investigation just went up a threat level—or three. I’m going to have to finish taking Midoriya’s statement with just All Might.”

“No way!” Present Mic says. “I think All Might-san needs a break, and to let Midoriya-kun down. That’s not how we treat students, here.”

Midoriya’s feet lightly touch the floor, and All Might releases him sheepishly.

“I agree with Yamada-san,” Nedzu calls. “At the very least, I will be present for the rest of this interview. As both Midoriya-kun’s sponsor, and someone who is privy to a great many secrets, I believe there is no reason to exclude me from the proceedings.”

All Might takes a step back from Midoriya, who gingerly rubs his biceps where All Might had grabbed him. He deflates back into his skinny form with a bloody cough, which he wipes on his suit absentmindedly.

How big of a deal could the Villain really be? Granted, he wasn’t harmless, but his name—such an innocuous thing—has All Might scrambling. What does the name Shigaraki mean?

Broadcast raises his hands deferentially. “I think I’ll bow out of this one, gentlemen. Midoriya-kun, I hope you feel better, and I’m sorry you got put in this situation. I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”

Midoriya blinks curiously at the Hero as he slinks out of the office.

Power Loader shakes his head. “This is above my pay grade, Nedzu-sama,” he says. “If you need anything from me, give me a call. Don’t be late for homeroom, Midoriya-kun—Hatsume-san will blow a gasket. I think you’re the only thing preventing her from exploding the entire Support studio.”

Okay, seriously, what the hell? They’re really going to leave, all because of a name? Maybe Midoriya doesn’t understand the Heroics industry as well as he thought he did.

Present Mic, on the other hand, holds his ground, crossing his arms over his leather jacket. “I would really feel more comfortable if Midoriya-kun had a guardian present. Especially if the reason you’re kicking us out is because it’s “too dangerous,”” Present Mic says, making sarcastic quotation marks with his fingers. “In case you’ve forgotten, we’re all Pro-Heroes—Midoriya-kun isn’t.”

Tsukauchi and All Might exchange a tense glance. Midoriya’s mind starts to run—they’re a little too familiar with each other. Tsukauchi even knows All Might’s name! They must have worked together on a case in the past, but which one? All Might has defeated thousands of Villains, and saved hundreds of thousands of people. He’s interrupted before he can get much further than that.

“I believe I have a solution,” Nedzu says. Everyone turns to look at him. “Yamada-san, you need to return to your classes.”

“But, Sensei! ” Mic cries. Nedzu holds up a paw.

“Yagi-san also needs to return, and get prepared for his first class of the semester. I believe that if you,” he tells Present Mic, “were to alert Aizawa-san, he would be able to provide a similar presence to Midoriya as yourself.”

Present Mic’s face clears instantly.

“Nedzu-sama, are you certain that I should not be involved?” All Might asks nervously. “I would really feel better—”

“No, no,” Nedzu interrupts. Present Mic takes All Might by the shoulders and starts steering him out of the room aggressively. “You must be there for your students, Yagi-san! Remember your purpose here on this campus. We will fare just fine without you, and you can be debriefed later.”

“Thanks, Sensei! ” Present Mic says, suddenly on-board with the plan. “Don’t worry, Midoriya-kun. Aizawa will be here in no time, and he’ll have your back for sure!”

The door closes behind them, and it is quiet. Midoriya blinks.

“Nedzu-Sensei , who is Aizawa?” Midoriya asks, setting his backpack on the floor.

Tsukauchi lets out a breath, and settles himself back into the armchair he’d been occupying. He starts flipping through his notepad, reviewing his notes.

“Aizawa Shouta—” Nedzu begins to say, but Midoriya suddenly recognizes the name.

“Oh, it’s Eraser Head-san! Wow, I didn’t know he taught here, too—though I guess it’s obvious, with both Present Mic-Sensei and Midnight-san being professors here. Man, Yuuei’s retention rate for students to professors is insane.”

“Plus Ultra!” Nedzu chimes, unbothered for having been interrupted.

“Plus Ultra!” Midoriya replies, pumping his fist. Tsukauchi laughs at them.

They fall into silence, waiting for Aizawa to show up before they resume the interview. Midoriya goes back to wondering about Tsukauchi and All Might’s relationship. Something about this whole name hangup is tickling Midoriya’s mind, but why?

He tucks his chin into his hand.

As soon as Tsukauchi had heard the name, he’d upped the threat-level of the case. Shigaraki must be connected to a past crime, or some kind of syndicate that Midoriya doesn’t know about. All Might’s visceral reaction stumps him. Midoriya knows all of All Might’s documented battles, especially the ones that were large enough to qualify as gang activity—whether that means an organization, yakuza, or even a religious group at one time. The only case he doesn’t know about was the one that All Might himself had told Midoriya about.

The one that had given All Might his scar.

“Oh,” Midoriya breathes. Nedzu, who Midoriya is pretty sure has been watching him the entire time, twitches an ear in his direction. “Shigaraki is the one that gave All Might his injury, isn’t he?”

“Excellent job, Midoriya-kun,” Nedzu says.

“How do you know about that?!” Tsukauchi cries, leaping to his feet. He barely manages to catch his notepad as it tumbles out of his lap.

Midoriya’s arms flail wildly. “A-All Might told me! Well, not about Shigaraki, but about their fight, and how he’d been hurt. I accidentally caught him when his time was up, and he transformed in front of me. I thought he was a fake, but he explained what had happened, and warned me not to become a Hero.”

“When was this?” Nedzu asks. His ears perk in interest.

“Um, a while back. About ten months ago, so June of last year.”

Tsukauchi snaps his fingers. “I knew I recognized you when we first met,” he says, pointing at Midoriya. “You were involved in the Sludge Villain Incident, weren’t you?”

Midoriya picks at a thread on his cuff sheepishly. “Ah, um, yeah. And my friend from middle school—the one that goes here, too—was the victim.”

Tsukauchi nods, relaxing back into the armchair. “No wonder Toshinori told you about All For One. He’d told me that he saved a kid, before the Bakugou boy, and—I really should have put this together earlier—that you were Quirkless.” Seeing the look on Midoriya’s face, he says, “It’s really not as common as people make it seem. A lot of the statistics in Japan are out of date.”

“Trust me, I know,” Midoriya mutters. “But who is All For One? All Might-san never mentioned any names, only that he’d had a battle, and that it wasn’t publicized after the fact.”

Tsukauchi blanches, and looks to Nedzu for help. Nedzu grins with his sharp little teeth, clasping his paws behind his back, staying silent. The detective buries his hands into his hair and groans.

“Can we pretend that I didn’t say that name? I take it back,” Tsukauchi says, his voice muffled in his sleeves.

Midoriya blinks, concerned.

“I believe it was going to come out, one way or another, Tsukauchi-san,” Nedzu says pleasantly.

“What came out?” a low, exhausted voice asks.

“Ah, Aizawa-san! What excellent timing you have,” Nedzu cheers.

Standing in the doorway of the office is none other than the Erasure Hero: Eraser Head, and he is looking at Midoriya like he’s the biggest inconvenience on the face of the Earth.

Chapter Text

Excerpt from “Unevolved Buddies ;)))”

Accessed: April 2, 2232.

ryu420: i hope everyone has a gr8 day!!! remember that every day ur still here is a day we stick it to the man!

tentenluvsdakobeni: Another fighter lost last night. Don’t be afraid to jump in the chat if you’re having a hard time, guys.

tentenluvsdakobeni: Here’s the link to their family’s fundraiser, if you have anything to donate.

anonymous-user: Keep going, guys! You never know when your best day is gonna come!!!!

Flyer on the floor of the Musutafu City bus, distributed by unknown.

Accessed: April 2, 2232.

Want to take a STAB at the No. 1 Hero???

Interest Meeting at THUNDERCLOUD BAR

11 PM, TODAY, Kamino Ward, Yokohama City

Violence GUARANTEED

Excerpt from “Nightly News with Neji” published April 1, 2232, 20:00.

Accessed: April 2, 2232.

“Tragedy struck Chuo Ward, Tokyo last night (March 30, 2232) when the Takashimaya Co. diamond went missing. It has been confirmed that the diamond, worth a whopping 1.9 billion yen, has been stolen by the Villain Mr. Compress. Mr. Compress left a signed note at the scene of the crime stamped with the orange wax seal that many may know from generations back. (The seal is pictured below.) This wax seal, and its bright color, all point to the signature that the Peerless Thief once left at the scene of his own crimes, more than thirty years ago.

“Experts have identified the seal to be genuine…

“Early today, several reports of donations being made by an anonymous donor came in from homeless shelters across the country. These donations are under review to determine their legitimacy…

“Is the Villain Mr. Compress following in the footsteps of the Peerless Thief? Who will be able to catch such a prolific larcenist?”

Eraser Head is exactly as Midoriya has always pictured him—if a little more muscular in person than he appears in footage. Every line of his body screams exhaustion. The slump of his shoulders, the way his gait drags, even the lackadaisical way he’s got his hands shoved into the pockets of his black cargo pants seems to say that he’d rather be asleep than here.

Midoriya’s eyes practically shoot stars.

“Who’s the kid?” he grunts. Eraser Head’s bloodshot black eyes slide from Midoriya’s vibrating body, over Tsukauchi’s slouched, miserable form, and land on Nedzu.

“Right to the point as always, Aizawa-san!” Nedzu chirps. “This is Midoriya Izuku, my personal student!”

Behind his lank hair, Eraser Head stiffens. Somehow, in an instant, he’s changed from relaxed (nearly at the point of disrespect) to ready to lunge, though in which direction is up for debate.

“I wasn’t aware you’d taken another personal student, Sensei, ” Eraser Head says, his tone as flat and dry as a desert.

“Yes, well, he’s also my only witness for the perp of the gate destruction, today,” Tsukauchi says, lifting his head from his arms.

“I didn’t see him out there,” Eraser Head contradicts immediately.

“I—I wasn’t,” Midoriya says meekly. Eraser Head raises one black eyebrow. “I…” Midoriya struggles to explain.

“Midoriya-kun was briefly taken hostage by a trespasser, who used him to find the teacher’s lounge and retrieve information on Yuuei,” Nedzu summarizes succinctly.

“I’ve been trying for the last thirty minutes to take his statement, but everything he says just digs this hole deeper,” Tsukauchi says. He sighs, tipping his head back so that it rests on the back of the armchair. “The kid says that the Villain was called Shigaraki Tomura. Ring any bells?”

Eraser Head grunts.

“Didn’t think so,” Tsukauchi says. Midoriya guesses that was Eraser Head’s “no” grunt, and tries to remember how it had sounded. “How about All for One? That mean anything to you?”

“I’ve heard it,” Eraser Head says testily. “I don’t like the idea that anything associated with him got into this school undetected.”

“Nor do I!” says Nedzu. “That is perhaps the most important reason why we should get back to interviewing Midoriya-kun right away.”

Everyone’s eyes fall on him, and he blushes hotly.

Tsukauchi sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “You ready, kid?” When Midoriya nods, he clicks the recorder on. “Interview resumed at—” he checks a wristwatch hidden under the cuff of his trench coat— “14:29, April second, two thousand two hundred and thirty-two. We left off when the portal began speaking to the Villain.”

Both of Eraser Head’s eyebrows jump at these words, and he takes a seat on the end of the sofa Midoriya sits on.

“U-um, yes. Shigaraki had just said, ‘How do you know about that?’ when the portal appeared. It was like a black hole opened up in the air next to us. Inside the hole was some kind of deep, infinite purple smoke. As it formed, two eyes appeared, though they didn’t really look like eyes. They were yellow, and made of vapor. I screamed, and Shigaraki shushed me. The portal said, ‘Shigaraki Tomura, I have heeded your call. Are you bringing your guest with you?’” Midoriya does his best to imitate the slow, deep tones of the void-man.

“Were there any other defining features of this portal?”

“None that I could see. The portal wasn’t perfectly circular—I remember thinking that a rip had opened up in the fabric of the universe,” Midoriya says, picking at his nail bed nervously.

“Alright, please continue. What did Shigaraki say?”

“He—he… he said no. He said, ‘I think the game devs will put him in my path again,’ and that he wanted to see how long I’d last, here. He told me ‘Come visit the League of Villains when the Heroes kick you out on your a-ass.’” Midoriya stumbles over the swear word. “Then, he stepped into the portal, and left.”

Tsukauchi purses his lips.

“The Erasure Hero: Eraser Head, identification number eight-one-oh-four-seven, will assist in questioning,” Eraser Head announces. He leans forward, elbows on knees, locking eyes with Midoriya. “Do you have any prior association with the League of Villains?”

Midoriya blanches. “N-no! I’ve never even heard of them before today.”

“Eraser-san, I’d prefer to question Midoriya-kun personally,” Tsukauchi cuts in. “I have authorization to use my Quirk for investigations, and I must ask a direct question for it to activate. If you have questions you’d like to ask Midoriya-kun, I can ask them to lessen the stress placed on him.”

Eraser Head grunts, though Midoriya has no idea how to categorize the sound.

“Alright. Midoriya-kun, have you ever heard the name League of Villains before today?” Tsukauchi asks.

“No.” Midoriya shakes his head.

“Have you ever met Shigaraki before today?” Eraser Head asks. He stares directly at Midoriya as he says it, and motions for Tsukauchi to repeat the question. Tsukauchi sighs shortly in frustration, but does.

“No, I’ve never met him. It was a complete accident that I even saw him,” Midoriya says, twisting his fingers together into a tight pretzel.

“Do you recognize the name All for One?” Eraser Head’s eyes are piercing. Midoriya stares at his knees. He thinks Eraser Head is a lot less comforting than Present Mic would be, if he were still here.

“No,” Midoriya whispers. “I only just heard of him today.”

“Did the Villain Shigaraki mention All for One to you?”

“Okay, Eraser,” Tsukauchi says. “I think you’re done questioning Midoriya-kun. He has been a very good sport, and answered every question asked of him to the fullest extent that he can. He was placed in a very unfortunate situation today, and we are all very happy that he made it out unharmed.” Tsukauchi gives Midoriya a sad smile. “Really, kid. I don’t think anyone has said it, yet, but you were very brave.”

“Thanks,” Midoriya says, the barest breath escaping.

“Nedzu-sama, I think it would be a good idea for you to get in contact with the Nighteye Agency, and see how soon Sir Nighteye-san would be available for a meeting,” Tsukauchi says, turning to face Nedzu.

“That’s it?” Aizawa growls, startling Midoriya. “A Villain made it in and out of this school unimpeded, and we’re just going to leave it alone?”

“Most certainly not!” Nedzu says. “Shigaraki, while dangerous, obviously has plans for a later date. It is in our best interest to get ahead of these plans, and figure out where he intends to strike us. May I remind you, Aizawa-san, that you have missed most of this interrogation? Midoriya-kun has explained the situation to us thoroughly before your arrival.” Nedzu tilts his head. “I would be happy to summarize for you, if you so wish.”

Eraser Head doesn’t look cowed, the way Midoriya would if Nedzu spoke to him that way. Tsukauchi hastens to click off the recorder again.

“What plans?” Eraser Head asks suspiciously.

“That would be what we’re trying to figure out,” Tsukauchi says, his tone reprimanding. “As I was saying: please get into contact with Nighteye-san, Nedzu-sama. He’s the one handling all the documents involving All for One.”

“Of course!” Nedzu says. He pops a button on his vest, and opens a tiny pocket, removing an even tinier phone from within. He taps away at the screen rapidly, and Midoriya melts into the sofa cushions.

“Oh, man,” he says to himself. “Sir Nighteye is so cool. I have so many questions about Foresight—it’s one of the most idiopathic Quirks available in the Japanese public Quirk database.”

“What does “idiopathic” even mean?” Tsukauchi asks absently. He’s flipping through his notes again, circling things as he goes along.

“The definition of idiopathic is the spontaneous development of a disease or condition. It’s a Quirk-biology term coined by Allard Clement-san, a French Quirk theorist who followed Fairground Sheila-san’s Quirk Postulates. Fairground-san said that Quirks fall into three categories—mutation, emitter, and transformation—but three categories just isn’t enough to sort every Quirk that comes along. Allard-san popularized the idea of there being another, more scientific way to categorize a Quirk’s ability, for experimental purposes. These categories are biological, technological, and idiopathic. Biological is exactly as it sounds: it’s when a Quirk uses a person’s natural biology, to an extent, to produce some kind of effect. A great example of this are pheromone Quirks, or, um, mutation Quirks that give the person the ability of an animal. Technological, too, are pretty obvious. They’re Quirks that directly involve technology—like, for example, the ability to produce microchips made of memories.

“Actually, did you see the woman that could do that? She was caught by Gang Orca when she used the memory of some office worker to break into a Support company and steal their designs. It was a whole thing, like two years ago.

“Anyway, idiopathic Quirks are hard to explain. No scientist worth their salt wants to say “random chance” when you ask them why something happens, but that’s just it—sometimes, Quirks are utterly inexplicable. There are time Quirks, or portal Quirks, like today, that just completely defy all human reason. No human should be able to see the future. It’s a logistical nightmare! And yet, Nighteye-san has gone on record as being able to see events as far as ten years in the future. America’s hundred and eighth president, Chrona, had the ability to open pocket dimensions! I’d like to see you come up with a better explanation for that, than just saying 'idiopathic' and calling it a day.”

Tsukauchi bursts out laughing.

“What an excellent explanation, Midoriya-kun!” Nedzu applauds.

Eraser Head gives one slow blink. “You chose a mouthy one this time, Sensei.”

Midoriya wraps his arms around his torso tightly, wishing he could hug his backpack again. He would, if it wouldn’t be so obvious.

“Yes, well, it has been a long time since I first took you on, Aizawa-san,” Nedzu says, the cut of his grin sharp as a blade. “Midoriya-kun possesses an honest quality that I find extremely valuable and rare in human-kind.”

Midoriya blinks. “I do?”

“He means you can’t shut up, even if you try,” Eraser Head tells him meanly.

Midoriya feels a bit like Eraser Head is jealous of him, and proves him wrong by clamping his lips shut so that he won’t say so to the man’s face. Besides, that’s pretty obviously wrong. Eraser Head is a Pro-Hero, a two-time Sports Festival champion, and the only Gen Ed. to Heroics transfer in Yuuei history. He’s also a grown man, with about a hundred pounds of muscle. What does he have to be jealous of in mouthy, Quirkless Midoriya?

“Play nice, Eraser-san,” Tsukauchi chuckles. Eraser Head ducks his face into the fabric of his capture weapon, though that can’t be comfortable. It’s more metal than fabric, Midoriya knows.

“It’s about time for our lesson today, Midoriya-kun,” Nedzu says.

“Are we still doing that?” Midoriya asks. He’d missed English and chemistry for the interview, but his lessons with Nedzu take place after the rest of the classes have been dismissed.

“Of course! I believe it is imperative that you know exactly who you spoke with today, and why he is such a threat to your livelihood. I understand that you do not hold yourself in high regard, and view your life as a bargaining chip, but I am now invested in your success under my tutelage, and I would hate to see you perish prematurely.”

“B-bargaining chip?!” Midoriya squawks.

Nedzu blinks, cocking his head curiously. “Yes. You bartered your health and safety in order to speak with me when you pled your case for a spot here at this school. Today, you ranked your life below those of the others at this school, and used yourself as a diversion tactic that you hoped would open an opportunity for a Hero to apprehend Shigaraki. You show an immense lack of self-preservation.”

Eraser Head scoffs derisively. “My least favorite kind of student.”

“Not so, Aizawa-san! You, above all else, dislike arrogance. Midoriya-kun here has self-doubt in spades, which is why he can use himself the way he does. He puts his value to society extremely low, and therefore can excuse almost any treatment of himself. It is, afterall, what he’s been taught his whole life.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Eraser Head demands. Tsukauchi follows the conversation like a tennis match.

“I’m Quirkless,” Midoriya says. He ducks Eraser Head’s gaze when it flies to him, but doesn’t let that stop him from speaking. “You’re right, Nedzu-Sensei. I’m pretty worthless, in the grand scheme of things. But I still want to help people, which is why I’m here.” He clenches his fists, determination flooding through him.

Nedzu laughs. “You’re not worthless at all, Midoriya-kun! Far from it. In my paws, you are a piece so valuable that many people will stop at nothing to take you from me.” His black eyes glimmer. “You mustn’t let them. If you don’t believe you hold any intrinsic worth, believe in this: I chose you for a reason. I removed three students, who bested thousands of others in the Yuuei exams, to let you take their places. I hold you above all others. Even when I knew only the most basic information about you, Midoriya-kun, I chose you to stand at my side.”

Midoriya sits, stunned.

“Three students?” Tsukauchi asks, eyes wide.

“Midoriya attends classes in three departments here at Yuuei. I removed a Support student, a Management student, and a General Education student from the pool to make a spot for him.”

“That’s disgusting.” Eraser Head sneers. “One Quirkless boy isn’t worth three other capable candidates, just because you want to play with him, Nedzu,” he spits.

Midoriya shrinks into himself. Eraser Head is right—he can’t believe Nedzu kicked out three students for him.

“He is worth much more than that, to me,” Nedzu says calmly. “I believe we will come to understand each other the way no one else in this world can understand us. I, an animal cursed with a Quirk, and he, a human cursed with the lack of one. We are unique in this world, and it hates us for it. What you never understood, Aizawa-kun, is how I truly despise this society that I am forced to be a part of. It may have shunned you, but it has not done to you what it has done to me and Midoriya-kun, which is make us believe that we are worth more dead than we are alive.”

Midoriya’s breath stutters. He thinks about his phone, and the chat room on it. He thinks about that link that he’d seen this morning that one of the members had sent—a link to a Quirkless boy’s fundraiser for money for his funeral. The boy had been found dead, and no investigation would be opened as to why, or who had done it. He was six years old.

Worth more dead than we are alive.

Yes, Midoriya thinks. That sounds about right.

“Now, surely that can’t be right,” Tsukauchi says nervously, looking between Midoriya and Nedzu. Midoriya ducks his head to the side, swallowing thickly.

Eraser Head sighs. From the corner of Midoriya’s eye, he can see the man bury a hand in his hair.

“It’s truer than I’d like it to be,” he says begrudgingly. “It still doesn’t mean that Midoriya-kun should have bumped out three other people.”

“I promise,” Nedzu says, his teeth and tone razor sharp, “Midoriya-kun will do more for this school than a hundred students put together. And I believe he’s already begun proving that. Who was the only one to see a Villain today, Aizawa-san?”

“That was by accident!” Midoriya panics. “It was just by chance that I was there!”

“And yet,” Nedzu continues, ruthlessly, “did you turn tail and run? Did you stop and wait for a Hero to arrive? Did you even for one moment consider anything but standing in the path of a man you knew was an intruder?”

Midoriya’s heart thunders in his chest.

Tsukauchi turns to him. “Well?” he asks. “Did you?”

“N-no,” Midoriya whispers.

“True,” Tsukauchi says, utterly breathless. He looks at Midoriya like he’s never seen him before. “That’s true.”

Nedzu relaxes with a smug grin, tucking his paws behind his back.

Eraser Head glares at him appraisingly. It’s not as unpleasant as his resting face, somehow.

“Now that that matter has been settled, I’d like to discuss All for One, and Sir Nighteye’s involvement in owning his case files with Midoriya-kun. You two gentlemen are free to return to your duties, unless there is something more you need of me.”

When Midoriya finally arrives home, his head is swimming with classified information. He keeps picturing All Might fighting for his life all alone, bleeding out on the ground and thinking that his enemy is finally gone for good.

Nedzu told him that the assumption they’re working with now is that Shigaraki Tomura is most likely All for One’s son, or a successor of some kind who took his family name.

Midoriya is coming into his apartment, announcing, “Tadaima,” when he notices the shoes in his genkan. His blood goes so cold that he gets dizzy. His backpack falls out of his hand, thumping to the floor heavily. They’re huge, ugly, half-laced black combat boots, with their leather tongues hangdog and limp. They’re Kacchan’s shoes.

“About fucking time,” Kacchan says.

There he is, leaning against the wall of Deku’s tiny entry hall, his white button-up sleeves rolled up his forearms, fully unbuttoned to expose the wifebeater he wears underneath it. For a moment, all Deku can see are Kacchan’s feet, in the guest house slippers.

“You should really move your spare key. It’s been in the same place for fifteen years, moron,” he snarls. “Anyone could find it.”

There’s nowhere for Deku to run, like this. Kacchan is in his house. Deku is dressed in the Yuuei uniform—minus his missing tie—and carrying the weight of about a billion secrets that could get him killed twice as hard as he was almost killed earlier today.

“H-hi, Kacchan,” Deku says.

“Why are you so fucking late?” Kacchan’s brows draw low over his eyes. “They decide to kick you out, after all?”

“U-um, no.” Deku can’t think of a lie fast enough.

Sparks pop in Kacchan’s hand. “Don’t stand there and try to fucking lie to me, you freak. You’re too stupid to come up with one, anyway. Why were you late?” he demands, more forcefully than before. He takes a threatening step forward, and Midoriya flinches into the door behind him.

“I had—had ex-extra lessons, lessons,” Deku says quickly, nudging his backpack behind his calf. Kacchan hasn’t been around to blow up his newest notebooks, and the stuff from today’s lessons is really important. He’d hate to take scorched notes to Nedzu’s office tomorrow.

“Fuckin’ nerd,” Kacchan spits. “How’d you manage that, two days in?” Then, he remembers himself. “Fuck that. How did you get in? Did you lie to them about having a Quirk?”

“No! Of, of course not!”

“No, you couldn’t fool the rat,” Kacchan mutters.

The rat? Does he mean Nedzu-sensei? Deku thinks.

“What dirty tricks did you use to do it, you Quirkless twerp?!” Kacchan lunges forward, latching onto the front of Deku’s blazer. “Huh?! Answer me!”

Deku gasps, grabbing Kacchan’s forearm, leaning away as much as the grip allows. His toes scrabble for purchase on the floor as Kacchan hefts him up with one arm.

Man, even Shigaraki didn’t treat me this badly! Deku thinks furiously.

“I didn’t, I swear! Principal Nedzu-sama let me in!” Deku chokes out.

“What could he ever want with a worthless, Quirkless freak like you?” Kacchan asks, shaking Deku.

The conversation from earlier flits through Deku’s mind at double-speed.

“If you don’t believe you hold any intrinsic worth, believe in this: I chose you for a reason.”

“I promise, Midoriya-kun will do more for this school than a hundred students put together.”

“I’m not worthless!” Midoriya screams. The sound tears out of his chest painfully, clawing up out of his esophagus and scraping his tongue and teeth as it goes. He heaves for breath, tears pooling in his eyes.

Kacchan jerks back. He’s still holding Midoriya, so it doesn’t put any distance between them, but it’s enough that he moved. Midoriya knows he’s surprised him. He plants his feet, and rips himself out of Kacchan’s slackened grip. At this angle, he can see a bandage wrapping over Kacchan’s shoulder under his shirt.

That’s right; Kacchan had come from his first Hero training with All Might.

The space between them blazes.

“Principal Nedzu chose me,” Midoriya sobs. “You don’t get to tell me I’m worthless, anymore. You might be a great Hero—the best Hero—one day, but you’re never going to get away from me. Every time you get stronger, I will too.” He wipes his runny nose. “So get the hell out of my house, and get stronger.”

Kacchan looks stunned for about two solid seconds.

Then, he yanks his shoes onto his feet, and shoves Midoriya into the wall to open the door. It slams closed so hard that a picture falls off the wall and shatters.

Midoriya sinks to his knees, and cries.

“Super-Nerd-kun!” Hatsume shrieks, yanking Midoriya into an embrace. “You disappeared after the alarm went off yesterday! Purple-kun and I were worried about you.”

Midoriya smiles. “Thanks, Hatsume-san. I'm alright, now.” He pats her muscular shoulders.

He was right about her grip being more pleasant than All Might's. The fanboy in him cries foul, but he can't help but think that her softness, in between all the muscles, is what makes her great at hugs.

She lets him go to lead them back to their desk, which is a mess again, already. A few students give them sidelong glances, but Hatsume is completely oblivious, as usual. Midoriya rucks up his shoulders to hide behind them.

“I know we hadn't decided on which project to try, but I was getting serious invention withdrawal,” Hatsume tells him.

“How many inventions do you normally work on a week?” Midoriya asks, gingerly lifting some wiring out of his seat.

“A week? Probably about twenty or twenty-five.”

Midoriya nearly drops the wires in surprise, and has to clench them tightly to his chest.

“Twenty-five machines a week?! How is that even physically possible?”

“Genius inventor brain, remember? It's pretty much all I do, all day long. I failed nearly all my classes in middle school. I only graduated because my principal pitied me, and thought I deserved a chance to take my inventions somewhere.” Hatsume shrugs at Midoriya’s incredulous face. “Not all of us like to dedicate ourselves to applicable knowledge.”

He blinks. “I guess not. But I'd say that you're way smarter than me, Hatsume-san. You know how to work all these machines without any help! You can weld!”

She laughs. “That doesn't take much smarts, Super-Nerd. But thanks, anyway. Now, let's talk about how we're gonna replicate Gang Orca’s sonic wave.”

Before they can dive into Support, Power Loader-Sensei takes attendance, and tells them that they have to choose a class president and vice president to represent them. Guilt writhes in Midoriya’s chest when he realizes that he has absolutely no idea who the people around him are. Several of them stand up and start shouting that they deserve the post, and Midoriya’s head bobs frantically as he tries to keep up with them all. Eventually, one student prevails.

“I promise, if you make me president, I'll find out what the hell is going on between them,” they say, pointing straight at Midoriya and Hatsume.

“Huh?!” Midoriya squeaks like a stepped-on mouse.

“Who votes for me?” they demand. About a dozen hands go up, and a satisfied grin settles on their black-lipsticked lips.

Another fight starts up for vice president immediately, and a long-haired boy with glasses is chosen after he stands up and tries to throttle his desk partner.

“What the hell?” Midoriya asks, horrified at the sight.

Hatsume claps him on the back with enough force to crack his scapula. “Remember, Super-Nerd, all’s fair in Support and war. It's kill or be killed, here.”

“I didn't think you meant that literally!” Midoriya watches as the two are given little attachable bands for their uniform blazers to the loud applause of the rest of the class.

“Of course I did!” Hatsume says. “When have I ever meant something figuratively?”

While Midoriya thinks on this, she drags him over to the materials closet, and begins tossing things at him. He scrambles to catch them before they can clang to the floor, and ends up with a tottering pile of what looks like sheets of metal, loose wires, and a half-dozen nuts and bolts. Hatsume’s eyes focus on the pile, and she nods decisively.

“That should be enough, for now,” she tells him. Midoriya deposits the stack at their workbench—which is far from the desks, where all that flammable paper is.

Hatsume plops down on a stool, and Midoriya mimics her. They’re so close that their knees touch, but Hatsume leans in, anyway.

“Super-Nerd-kun, I think we need to set some ground rules,” Hatsume says.

“O-okay?” Midoriya squeaks. There’s a lot of Hatsume in his personal space, and he blushes bright red. She’s in her inventing clothes again, and he can stare straight down the front of her tank top—Midoriya fastens his gaze onto her eyes, instead.

“We’re partners, now. I’m gonna teach you how to invent, but you gotta teach me the other stuff. So we’ll take turns, got it?” She pokes him in the chest.

He lets out a relieved breath. “Oh, that sounds awesome! How do you want to start?”

Hatsume grins. “Why don’t you tell me exactly how Gang Orca’s Quirk works, and we’ll go from there.”

“Got it,” Midoriya says, clenching his fists determinedly.

He’s going to do exactly what he came here to do. Midoriya is going to be a Hero. He’s going to get stronger, just like he told Kacchan. He’s going to prove Aizawa wrong, and prove Nedzu right.

Plus Ultra, right?

Chapter Text

Captioned clip from the HeroTube video “Mutant Uprising, BEWARE” by user EekoKeepsUpWithTheNews, posted April 2, 2232, 07:12.

Accessed: April 3, 2232.

“All I’m saying is that the court documents were mysteriously released yesterday—by a criminal , might I add—and now the officer assigned to the Griffin Potholder Case is missing? I’m not pointing fingers, but I think we can all agree that only a mutant would care enough about this shit to go after the officer. I mean, he’s totally innocent! That girl was going wild—did you see the footage? I can’t clip it or they’ll take down my video, but I swear, just look it up.

“You can always tell with those types. It’s in their eyes. So what, that kid was holding her down? Doesn’t give her the right to freaking bite him! He was in the hospital for hours! Of course, she got what she deserved, didn’t she? Two week stay in the emergency room, and then straight to a holding cell.

“Back on topic—sorry, I just get so heated over this stuff, you know? Officer Kenshi-san was reported missing by his wife, and someone at the precinct leaked the info. Naughty, naughty! I hope they catch the poor sonofabitch before he’s found with his hands chopped off, or something. Mutants are always trying to do poetic shit like that.”

Excerpt from the Daily News website, posted April 3, 2232, 05:00.

Accessed: April 3, 2232.

“Anyone with information on Jaku Middle School is asked to come forward as soon as possible. Yesterday’s devastating gas attack is still a mystery, as the police and Heroes work towards finding a culprit. The death toll continues to rise, and as of 04:30 this morning, there are eighteen hospitalized and four dead. These students are all facing debilitating lung rehabilitation. If the Quirk description below sounds familiar, please call your local non-emergency police line and inform them.

“The gas was light purple in color, and causes both violent coughing and unconsciousness. It has a noxious smell.”

Excerpt from the Japanese National Quirk Archive [RESTRICTED ACCESS] site.

Accessed: April 3, 2232.

SASAKI, M. - 1944890

Quirk: Foresight

Summary: User has the ability to view the future of a subject at will.

Activation: Five-finger touch.

Limitations: Can only be used once a day. (Self-stated by Sasaki M.)

Trials: No.

Associations: Ketsubetsu High School (former); Might Tower (former); Nighteye Agency (current)

Known Uses: See file folder [NIGHTEYE AGENCY] for full list.

It’s good luck that Midoriya isn’t assigned Kacchan’s costume in Intro to Costume Production. Instead, he gets someone named Monoma Neito, who has written about a dozen comments in the margins of his initial costume submission sheet.

“Broastcast-sensei ,” complains a dark-haired boy, raising his hand perfunctorily, “this costume doesn’t have any flaws!” The boy holds up Kacchan’s sheet, and Midoriya has to hold in an appreciative sigh.

Broadcast tilts his head contemplatively. “At first glance, it may look like that, Takashi-kun, but that’s just not true. No costume has no flaws, not even the most polished Pro’s. It’s a strong start, I’ll give you that, but Bakugou-kun’s design has some glaring problems that I can see right off the bat. Now, let’s go down the list. We’ll use Bakugou-kun’s costume as an example, briefly. Can anyone tell me the first thing we look for?”

A few enthusiastic hands go into the air, including Midoriya’s. Broadcast chooses a blue-skinned girl at the front of the class.

“The first thing you check for when reviewing a costume design is the presence of exposed flesh,” she says, like she’s reading from a dictionary.

“Perfectly right,” Broadcast purrs. A shiver skates down Midoriya’s spine.

He’s been finding it kind of hard to look at Broadcast-sensei since yesterday. No matter how handsome he is, every time Midoriya catches sight of his white hair, he tenses in his seat. It’s not all that similar to Shigaraki’s—but it is. Shigaraki’s hair laid in lank, dull gray waves against his scalp and cheeks, and it looked like it had been months since he’d gotten a trim. Broadcast’s hair is clean and light, the sun coming through the window shining on the silky strands prettily. There’s just something about it that makes Midoriya’s heart seize in his chest.

“Bakugou-kun’s costume has little-to-no exposed skin, which is prolific of him. See, in his notes, he’s mentioned that his Quirk relies on him maintaining a high inner-body temperature to produce his nitroglycerin sweat. That means that we’ll be avoiding removing layers at all cost. Now, can anyone tell me the second thing to look for?”

He chooses Midoriya, this time.

“B-body armor, Sensei.”

“Absolutely. Now, even though Bakugou-kun seems to be covered from head to toe, the only place that he has specified armor are on his kneecaps, in the form of metal covers. Anyone want to take a stab at why this might be a bad design?”

“Because he’s leaving the rest of his body undefended!” someone calls.

“Right. And an undefended body is…” Broadcast goads them.

“A defenseless Hero!” Midoriya shouts, along with the rest of the class.

Midoriya looks down at his own assignment. Monoma has submitted an entire three-piece tuxedo as his Hero costume, which Midoriya can’t help but cringe at. He’s even got a tie! Nowhere on the page has Monoma asked for any armored fabric to be added—all of his notes pertain to the color of the buttons he wants, and the measurements of his double belts. Why not just a single belt? Midoriya has no idea. Monoma doesn’t seem to have chosen a specific theme, aside from the tiny clocks attached to the second, looser belt around his hips.

Well, at least he’s passed the first step, Midoriya thinks to himself.

It’s a good thing that this only a copy of the costume submission, because Midoriya goes to town on it. He makes a list on a separate piece of paper of all the things in Monoma's costume that violate the biggest rules—exposure, armor, speed, and thematics. Ideally, as Broadcast has told them, all Heroes should wear a helmet. Of course, Midoriya is sure someone with as much… pizazz as Monoma would be loath to cover up his pretty face.

Midoriya’s more worried about those huge, grabbable coattails, anyway. Baby steps.

By the end of the class, Midoriya is seriously worried about Monoma’s chances as a Hero, with this costume. As Broadcast starts to leave the classroom, Midoriya manages to catch up to him.

“Ah, B-Broadcast-sensei!” Midoriya calls, outstretching a hand towards to Hero.

“Hey, Midoriya-kun,” Broadcast says. He turns. “What can I do for my number one fan?”

Blood rushes to Midoriya’s face so hard that his head throbs. Broadcast laughs, tossing that glossy hair of his.

“I’m kidding. But, seriously, do you need something?”

“Uh, um, I ju-just, just wanted to know if we’re allowed to talk to the Hero students about our as-assignment. I really think Monoma-kun should know how many problems his costume has,” Midoriya says. He clutches his notebook to his chest.

Broadcast’s smirk softens. “Sure, Midoriya-kun. A bit of advice, though? Most Heroes hate having their flaws pointed out to them—especially when they’re fresh on the scene. Be gentle with Monoma-kun, okay? Don’t want him to burst before he can get in.” At the look on Midoriya’s face, Broadcast adds, “Into the industry, that is, Heroics.” He gives Midoriya a solid pat on the shoulder, and walks away.

Shinsou takes one look at his face when he enters class 1-C and says, “Broadcast?”

Midoriya thumps his head down onto his desk, and whimpers. Shinsou chuckles meanly.

“Learn anything that’s gonna put me a step above the rest?” he asks Midoriya, opening his algebra textbook.

“Ask for your costume to be made with a layer of spectra, and for the love of god put in some body armor,” Midoriya says into his desk. “Also, I should probably never be allowed to handle a soldering iron again in my life.”

Shinsou raises an eyebrow questioningly.

“I soldered our project onto a piece of scrap metal. Hatsume-san had to spend ten minutes getting them apart.”

Shinsou’s smile is cruel. “At least you can look forward to factoring out quadratic expressions, right?”

Midoriya groans.

At lunch, Midoriya avoids Kacchan’s burning gaze again. He puts his tray and backpack down and announces, “I need to find someone!”

“Ooh, is it a spy? Did Nedzu-sama set you on a super-secret evil noodle-eater? Do I need to arm you with a soldering iron?” Hatsume asks, leaping to her feet. Shinsou laughs.

“No!” Midoriya protests hotly. “I got my first assignment in Intro to Production, and I really want to talk to him about his costume. Do either of you know Monoma Neito? He’s blond, gray eyes—”

“Looks like he’s got a secret stuck up his ass that only he knows?” Shinsou interrupts, nodding behind Midoriya.

In the lunch line, Monoma-kun is laughing uproariously at something, an auburn-haired girl behind him rolling her eyes enigmatically.

“Yeah!” Midoriya cheers. “Well, no, that’s really rude—though I guess not really wrong… I’ll be right back!” He takes a giant step, and then whirls back around. “Hatsume-san, please don’t eat my food before I have a chance to!”

She shoots him a thumbs up, her mouth full of pork dumpling.

Midoriya takes off, journal clenched tightly in his hands. It’s only when he’s standing right in front of Monoma that he realizes the flaw in this plan: he has to speak.

“A-ah,” Midoriya chokes. “Um. A-are you, are you Mm-Monoma Neito?”

Monoma’s face does a complicated maneuver that leaves him looking both haughty and derisive. “I am. Who are you?”

“Uh, um. I’m, I’m Midoriya Izuku,” Midoriya says meekly, holding up his notebook like a shield in front of his face. He realizes that this is more embarrassing than simply trembling, and lowers the journal back to his chest quickly.

“Nice to meet you, Midoriya-kun,” says the auburn-haired girl. She gives him a sweet smile, and nudges Monoma not-so-gently.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Monoma says, rolling his eyes. “Can I help you with something? I was kind of busy, you know…” he says, looking deliberately at the food on his tray. “It’s a bit early to be confessing, even for someone as pitiful as you.”

At this, the auburn-haired girl delivers a solid punch to Monoma’s kidney. Midoriya leaps back, but Monoma just turns to her and snaps, “What?! I’m just trying to get a move on! I’m starving, and don’t pretend like you aren’t, too.”

“Don’t call people pitiful!” she scolds.

“Whatever,” Monoma sighs.

“I, I can help you!” Midoriya bursts. Monoma shoots him a look so disbelieving that it almost hurts. “I’m in In-Intro to Costume Production, and I was assigned your—your costume,” Midoriya says meekly. “It’s… I asked if I could talk to you about improvements.”

Monoma’s eyes narrow.

“Oh, wow!” the girl says. “That’s really cool! Do you think someone is going to talk to me about mine?”

“Um, ah, probably not. I asked specifically,” Midoriya says, gripping his notebook.

“Why?” Monoma demands. “Do you think my costume is that awful? What does a two-bit little sprout like you know, anyway? What, a couple days in class, and you think you can tell me how my costume should look?” he snarls, leaning into Midoriya’s space.

“N-no!” Midoriya yelps, alarmed.

“Hey, Monoma-kun, back off a little,” the girl says, tugging on Monoma’s shoulder. He subsides slightly, glaring.

“I, I swear, I swear I just—” to his shame, Midoriya’s eyes start welling with tears. “The-there’s a few really simple things that, that I think could help control your Qu-Quirk.” A tear drips down his cheek, and Midoriya wipes it hastily.

“Oh my god, you made him cry !” the girl bursts. She punches Monoma again, who looks too shocked to even try to dodge. “You—you jerk! Apologize, right now!”

“Hey, I’m sorry,” Monoma says immediately, all traces of his anger gone. “Are you serious about… wanting to help me?”

Midoriya hiccups, and nods. Guilt spasms across Monoma’s face.

“Okay, listen, why don’t we eat lunch together. Let me pay for it, or something,” he demands.

“I—I’ve got lunch already,” Midoriya sniffles, pointing to the booth that Hatsume and Shinsou are in. When he turns to look at them, he can see them grow alarmed by his reddened face.

“Let me make it up to you!” Monoma says anxiously. “I thought… It seemed like you wanted to make fun of me, I guess. Who comes up to someone on the third day of school with costume improvements?” he asks defensively.

“A really, really nice guy, that’s who,” the girl snaps. “I’d love to eat lunch with you, Midoriya-kun, if you’ll let me. And, I think your friends look pretty worried, over there.”

It’s true; Hatsume is beginning to tumble her way out of the booth, and Shinsou is unfolding himself out of his seat. Midoriya motions for them both to sit, and they hesitate. He turns back to Monoma and the girl.

“Um, I guess, if you really want to, you can come eat with us,” he says, blushing. “It might be a bit crowded.”

“We can squeeze,” the girl assures him. Without further prompting, she drags Monoma by the elbow to the table where Midoriya’s friends are waiting. Midoriya hastens to follow.

“What the hell did you do to Midoriya?” Shinsou demands, getting the upper hand with his Quirk.

“I apologized already!” Monoma snaps. Shinsou looks at Midoriya like he’s holding a loaded gun and asking, “Should I fire?”

Midoriya shakes his head. “He did, really. It’s alright. I approached him weirdly.”

Hatsume sighs, throwing herself back into the booth right away. “Oh, good. I had no idea what I was gonna do if you wanted us to defend your honor, Super-Nerd. All my gear is in the Support studio. Gimme some warning, next time!”

“Fine,” Shinsou says begrudgingly. “But I’m sitting next to her.” He points at the auburn-haired girl.

“Sounds good to me,” she replies easily. “My name is Kendou Itsuka. Thank you for having me!” She dips into a shallow bow.

Shinsou scoots further into his side of the booth, making room for Kendou. She sets her tray down on the table and slides in after him, brushing her skirt down modestly as she goes. On the other side, Midoriya quickly inserts himself between Hatsume and Monoma, who looks a little outraged to have been shunted to the fuller bench.

“So, Monoma-kun,” Midoriya says, slapping his notebook down with vigor. “I am going to need you to explain your Quirk to me, please. Before I make suggestions, I want to know everything.”

Monoma and Kendou look shocked by his sudden boldness, but Midoriya tries not to let that stop him. Absent-mindedly, he shoves a dumpling into his mouth. It’s gone slightly cold, but the chicken is still warm on the inside, and he chews eagerly.

Monoma’s eyes dart to Shinsou, who leans his chin on his hand with a smug, knowing look. “Don’t mind me. I thought you Hero course students were supposed to be brave?”

Monoma’s lips curl into a sneer. “Fine. My Quirk is called Copy. I can duplicate the effects of up to four Quirks at a time, for a maximum of ten minutes.”

Midoriya waits for a beat. “Is that all?”

Shinsou snickers into his palm.

“‘Is that all?’ What the hell else do you want from me?!” Monoma shouts, turning on Midoriya. He looks for a moment like he might shove him, and Midoriya squishes Hatsume into the wall of the booth trying to scramble back.

“I—I just meant, is that everything you know?” Midoriya yelps, hands up to protect his face.

“Ow, Super-Nerd. You’re squeezing the life out of me,” Hatsume complains.

“S-sorry,” Midoriya says. Monoma subsides frumpily, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yes. That’s all I know,” Monoma bites. “What more is there to know about it?”

“Well, um, how is it activated?” Midoriya asks carefully. He tugs a pencil from where it was stashed in his notebook, and flips to a clean page.

“Oh,” Monoma says.

Both Kendou and Shinsou laugh, this time.

“Oh, do shut up, both of you. It’s touch. I have to make physical contact with a person to take their Quirk—that’s what starts the timer. From the moment I touch someone, I have ten minutes to use their Quirk before it’s gone.”

Midoriya hums, writing this down. “That’s interesting. Can you copy mutation-type Quirks?”

Monoma shakes his head. “Nothing like that. Minor transformation Quirks have always seemed to work for me, but anything more than growing claws, and I max out. I tried to Copy a girl with a sea turtle Quirk, once, and all that did was make the backs of my hands scaly.”

Midoriya squints, but moves on. “Is it a specific place you have to touch? Bare skin? Does hair work?”

Monoma looks startled. “I’m not sure. I can’t remember a time that it hasn’t been bare skin—usually the hand or the arm.”

Midoriya nods. “Okay, and what about you? Does it have to be your whole hand, or just your fingertips? Can you activate it through some other part of your body?”

“It can be just my fingertips—and I’ve never tried anywhere else.” He looks a bit embarrassed, and then immediately flips it into frustration. “Listen, it’s not as easy to test out as you’re making it sound. Your little analysis Quirk might be simple enough for you, but—why are you laughing?!” Monoma demands.

“You guys,” Midoriya whines. Hatsume shoves her shoulder into his, toppling Midoriya into Monoma on the other side. Shinsou catches his breath.

“This is too funny, Midoriya,” Shinsou says.

Monoma, fed up, grabs Midoriya’s hand in his and waits. Everyone’s eyes fall on their palms, one freckled and tanned, one peachy-pale.

“What the hell?” Monoma mutters. His brow creases in concentration, and he squints harder at Midoriya’s skin like it’ll force a Quirk to come to the surface.

“I—I’m Quirkless, Monoma-kun,” Midoriya says, pulling his hand back. He tucks it into his lap, but he can still feel the clammy warmth where it had touched Monoma’s skin.

“Really?” he asks, thrown. “Let me try again!”

“I, I don’t—” Midoriya begins to say, but Monoma grabs his wrist—the right one, not the one Shigaraki had held—and lifts Midoriya’s arm so he can clasp their fingers together, as if they’re about to arm wrestle.

An odd, quizzical look breaks out in his gray eyes. Midoriya tries not to take it in. He doesn’t want to see the process this close up—the process where he goes from a person, a living, breathing human, deserving of basic respect, to a speck of dust—so he catalogs Monoma’s irises. As close together as they’re all sitting (Midoriya’s knees are touching four different people, which is the most in his life) Monoma’s colorless eyes are like a mirror. Right now, they’re overwhelmingly green.

“That’s so weird,” Monoma says. “There’s stuff that I can’t Copy—I know that feeling. Like it’s just too big, or too empty for me to grab it. But you… it’s like there’s nothing there at all.” 

Midoriya makes a valiant effort at keeping his face from crumbling.

Monoma’s mouth breaks out in an enormous smile.

“Woah, what?” Shinsou says.

“Aww,” Hatsume croons. “He almost looks nice, like that!”

Kendou gives a little half-laugh, half-snort, and hurriedly raises a hand to cover her mouth. Monoma keeps their hands locked together for another long moment, but releases Midoriya when he takes in his face.

“Are you okay?” he asks. His hand makes an aborted twitch towards Midoriya’s, even though they literally just let go of each other.

“N-not really,” Midoriya whispers. A few tears roll down his cheeks, quicker than he can hide.

He’s feeling all twisted up inside. Every time he thinks it’s finally over—finally time for someone to look at him and say, “Yup, worthless, I knew it”—they don’t. Nedzu looked at him and saw potential. Shinsou thought he was a genius. Hatsume hadn’t even blinked. And here was Monoma, who had called Midoriya pitiful not ten minutes ago, who had outright beamed when his Quirk didn’t work.

Midoriya takes a shuddering breath, and uses a napkin to wipe at his wet eyes. “Sorry, sorry. I cry a lot.”

“No kidding,” Monoma says, but it’s gentle. Hesitantly, he reaches for Midoriya’s hand again. “Can I?”

Midoriya’s face scrunches miserably. “Why do you want to?”

Monoma breathes out a soft breath. “My Quirk is a constant feedback loop. I’m a ticking timer. Every time that someone touches me, my Quirk activates, unless I try hard not to. Even if I can’t Copy it, my body still tries—like a straw sucking at an empty cup. With you, there’s just… nothing.” Happiness streaks across his face, painting features that are usually so cold into warm colors.

Midoriya, tremblingly, presses his fingertips to Monoma’s outstretched hand.

“How touching,” Shinsou says, only a little sarcastic.

“What would you know about it?” Monoma bites back.

“Every question I ask is a weapon,” Shinsou says, exhaustion seeping into him. The bags beneath his eyes look deeper than ever. “I know a little something about people not wanting to hang around me. Conversation isn't as easy to avoid as touch.”

Kendou cocks her head. “What’s your Quirk?”

“What's yours?” Shinsou fires back.

Without a thought, Kendou holds out her hand above the table and enlarges it. It grows, and grows, and keeps growing until it’s roughly the size of the entire table. Then, she shrinks it back down.

“I call it Big Fist,” she says, pride lacing her voice.

“Wow!” Midoriya clenches his hand around Monoma’s tightly. “That’s so cool, Kendou-san! The practical applications of a Quirk like that are unlimited, not to mention the marketability! Are you trying to be a Battle Hero, or a Rescue Hero?”

“Battle,” she tells him, a pleased smile on her thin lips.

“She gets that kind of reaction, and I get ‘Is that all?’” Monoma asks, tugging on Midoriya’s arm.

“I swear, I didn’t mean it like that!” he protests.

Hatsume cackles. Somehow, she worked through all the food on the table without anyone noticing.

“Aw, damn,” Shinsou sighs forlornly. “I liked those dumplings.”

“I did, too.” Hatsume grins.

“You never answered my question, Shinsou-kun,” Kendou says astutely. She brushes her ponytail over her shoulder.

He rolls his tired eyes skyward, and his shoulders slump. “My Quirk is called Brainwashing. I won’t be demonstrating.”

“Oh, I really wish you would,” Midoriya pouts. “If you need a volunteer, use me!”

“Are you sure?” Shinsou raises an eyebrow.

“Ye—”

The world loses its color. Midoriya’s head is an empty bowl, a silent echo chamber. For a long, timeless moment, he floats. In it, like the ringing of a gong, he hears, “ Slap Monoma.” The command ripples through him, as inexorable as the pull of the moon on the ocean. His body is a vessel. He can tell it is his hand, but the person moving it is not Midoriya. He feels a bit like a puppet—a true dekunobu—and the hand that Monoma had been holding cracks against the blond’s cheek.

Immediately, color and sound rushes back into Midoriya.

“Woah,” he gasps, gripping the table to steady himself.

“—the hell! That hurt, you asshole!” Monoma cries. He’s got his own hand pressed over the print burning bright red on his cheek.

“Payback,” Shinsou grunts, “for making him cry twice in one day.”

“That was so awesome,” Midoriya gasps. Stars practically shoot from his eyes. “Shinsou-kun, Shinsou-kun, that was so cool! Wait, wait, I have to write so much stuff down—I have so many questions for you!”

Monoma sighs, slouching into Midoriya’s shoulder. On his other side, Hatsume has fiddled four chopsticks and a napkin into a crazy, criss-crossed structure that can support the weight of their ceramic plates. Kendou watches Midoriya write in awe, and Shinsou looks a bit like he might cry as Midoriya pelts him with questions.

“Tell me everything,” Midoriya demands.

“Tell me everything,” Nighteye demands.

“I believe you have read Midoriya-kun’s official statement, Sasaki-san,” Nedzu says pleasantly. Nighteye sighs through his nose.

“For a case this important, it would behoove us to have accurate information. Has the boy been cross-examined?” He adjusts his glasses.

“Midoriya-kun is not on trial,” Tsukauchi says firmly.

Well, Midoriya-kun sure feels like he’s on trial. With both Eraser Head and Nighteye’s soul-baring gazes on him, Midoriya figures that he probably knows what a butterfly feels like when its been pinned to a board. If this is the intensity needed to work behind the front lines of the Hero industry, Shinsou has a long way to go.

“Then why was I even summoned here?” Nighteye exhales frustratedly.

“My thoughts exactly,” Eraser Head murmurs.

“I have briefed Midoriya-kun on All for One,” Nedzu says. Nighteye appears to have a momentary heart attack, and Midoriya lurches forward, hands outstretched uselessly.

“You… what?” Nighteye spits, once he’s gotten his breath back. “Did Toshinori give you permission to tell this—” here, his face tenses. He seems unable to settle on an appropriate word for Midoriya, so he simply gestures.

Eraser Head huffs, which Midoriya thinks means he’s being laughed at.

“As my personal student, Midoriya-kun is clearance-level Yellow, which means he has access to all of the documents that I do,” Nedzu informs.

Midoriya’s jaw drops open. “You mean I didn’t have to hack the Quirk Registry?” He claps a hand over his mouth.

Eight pairs of eyes turn to stare at him.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t just hear that,” Tsukauchi says.

Nighteye rubs his eyes under his glasses. “What… could you possibly… have needed to hack into the Japanese Quirk registry for?”

Eraser Head only stares steadily at him, like he’s willing Midoriya to catch on fire with nothing but the power of his mind.

“Ah… um. You?” Midoriya squeaks. Then, he curls into a ball on the sofa and tries to pretend that he doesn’t exist.

“Tsukauchi-san,” barks Nighteye, startling Midoriya.

“Midoriya-kun, why did you break into government property to research Sir Nighteye?” Tsukauchi asks, dragging a hand down his face.

“I just wanted to know more about Foresight,” he says despairingly. “It’s—” he forces his mouth to close.

“Continue, boy,” commands Nighteye.

“Quit hiding things,” Eraser Head says.

Nedzu watches on with his paws behind his back, black eyes glittering and shining.

“It’s Detective Tsukauchi-san’s fault!” Midoriya nearly shouts. He casts his eyes to the floor, wishing it would open up and swallow him whole. Or in pieces—whichever would be quicker. “He got me started thinking about idiopathic Quirks, and then specifically about your Quirk, and then I thought that maybe your visions would have been documented somewhere, and where else would they have been documented, besides the Quirk Registry? I didn’t want to go head-to-head with whatever security is on Nighteye Agency—obviously, that would be constantly monitored for attack, Nighteye-san is an Intelligence Hero—so I figured it would be simplest to just pummel the firewall until I got in. Lo and behold, there wasn’t any record of your prophecies.” Midoriya hangs his head. “And I went through the whole Nighteye Agency incident folder, looking for any mention of a prophecy that hasn’t come true.”

“The entire Agency folder? How far back did that go?” Tsukauchi wonders.

“Eight years,” groans Midoriya.

Nighteye scoffs. “Hardly a fraction of the time that I’ve been in the Heroics Industry.”

“They didn’t have anything on All Might—I spent about thirty minutes looking for that, specifically. Half of his work was in America, and when he picked up Nighteye-san as a sidekick, he still hadn’t established Might Tower. I think those files are lost to time,” Midoriya says mournfully.

“Never fear, Midoriya-kun. You can ask Sasaki-san any questions you have, now!” Nedzu offers.

“He most certainly cannot,” Nighteye thunders.

“Then I will simply answer any of his queries with my own best guesses!” Nedzu replies. He turns to Midoriya with what he’s pretty sure is an expectant face, though it’s hard to tell because virtually nothing about his murine expression changes.

“I… I just wanted—wanted to know the success rate of, of Foresight. How often is it accurate? How accurate is it? How do you stop yourself from doubting everything about the world around you?”

Nedzu waits a second, clearly allowing Nighteye the chance to respond—which the tall man doesn’t take—before he begins to respond.

“The success rate of Foresight, as far as I know, is one hundred percent! Sasaki-san has never been wrong in a prediction. That means that it is accurate one hundred percent of the time, from available data. Unless Sasaki-san has kept information to himself, which we will only ever be able to speculate at, his Quirk is infallible. As for not doubting the world around you, I believe that Sasaki-san considers himself something of a messenger of God.”

Nighteye twitches, his face spasming.

“When you receive visions the way he does, it would be difficult not to view yourself with the conflated idea that you have been chosen to bestow upon the world the secrets of the future, which Sasaki-san has resisted due to his overwhelming faith in a higher power,” Nedzu says.

Midoriya blinks. He’d never considered that certain Quirks would make people turn to religion. It’s an interesting notion, and he kind of itches with the need to research more cases. Is it more common in people with idiopathic Quirks? In fact, what is the ratio of patients in mental hospitals with certain types of Quirks? Now that would be something to take a look at…

“Oh, please!” Nighteye scoffs aloud, breaking into Midoriya’s thoughts. “That’s a load of erroneous garbage, and you know it, Nedzu. Do not fill the boy’s head with nonsensical ideas of false prophets and perfidious gods.” His stern face curls with a sneer.

Eraser Head huffs again—it must be a laugh—and buries his face into his capture scarf.

“How am I to know your thoughts, Sasaki-san?” Nedzu asks cheerfully. “High Specs allows me to make educated guesses, not perfect reports. Perhaps you should have answered Midoriya-kun’s questions yourself, if you had an opinion on the matter.”

Oh, Nedzu is insidious. Nighteye’s face flattens out unhappily, and he sighs through his nose again. Everyone knows Nedzu has put him in a corner, and he’ll have to either let Midoriya believe that he’s a God-fearing sycophant, or correct Nedzu himself and actually engage with Midoriya.

“I do not believe in God,” Nighteye says, pushing up the bridge of his glasses imperiously.

This intrigues Midoriya. He’s never thought very deeply about religion, but he doesn’t think that he believes in a higher power, either. His mother is Shinto, and a little Buddist, and Midoriya always goes to the shrines with her on Christmas and New Years, but when he prays, he never expects it to come true. It’s a bit like wishing on a star, to him. Any higher power had forsaken him long ago.

Nedzu gives him a funny, knowing look, like he can read Midoriya’s thoughts on his face. Or maybe he said them aloud. Midoriya touches his lips, and hopes not.

“But, you do believe Foresight?” Midoriya asks, turning back to Sir Nighteye.

“Of course,” Nighteye says. “Foresight is absolute. It shows exactly what will happen. It is not a choice to believe—it is a choice to understand inevitably. To ignore it would be foolish.”

Midoriya squints. “I don’t really agree with that. Have you ever tried to stop something from coming true?”

Nighteye looks briefly startled, and then scowls. “No, of course not. My visions are unchangeable. The future is not a moldable, malleable substance that you can change simply by trying.”

“I don’t agree,” Midoriya says simply. “Your ability is a Quirk. You’re not superhuman, or a god. The future is based on the choices we make, and if you try hard enough, I’m sure that you can change it. It’s honestly unbelievable that you’ve never tried to change it, yourself.”

Tsukauchi’s eyebrows are residing somewhere by his hairline. Nedzu looks delighted.

“I hate to agree with him…” Eraser Head says. Midoriya startles.

“Well,” sneers Nighteye, “I assure you, I’ll come to you all for a conversation on the adjustability of the future when you possess a Quirk that allows you to view it.”

Midoriya’s face heats in a blush.

“Now, let’s cease this unnecessary chatter, and address the issue at hand. Shigaraki Tomura infiltrated Yuuei, gathered intel, and escaped with a promise to return at a later date. Have we begun investigating what he took a photograph of?”

Eraser Head nudges a medium-sized manila file sitting on the coffee table.

Midoriya sighs. Hopefully they can figure out what Shigaraki had been searching for, before he gets the chance to use it against them.

Chapter Text

Abandoned poster board outside of the neighborhood konbini, FamilyMart, written by unknown.

Accessed: April 3, 2232.

TRANS RIGHTS ARE HUMAN RIGHTS

Audio clip heard on a radio tuned into the Musutafu Police Force's wavelength, spoken on April 3, 2232, 16:11.

Accessed: April 3, 2232

OFFICER 1: I repeat, there is a large-scale disturbance in front of the FamilyMart.

OFFICER 2: Villain activity?

OFFICER 1: A riot—God, there's got to be a hundred of these freaks.

OFFICER 2: Dispatching Hanako and Nakamura to your location.

OFFICER 1: We're gonna need to block off the streets, before we have vehicular manslaughter on our hands.

OFFICER 2: What is the cause of the disturbance?

OFFICER 1: I think—I think some kind of gay thing. They're yelling something about rights. I don't know, or care.

OFFICER 2: I'm calling it in for whoever's available right now.

OFFICER 1: Damnit.

Captioned clip from Shukan Jitsuwa Jikko Iinkai ’s “LGBT Opinions” broadcast, aired April 3, 2232, 15:00.

Accessed: April 3, 2232.

TSUKI: So, explain to me what went wrong today. The gathering in Musutafu was supposed to be peaceful, right?

PRO-HERO TIGER: Absolutely. The Coalition upholds a strict pacifism rule, especially when we’re doing protests in groups larger than twenty. Today, we were protesting outside of the Denmacho intersection FamilyMart, because they refused to serve a transgender woman in our community last week. We partnered with the seitekishōsūsha group from Musutafu, The Degenerates. I don’t want to blame anyone…

TSUKI: I think we can assume that the issues started with members of The Degenerates.

TIGER: Unfortunately, yes. One of their members was upset that we couldn’t enter the store. I believe a brick was thrown, though I don’t know by whom. The front window of the store shattered. All hell broke loose from there, and I tried to make sure that everyone from The Coalition was getting out safe.

Excerpt from “The Pipeline of Being Born Cursed” by Akutani Kei, published August 5, 2212.

Accessed: April 4, 2232.

“The young boy I spoke with was like a distorted reflection of myself, from a time before I curled into a monster. The look on his face when he used his Quirk hit me, and it was with the force of every blow I’ve ever suffered at the hands of another.

“It was plain; I’d forgotten what it felt like to love my Quirk. To love myself—of which the Quirk is naught but a reflection.

“I went home that night, and cried the way a widow cries on her husband’s deathbed. I cried myself sick, and then cried some more. When had I begun to think of myself the way everyone else had? As I stared into the mirror at my puffy, tear streaked face, I realized that it had been months since I’d been able to look myself in the eye.

“I recall thinking, ‘Forgery did this to me.’

“As if an uncontrollable aspect of my biology were to blame for my misery, rather than the people who hated me for it.”

Excerpt from the Japanese Bureau of Mental Health Statistics website, published January 1, 2232 by unknown.

Accessed: April 4, 2232.

Percentage of 2231 suicides by Fairground Quirk classification*:

Mutation - 81%

Transformation - 10%

Emitter - 9%

Percentage of 2231 suicides by Allard Quirk classification*:

Biological - 32%

Technological - 14%

Idiopathic - 54%

Percentage of 2231 suicides by Garcia Quirk classification*:

Mental - 96%

Physical - 4%

*QUIRKLESS persons excluded. For QUIRKLESS statistics, visit www.quirklessinfo.jp.go

Excerpt from “Nightly News with Neji” published April 5, 2232, 20:00.

Accessed: April 5, 2232.

“At 10:00 hours this morning (April 5, 2232) the notorious Hero-producing Heroics institution, Yuuei High School, was struck by a vicious ambush by an unknown group, claiming the name the League of Villains. However, in an even more shocking turn of events, the illustrious Yuuei High School principal, Principal Nedzu (2217 - current), had prior knowledge of this attack! The proposed plan of the Villains was to attack the first-year Heroics class, class 1-A, in hopes of bringing down Japan’s Number 1 Ranked Hero, All Might. Principal Nedzu did not allow them the chance. Instead, the group was faced with the entire might of the Heroes employed by Yuuei…”

Captioned clip from HeroTube video “YUUEI SIEGE????” by ProHeroChaser, posted April 5, 2232, 16:03.

Accessed: April 5, 2232.

“The only thing that no one is mentioning is the presence of this so-called ‘informant.’ It was in the official Musutafu police statement, but no news source has even made a comment on it. Were they a rat? A Villain who turned themself in for immunity? A suspicious bystander? Whoever they are, they’re the real Hero of this situation. Imagine… imagine what could have happened if the League of Villains had attacked class 1-A.”

On Friday morning, Midoriya’s already-hectic schedule has been upended. Nedzu sent him off the day before with a warning that someone would be there the next day to guide Midoriya to his “personal lesson,” which would be starting early.

He didn’t know he’d be on a bus packed full of keyed-up Heroes, heading straight for the League of Villains.

Nighteye’s head is bent towards Nedzu. Their quiet chatter is drowned out by the rowdy guffawing of the other Heroes on the bus, and no matter how Midoriya strains his ears, he can’t hear a word.

Who’s covering for all of their classes? Every Hero teacher that Midoriya has seen in the halls—and about half a dozen that he’s yet to meet—are crammed onto the bus. In fact, he’s been trying to avoid making eye contact with Eraser Head for the past five minutes. The bus is shaped more like a subway train, with space for standing and gripping overhead bars in the center aisle, and seats that wrap along the length of the vehicle. Across from Midoriya, Eraser Head is slouched into his capture weapon, glaring him down.

Present Mic keeps poking Eraser Head in the shoulder and sighing dramatically. On Mic’s other side, Midnight relaxes with her legs spread wide. Midoriya stares at the back of Nighteye’s head where he sits in a traditional bus seat, and tries not to blush. Eraser Head glares harder.

“Hey, kid!” someone shouts.

As the only person even relatively close to fitting that description, Midoriya looks up. The Blood Hero: Vlad King, leers down at him. He’s in his bright red Hero costume, the silver metal bracer wrapping around his gut shining cleanly, and Midoriya can’t help but say:

“Your costume design hits all the checklist items perfectly!”

Vlad King blinks confusedly. The chatter of the other Heroes dies down, and Midoriya’s face really ought to catch aflame, with how hot his blush is.

“Good application of class material, Midoriya-kun,” Broadcast calls dryly. The white-haired Hero is crammed into the back corner of the bus, behind Power Loader and The Gun Hero: Snipe. A few people titter lightly.

“T-thank you, Sensei, ” Midoriya whispers, mortified.

“So, you’re Management?” Vlad King asks. “I thought Nedzu-sama grabbed you up, after—”

“A-ah, yeah!” Midoriya blurts, before Vlad King can tell an entire bus full of Heroes that he’d hit Midoriya with a car. “I, I am Nedzu-sensei ’s student. I, um, I’m in Support, and Management classes, too.”

Eraser Head scowls, crossing his arms over his chest. Thankfully, he doesn’t make his opinion on Midoriya’s placement any more known than it already is. Midoriya breathes a sigh of relief.

“Wow,” another Hero says. It’s the Steel-Toed Heroine: Lace, in her lilac lolita dress that serves as her Hero costume. She’s the professor of the upper-years’ costume classes, and Midoriya’s mouth wants to throw a thousand questions at her at once. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone outside of Management mention I-C-P.” Her huge, make-up coated eyes blink at Midoriya.

“That’s ‘cause it’s useless,” The Gun Hero: Snipe says. From behind his gas mask, it’s difficult to hear his heavy southern drawl.

“Forget all that,” Vlad King interrupts, waving the words away with his shovel-sized hands before an argument can start up. Midoriya worries his lip between his teeth. How violent do arguments between Professional Heroes get? He’s distracted when Vlad King starts to speak again.

“If you’re Nedzu-sama’s student, should you really be here? Ain’t we putting you right into the line of fire?” Vlad King’s brow furrows.

“I concur,” says the Space Hero: Thirteen. They lean forward, the bulk of their spacesuit costume nearly squashing Recovery Girl. “A battlefield is no place for a young, untrained child.”

“I’m not a child,” Midoriya replies, affronted.

“Sonny, anyone younger than thirty is a child,” Recovery Girl tells him with a threatening jab of her syringe-shaped cane.

“Hey!” complains Present Mic.

“Aww, did the little baby get his feelings hurt?” Midnight simpers. “Only a few more months, Hizashi-kun, and you’ll finally join the adults.”

“Don’t act like you’re so smug. Your thirtieth was last month,” Eraser Head says. Midnight whacks him on the skull with the butt of her flog, and he hisses like an angry cat, rubbing at the spot. “Fuck, Nem. Don’t do that.”

“Don’t mention a woman’s age! It’s rude!” Midnight scolds.

Vlad King rolls his eyes.

“Yes, yes!” chirps Nedzu-sama, popping over the backrest of the bus seat. He clambers quickly onto Nighteye’s shoulder—which the man allows with an impatient click of his tongue—to address the bus. “Midoriya-kun is, in fact, my personal student! We will be bringing him along for several reasons, the great majority of which we will not be disclosing to you! I implore you, my staff and friends, to trust in my ability to predict our aggressor’s actions, and react accordingly. Midoriya-kun will be serving a role that can only be filled by him, and learning a great deal today.”

“P-please take care of me,” Midoriya says stutteringly, and bows to the Heroes.

Midnight gives a little whimper. “Oh, how darling! Midoriya-kun, you really must visit me sometime. I could teach a spry young thing like you a thing or two… about marketability, of course.”

Present Mic laughs. “Don’t go poaching students, Nemuri. I’m sure Broadcast-san will have something to say about that.”

“Well, I do prefer them with more… experience,” Broadcast says with a salacious grin. “I suppose you could have him for now, and pass him on to me, later.”

Midoriya buries his hot face in his hands.

Midoriya was in all the meetings where they decided how to tackle the threat of the League of Villains. He was even allowed to make unofficial recommendations on where to place the Hero staff of Yuuei for maximum impact. (Midoriya is sure that Nedzu could have done it, himself, but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.) However, his involvement didn’t mean that he’d understood everything that Nedzu, Nighteye, Eraser Head, and Detective Tsukauchi talked about.

The seasoned men tended to speak too quickly for Midoriya to catch the nuances of the planning, mentioning documents and legislation, laws, and regulation in such an offhand way that he often missed them and lost the context of the conversation. Refusing to ask for clarification was a prideful thing for Midoriya to do, and it’s biting him in the ass, now.

All across the deserted terrains encapsulated in the Unforeseen Simulation Joint, purple rips began to open up in the fabric of the universe.

“How fascinating,” Nedzu says, delighted. “It’s exactly as you said, Midoriya-kun. Like a ragged hole in the air.”

Nighteye pushes up the bridge of his glasses. “Yes, well, I’d hope for everyone’s sake that the boy was being honest. If not, this plan is going to collapse fairly quickly.”

Midoriya watches in slack-jawed awe as Villain after Villain pours out of the portals. There’s so many of them that his breath is stolen. There’s not one commonality among them, besides the eager looks on their faces. At the foot of the stairs where Midoriya, Nedzu, and Nighteye stand, the largest group filters out. Midoriya swallows nervously.

A hulking beast steps through the portal, like something from a terrifying nightmare. With skin so black that it gleams blue, stretched tight over its bulging, veiny muscles, the creature looks almost disgustingly muscular. On its head, its skullcap is missing. Midoriya can see the gleam of its brain from where he trembles in place.

“That’s not natural,” he gasps.

“Obviously not. Look at the enormity of the thing. It has been enhanced in some way,” Nighteye says.

“No,” Midoriya replies, unable to tear his eyes away, “the skullcap. It’s not normally like that. Look, you can even see…”

“The exposed bone of its skull. Right you are, Midoriya-kun. An incision has been made, and the skull flap removed. Now, tell me, when is the skull flap removed?” Nedzu asks, his paws gripped lightly behind his back. His voice sounds as cheerful and even as ever, but the fur on the nape of his neck stands tall in agitation.

Midoriya, who realizes instantly that Nedzu is trying to make this as informative and calm as possible for him, tries to rein himself in. Fear and adrenaline courses through his veins. His hands shake, and he stills them by gripping the hem of his gray blazer, clenching his jaw to halt a tremor.

“The skull flap is removed during an autopsy, to examine the brain,” Midoriya says. “Is there… is there a Y-incision?” He squints across the length of the plaza at the monster.

“At this distance, all of this is negligible postulation,” Nighteye bites.

“I cannot see any signs from here,” Nedzu says, speaking over Nighteye.

Then, Shigaraki Tomura steps out of the portal. All the idle movement of the Villains halts, like a breath caught in their chests. Silence swallows the USJ.

“Ah…” sighs Shigaraki. “ Midori-chan. You betrayed me.”

Nausea makes Midoriya sway dizzily. All over his body, Shigaraki wears dismembered hands, cut off at the wrists. Their skin is grayed and dead, the fingers curled so they can grip at him posthumously. One on each wrist; one below the elbow; one each around his biceps; one on either shoulder; two clenched around his ribs, bunching the loose fabric of his black long sleeve. One planted over his face, concealing those venomous red eyes.

“Good thing I never trusted you for a second,” Shigaraki says. A grin curls his lips back ferally, exposing his gums. “You NPCs are all the same. I came here for All Might, but it looks like you expected me. Too bad… I wanted the chance to squash out a few Hero-to-bes. I guess I’ll just have to settle for ending your miserable lives.”

This, it seems, sets the Villains off. They begin to converge on the visible Heroes, who unleash their abilities without restraint. Midoriya immediately whips out his notebook and begins taking notes on everything his eyes can see, with no rhyme or reason to the observations.

“Hush, boy,” Nighteye commands tightly.

“It’s alright, Midoriya-kun,” Nedzu says from atop Nighteye’s shoulder. “I want you to act as normally as possible, please. Remember, we’re here to catalog Shigaraki’s reaction to you.”

Midoriya nods. The battle in front of him involves Midnight and Present Mic on either side of the large plaza. Mic has already shredded the ground with a shout, and works from a distance with shorter bursts of sound to take down the Villains who clamber over to him. Midnight, at the base of the staircase, has ripped a tiny tear in her costume. Every Villain that gets close to her is struck with a whiff of Somnambulist, her Quirk, as she twirls acrobatically, and they collapse to the ground. A good pile has amassed before anything more happens.

“You know, Midnight, I’ve never liked you sexy types.” Suddenly, Shigaraki is upon her. It takes only a blink for him to cross the distance from the fountain where he appeared, to the stairs she’s defending. “I think you’re a class of Heroes that can’t get by on fighting like the strong ones. You have to entice us Villains. You rely on our emotions. Our lust. Our love. You toy with people, only to betray them at the last second.” As he speaks, Shigaraki ducks beneath Midnight’s flog, and a vicious kick with her sharpened high heel. “Until Midori-chan, I mostly wrote you off.”

For one moment, his head flicks to Midoriya, who has stilled in his writing to watch.

“Then, he talked up that awful RNG Hero, Broadcast,” says Shigaraki. “How he breaks standards with his so-called Villainous Quirk.” His voice drips derision, and he lands a solid punch to Midnight’s ribs. “You know what I think? I think that anyone who owned a real Villain’s Quirk would never succumb to something as vile as Heroism. It’s a curse, an itch, and I’m going to destroy it. And you know what else? I think Midori-chan had you put here, because you’re the only person who I’d be hesitant to Decay.”

Midnight, as if Shigaraki has cued her, rips the bodice of her costume, and a roll of shimmering pink smoke flows from her skin. Shigaraki leaps back. He spreads his arms dramatically.

“Like I said. That little brat… you’re a Player Character after all, aren’t you?” Shigaraki calls. Midoriya's pencil snaps in his grip. “Don’t worry, Midori-chan. I can forgive you for hiding All Might from me, because now I’ll get to test out my Nomu on all these disgusting Heroes.” He turns to look over his shoulder, at the huge beast. It has been standing statue-still since it walked in. “Nomu, kill Midnight.”

At Shigaraki’s words, the thing disappears. Midnight goes flying, flung like a ragdoll clear over the plaza, and lands with a sickening crunch at the foot of the fountain. In her place, the Nomu stands, one fist outstretched from where he must have punched her.

Horror sweeps through Midoriya.

“No!” he cries, stumbling forward a step. A hand on his shoulder yanks him back—though he doesn’t know where he’d been going—and Nighteye sighs unhappily.

Present Mic, who has raced across the plaza to crouch over Midnight, unleashes a scream at the Nomu that Midoriya hopes he never has to hear again. God, the sound is unholy. Midoriya has to close his eyes against the dizziness of being struck by the echoes of it, planting his feet unsteadily. When Midoriya opens them again, the Nomu convulses on the ground, shrieking, clawing at its head. The beast was struck point-blank with the blast.

As they watch, the bleeding wounds it gouges into its own skin heal. It’s chest rises and falls erratically, but the creature lies still.

“Right,” Shigaraki says. “I thought you Hero-types would probably try to rip my Nomu to shreds, so I gave it Regeneration. That’s all you know how to do, isn’t it? Violence. Death. Destruction. Not much separating us, is there? And you expect us normal people to be better—look at yourself.”

He stands over Present Mic, who lifts his clenched fists. Behind the Hero, Midnight lays in a scarily-expanding pool of blood.

“You’re pitiful. If you’d just brought me All Might, this wouldn’t have been necessary. Violence… it’s a cycle. You hurt me, I hurt you. Only, I don’t like cycles. I fucking hate them, actually. So… Nomu—”

“No!” Midoriya screams. Nighteye’s fingers dig into the stiff fabric of his blazer, but Midoriya tugs against him anyway.

Shigaraki turns.

“Please!” Midoriya cries. “Don’t hurt them! Heroes—”

Then, terror washes over him. His world goes hazy and red. Behind Shigaraki, Present Mic’s mouth opens to unleash that blood-curdling scream again. In the same second that Midoriya yanks out of Nighteye’s grip to trip down the stairs towards Shigaraki, Present Mic’s Quirk tears out of his throat. He's not going to be fast enough. Midoriya has inadvertently distracted Shigaraki, giving Present Mic the opportunity to take a clean, clear shot at the Villain's turned back.

Midoriya leaps down the staircase, hand outstretched in warning.

Dust explodes into the air, and Midoriya misses a step, falling and landing on something sharp-edged. He coughs, struggling to get his feet under him through the vertigo of Voice.

When the dust clears, his heart goes sluggish in his chest. Where Shigaraki had been standing, the Nomu has appeared, just like the instantaneous movement when it had punched Midnight. It’s a wall of black muscle, twitching as it regrows its head from a gory mess of exploded nerves.

Around Midoriya’s waist, Shigaraki’s arms constrict.

“You’re a strange one, Midori-chan. Definitely a Player Character. Look at you, defying your chosen class. Are you thinking of switching to Villain?” Shigaraki talks, his breath warm on Midoriya’s scalp. One by one, his fingers settle around Midoriya’s throat. Only the thumb is left hovering in the air. Midoriya's back burns where it's pressed against the severed hands that grip Shigaraki's chest.

“Shigaraki,” Midoriya breathes, every nerve twanging and trembling.

“Did you make this level for me?” Shigaraki asks.

Midoriya doesn't know what to do. He's trapped himself, now, away from his protectors. Perhaps Vlad King and Thirteen had been right to protest his presence in this battle. Clearly, Midoriya can't handle himself when someone is in danger—even when that someone is a Villain.

“I… I helped create it,” Midoriya says, finally. He’s facing away from Nedzu and Nighteye, but he can see Present Mic’s pinched face.

“You’re learning from that chimera, aren’t you?” Shigaraki’s voice is delighted. “Sensei didn’t say anything about meeting another Player Character.” Sensei... Shigaraki must mean All For One. Midoriya bites his lip bloody. “How do I request you on my team? That Midnight thing was a smart move—you should have briefed her on the Quest, though. She could have blasted me with that Quirk of hers a dozen times over, before she tried.”

There's a dragging moment of silence, where Midoriya can only hear Shigaraki’s rasping breaths. “Why do you want to destroy All Might?” Midoriya asks. He can’t help it. From here, he can see the angle of Midnight’s leg, where she landed on it. Shattered femur, for sure.

“You might as well ask why the sky is blue,” Shigaraki tells him, annoyed. “He makes me itch. They all do—all these Heroes. They think they’re so much better than us. Society puts them on a pedestal, and we just accept it when they beat us down. All the shit that they preach is fake. They don’t help anyone. Violence begets violence, Midori-kun. The only way to end the cycle, to be rid of that itch, is to destroy them all. I don’t like them.”

Shigaraki’s free hand reaches up from around Midoriya's stomach, and he starts clawing at his own throat.

“But—but… they do help some people,” Midoriya whispers.

“Not you,” Shigaraki says simply. “Not me. Sure as hell not the people that really need it. They “help” when it’ll get them fame, or money. That’s not heroism. That’s a money-grubbing bitch. Like whores, they’ll chase the highest yen sign that flashes their way. At least a prostitute admits that they’re doing it for money.” Shigaraki throws his head back and laughs like the cry of a raven. “Imagine that. A whore, saying she got down on her knees for the good of humanity.”

Midoriya can’t stop staring at Midnight.

“Don’t worry, Midori-chan. Once I defeat All Might, the rest will follow. Then, you can join me and not worry about shit like Quirks and Heroes.” Shigaraki caresses Midoriya's throat with a swoop of those deadly fingers, and goosebumps raise along his freckled skin.

“But…” he’s breathless. Anxiety churns in his gut. “They’re people, too. Just like you and me. They’re imperfect.”

Shigaraki stills. “If they’re imperfect, then why do they get to walk around calling themselves Heroes? Don’t speak in circles, Midori-chan. Either they’re Heroes because they’re better, or they’re human like the rest of us and they shouldn’t have the title.”

Tears well in Midoriya’s eyes. He’s frustrated, and afraid. His fists clench at his sides.

“That’s not fair,” Midoriya says. “They may not all be the best, but at least they’re trying to help! You’re killing people who put their lives on the line for others—whether they have good intentions or not.”

Shigaraki makes a contemplative sound. Without a second of warning, he spins Midoriya in his arms, his hand brushing so lightly across the surface of Midoriya’s blazer that it surprises him when it drifts into dust on his white button-up. He can look up beneath the hand covering Shigaraki’s face, like this.

“Sometimes, Midori-chan, you have to spill blood to get the message across. How many of these Heroes do you think it’ll take for All Might to show up?”

As the Nomu begins to move towards Present Mic, the doors to the USJ burst open. Sunlight shines down on them, blinding Midoriya.

“Have no fear,” All Might booms, silhouetted against the burning light, “for I am here.”

Chapter Text

Excerpt from “Heroics Divisions 101” published by the Hero Public Safety Commission, January 1, 2205.

Accessed: April 5, 2232.

“There are four divisions of the Japanese Heroics industry. The Professional Hero’s officially designated division will be listed on their HPSC-issued license (Image 23). These divisions were put in place with the inclusion of Hero Agencies in the Rhode Island New State Statute, to delineate the chain of command during international exchange programs. The four divisions are as listed below:

Battle Heroics

Evacuation Heroics

Rescue Heroics

Intelligence Heroics

All Hero Agencies are required to file under the division that more than 50% of their employed Professional Heroes are designated. (For more information, view the HPSC Hero Agency Guide to Filing Taxes.) Individual ranking ceremonies are held for each division. To avoid confusion, please double check the official HPSC-issued invitation for instructions.”

Excerpt from “Unevolved Buddies ;)))”

Accessed: April 5, 2232.

anonymous-user : are heroes supposed to help us?

Excerpt from “QUIRKLESS Statistics” from www.quirklessinfo.jp.go , published January 1, 2232 by unknown.

Accessed: April 5, 2232.

Number of QUIRKLESS suicides in 2232 out of total population:

1,000,847 / 10,000,173

Number of QUIRKLESS suicides in 2231 out of total population:

8,761,114 / 14,002,865

Number of QUIRKLESS suicides in 2230 out of total population:

8,409,932 / 25,768,112

When Midoriya walks into his house Friday afternoon, he’s unsurprised to find a pair of shoes already waiting in the genkan. Kacchan’s combat boots stare up at him gloomily, slumped and beaten into submission. Midoriya can relate.

“Kacchan, what are you doing here?” Midoriya puts a hand to his temple, trying to soothe the headache brewing behind his eyes.

“Is Obasan Inko ever home anymore? And where the hell were you today?” Kacchan’s throaty, accusing voice calls.

Kacchan lounges across the sofa in Midoriya’s living room, his feet propped up on the arm, a textbook across his lap. He closes it when he sees Midoriya looking. He curls his face into a snarl, but it’s lacking the usual malice that Midoriya cowers away from. Probably because Midoriya can’t even muster up a little fear of him, at the moment.

The devil you know, versus the devil you don’t, right?

Kacchan is a familiar pain, like a long-healed fracture that throbs every once in a while to remind you that it’s there, and not to make the same stupid mistake again. Shigaraki is like falling off a cliff, not knowing if you’re going to hit water or stone.

“I was… busy,” Midoriya says. His head gives a violent throb.

“Don’t try that fake ass shit with me,” Kacchan spits. “You were at the USJ, weren’t you? Even Eraser Head’s bum-ass was gone today, and he’s the laziest Hero I’ve ever seen.”

“Kacchan is in Eraser Head-san’s class?” Midoriya perks up marginally. He sets his backpack on the floor, too exhausted to keep carrying it. Everything today has settled into his skin; a lead weight that drags his feet when he walks. “He doesn’t like me much, but he’s very strong. I placed him in the avalanche zone, since his Quirk could really only prevent injury there, and put him in the least danger…”

“So you were there!” Kacchan says, lunging to his feet. Midoriya startles back a step.

“Y-yeah,” Midoriya says. He wishes he’d kept holding his backpack so he could cradle it to his chest. Instead, he crosses his arms tightly, shoving his fists into his armpits. “I’m… I’m Nedzu-sensei ’s personal student. Where he goes, I go.”

Kacchan gives him an ugly smile. “You sure he’s not just trying to get rid of your good-for-nothing ass? Seems to me like if I wanted to kill a kid off quick, I’d stick ‘em in the first battlefield I could find.”

Midoriya swallows. For a moment, the thought rattles around loosely in his head. Does Principal Nedzu want me gone? Then, a memory rises to the surface of his mind, like a great wave cresting over the sand to washing away the lingering kelp.

After All Might had torn Shigaraki’s arms off of Midoriya, and gone toe-to-toe with the monstrous Nomu, and Snipe had splattered the ground with Shigaraki’s blood, Midoriya had sat. He watched as Midnight was taken out by a team of medics, her body sprawled on a stretcher. Tears poured down his face, one trickling drop at a time. His fingers twisted and tugged at his lumpy, lopsided tie, constricting his throat and releasing. Constricting and releasing.

Timidly, tenderly, a soft paw wiped a path through the wetness on his cheek.

Principal Nedzu stood a few steps above where Midoriya sat, so their faces were level. His solid black eyes were expressionless, but something about the tilt of his head, or maybe the angle of his ears, made him look heart-wrenchingly sad.

Midoriya offered him a wobbly smile. “I’m—I’m alright.”

“You know, the first time I watched someone get hurt in front of me and I couldn’t help, I had a much worse reaction,” Nedzu said. Unwillingly, Midoriya glanced at the scar over Nedzu’s right eye. The only sign of his captivity.

Midoriya buried his head in his hands. “It’s awful,” he said, his voice a choked whisper. “I hate being so powerless.”

Nedzu petted his hair gently. “That’s how I know that you’re already a better Hero than many out there, today. Keep learning, Midoriya-kun. Keep getting stronger. One day, you’ll be able to save the people that you can’t, now.”

Midoriya looks up at Kacchan.

“You know, I really think he likes me,” he says, and falls into the armchair that no one ever sits in. It’s surprisingly comfortable.

Kacchan huffs and sits back down on the sofa. His homework is half-done on the coffee table, hidden behind the green sea glass centerpiece. He’s got a cup of water that Midoriya usually uses for soda.

“It’s been a really long time since you’ve been here, Kacchan,” Midoriya says. His eyes slip closed, and he lets the strangeness of the situation roll off his back. Everything about today has been strange—what’s one thing more?

Kacchan grunts. “Nothin’ of interest was here, ‘til now.”

Midoriya is too tired to work out the implications of that statement. He lists sideways on the armchair, curling his knees to his chest. He can hear Kacchan reopen his textbook, and shift around on the sofa. Kacchan lets out a soft, tired sigh. In Midoriya’s chest, something that has been missing clicks into place.

Tears slip down his cheeks, and he lets them soak into the coarse fabric of the armchair unashamedly.

“Kacchan, have you ever heard of a man named Shigaraki?”

Kacchan grunts. He’s like Eraser Head in that way, only Midoriya actually understands him.

“He’s the one who broke into Yuuei on Tuesday. And he was the one who brought the Villains to the USJ, today,” Midoriya says. He doesn’t say he wants me on his team, or some of the things he says make me question society, or he thought I was made for him.

Kacchan must hear something in his tone, though. “Deku,” he says, slowly. “When I came here on Tuesday, you were late. Wednesday and Thursday, we rode the bus back at the same time.”

Had they? Midoriya hadn’t seen Kacchan—though he has been rather preoccupied by researching all kinds of terrains and the effectiveness of certain types of Quirks in them, to help complete his assignment from Principal Nedzu. He uses his time on the bus to write notes, usually.

“Yeah, that’s ‘cause I was the one who saw him,” Midoriya says. He keeps his eyes closed. He doesn’t want to hear how useless and stupid he is, or how his luck is bound to run out. In fact, he doesn’t really know why he’d told Kacchan in the first place. It’s just that—

“Is that why your wrist was all fucked up?” Kacchan asks. “I thought it was pretty early for anyone else to have found out—you’re smart enough for that, ” he says. “But you had that ugly ass bruise around your wrist. Yeah, don’t think I don’t notice everything, asshole.”

A small smile worms its way onto Midoriya’s face.

“Yeah, that’s where the bruise came from. I was kind of… a hostage? Nedzu-sensei said Shigaraki held me hostage, I guess.”

“‘Course you were. Deku.”

“I don’t wanna talk about that,” Midoriya says, plaintively. He doesn’t want to remember that fear again, because then he’ll start thinking about the mark on the ground that Midnight’s body left, and how Nedzu still hasn’t updated him on her status.

“Well, then don’t,” Kacchan says. “Dumbass.”

They sit in silence for a moment. Kacchan turns the page in his textbook. Scribbles something on his paper. Midoriya breathes in the smell of nitroglycerin, and wonders how long it’s been since he smelled it without the undertone of ash and fire.

“Shigaraki looks kind of like Broadcast-sensei ,” Midoriya says nonsensically.

“Who the hell is Broadcast?” Kacchan asks.

“I forgot that you guys missed the entrance ceremony. Nedzu-sensei really should make it mandatory—everyone is so confused all the time. The Suggestive Hero: Broadcaster teaches my Introduction to Costume Production class.”

“They seriously let that guy be a teacher?”

Midoriya laughs. “They let Midnight teach you guys, right? I don’t have Art History, so I never see her.” He shudders, remembering her lying on the ground.

“Yeah,” says Kacchan. “But she mostly talks about how nudity didn’t become a taboo until Britain spread their shit ideas everywhere.”

“That sounds like her.” Midoriya really hopes she’s okay. He thinks Present Mic and Eraser Head would be really sad to not have her at Present Mic’s thirtieth birthday party.

“What the hell do you know about Present Mic’s thirtieth birthday party?” Kacchan asks. “How do you even know that’s a thing? And what does Hobo-sensei have to do with it?”

Midoriya laughs.

On Monday morning, Midoriya actually sees Kacchan on the bus. He doesn’t do anything different than usual, but he still feels like he can sense Kacchan’s eyes on him as he reviews the sketches he and Hatsume are using to design their prototypes. When he gets into class 1-H, she nearly tackles him.

He grins up at her. “You know, I’m starting to get the hang of not falling when you do that!”

“Do what?” Hatsume asks. Then, before Midoriya can respond, she’s twirling them towards their desk in what could almost be a dance if it were less clumsy on both ends. “I totally missed you on Friday—I’m glad you texted, or else I would have freaked for sure. I’ve got big things planned for you today, Super-Nerd. All kinds of wiring needs sorting and taping.” Her eyes crinkle with her smile, and she holds her thumb and pointer finger close together in front of Midoriya’s nose. “Teeny-tiny screws are gonna be your job, ‘kay? You’re good at the details. And, I’ll even let you paint it when we’re finished!”

“Finished with which baby?” he asks, looking down at the jumble of copper wiring littering the desk. He’s no Support genius, so it all looks like a bunch of spare parts until Hatsume slides them into the right places for him.

“Well, we started with Sonic Wave, so that one is all put together and ready to be polished,” she says. “The hover boots are coming along great, but I was having trouble with the airflow intake. The soles started melting after a couple minutes, and I’m not too sure what to do with that, yet. Let me think.” Hatsume taps her chin, throwing herself into her chair so abruptly that the thing nearly topples over into the desk behind theirs. “The jetpack is going to need a lot of work. That’s the one that I was going to start with today—what’s the next one in the emitter-type binder?”

Midoriya unearths his binders from beneath the wires. “Looks like Lace-san’s Quirk. I can’t read your handwriting here—what’s it called?”

“Oh, right!” Hatsume yanks the binder from his hands. “The Jellyfish Capture!”

The design sketch starts to make sense to Midoriya. Hatsume’s drawing shows a circular strap of some kind, with a large button in the middle. Attached to the strap, she’d drawn a length of coiled material that reminds Midoriya of both the Steel-Toed Heroine: Lace’s Quirk, Spider Silk, and Eraser Head’s capture weapon. It’s some kind of extendable, retractable material that could be used in a whip-like manner to ensnare a target.

“That’s so cool!” Midoriya bursts. “You know, someone like the Rabbit Hero: Miruko would totally benefit from something like this. She could grab the target from a distance, and use the momentum to give them a super hard kick!” Midoriya smacks his fist into his palm.

“I know, right?! I was thinking of making them out of something durable, but I want a lot of flexibility, too.”

“Do you think we could get Lace-san to give us some of her Quirk material?” Midoriya asks, bouncing in his seat eagerly. “Her Spider Silk would be perfect, right? It’s thin, flexible, and basically unbreakable. We’d have to probably braid it by hand, to make sure that it can actually catch stuff, but—”

Hatsume catches Midoriya by the shoulders and shakes him like a snowglobe.

“Super-Nerd, you have the best ideas!” Then, she smashes his face into her cleavage and tries to suffocate him with her muscular arms.

“Can’t—breathe!” Midoriya gasps, struggling to resurface. She shoves him back into his chair, and makes a shooing motion with her hands.

“Go, go ask Sensei for the material requisitions form and fill it out, quick!”

Midoriya spends his first class filling out forms for Hatsume, and watching over her shoulder as she welds panels of the jetpack together. Eventually, she sits him down at their workbench and sets him on wrapping all the wires that will connect the engines to the buttons on the handles—the tedious stuff, as Hatsume calls it. Midoriya doesn’t mind. It feels like he’s actually contributing to the project. By the end of the month, he’s sure they’ll get the best grades and have the best demonstrations.

Power Loader-sensei does catch the class’s attention before the period is over, though. He announces that the annual Yuuei Sports Festival is only three weeks away—coinciding with the deadline of their first project—and that participation is voluntary. He waves a sign up sheet that he tacks to a bulletin board on the wall by the door.

“Are you going to participate, Hatsume-san?” Midoriya asks. He carefully sorts the lengths of wires Hatsume is clipping, placing them into plastic baggies.

“Duh!” she says, setting her wire cutters down. Hatsume pushes her safety goggles to the top of her head so she can peer closer at Midoriya. “We’ve got to show off our babies, somehow, right? Do you know how many Support scouts will be in the audience? Not to mention all the Heroes who want a Support item that hasn’t been invented, yet. We’ve got to show off everything we have.” Determination flares in her, and she grips Midoriya tightly. “I’ll make it all the way to the end, if that’s what it takes to get sponsors.”

“That’s awesome, Hatsume-san,” Midoriya says. “I want to participate, but I’m not sure if I can make it on my own. Against all the Hero kids, I can’t imagine I’ll last very long.”

She just grins wider. “Super-Nerd, what the heck is that big brain for, if not to make a plan on how to get stronger?” Hatsume cocks her head. “And anyway, isn’t that why Purple-kun hangs around you, in the first place?”

His mouth falls open. “Oh my God, you’re right!”

Hatsume cackles, and kicks at his legs as the bell rings. “Better get to work, then.”

Midoriya slams a notebook down on Shinsou’s desk. He startles awake, blinking blearily up at Midoriya.

“Wha’s up,” he says muzzily, wiping a line of drool from his face.

“How are you already drooling? The passing period is only ten minutes!” Midoriya shakes his head. “Nevermind that, I have a question for you!”

Shinsou stares at him emptily.

“You’re trying to get into the Hero course the same way Eraser Head-san did, right? You want to win the Sports Festival, and make Principal Nedzu-sensei transfer you out of Gen. Ed.” Midoriya taps his notebook aggressively.

“Yeah, of course,” Shinsou says, sitting up more firmly. “What do you have for me?”

“Do you train—at all? Anything?” Midoriya asks. He squints at Shinsou.

“Uh, not really, I guess.”

Midoriya picks up Shinsou’s limp arm, and holds it side by side with his own. Shinsou’s pale, sunless skin peeks out from under the edge of his blazer, and Midoriya can see the frailty of their wrists. Shinsou’s looks even thinner than Midoriya’s, which might be because Shinsou eats so little, sleeps even less, and has about ten centimeters on Midoriya.

“We’re going to get crushed,” Midoriya says grimly. “The average bicep measurement of the Hero course males is thirty centimeters, excluding the guys with transformation and mutation Quirks. We’d barely break thirty if you put both our arms together.”

Shinsou takes his arm back. “So, what, stalker? You think I’m weak?”

“I think we’re weak, and they’re going to kill us if we don’t change that. They do daily athletic training, and probably have been since before they even got into Yuuei. Remember the entrance exam?” Midoriya’s brows draw low. “I couldn’t get a single point, and not just because I didn’t have a Quirk. I wasn’t fast enough, or strong enough to destroy a bot.”

Shinsou scowls, but doesn’t say anything. Midoriya figures it was probably the same for him. He taps the notebook again, and slides it forward so that Shinsou can read the title.

Training for the Future, Vol. 1

“Come on, Shinsou-kun.” Midoriya leans forward, catching Shinsou’s gaze and holding it. “Train with me, so we can both get strong enough to help people!”

There’s a second of stunned silence where Shinsou just gapes at him, his purple eyes wide.

“Midoriya-kun, may I begin class now?” Ectoplasm calls. Midoriya shoots bolt-upright, and slings himself into his seat, his face on fire. The class laughs.

“Yes, Sensei, sorry, Sensei!” he cries, bowing so that his forehead smacks into his desk.

Ectoplasm chuckles, and begins lecturing. Shinsou turns around, slides the notebook onto Midoriya’s desk, and mouths, talk at lunch.

At lunch, their usual booth against the wall is taken. Shinsou navigates Midoriya and Hatsume to a booth in the middle row, and they set their trays of spicy curry down before settling in.

Midoriya doesn’t even have time to open his mouth before he’s being shoved over. His shoulder slams into Hatsume, and she falls right out the other side and onto the floor, taking the table down with her. There’s an uproarious clatter as every dish on the table goes flying, porcelain shattering and rice going in all possible directions, and some directions that Midoriya didn’t think were possible, too.

He presses both hands over his face.

“Oh my God,” Shinsou says, holding his tray above his head. “That was glorious.”

“Hatsume-san, are you okay?” Midoriya peeks anxiously over the side of the bench to see her wiping rice off her face. She looks mostly unscathed, and she’s got a giant, scary grin on her face.

“I am so sorry,” Monoma Neito says. When Midoriya turns to look at him, he’s got his lips pressed together like he’s trying not to laugh. “I swear, I didn’t mean for that to happen. Scout’s honor.”

Midoriya blinks in shock, and about a dozen new voices pipe up, calling out to them. Several students come over to help clean up the mess, putting Hatsume back to rights and offering to replace their spoiled food. Sometimes being in a Heroics school has great benefits. By the end of the whole thing, Midoriya has a new plate of curry, Hatsume is sitting on Shinsou’s side of the booth, and Monoma has lost the battle against laughing.

“Alright, now that lunch has officially started,” Shinsou says, chewing, “what’s this grand plan of yours to get me to win, oh great Super-Nerd?”

“Win?” asks Monoma, interested. He takes Midoriya’s right hand in his, interlacing their fingers with a pleased hum. Midoriya sighs and switches his chopsticks to his left hand with difficulty. “Win what?”

“The Sports Festival, obviously,” Shinsou says.

Monoma tosses his head back and gives a full-bellied derisive cackle, like it’s the funniest thing he’s heard all day.

“Right, and I’m the Prime Minister,” says Monoma.

Midoriya ignores him. “I have the start of a plan, but you’re going to have to do most of the work.”

“Think I’m afraid to put in a little elbow grease? Just tell me, already.” Shinsou narrows his eyes.

“Have you ever heard of Dagobah beach?”

“That trash heap?” Monoma says. He raises a blond eyebrow disdainfully.

“Dagobah has tons of great material for babies,” Hatsume stays, pointing at Midoriya with her chopsticks. “If you ever get adventurous about Support, that’s the place to strip for parts.”

“Babies?” Monoma asks.

Midoriya ignores him again. “We’re going to clean it up. Think about how great it’ll be for weight training! And, I’m pretty sure I’ve got a wagon buried somewhere that we can use to transport the junk to the dump. And, I was thinking about morning runs. I don’t know where you live, but near me, high schoolers are always out in the mornings jogging around.”

Shinsou makes a face. “Yeah, they don’t do that where I live. But I guess I could catch an early train to your place… but when are we supposed to do the trash collection crap? Your schedule is insane.”

“Ooh, let me come!” Hatsume says. “I want first pick of all those awesome free parts!”

“Don’t ignore me,” Monoma snarls, tugging on Midoriya’s arm meanly. He lists to the side, his cheek hitting Monoma’s shoulder squarely.

“Ow,” Midoriya groans.

“There’s no way you guys are going to win the Sports Festival,” he says haughtily. “1-B is going to win, and put those class 1-A bastards in their place.”

“There’s like a hundred students competing, asshole,” Shinsou says. “1-B can’t take every spot. It’s literally not possible.”

“If you want to train with us, just say so,” Midoriya tells him grumpily, rubbing at his sore cheek. “It’s not like you have a physical Quirk, either.”

“Leave my Quirk out of this!”

“Oh, shove off,” Shinsou bites. “The whole reason we need to train in the first place is because we don’t have physical Quirks. You’re not special. And if you don’t want me to steal the spot right out from under your ass, I suggest you work hard to keep it.”

Monoma glares, but doesn’t say anything.

“Actually,” Hatsume says, her chopsticks sneakily trying to take rice off of Monoma’s plate, “I heard that 1-A has a vacancy, already.”

“Ha!” Monoma shouts. “I knew they sucked!”

“Really?” Midoriya asks, interest perked. “Kacchan didn’t say anything about Eraser Head-san expelling anyone. I wonder what happened…”

“Eraser Head?” Shinsou demands.

“Kacchan?” Monoma repeats, his face scrunching in confusion.

“Yup,” Hatsume says, “expelled on the third day of class. No clue why, but apparently the entire 1-A class was expelled last year, and didn’t get replaced. The second year teachers all had to be shuffled around because of it, since some of them didn’t have any classes to teach.”

“Eraser Head teaches 1-A,” Midoriya tells Shinsou. “I can’t believe I didn’t tell you. Though I guess I had a lot on my mind.”

Monoma tugs his arm again, more gently this time. “Who’s Kacchan?”

“Kacchan is a guy I went to middle school with. Well, actually, I’ve known him since I was born. Our mothers went to college together, and got pregnant at the same time. He’s in class 1-A.” Midoriya cranes his neck, searching for Kacchan. Across the cafeteria, a girl with pink skin launches a ball of rice into the air, and a dark-haired boy with large elbows leaps up to catch it in his mouth like a dog. “There, you see? The blond, next to the redhead.”

“With the streak in his hair?” Monoma asks, squinting.

“No, no, that’s someone else. Sandy blond, but not quite as blond as you. Like wheat stalks, or uncooked dough. And he’s got red eyes, see? Undone tie, too. And those shoes.” Midoriya rolls his eyes. “I need to tell Obasan Mitsuki about the state of Kacchan’s poor shoes, before they fall right off his feet.”

Midoriya glances up from his plate to see three pairs of eyes fastened on him.

“What?”

Shinsou smirks. “Nothing to worry your pretty little head about.”

“Someone’s attached,” mutters Monoma. “And, fair warning, I don’t care if you’re in love with him, I’m going to squash him like a bug in the Sports Fest.”

“What?!” squawks Midoriya. “I’m not in love with Kacchan!”

Hatsume blinks. “Are you sure? I could have sworn…”

Midoriya’s arms flail, and he tugs Monoma’s arm with him accidentally. “No, no way! Never let Kacchan hear you say that—he might seriously kill me! Oh my God, he would.” Midoriya goes bloodless. “Is that why he always exploded me when I started muttering about his Quirk? Did people think I was in love with him? Oh my God.”

“Exploded you?” Monoma asks.

“This is the first I’m hearing about this,” Shinsou says.

“Unimportant!” Midoriya yelps. “I'm not in love with Kacchan, and he's definitely not in love with me.” He shovels the last of his curry into his mouth as the other occupants of the table exchange glances.

“Yeah, whatever,” says Shinsou. “You never answered me. When are we supposed to clean the beach?”

Midoriya swallows his bite. “I was thinking after school—but then I remembered that my lessons go way longer than yours.” He bites his lip. “I don’t want you to just be waiting around for me forever…”

Monoma looks intrigued. “What extra lessons do you have? I thought Management left at the same time as Gen. Ed.”

Hatsume cackles. “Super-Nerd isn’t Management!”

“Huh?” Monoma hauls Midoriya forward by the arm to peer at his blazer’s shoulder pad, stretching out his arm to see the cuff, at the same time.

At Yuuei, the blazers delineate which course the student is a member of. Heroics students only have a single golden button on the inner shoulder of their blazer, with one thick stripe and one thin stripe around their cuff. Support has two buttons on the outer edge of the shoulder, and three stripes on the cuff, while Gen. Ed. has one thick stripe and two buttons with a space in between. Management has four stripes and three buttons.

Midoriya’s uniform is custom-made. His shoulder pad has a single gold button on the outer edge, with four stripes on the cuff, all of which are open on the inner seam of his arm, like incomplete circles.

“I’ve never actually looked at your uniform,” Shinsou says, eyes lingering on Midoriya’s cuff.

“Bah,” says Hatsume, waving it away, “it looks like any other uniform. I would have given him a gun, or something cool like a laser. Or a nice patch with Nedzu-sama’s face on it.” She looks contemplative.

“What the hell does this mean?” Monoma asks, baffled. He plucks at the shoulder pad, and runs his fingers over the cuff curiously.

“I’m, ah, I’m Principal Nedzu-sama’s personal student,” Midoriya tells him, blush suffusing his freckled cheeks.

Monoma pulls back to stare at Midoriya’s face. He turns to Shinsou and Hatsume and says, “Seriously?”

Shinsou shrugs. Hatsume nods eagerly, like a bobble-head. She’s managed to scoot Monoma’s plate all the way to her side of the table, somehow.

“You can’t be for real,” Monoma says, his voice blank. “Principal Nedzu-sama’s personal student is designing my costume?”

Midoriya blushes harder.

Suddenly, a huge grin stretches across Monoma’s cheeks. He squeezes their clasped hands, holding them up to his smiling face. It’s not a particularly nice smile, but Midoriya gives a wobbly one in return.

“Class 1-A is going to riot when they find out that the principal’s personal student is on 1-B’s side,” he says. “Midoriya-kun, you absolutely must come with us tomorrow to scout the competition! We were planning to ambush 1-A before lunch, and do a whole war-declaration thing to intimidate the competition.”

Shinsou cocks an eyebrow at this. “You know, that’s funny. I was thinking of doing the exact same.”

Hatsume throws her weight into Shinsou’s side. “I wanna come! I haven’t had a good chance to take a look at the Hero students and see if they use any important gear—”

Midoriya gasps. “That’s so smart, Hatsume-san! It would be so obvious, and we might even be able—”

“—to make it!” they say together.

“The look on Power Loader-sensei ’s face,” Hatsume says, a vindictive light in her eye.

“Imagine taking out the competition with their own Support item!” Midoriya crows. “That would sure make a mark, wouldn’t it?”

Hatsume lunges over the table, looping her arms around Midoriya’s neck in a stranglehold. She squeals in his ear, her pink dreads mixing into his curly green hair.

“Oh, we have to go! It’ll be the best!”

Monoma leans into Midoriya and says, smug satisfaction coating his words, “Then it’s settled. Tomorrow, we crush 1-A’s spirit.”

“Hey,” Shinsou drawls. “I want an answer sometime this year, Midoriya.”

Once he extricates himself from both Hatsume and Monoma’s clutches, he shoots Shinsou a beaming smile.

“I’ll ask Nedzu-sensei what he thinks!”

It turns out, there’s very little time for Midoriya to ask Nedzu anything. The escape of Shigaraki Tomura and the capture of the Nomu are far more important than training schedules, and Nedzu has Midoriya working down to the very last minute of their time together, devising a change to the electromagnetic field around Yuuei that could prevent the warp Quirk from activating.

He also tells Midoriya that, ever since Shigaraki turned the front gate to dust, he’s been working on making the school less susceptible to area-of-effect Quirks that work on the ground. Midoriya isn’t sure what he means, but he thinks that Nedzu will probably explain later, when the plans are more concrete. Nedzu tells Midoriya that they will be taking a trip the next day to the Musutafu police station, where the Nomu is being held.

“Detective Tsukauchi-san has given me some very worrying preliminary reports,” says Nedzu, his paws pressed together contemplatively in front of his snout. “I would like to investigate them myself, and I could use your Quirk expertise.”

When Midoriya tries to protest any “expertise,” Nedzu gives him a flat look until he quiets.

“Midoriya-kun, you are the holder of several secrets that are a matter of national security. Were you not something of an expert in many things, I would not have even considered providing you with the information. In fact, there are things that I have yet to divulge to you, simply because I believe they are beyond your current comprehension level. It is my job to guide you onto the path of greatness, so that I may one say share these things with you.” Nedzu smiles a little bit. Just a flash of teeth, really. “If you ever fail to meet my expectations, I will inform you immediately.”

Midoriya shudders in his seat. “Yes, Sensei. ”

They switch topics, not wasting a moment. When the end of the school day comes, Midoriya gathers his notebooks and his courage.

“Um, Sensei? ”

“Yes, Midoriya-kun?”

“I was wondering… ah, Shinsou-kun and I want to start training, um, physically, that is, for the Sports Festival. I’m not really sure how to make it work with our schedules.”

“How interesting!” Nedzu chirps. “I assume you mean Shinsou Hitoshi, of class 1-C? What physical training do you have in mind for yourselves?”

“Ah, well, Shinsou-kun and I lack strength and endurance. He’s hoping to transfer into Heroics by winning the Sports Festival, like Eraser Head-san, but I thought that it might be difficult if he can’t physically compete. Quirk over-reliance is a huge issue in modern Heroes, and Shinsou-kun’s Quirk isn’t a physical enhancer, so it won’t help him win that way. I, I was thinking that we could do some community service, too, and clear out Dagobah beach for weight lifting, and do runs before school in the morning?” It comes out as a question.

Nedzu hums. “Both of those are excellent ways to improve physical fitness, Midoriya-kun. Getting your day started with a run can also improve circadian rhythm, and produces dopamine. I caution you to be careful with lifting the garbage at Dagobah, and not to fall into bad lifting postures due to the awkwardness of the shape of the trash. It may do more harm than good, at that point.” He places a paw beneath his chin. “But I notice you have not included any kind of physical contact between you and Shinsou-kun.”

“What do you mean, Sensei?” Midoriya asks, sliding the straps of his backpack onto his shoulders.

“A large component of the Heroics industry is fighting, no matter which division you fall into. All Heroes are expected to be able to battle their way out of a predicament, physical Quirk or not. Take Recovery Girl, for example. She is a Rescue Hero, with a healing Quirk, yet I am sure you could list several instances in which she fought in the prime of her career.”

Midoriya nods. He thinks of the televised hostage incident, where Recovery Girl was called in to heal the hostage and then attacked by the negotiator, and how she used her cane to pin the Villain in place by her hand while paramedics removed the hostage.

Nedzu grins. “I believe that it would greatly benefit you to spar with Shinsou-kun, or to at least play a contact sport with him. Learning how to move your body, and endure a punch is extremely important.”

“That’s a great idea!” Midoriya says, eyes wide. “But…” he despairs slightly, brow crumpling. “When are we supposed to do that? We’re both so busy!”

“Why not allow Shinsou-kun to begin cleaning while you’re here for your lessons, and simply join him when we’re finished? Then, he can take a break and spar with you. After that, he can leave if he needs, and you can begin cleaning,” Nedzu offers.

Midoriya beams. “Perfect! Thanks, Sensei!”

“Plus ultra, Midoriya-kun!”

“Plus ultra!”

Chapter Text

Flyer posted on a telephone pole, made by unknown.

Accessed: May 2, 2232.

BEWARE OF THE HERO-KILLER

HE WILL STRIKE AGAIN SOON

Excerpt from “Quirks of the Modern Ages” by Christine Jacobs, published July 2, 2215.

Accessed: May 3, 2232.

“Quirks of Flight have never been few or far-between. In fact, some of the earliest recorded Quirks in our society were physical enhancers that allowed for humans to be airborne. Nowadays, Flight Quirks are about as rare as apples at the grocery store. As always, airborne combat is an advantage over most other mammals, so people with this ability have greater maneuverability in general, but they are not without their drawbacks. Ever noticed what else is in the sky? Not much. Flight Quirks are an easy way to make yourself an enormous target for attacks.

“If you’re in possession of one, this author’s biggest recommendation is to learn how to dodge in midair!”

Captioned clip from Nippon Hōsō Kyōkai’s “General TV” broadcast, aired on May 3, 2232, 06:57.

Accessed: May 3, 2232.

SATO: We wish a very hearty good luck to all the first-year competitors of the annual Yuuei Sports Festival!

NAKAJIMA: Tune on in at 08:30, sharp, for the entrance of the students! Tomorrow the excitement will continue with the second day, and the second-years’ own performances! Sunday will bring the third-years—though, I’m getting ahead of myself.

SATO: That’s right. Today is all about our shining newbies. We hope everyone will give their best out there!

BOTH: Plus ultra!

Midoriya’s nerves are going to shake him right out of his skin. The kiss that his mother had pressed to his cheek this morning burns red-hot, her faith like a solid weight over his shoulders. And he knows what that feels like, now, after so many afternoons and weekends spent at Dagobah. Midoriya is sure he’s nowhere near the athleticism of the Hero course students, but he’s definitely not the soft, frail boy he was, before. With so little body fat on him and Shinsou to begin with, their arms and legs have already grown wiry with muscle.

Hatsume flings herself at him. Midoriya catches her around the waist, hefting her up off of her feet.

She laughs aloud. “Look at you, Super-Nerd! Aren’t you just so hyped for today? Sports Fest! Sports Fest! Sports Fest!” Hatsume pumps her fist, nearly sending them both toppling over.

“Your babies are going to get so many sponsors,” Midoriya says, trying for an encouraging smile as he puts Hatsume back down so she can dance around him.

“Our babies, you mean,” she reminds. “I wouldn’t have done half of them without your ideas, Super-Nerd.” She slugs him in the shoulder, and he doesn’t even wince.

“Right, right,” Midoriya says.

They’re both dressed in the Yuuei P.E. uniform, but being in Support does allow some alterations. Hatsume wears their bright pink Hover Boots, and the matching pink jetpack and star-studded belt. Midoriya has the Jellyfish Capture bracelets cinched on his wrists, and the Sonic Wave emitter wrapped tightly around his throat. He knows Hatsume has a few other small devices tucked in her pockets—they went for lighter, more compact designs so they wouldn't be lugging around huge machinery during the competition—but he's confident about the ones they have.

The Sonic Wave emitter was probably their most difficult challenge. Originally, Hatsume had based the idea on the Whale Hero: Gang Orca’s ability to emit blasts of sound from his throat on a register that most humans can feel, but not hear. She'd quickly run into the roadblock of actually being able to produce the sound without massive speakers being used, and that was where Midoriya had come in. Sonic Wave is a device that looks kind of similar to the collar the warp-Quirked man that Shigaraki works with wears around his neck, made of ribbed metal plates. Midoriya based it on Present Mic’s Quirk, with modified vocal chords buried in the metal, which bounces the sound around and magnifies the vibrato naturally produced in the voice. It's switched off, but when Midoriya turns it on, every word and hum he makes can create a veritable wall of sound strong enough to repel a fifty kilogram weight.

Under the Sonic Wave, Midoriya wears a snug white turtleneck to protect his throat from getting pinched by the gear. He’d been tempted to offer it to Shinsou, but Gen. Ed. students aren’t allowed to use Support items unless they file for their use two weeks prior to the event, and Sonic Wave was still being buffed and shined at that point. The only other student Midoriya is sure will be wearing a Support item is Aoyama Yuuga, from class 1-A.

In fact… Midoriya crouches down quickly, tugging Hatsume towards him by the hips.

One of their classmates yelps something about “indecent behavior,” but Midoriya ignores him. He’s too busy squinting at the belt slung around Hatsume’s waist. Bedazzling it had been his idea, stolen from his 1-I classmate that had been assigned Aoyama’s costume. All of their Hatsume-assigned gear is the same bubblegum pink as her dreadlocks, but this one is by far the sparkliest.

“Are you sure it’s ready?” Midoriya asks anxiously.

“Don’t worry,” Hatsume says, popping out her hip suggestively, “I’ve got it handled. I padded the back with an extra layer of thermal batting, and then stuck some leather on it. Let me say, I never thought I’d be learning how to use awls, but they make me feel very dangerous.” Hatsume flexes her fingers near Midoriya’s face.

“Don’t melt a hole in your stomach, please,” Midoriya begs.

Their blatant copy of Aoyama’s laser Quirk is still sort of a work in progress. It shoots lasers, sure, but it has the unfortunate side effect of becoming about a bajillion degrees, instantly cooking anything it touches. Hatsume and Midoriya had fried an egg on it, just for fun.

“Duh,” Hatsume says, tugging him to his feet. “I wouldn’t wear it if it wasn’t a hundred percent ready for battle.”

Midoriya thinks they both look a little silly, dressed in their mis-matched uniforms and Support items, but the hefty weight around his throat is calming. Besides, forcing Hatsume to coordinate the colors of her babies makes her look a lot more put-together than some of their fellow Support-course students, who wear horribly clashing red, yellow, green, silver, and gold gear atop their predominantly navy outfits.

The class president calls the class to order. They’ve been stuffed into an empty side hallway while they wait for their cue to enter the stadium field, and they can already hear the bustle and murmur of thousands of unfamiliar voices layered atop each other. Lights along the wall flash once, twice, and their president stands up straighter.

“Alright, 1-H! Let’s get out there and show them what we’re made of! Everyone not participating, follow Vice President Ino-kun to the stands and cheer us on!” they holler. Midoriya appreciates the daring streaks of black face paint they’ve marked under their eyes to match their black lipstick.

Midoriya falls into line, and they march onto the field, the final Support course to file out. The cheering is overwhelmingly raucous. It feels like there are a hundred thousand people, all watching him. Midoriya tries to shrink back, and finds that the collar prevents him from turtling his neck the way he wants to, so he’s stuck looking around like an idiot to cover for it.

There, across a stretch of grass, is Shinsou. His height and purple hair single him out at the front of his group of classmates, where he must have shoved forward to be in the spotlight. Midoriya grins when he sees the flex of Shinsou’s forearms in his short-sleeved uniform shirt. Their work seriously paid off. And, one class over, Monoma stands. His hip is cocked arrogantly, arms crossed over his chest and head tossed to the side like he’s a popstar basking in the adoration of his fans.

Just past Monoma, Midoriya can see Kacchan’s slouched, scowling form. The same redheaded boy who hangs off him at lunch hovers behind his shoulder, and the noisy pink-skinned girl, too. Kacchan has shoved his hands into the waistband of his pants, since the Hero course lacks pockets. Midoriya snickers into his hand.

Like he’s heard it, Kacchan’s head snaps toward him. It’s totally impossible—the roaring of the crowd sounds like a jet engine, and Midoriya can barely hear himself think, let alone the people around him. But it doesn’t matter. Kacchan has locked eyes with him, and glares ferociously. He removes one hand from his pants to draw his thumb across his throat, and then points straight at Midoriya.

Beside him, Hatsume laughs. “Yikes, Super-Nerd. Is that your Kacchan?”

Midoriya gulps. “Yeah.”

“Nice thing to do on national TV. I’m sure he’ll have plenty of fans,” she says, using Midoriya like a table and leaning her whole weight against him. Midoriya catches her around the waist so they won’t tip over. Kacchan’s eyes narrow further.

Before Kacchan can do more preemptive damage to his public image, the magnified sound of a whip crack echoes around the stadium. Midoriya looks forward, at the large cement stage that rises before them. Standing, legs spread, toes pointed, hands on hips, is Midnight. Her dark hair gleams in the bright sunlight, and her skin-colored costume leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination.

“Good morning, everyone,” Midnight purrs. She’s got a mic set strapped to her head, her red lips pulled into a beatific smile. The crowd swells with sound, calling greetings and lewd things at her. Midnight laughs lightly. “Let’s all keep it PG, alright? Today it’s all about these lovely students. Who’s ready to see some fresh, youthful bloodshed?” She cracks her flog against her empty palm tauntingly. “First, let’s hear from the first year’s player representative, and the top scorer in the entrance exam: Bakugou Katsuki!”

Midoriya’s mouth falls open. It takes exactly two seconds for it to turn into a grimace. Bakugou grabs a microphone from Midnight that she’d pulled from behind her curtain of hair, and glares the crowd into silence. Midoriya doesn’t even have a moment to pray for something half-decent.

“All I’ve got to say is… I’m gonna win.” Kacchan’s face is expressionless, and he hands the microphone back to a shocked Midnight without another word. Booing erupts from every direction as Kacchan stomps his way down the stage, and he barely spares Midoriya a passing glance.

Midoriya worries his lip. Hatsume pokes him in the ribs, laughing about Kacchan’s horrible speech, but he’s lost in his thoughts. The Kacchan that Midoriya has known his whole life would have been exuberant at the opportunity to rub his superiority in the faces of the other participants. This Kacchan hadn’t been. His stoic, determined face flashes through Midoriya’s mind.

He meant every word, Midoriya thinks. He’s going to win, and he’ll crush anyone in his path to do it.

Midnight cracks her flog again, and starts the roulette wheel that decides what event they’ll be participating in. Midoriya knows that it’s pre-chosen, and this is only shown to get the crowd slavering and make them feel included, but that doesn’t reassure him any. Anxiety twists in his gut. The spinner settles on “Obstacle Course,” which Midoriya thinks could be worse.

Hatsume shoves him roughly. Her grin is bright and sharp. “Good luck, Super-Nerd. Only necessary team-ups from here on out, right?”

“Right,” he says, trying to swallow down his nerves.

This isn’t going to be a repeat of the entrance exam. He’s prepared this time. He’s been training, and he’s got his and Hatsume’s babies to help him along. Besides, the entrance exam wasn’t nationally televised as the largest sporting event in the Eastern hemisphere. Actually, on second thought, that wasn’t very comforting.

Present Mic’s voice comes through the P.A. system, announcing the start of the race, and a panel in the side of the circular stadium slides open.

Students jolt forward in a flood of panicked limbs, Midoriya swept along with them. In the tight tunnel, he can hear Present Mic explaining that this itself is the first obstacle—escaping the crush of bodies. Midoriya’s shins go cold, and he hops from foot to foot anxiously, narrowly avoiding having his feet frozen to the ground.

It’s pure luck, and he grits his teeth. He shoves through the struggling, frozen students, slipping and sliding across the ice until he bursts out of the tunnel back into the blinding sunlight. Robots litter the ground, and Midoriya follows the path of other, faster students. Somewhere distantly ahead of him, he can hear Kacchan’s explosions, and Present Mic’s overeager voice.

Midoriya enters what Shinsou calls “The Zone,” capital letters and all. They’d discovered The Zone relatively quickly after beginning their morning runs. It’s a secret place in Midoriya’s mind where his higher brain function goes to hide, and he moves on pure instinct. When he’s particularly tired, such as midway through a five kilometer run, it can be easy to slip into that place of panting breaths and sweaty limbs. Now, it’s not difficult.

His anxiety siphons away. There’s no room for emotion in The Zone. Only movement. He dodges around fallen, shouting students, clambering over toppled robots that remind him of the towering trash piles at Dagobah. Midoriya hooks a solid-looking piece of robot paneling to his back with a wire. He reaches a huge chasm, and allows himself a grin. While most students scoot carefully along the ropes strung between the thin, teetering pillars of stone, Midoriya stretches his wrists out.

The Jellyfish Capture is about to make its debut.

Midoriya winds his arm back, as if he’s going to throw a baseball, and flings out his hand. From the thin silver bangle on his wrist, a five centimeter-thick spool of white rope launches forward, shooting clear across the chasm and latching onto the far wall. The metal spike on the end imbeds itself into the rock.

He takes a deep breath, whispers an apology to his mother, and leaps off the edge of the cliff.

Midoriya howls like a banshee, glee and exhilaration shooting through his bloodstream in a dizzying cocktail. His stomach swoops, and he can hear Present Mic exclaiming happily at the daring move. The soles of his shoes slam into the wall, and he doesn’t give himself a moment of respite. He uses the tension of the rope to haul himself up, hooking his fingers over the wall and reaching back to poke the retraction button on the metal spike that allows the rope to be respooled like a yo-yo.

He grins.

The last obstacle spans out before him, and he can see Kacchan shoulder-to-shoulder with another boy at the other end of the field. As Midoriya watches, a Gen. Ed. girl missteps and gets a huge cloud of glittery pink smoke to the face, stumbling back from the minor explosion.

A plan starts to formulate in his head. He’s in The Zone—where doubt, fear, and nerves don’t affect him. He doesn’t stop to think it through. Midoriya drops to his knees and starts scraping dirt away as fast as he physically can, carefully stacking the uncovered mines to the side. People pass him; he doesn’t care. Sweat beads on his forehead.

At last, a knee-high stack of mines sits. Midoriya unslings the giant piece of metal from his back. He backs up two steps, mutters a prayer, and takes a running leap at the pile.

Somehow, through the deafening sound of the explosion, he can hear Eraser Head’s exhausted groan over the P.A. system.

It’s ten times more exhilarating than swinging through the chasm. Here, Midoriya has no safety net below him. Only students, who stop to gape at him. The wind tears at his face, yanking his cheeks back and exposing his gums. It’s the most alive he’s felt since that moment in the USJ when Shigaraki stepped out of the portal.

He’s falling too quickly, though. He’s going to crush Kacchan and the two-toned guy he’s been fighting with. Midoriya grins beneath the pull on his cheeks.

He plants his bright red, Quirkless-made shoes on Kacchan and the boy’s shoulders, bracing his knees and slamming the piece of metal down in an almost acrobatic move. Midoriya uses them as a springboard as the explosion rocks the ground. He goes careening through the air, tumbling end over end, and shoves his feet back under himself desperately. Sweat stings his eyes.

This is it; an all-out sprint to the finish line.

His chest heaves, and nothing but the rush of his blood in his ears urges him on. He tears forward like the hounds of hell are on his heels, and trips out of the shadow of the tunnel into the sunny stadium field. Midoriya’s chin slams into the ground.

“AND THE WINNER OF THE OBSTACLE COURSE IS MIDORIYA IZUKU!” Present Mic screams. His voice bounces around the stadium a hundred times before Midoriya registers what he’s said.

He props himself up on his elbows, gaping at the screen that shows his own sweat-drenched, dusty, pink-glittered face with a flashing number one beneath it. It lasts another long moment before switching to the two-toned boy, Todoroki Shouto, who placed second, and then to Kacchan, who placed third.

Kacchan, who the screen shows stalking over to a green-haired boy laying limply on the ground.

Oh my God, Midoriya thinks, and scrambles to his feet.

Kacchan wastes no time in shoving Midoriya into the concrete wall of the stadium behind them. It’s not quite back into the tunnel, but it’s close enough that Midoriya can see each person streaming out of it in his peripheral vision. Kacchan dominates everything else.

“What the fuck was that? ” he growls. His carmine eyes are as furious as Midoriya has ever seen them, and the hand pressed to his chest steams and glows with heat.

Midoriya’s hands fly up submissively. “I–I’m sorry! I didn’t—”

“If you say that you didn’t mean to plant your fucking foot on my back and kick off of me…” Kacchan says, his fingers clenching in Midoriya’s shirt. “I’ll kill you. I really will.” He shoves Midoriya back, and his head bangs into the wall. “You are so fucking lucky that we’re on national television.” Kacchan eases his body back, his face so intense that Midoriya almost can’t look at it.

His heart misses several beats in his chest.

Kacchan leans forward, pressing his lips to Midoriya’s ear, and whispers, “You better hope to God that I don’t catch you in the next round. Do the world a favor and quit before I have to make you.”

Then, he turns and leaves Midoriya with nothing but the smell of nitroglycerin and a hand-shaped burn print in the center of his shirt.

By the time Midoriya has gotten over the shock of having ten million points tied around his forehead, it’s time to pick his teammates for the next round. Hatsume is at his side almost immediately, gushing about his win.

“Super-Nerd, I knew you had it in you! What better way to show off our babies than to beat everyone else with them?” Her grin is huge and manic. She shakes him lightly, not noticing his nerves.

“Babies?” a female voice demands. Midoriya and Hatsume turn, and his eyes go wide with shock.

“You!” he says.

The brown-haired girl from the entrance exam points at him. “You! I thought you didn’t get into Yuuei! Now, here you are, winning the first round of the Sports Festival!”

“Who’s this?” Hatsume asks, cocking her head.

“No time!” Midoriya interrupts, glancing up at the clock ticking down their strategizing time. “Do you want to join our team? You’ve got some kind of gravity manipulation Quirk, right?”

The girl nods determinedly. “Zero Gravity. I can negate the gravity on anything I touch with five fingers.”

Midoriya has to physically stop himself from explaining that five-point activation Quirks don’t exist. Really, he claps a hand over his mouth to force the words back.

“Sounds great,” he chokes out. “Welcome aboard.”

“Oh, and here I thought you could use the help of little ol’ me,” drawls Monoma. “I see you went and shacked up with 1-A the first chance you got, Midoriya-kun,” he says. He stalks forward, extending his hand to Midoriya imperiously. Midoriya sighs, and laces their fingers together. “How dastardly.”

“Monoma-san,” the brown-haired girl says stiffly, looking between him and Midoriya. “Is this your boyfriend?”

Monoma laughs uproariously. Midoriya blushes bright red from head to toe, and yelps, “We don’t have time for this! Are you in or out, Monoma-kun?”

He gasps in a breath between laughter. “Oh, in, I suppose. It’s too funny not to, now.”

“Is the whole world going to think we’re dating? My mom is watching this,” Midoriya moans, pressing a hand over his face. Monoma drapes himself over Midoriya’s side, hitching a leg up around his waist seductively.

“They will, now,” he says, laughing at Midoriya’s stunned face.

They spend the rest of their scant time planning their strategy. It turns out to be an excellent combination of people, between the four of them. Midoriya nudges Monoma up higher on his shoulders, their ten million-point headband tied tightly around Monoma’s forehead, the tails tucked into his shirt. On Midoriya’s left, Hatsume’s arm links around his own and Monoma’s calf. At his right, Uraraka Ochako’s elbow squeezes his bicep, her hand gripping Monoma’s ankle with one pinky lifted.

As soon as Midnight signals the start, they take off. Uraraka’s finger touches down, and Monoma goes weightless on Midoriya’s shoulders. At the same time, Monoma slams his hands down on Uraraka and Hatsume’s heads, and they begin to lift off the ground. Last, Uraraka slaps Midoriya’s arm so that their entire team is weightless, bobbing about two inches off the ground while the other teams surge towards them.

“Go, go, go!” shrieks Midoriya. On Monoma’s back, the jetpack bursts to life, lifting them skyward. Strapped to Midoriya’s feet, the Hover Boots activate, and he braces his legs to guide them over the heads of the teams.

Kacchan’s enraged scream follows them across the stadium field.

“Okay,” Midoriya pants, switching off the boots. “We should be alright to hover for a few minutes. Monoma-kun, you can turn the jetpack off, too. We don’t want to waste fuel that we might need later.”

They float gently in the warm air, watching the other teams assemble below them. Present Mic goads the players, calling out, “Come on, someone has to take a crack at them!”

Of course, Kacchan launches himself first. His explosions carry him up, up, high above where they bob, and he arcs down like a human javelin.

“Scatter!” Midoriya yelps, and they all push off each other. Kacchan shoots straight through the air where they’d just been, swearing viciously and clawing at them futilely. His teammate with the large elbows shoots a string of tape and catches Kacchan with one arm.

“Woah,” Midoriya gasps. “So strong!”

“Now’s not the time, Midoriya-kun!” Uraraka yelps, turning end over end. Monoma snags her by the ankle, and Midoriya reactivates the boots to catch Hatsume who had been dangerously close to Todoroki’s team. They regroup in the center of the stadium.

Eventually, a curious Quirk made of shadow slinks up to them. Nervously, Midoriya watches it approach.

“Hello!” the Quirk calls. “Can I take your points?”

“Um, no, thank you,” Midoriya says. His thighs hooked around Midoriya’s ears for stability, Monoma stifles a laugh.

“Aww,” whines the Quirk, like a small child. “But Fumi-chan wants your points! He told me to grab your points, like this!” The Quirk, which is vaguely bird-shaped, gives a few demonstrative swipes of its wings.

“Dark Shadow!” a frustrated voice calls from the ground. “Take the points, now!”

Midoriya perks in interest. “Is your name Dark Shadow? Are you independent of the boy down there?”

Dark Shadow snaps its beak a bit. “I am Fumikage-chan’s. He is mine. He wants your points.”

“You’re amazing!” Midoriya bursts, unable to help himself. He twists in the air, angling so he can see the Quirk more clearly. “A living, sentient Quirk! It’s the most idiopathic thing I’ve ever seen. Oh gosh, Nedzu-sensei must have had a field day when he saw you guys’ application! Dark Shadow-san, tell me, does, um, does Fumikage-san command you?”

The Quirk narrows its eyes. “No way! Fumi-chan doesn’t get to tell me what to do!”

“Dark Shadow!” bellows the bird-headed boy below. “I insist you take the points, now!”

“No!” the Quirk shouts back. “I’m making a friend, so you be quiet!”

Uraraka laughs incredulously, and Hatsume snickers to herself. Monoma has a hand pressed over his mouth so he won’t burst out into his mean cackles and scare the Quirk away.

“Dark Shadow-san,” Midoriya says, tears in his eyes, “I would love to call you my friend.”

“Really?!” the Quirk shouts, darting forward. “I’ve never had my own friend before. Only Fumi-chan’s friends.”

“I’d be honored to be your friend, Dark Shadow-san,” Midoriya says, utterly sincere. This is probably one of the coolest things that’s ever happened to him in his entire life. Dark Shadow catches him around the middle in a crushing hug, and he doesn’t even squeak out a protest.

Hatsume gasps. “Incoming!”

“AS HEARTWARMING AS THAT WAS, THIS IS A COMPETITION, FOLKS!” Present Mic booms. “Todoroki approaches from the east, and Bakugou from the west—WHO WILL BEAT THE ODDS AND SNAG THE TEN MILLION POINTS?”

On their left, Todoroki sits atop his roller-skate-wearing teammates, riding a slanted ice bridge that leads straight up to Midoriya’s team. Kacchan flies in from the right, one hand outstretched, the other firing blast after blast to get him close enough. The board shows only three seconds remaining.

Dark Shadow shies away from Kacchan with a shriek, cowering towards the fast-approaching Todoroki.

Todoroki reaches out a hand.

Uraraka has a brilliant idea at the same time Midoriya does, which has the accidental consequence of making them cancel each other out. As he’s flinging out his foot for Todoroki to collide into at near terminal velocity, Uraraka presses all of her fingers together and yells, “Release!”

Gravity returns to Midoriya in a most unpleasant manner. He and Monoma go crashing immediately to the ground, successfully tucking beneath Kacchan’s grasping hand. Unfortunately, Midoriya slams into Todoroki’s ice walkway, and Monoma hangs on to him by tightening his thighs and choking the life out of Midoriya.

The boy Todoroki rides on trips over Midoriya with a painful kick—Midoriya groans deeply, and then regrets letting out his breath—sending the whole team sprawling, and two of them plummeting to the ground below with screams of terror. Todoroki flails around inelegantly, flung forward off of his teammate’s shoulders and toward the open emptiness of the sky.

Midoriya strains, reaching out a hand as far as he can. Miraculously, insanely, Todoroki’s palm slaps into his hand and grasps, a burning hot tongue of flame licking between them. It’s lucky that Midoriya is wearing a turtleneck, or his skin would have been seared by it.

Todoroki’s full weight nearly pops his arm out of its socket, anyway, and Midoriya loses the last of his breath in a wail. Then, he’s officially suffocating between Monoma’s thighs.

Oh my God, I’m so never going to hear the end of this, he thinks, blood rushing to his head.

To top it off, they’re slipping off the ice path. All of the weight on Midoriya’s upper half isn’t doing anyone any favors, and his feet scrabble madly for purchase on the slick ice.

A shadow looms over Midoriya’s throbbing face, and he thinks I’m saved! Then, the owner of the shadow comes into sight. Kacchan’s spiky blond hair catches the midday sunlight and glows like a halo, which is just biblically unfair. His expression is a beautiful, cruel twist of a smile.

“Goodbye, fuck nuggets,” Kacchan says.

“What?!” shrieks Monoma, who has not stopped making noise since gravity returned to him. Midoriya assumes that his Quirk timed out, or he’d have floated them all already, nausea be damned.

Kacchan plants his combat-booted foot into Midoriya’s chest, and kicks him over the side.

Midoriya, rather lacking an important ingredient needed to make thoughts, jerks around like a dog might, if you’d thrown it into a pool unwillingly. Monoma activates the jetpack, which does almost nothing with the weight of three teenage boys on it. Midoriya doesn’t even bother with the Hover Boots, since his legs are pointing straight into the air.

“Oh my God,” gasps Todoroki, which is possibly the first thing Midoriya has ever heard him say. Even while falling off his teammate, he’d been utterly silent.

Then, they land in something extremely soft and pillowy.

Midoriya is truly in danger of dying from asphyxiation, and he slams his free arm weakly into Monoma’s leg, clawing at the fabric of his pants. Finally, blessedly, Monoma releases him.

Midoriya coughs and sputters.

“Oh, sorry, Midoriya-kun,” Monoma says. He helps sit Midoriya upright, a sheepish look on his face, which is bright pink from being upside down for the last minute. “Nice save.”

Midoriya heaves for breath, massaging his shoulder. “S-sure.”

After a moment, he releases Todoroki’s hand, which he’d had in a bloodless death grip. Todoroki peers down at his own hand like it belongs to a stranger.

“Nice catch,” Midoriya gasps out, gesturing at Todoroki’s hand. Todoroki narrows his eyes.

Rather abruptly, they all tumble about a foot to the ground. Midoriya lands flat on his back and has the wind knocked out of him, which is not great for someone who was just oxygen-deprived. He has to spend a long minute choking before he can breathe again.

Dark Shadow’s yellow eyes peer down at him. “Friend! I caught you!” it says.

Midoriya offers it two thumbs up.

This is when he hears the cheering of the audience. He takes a glance at the huge screen behind Dark Shadow’s head, and sees Monoma, sitting up with a groan, the ten million points fluttering from around his neck into his lap. The smile that spreads across his face is so big that it hurts.

Using the ice like a slide, Uraraka and Hatsume tumble to earth again, and stagger over to where Monoma and Midoriya lay, recovering. Uraraka giggles, hugging Midoriya tight.

“That was so awesome, Midoriya-kun! I really thought we were done for, at the end!”

“We won! We won! We won!” Hatsume chants, yanking Monoma to his feet and jumping around with him. He catches her spirit quickly enough, now that he’s not in danger of falling to the ground from thirty feet up, and a grin splits his face.

“Hell yeah, we did! Plus ultra!”

“Plus ultra!” about twenty thousand people say.

Quickly enough, Midnight shoos them away to have a lunch break before the next round, which is announced to be one-on-one battles. Before the screen is wiped for the minigames, Midoriya manages to catch who else is advancing. Right behind his team is Kacchan’s, with his teammates listed as Ashido Mina, Sero Hanta, and Kirishima Eijiro. After them is Todoroki’s team, with Yaoyorozu Momo, Iida Tenya, and Kaminari Denki. At the very bottom of the docket is Shinsou’s team. Midoriya gives a personal fist pump at that.

Shinsou had made him promise not to help him during the festival, because he thought it would hurt his chances at making it into the Hero course. If he couldn’t get there on his own merit, how would he prove to anyone that he deserved a spot? So Midoriya had let him fend for himself. Thankfully, he seems to have made it through with the help of Ojiro Mashirao, Aoyama Yuuga, and Shoda Nirengeki.

As he’s trailing behind his friends towards the cafeteria, Todoroki intercepts him.

“You,” Todoroki says. “Who are you?”

“M-me?” Midoriya says, pointing at himself. “I’m, I’m Midoriya Izuku. Nice to meet you. Sorry, s-sorry about trying to kick you earlier.”

“What department are you from? You’re not a Hero,” Todoroki says coldly. He takes a step closer, and Midoriya’s internal danger sensor starts going off.

“Ah, um, no. I’m, I’m technically in Support—”

“Technically? Be truthful. My father will be extremely displeased with my losses, especially to a nobody from the Support department.” He glances down at his left hand, and his bi-colored eyebrows furrow. “You…” he clenches his hand into a fist. “You made me break a promise that I swore to never break.”

“Your father?” Midoriya asks tentatively. “Todoroki-san… you’re the Flame Hero: Endeavor’s son, right?”

Midoriya can see immediately that this was not the correct thing to say. Todoroki’s eyes go flinty and hard, and his mouth turns down at both corners.

“Yes. And I made a promise to never use his flames on the path to being a Hero. You made me break that promise, Midoriya. I want you to know that I’ll make you suffer for it.”

“What?” squawks Midoriya. “But, but! Todoroki-san, aren’t you trying to be a Hero? How could you do that without your flames? I mean, it's obvious from the… well, everything about you, really, that you’re a perfect bilateral chimera, with split genetics from your parents. It’s amazing, really. Even your skin is two-toned! I wonder, does your left side have a higher resistance to cold, and your left side to heat? Or is it evenly spread? I’ve never seen any Quirks manifest in such a way. Is it like a five-point activation? A mental block, preventing the use of both sides?” Midoriya cocks his head. “Can you physically not use the flames? Do they hurt you?”

“No,” Todoroki grits his teeth. “And I’d prefer if you could keep your ideas to yourself. I don’t want to hear another gawker, amazed over what a perfect creation I am. I get enough of that from my father.”

Midoriya blinks. “A perfect creation? That’s… gross. Also, I’m sorry if I offended you with my mumbling—I try to control it, but it just slips out. I just think that you’re very unique, and I’d love to study your Quirk. I’m, I’m something of an expert in Quirk biology, and yours seems fascinating. I wish I could get a look at your gene tree…”

“Ask Endeavor,” Todoroki spits. “I’m sure he’ll have one. And then you can be buddy-buddy with him, and gush about this disgusting curse all you like. In the meantime, stay out of my way, will you? I don’t want any more trouble from my old man.”

“Disgusting curse?” Midoriya repeats. “But, Todoroki-san, your Quirk is beautiful!” He claps a hand over his mouth. “Sorry! Sorry, that was really weird, I didn’t mean for it to come out that way. All I meant was, um, it’s really rare to get the kind of genetic split that you have, and in fact, probably the closest living thing to you is Principal Nedzu-sensei, and he was genetically engineered to be that way—oh no, I’m not making this any better, am I? I’m really sorry.” Midoriya bows hastily.

Todoroki stalks forward, and Midoriya stands straight again fearfully.

“This Quirk is not beautiful,” he spits, like the words are venom in his mouth. “It is horrible. I’d rather have been born without one, than have his abomination living in me, day in, day out. If I could claw it out with my bare hands, I would. My mother tried to—” he points, a vicious slice through the air, at his bright red scarring— “and I wish she’d succeeded. No. Instead, I became as ugly on the outside as I am on the inside, and she was locked away in the mental hospital.”

Midoriya presses his hands to his mouth.

“Oh, yes,” Todoroki says, his mouth twisting bitterly. “Not exactly the happiest story, is it? The great Endeavor, Number Two Hero of Japan, who created his son to defeat All Might—who drove his wife to insanity. Tell me, Midoriya Izuku, have you ever heard of Quirk marriages?” Todoroki’s eyes burn bright, one icy blue, one gunmetal gray.

Midoriya swallows. “Of course. They’ve been illegal in Japan for the last fifty years.”

Todoroki gives him a look. “Anything is legal, for a price. My mother’s family sold her to Endeavor, and he used her body to father my siblings. My eldest brother, Touya; my sister, Fuyumi; my second brother, Natsuou; and finally… his greatest masterpiece. Me.” Todoroki looks like he might be sick. “After that, he had no use for my mother. She was, to him, less than a piece of furniture. My siblings were the same. He trained me to be his weapon, to be strong enough to take on the number one Hero with my perfect Quirk. One day, my mother snapped. She looked at my face, and could only see him in it. So she poured boiling hot water on me, to be rid of that hideous monster.” Todoroki’s hand covers the left side of his face, not managing to hide all of his horrific scar.

Midoriya’s hand, tremblingly, reaches out to rest atop Todoroki’s. The taller boy jerks back, taking several steps away from Midoriya.

“I vowed to never use his Quirk. I will be a Hero without it—without him. ”

“But…” Midoriya says, and nearly loses his courage at the horrible look in Todoroki’s eyes. “But, that’s wrong. It’s not his Quirk, Todoroki-kun. It’s yours. That’s how genetics work. They may come from your parents, but they combine together to make a whole new person. You,” he says softly. “You are Todoroki Shouto, not Todoroki Enji.” He bites his lip, but plows on through the suspicious look on Todoroki’s face. “And, it’s disrespectful to say that you’d rather be born without a Quirk than with one. I promise you, you don’t. I’m Quirkless—so I would know. Even a horrible Quirk is better than no Quirk at all. Besides, your Quirk is amazing, Todoroki-kun. Imagine all the things you could do with it, if you used it to its full potential! You could have wiped the competition today, easily! I wouldn’t—”

“Stop,” Todoroki says harshly. “Just… stop. I won’t. I refuse.”

Midoriya grows angry. “Are you going to let him control every facet of your life?” he demands. “I thought you hated him! Why even become a Hero, if you’re just going to half-ass it? It’s worse than not being one at all,” Midoriya declares. “You’re going to get someone hurt. Either yourself, or someone else.” Midoriya brandishes the burned sleeve of his white shirt. “See this? This is what you get from an untrained Quirk. You could have done so many things differently, and won that match. Instead, you nearly fell off of your own ice, and burned the person trying to help you.”

Todoroki looks stricken.

“I get it, Todoroki-kun. It’s not your fault that this happened to you. But you need to look inside yourself, and decide if being a Hero is right for you. If you’re not going to put one-hundred percent into it, go home. I’m sure you can find other ways to piss off your dad.” Then, Midoriya leaves Todoroki in the hallway, running to catch up to his friends.

The battle match-ups are announced, and it seems that luck is on his side. Midoriya and Hatsume are slated to face off in the first round. When they hear the news, she sweeps him into a great, crushing hug, and twirls him around.

“Oh, this is the best we could have hoped for!” she squeals. “Now, put on every single baby we made, and prepare to dazzle the crowd.” Hatsume pinches his cheek. “They’re gonna love us!”

She’s a little bit right. From the get-go, Hatsume snatches the attention of the audience by hijacking the P.A. system from Present Mic and Eraser Head, and introducing them as Hatsume Mei of Hatsume Industries, and Midoriya Izuku, her genius sidekick. Midoriya doesn’t mind being relegated to sidekick for a little while, and lets Hatsume tug him around through demonstration after demonstration, a placid little smile on his face all the while. Finally, after a good twenty minutes, she steps out of bounds, winded from her speech.

Midnight looks to have fallen asleep. Midoriya stares at the announcer’s booth, high above his head, until Present Mic jolts into action and yells, “WINNER: MIDORIYA IZUKU!”

“That was awful,” Midoriya hears Eraser Head grumble.

“It was informative!” Present Mic counters. “Next up, for a hopefully more exciting match: SHINSOU HITOSHI of class 1-C versus IIDA TENYA, the speed machine of class 1-A!”

Midoriya speed-walks off to take notes from the stands.

Shinsou wins his match about ten seconds in, and then toys with Iida for about a minute longer, making him run laps in circles and trip himself out of bounds. He leaves the ring with a smile on his face.

In short order, several other matches commence. Todoroki freezes his opponent, Sero Hanta, so thoroughly that the audience takes pity and begins to cheer, “Don't mind!” at him. A break has to be taken to clear the glacier. A 1-B girl advances easily, which Midoriya can hear Monoma yelling about clear across the stands. Mina Ashido quickly eliminates Aoyama Yuuga. Then, Monoma faces down Yaoyorozu Momo.

In the last round, Midoriya hadn't gotten to see her Quirk very well. Present Mic announces her as “the everything girl” which is largely unhelpful. When Monoma manages to smack a hand in her arm, however, his brow crinkles.

“Oho, you're a tricky one,” he says, his voice projected across the stadium. She swipes out violently with a silver staff that she conjures from within her skin, and Midoriya is enamored.

Monoma balks, concentrating hard for a long moment and nearly getting shoved out of the ring for it. Then, his mouth twists into a wicked grin. From the meat of his forearm, he produces a sparkling staff of his own, and begins to duel the tall girl in earnest. Eventually, she’s forced to pop a shield out of her stomach, and, in doing so, gives Monoma the time to crack his staff down on her head. She crumples to the ground, and Monoma is declared the winner.

Kirishima and a boy named Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu (yes, really) that Midoriya hadn't seen in the docket face off. Rather anticlimactically, they lock in a stalemate, and have to solve their tie via an arm-wrestle, which is just hilarious. Kirishima, who is the redheaded boy always hanging off of Kacchan, wins.

Then, it's Kacchan’s turn. Midoriya watches him battle in silent, rapturous awe. Uraraka is excellent, of course, and much stronger than he gave her credit for. Unfortunately, she doesn't hold a candle to Kacchan’s amazingness.

“Kacchan sugoi, ” Midoriya sighs lovingly.

“And you wonder why we thought you were head over heels for him,” says Hatsume. Midoriya blushes deeply. Then, he high-tails it downstairs to prepare for his own match.

On the way, he runs into Endeavor. Disgust curls his lip uncharacteristically, but Midoriya can't help but run through everything Todoroki told him earlier.

“Boy,” Endeavor says. “Give my Shouto a proper match, will you? Stop hiding that Quirk of yours, and battle him like a real man.”

Midoriya’s fists clench. “No.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said, no. I'm not going to give Todoroki-kun a “proper match.”” Midoriya says, making quotation marks with his fingers. “And I'm Quirkless, besides, so—so,” his face screws up, “back off!”

Endeavor’s flaming eyebrows touch his hairline, and a horrid snarl ripples across his mouth. “Quirkless? I sincerely doubt that. And if you think you’re a threat to me, or my masterpiece, I would think again. Pathological liars are Villains in the making.”

“I don't think I'm a threat to you,” Midoriya says hotly. “And I’m not a liar. But, I know things about you that I bet you wish I didn't, and I'm not going to stand idly by like everyone else. I know what a true Hero is, and you aren't one. Stay away from Todoroki-kun, if you know what's good for you.”

For some reason, Shigaraki’s grinning, dry face pops into Midoriya’s mind as he says this. He feels an almost vindictive burst of glee at the thought that Shigaraki would absolutely loathe Endeavor, and then swallows thickly.

Before Endeavor can respond, Midoriya darts past him and onto the stadium field.

Here, in the dazzlingly bright sunlight, Midoriya is forced to forget Endeavor. Behind him, the heat of Endeavor’s flames recede. The crowd roars, and roars, and roars, ready to see what he will do against Todoroki Shouto, the boy who made a glacier so large that even the people in the stands had to be unfrozen. Midoriya’s mouth goes dry.

He steps into the ring, and knows that the ease of his first match is long gone. The crowd is eager for bloodshed. Across from him, Todoroki’s mouth tugs down into a scowl.

“Give me a good, clean fight, okay boys?” Midnight calls from her podium. “Ready?”

Midoriya nods, though his heart is in his bruised throat, and he actually feels like he might puke. Present Mic howls out the start, and Todoroki lunges forward.

Ice spirals from his right hand, trying for the same move he’d used against Sero. Midoriya swallows, and shouts, “You’re going to have to do better than that!”

Freezing ice swallows him, but around his throat, the metal plates of the Sonic Wave emitter begin to ring and tremble violently. Midoriya plants his feet as the ice encasing him creaks, and shatters unceremoniously into a hundred thousand shards of glass. He narrows his eyes. At his sides, his fists clench determinedly.

Todoroki licks over his bottom lip, where a bit of frost has formed, his eyes wide with shock. When he exhales, a puff of mist escapes. He draws his arm back, throwing forward another wave of ice, spiked this time.

“Again with this? How much longer can you go, Todoroki-kun?” The concrete wobbles beneath Midoriya’s feet with the vibrato, and he sinks into a crouch to ride it out as the ice bursts apart again. “You’re already weaker. Your fire has a purpose—it’s your balance. Unless you use it, you’ll never get past me.”

“Shut up!” Todoroki shouts, flinging forward another sheet of frost. This, Midoriya sidesteps.

He walks forward, shouting through Todoroki’s wavering ice attacks, until they’re an arm’s length apart. Todoroki’s chest heaves, his lashes coated in delicate snow. Midoriya’s heart aches for him.

“You’re better than this,” Midoriya says. “You’re better than him. ”

Todoroki stumbles back from the literal force of his words, drawing a wall of ice up behind him to keep himself inside the ring. Midoriya sighs, and winds back to slug him across the face. The punch connects; the audience groans and hisses and cheers.

Midoriya switches off the Sonic Wave. “Fight back, Todoroki-kun. Or you might as well give up being a Hero right now.”

Todoroki lurches forward, tackling Midoriya to the ground. He pins Midoriya between his knees and cracks him across the cheekbone with a blindingly painful right hook. Todorki’s whole body trembles; he glances up into the stands above them.

Midoriya bucks his hips, and Todoroki sails away. He’s barely able to conjure a wall to stop himself from tumbling out of the ring. The ice wavers and shatters beneath the force of Todoroki hitting it.

“Your fight is with me!” Midoriya shouts. “Stop looking away!”

Todoroki bloodies his fingertips gripping the concrete so he won’t fly out of the arena. “Shut up! I won’t use that bastard’s Quirk, I won’t!”

“It’s yours!” Midoriya shrieks, pelting after Todoroki. “It’s your Quirk, not his!”

Todoroki rolls under Midoriya’s foot, dragging himself to the other end of the ring. Midoriya heaves for breath. The cold in the air is starting to get to him, and the metal around his neck bites through the thin fabric of his turtleneck. Sweat drips down his temple.

Something is happening in Todoroki’s eyes. They’re at once distant and clear, both focused on Midoriya’s face, and seeing something far beyond him. He goes bloodless. Heat begins to streak over him, and flame bursts into life on Todoroki’s left shoulder, smoldering straight through his shirt.

Panicked, Midoriya flings out his wrists, burying the Jellyfish Capture into the cement on either side of him. He flicks Sonic Wave back on.

Todoroki takes a steady breath, and straightens up. “Thank you, Midoriya-kun. But I do want to be a Hero. So give me your all, and let me destroy you.”

A grin stretches from ear to ear across Midoriya’s face. “Finally.”

He and Todoroki leap forward at the same time, a deep, rough shout ripping from Midoriya’s throat as he throws his body weight behind a punch. Fire flares brightly, and the entire world explodes.

Concrete goes every direction. Midoriya is deaf and blind, weightless for a long moment as his body is thrown through the air. He has time to think, the temperature change and the Sonic Wave must have done this, before his back slams into a chunk of something hard enough to crunch every rib in his chest. He wheezes out a cough.

His arms are pinned at an awkward angle by the taut Jellyfish Capture, and smoke has him choking.

“WHAT HAPPENED?” Present Mic yelps. “I CAN’T SEE A THING! MIDNIGHT, WHAT’S THE VERDICT?”

Midoriya can hear the clicking of Midnight’s heels through the ringing in his ears. Her dark hair swings in a curtain around her face as she leans down, and her red lips pull into a grin.

“Hi, Midoriya-kun. Need a hand?” she says.

He groans, and a rumble starts up, dispersing some of the dust clouding the air. Quickly, he reaches up to flick off Sonic Wave, before he can accidentally toss Midnight away. She offers him a hand, and he lets her pull him to his feet woozily. She keeps lifting, until he’s on his tiptoes, and he realizes the pose he’s in.

“Winner: Midoriya Izuku,” Midnight purrs, holding his hand high in the air. “Todoroki-kun is out of bounds.”

“What?” Midoriya gasps. He whips his head around, and, sure enough, Todoroki is sprawled half in the grass, a light dusting of frost on the ground around him. Medic-bots wheel over and roll him onto a stretcher.

The stadium erupts into cheering so loud that Midoriya thinks he’s going deaf a second time.

He glances up and sees his own shocked, bleeding face on a dozen screens. It’s the third time today that he’s been utterly baffled by the shimmering gold kanji spelling out “WINNER” under his chin.

Midnight pats his shoulder, and pushes him in the direction of the medic hall. Midoriya’s feet follow in a daze. His head feels stuffed full of cotton. Those golden letters are still seared into his sight when he stumbles into Recovery Girl’s temporary base, where she immediately has two Med-bots shove him down into a hospital bed.

Apparently Todoroki isn’t in too bad of shape, because she bustles over to Midoriya shortly. She tuts disapprovingly.

“You know, sonny, using your body as collateral is going to bite you, one of these days,” she tells him. Recovery Girl rolls him onto his stomach and cuts off his double-layered shirts with practiced movements. A wet, matronly kiss lands on Midoriya’s shoulder—and he’s out like a light.

Midoriya wakes groggily to someone’s warm hand nudging his shoulder. Midoriya makes a vaguely questioning sound into his pillow.

“Wake up, Midoriya,” someone says. When Midoriya lifts his head, he sees Todoroki’s dual-colored eyes, which peer far too closely into his face.

“Ah! T-Todo—Todoroki-kun!” Midoriya jolts upright, hugging the pillow to his naked chest. “Why am I shirtless?”

“I believe that Recovery Girl had to cut yours off of you to assess your ribs,” Todoroki says cooly. “Your next match is about to begin.”

“Wh-what?” Midoriya rubs his eyes aggressively. Sitting on the end of his bed, legs crossed under her, is Hatsume.

“Hiya, Super-Nerd. Great showing—excellent, really! Our babies got so much spotlight!” she says. In her lap the Sonic Wave is cradled. “Come here, quick, and let me latch you in.”

“You missed three fights,” Todoroki says, standing straight at Midoriya’s bedside, and watching emptily as Hatsume buckles Sonic Wave into place around his throat. “You will be fighting Shinsou Hitoshi, a General Education student. It appears as if he has some kind of mental Quirk—”

“I’m fighting Shinsou-kun?!” Midoriya demands, whirling around to face Hatsume.

She beams. “Yup! Ganbate, Super-Nerd! He’s not going to go easy on you.”

“You can say that again,” calls Monoma. He staggers into the room, clutching his arm to his chest, where a nasty-looking burn bubbles and steams. “Nice to see those pretty green eyes open again, Midoriya-kun. You missed my awe-inspiring crusade against 1-A.”

“Oh, no!” Midoriya’s brows press together unhappily. “All those matches… I missed so many cool Quirks,” he laments. Hatsume busily clicks the Jellyfish Capture weapon into place over his wrists.

Recovery Girl sweeps through, knocking Monoma into an empty bed and pouring some kind of powder onto his wound that stops the steaming.

“Come on, Super-Nerd! No time to waste, you’ve gotta get going! Purple-kun won’t hesitate to declare your match forfeit,” Hatsume says, urging Midoriya to his feet.

“Um, am I going to fight shirtless?” he asks, looking around for the scraps of his clothes. Todoroki has a new shirt, so he knows they must have some somewhere, but Recovery Girl is busy healing Monoma.

“Here,” says Todoroki flatly. Midoriya gapes as the taller boy pulls his shirt over his head, and holds it out to Midoriya. He shakes it impatiently. “Hurry.”

“Ah—ah, alright!” Midoriya squeaks, tugging the new, too-big shirt into place, and sprinting out of the room as fast as his feet will take him. At least Recovery Girl left his shoes on.

“Good luck!” Hatsume yells. “You’re both gonna need it!”

Midoriya bolts onto the field, which has been restored to pristine condition yet again. He trips over himself when the audience goes absolutely wild over his appearance, and Midnight has to catch him by the collar of his borrowed shirt and haul him upright.

“HERE HE IS, THE MAN OF THE HOUR, MIDORIYA IZUKU! Back for his third fight of the day—can he keep up his record-breaking win streak?! And in the other corner: SHINSOU HITOSHI, the mysterious dark horse of the GENERAL DEPARTMENT!” Present Mic shouts.

Midnight rises up on her concrete pillar, settling down and crossing her legs beatifically.

“Ready, boys? Remember to give it your all!” she grins. Her flog smacks into her palm in the same instant that Present Mic calls start.

“Good showing today, right, Midoriya?” Shinsou says. Instantly, Midoriya clenches his jaw closed. Shinsou shoots him a tight smile.

Their feet begin to move warily. Shinsou starts them on a slinking, predatory circle that draws them both too close to the painted boundary for comfort—but, to stay still would mean to let the other gain on you. Midoriya’s palms begin to dampen with sweat.

“Of course, no one would have expected you to get this far,” he says.

Ah, so that’s his tactic, Midoriya thinks. He swallows. The audience will be hearing every word, and Shinsou won’t be pulling his punches, physically or verbally. He wants to win so desperately that his violet irises burn with it.

“A Quirkless, worthless loser. A nothing,” Shinsou says, the words licking out of his mouth slow as molasses. The crowd gasps unanimously. “You cheated your way through this tournament from start to finish, didn’t you?”

Midoriya feints forward, unable to help himself. Frustration, and worse, humiliation bubbles beneath his skin. Shinsou responds with a twitch, but they resume their tireless circling instantly.

“Stepping on others to get ahead. Hiding in the air. Turning Hatsume-san’s pride against her. Using unfair weapons against Todoroki-san. You’re not a Hero at all, Midoriya,” Shinsou spits. “You’re a liar.”

Midoriya’s chest heaves.

“WHAT’S THIS?” Present Mic booms. “AN EXPOSÉ FROM THE LIPS OF SHINSOU HITOSHI?”

In Midoriya’s mind, he sees the cruel twist of Endeavor’s lips. “Pathological liars are Villains in the making.”

“A liar, and a fraud.” Shinsou digs into him gleefully, teeth bared wide. He flashes a hand out, and Midoriya flinches back, but they don’t stop moving. “And, worse—you’re a thief. You stole not one, not two, but three spots from other students. Didn’t you? All so you could call yourself Principal Nedzu-sama’s pet project.”

Midoriya bites down on a wordless sound of protest that rises in his chest. He hadn’t asked for Nedzu to do that! He’d only wanted one spot, just a chance at being a Hero. But Shinsou is right. He had stolen it. He’d failed the tests, and decided that he deserved more of a chance than everyone else. Midoriya had manipulated his way into Yuuei, and now everyone knew it.

“Admit it, Midoriya,” Shinsou goads. “You love being the center of attention, no matter how many people you have to push down to get there. You play at being smart to cover what you really are: a worthless, Quirkless nobody.”

Midoriya’s face tenses from the effort of not responding. Tears prick in his eyes. Instead of speaking, he flies across the space between them and tackles Shinsou to the ground. They go skidding, rolling unpleasantly as they fight for the upper hand.

This is closer to what Midoriya is used to. When they spar, it often devolves into sandy wrestling, and whoever ends up on top wins. Now, however, when Shinsou shoves Midoriya’s shoulders to the ground and tries to pin him with a knee, Midoriya spits in his eye.

Shinsou reels back, the shock and disgust of the crowd echoing the look on his face.

“Don’t shame the boy,” Eraser Head’s dry, bored drawl commands, as the people in the stands begin shouting. “Dirty fighting is a skill that most Heroes have to utilize at least once. If you want to win badly enough, you’ll do anything for it.”

“Just be sure to keep it SPORTSMANLIKE!” Present Mic shouts.

Midoriya rolls to his feet, and whips out his leg in a ferocious kick at Shinsou’s face. Shinsou catches his ankle and sends him careening to the ground.

“Hear that? Can’t even fight me like a man,” Shinsou grunts, planting his elbow into Midoriya’s stomach. Midoriya’s breath escapes through his nose, his lips still pressed tightly together.

He lurches forward, slamming his forehead into Shinsou’s.

Unpredictability is all I have, he thinks. We know each other too well to fight properly.

Shinsou stumbles away, hand pressed to his temple. Midoriya proves himself right immediately by blocking Shinsou’s hasty right-hook and getting his own knee to the chest diverted. They spring apart.

“Come on, Midoriya!” shouts Shinsou, gritting his teeth. “Give up now, and save everyone the embarrassment of having a Quirkless freak go any further! Don’t want to tarnish Yuuei’s reputation, do you?!”

Midoriya bites his lip. Shinsou cracks a palm across his cheek, making his ears ring and tears cloud his vision as he staggers back, dangerously close to the edge. At the last second, Midoriya crouches, letting Shinsou’s shove carry the taller boy forward until Midoriya’s shoulder is buried in his gut.

He’s never managed this move in practice, but Midoriya can’t afford to fight him any longer. He gets his feet under himself more firmly, and pushes up with a shout of effort, lifting Shinsou’s legs and throwing all of the purple-haired boy’s weight over his shoulder.

Shinsou lands with a cough of lost breath. His fingers have just begun to clench around Midoriya’s ankle when Midnight calls, “Winner: Midoriya Izuku! Shinsou Hitoshi is out of bounds!”

Midoriya pants, his hands on his knees.

Below him, Shinsou lets out a long, tired sigh. “Damnit.”

The crowd doesn’t cheer like they did after his match with Todoroki. Midoriya turns to face them, staring out into a roiling sea of confusion. Shinsou gets to his hands and knees, and Midoriya offers his palm. Shinsou begrudgingly takes it, and light applause breaks out.

When they’re both standing again, Shinsou slides his arm around Midoriya’s shoulders and leans in close to whisper, “You know I didn’t mean it, right?”

Midoriya blinks. “Oh.”

Shinsou rolls his eyes. “C’mon. What kind of asshole do you take me for, man? I had to try my damndest, but I couldn’t think of anything besides outing you. Sorry about that, by the way.”

“Sorry for spitting in your eye,” Midoriya says sheepishly.

“Yeah, that was really disgusting.”

They walk off the field together, Shinsou’s arm still snug around Midoriya’s neck.

Midoriya isn’t sure how he thought Kacchan’s match with Monoma would go, once he heard it was happening, but this is pretty much par for the course. Monoma monologued about putting class 1-A in their place, and Kacchan had absolutely no idea who Monoma was. Monoma stole his Quirk with a quick, nasty-looking smack, and sent Kacchan reeling. Exhausted from his earlier fights, Kacchan hadn’t had as much sweat to work with as usual, but he had no shortage of hand-to-hand moves, which Monoma had a difficult time countering. Eventually, the match ended with Kacchan’s knee planted on Monoma’s back, his explosive palms pressed to either side of Monoma’s face.

It dawns on Midoriya that he’s going to have to be fighting in the final round of the Yuuei sports festival at the same time he realizes he’s going to be fighting Kacchan.

“Wow, that’s bad luck,” Shinsou says, one hundred percent unsympathetic. He grins. “Don’t let loverboy lead you around too much, okay?”

He and Hatsume take no notice of the pasty white color that Midoriya has turned.

Before he knows it, he’s trembling and shaking his way onto the field for the last time. Across from him, Kacchan holds none of his usual swagger. His movements are jerky and tense with familiar fury, and the sinking feeling in Midoriya’s stomach tells him that all their dirty laundry is going to end up aired out.

On national television, he despairs, shoving his shaking hands into his pockets.

Midnight merely gives them a saucy smile, and cracks her flog.

“Deku,” Kacchan says, dragging the nickname out until Deku can feel the rumble of it under his skin. He anxiously flicks on Sonic Wave. “I still don’t know how a Quirkless fuck like you got this far. You don’t deserve to stand on the same stage as me, let alone face me in an official battle. But if you want a beatdown that bad, I always deliver, don’t I?” He cracks his knuckles.

Deku’s heart leaps into his throat. He feels as soundless as he’d been forced to be last round.

Kacchan steps forward; Deku stumbles back. Kacchan’s mouth wrenches into a snarl.

“Come here and take your fucking medicine. You earned it, after all,” Kacchan says, sparks crackling on his hands.

Deku shakes his head, his legs trembling. It’s the first time all day that his stomach has curdled this hard—even Endeavor hadn’t made him feel this small.

“You wanted this, right?!” Kacchan barks. “You clawed your way here, tooth and nail, to cower at my feet! Don’t pretend to be scared now, Deku. Use that shitty Support item of yours, and let me put you in your place!”

Deku swallows. His mouth is so, so dry.

“M-m–m—” Midoriya tries.

A wicked grin crawls up Kacchan’s face. It’s so unfair that it makes Deku’s heart stutter in his chest, even now, when he knows it means nothing but pain in his near future.

“HAS MIDORIYA’S SUPPORT ITEM MALFUNCTIONED? WHY THE STALEMATE?” Present Mic howls in confusion.

It’s this that jolts Deku out of his fear. He pictures Hatsume’s joyful, exuberant face crumpling like wet paper as her sponsors question why their Support item had broken right when he needed it most. His stomach drops out of his body.

“No!” Midoriya shouts, and the wave of sound crashes into Kacchan. He lets off a small explosion to counterbalance, and Midoriya watches his tongue lick all the way across his teeth in a hungry rage.

“There you go,” Kacchan says. “Now, do it again. Give me everything you’ve got, and I’ll tear that shitty collar to pieces, you worthless pebble!”

So Midoriya does. He gives a wordless cry, and begins their fight in earnest.

He’s not sure he’s ever actually fought Kacchan in the traditional sense. Been beaten black and blue by him? Yes, a hundred times. Been chased by him and his goons, and hidden from them in a garbage bin? More times than Midoriya wants to admit. Been shoved, tripped, smacked, and laughed at by him? Midoriya couldn’t count them if he tried, genuinely. But a real, honest to God fistfight?

Midoriya thinks this is their first.

As tired and afraid as he is, the thought energizes him. He knows Kacchan, inside and out. But does Kacchan know him? Midoriya has had a whole month to grow up, and grow stronger in ways he’d never imagined he would. Though Kacchan had continued to pop up at his house at inopportune moments, he’d never seen what Midoriya was spending his time on, outside of those interactions.

So that first vicious right hook, he ducks beneath. He catches Kacchan, the same way he had caught Shinsou, and flings him onto his back. Too quick to be humiliated for long, Kacchan sends a rough, burning blast at the backs of Midoriya’s legs. Midoriya whirls, using a shout to put space between them.

It’s more evenly-matched than Midoriya had ever hoped for. He still ends up burned and bruised and crying, Kacchan’s words cutting him to the quick like they always have, but he pulls his trembling fists up in front of him and resets his stance.

Kacchan’s wrists twitch and arch, his fingers spasming. Too many explosions in too-short of a period.

“I’m seriously going to kill you,” Kacchan rasps.

“I dare you to try,” Midoriya tells him shudderingly. Rage descends over Kacchan, and he holds out both of his battered hands.

“You asked for it,” Kacchan reminds him.

The biggest explosion Midoriya has ever seen flares up a foot from his face, and his scream barely repels a fifth of it. He soars through the air, Jellyfish Capture melting and warping, the metal on his wrists and neck searing hot. Midoriya screams again, but Sonic Wave doesn’t respond. When he lands, he’s so far out of bounds that he slides and hits the wall of the stadium, shrieking and crying and trying to tug away from the smoking metal melting his skin.

“Winner: Bakugou Katsuki!” Midnight’s worried voice calls.

Insane, uproarious cheering erupts, and Midoriya’s agony is unending. He blacks out.

When he wakes, his friends are crowded around him, anxious looks on all of their faces.

“Super-Nerd!” Hatsume cries.

“Midoriya,” Shinsou breathes.

Monoma grips his hand tightly, bringing Midoriya’s knuckles to his lips. “I swear to God, never scare me like that again,” he says, pressing the words directly into Midoriya’s skin.

Recovery Girl whacks Monoma with her syringe. “Out, out! Out of the way, all of you!”

Monoma drops his hand back to the bedspread, rubbing at his new bump bitterly. “Alright, alright, we’re going!”

“Now, how are you feeling, sonny?” she asks Midoriya.

“Um, dehydrated, I think,” Midoriya croaks.

“To be expected,” she says, with a satisfied nod. “Burns always take up the water you’ve got in your system.” She snaps her wrinkled fingers, and Shinsou places a styrofoam cup of water into her hand obediently. Recovery Girl offers it to Midoriya, who lifts it to his mouth to drink, and then stops short with a gasp.

Around his wrist is a faded pink ring of scarring, exactly where the Jellyfish Capture had sat.

“I’m sorry to say, metal and heat aren’t the best combination,” Recovery Girl tells him. “Drink, Midoriya-kun.”

He drinks.

“Um,” Shinsou says. “The award ceremony was supposed to start like thirty minutes ago, but they wanted to postpone it until you woke up. Monoma and I did the consolation fight already, too. I won.” Shinsou scratches at the back of his neck sheepishly.

“He told me I was a bad friend,” Monoma says, rather waspishly. “I couldn’t let that stand, and then I was outside the ring.”

“Anyway,” Shinsou interrupts, “I’m supposed to take you to the winner’s podium area thing ASAP. So…” he looks hopefully at Recovery Girl, who harrumphs but allows it.

Before he leaves, Hatsume catches his fingertips gently. Her yellow crosshair eyes stare deeply into his, and she says, “First thing Monday? We’re working on heat resistance for all of our metal babies. Okay?”

Midoriya throws his arms around her neck, and hugs her close. “It’s not your fault, Hatsume-san. We couldn’t have predicted that.”

Then, he’s off to receive his shiny silver medal from All Might.

Far away, in a dirty, sticky bar, Shigaraki Tomura grins.

“Congratulations, Midori-chan. Or should I say, Midoriya-chan?”

Chapter Text

Captioned clip from Nippon Hōsō Kyōkai ’s “General TV” broadcast, aired on March 3, 2232, 15:04.

Accessed: May 3, 2232—and hastily turned off.

NAKAJIMA: —who knows what they’ll let in next? If Yuuei’s board is allowing Quirkless in, this might be Nedzu-san’s final push before trying to include Quirked animals in the curriculum.

SATO: Nakajima-san, let’s not be hasty. It came as a surprise to everyone that a Quirkless student is attending such a prestigious institution, but the rules barring such applicants were overturned just last year. It’s not as if the student’s attendance is entirely unprecedented.

NAKAJIMA: Actually, it is! We’re getting word that the Hero Public Safety Commision has no record on file for Midoriya Izuku, the shocking star of the first-year Yuuei sports festival! How did he manage to sneak past—

Excerpt from “Unevolved Buddies ;)))”

Accessed: May 4, 2232.

tentenluvsdakobeni: Remember, we can do anything a Quirked person can! Midoriya Izuku proves that. :)))))

matsuooooo: DONT GET ANY DANGEROS IDEASS WE STILL CANT FIGHT

matsuooooo: HHES GONNA GET HIM SELF KILLED

anonymous-user: You can do anything you put your mind to!!!! Don’t let the naysayers live your life for you!!!!!!!

miyaisabigboy: i cant believe theres gonna be a quirkless hero

matsuooooo: HEROS R 4 PEPOLE WHO DESERVE TO BE SAVED

Excerpt from “VILLAIN 22431009: HERO-KILLER STAIN” case file, annotated by Nedzu and Midoriya Izuku.

Accessed: May 6, 2232.

“BATTLE HERO 78761: Ingenium (Iida Tensei) found by civilian (Homura Keiko) at approximately 03:06. Civilian contacted emergency response (Officer Tanaka Ito) at approximately 03:07. The call transcription is included in the documents. Aid was rendered at 03:22 by paramedic team. Ingenium was removed to Hosu General Hospital and admitted to the emergency room at 03:31. No statement has been taken. Photographs of the wounds included in the documents.”

“Identify entrance angles. Identify force used. Identify secondary wounds. Hypothesize on counterattacks. Sketch battle.”

“Four main wounds identified. Largest wound APPROX. 7 CM below the 12th rib, above the medullary cone, on back. Depth? Entrance angle suggests an upward strike. Stain shorter?

"Second wound APPROX. 6.5 CM at left L1 on back, dura mater possibly affected. Depth? Entrance angle suggests a slice, not a stab. Wound appears deeper on LEFT suggesting an upward, right-handed slash. Stain right-handed?

"Third wound APPROX. 6.5 CM at right T12 on back. Posterior spinal arteries affected? Depth? Entrance angle suggests a stab. 90 degree angle.

"Fourth wound APPROX. 2 CM, right scapula, on back. Slice wound. Angle suggests an upward swing.

“Main force used: SHARP FORCE.

“Secondary wounds: abrasions on cheek. Contusion on lower abdomen, over kidney—IMPLEMENT MARK!!! Oval print. Contusion on upper left thigh.”

“Counterattacks: Fists. Knuckledusters on Hero costume scuffed. Kick possibly parried, causing thigh bruising.”

“SEE SKETCH!”

“Kid,” a deep, tired voice calls him. It’s Eraser Head, lingering, out of place, by the front gates of Yuuei. Midoriya’s hands clench on the black fabric of his backpack straps.

This morning has been a rough one. One of the roughest since coming to Yuuei, that’s for sure. On the train, a university-aged girl had yanked his headphones out of his ears and demanded to know how he’d gotten into a Hero school. An elderly man grabbed the hook on the top of his backpack meant for hanging it, and jerked Midoriya back when he’d tried to duck away from the confrontation. Even one of the younger kids he’d been seeing on his morning jogs had tossed a sharp rock at him and called him a freak.

(Shinsou had been livid on his behalf; Midoriya tries not to let that weird him out.)

“Yes, Eraser Head-san?” Midoriya says nervously. He’s supposed to be visiting Recovery Girl to take the bandages off of his burns before class. His time window is closing.

Eraser Head shoves his hands into his pockets. “Where’d you learn to fight?” he asks, gruff and demanding as usual.

“Ah, um, my friend Shinsou-kun and I taught ourselves. We kind of… wrestle? With punching involved.” Midoriya blushes hotly.

The man clicks his tongue. “I can tell that much. You’re sloppy—and so’s he. The only good thing you did that entire round of the Fest was spit, and you didn’t even follow through properly.” His dark eyes flash yellow intimidatingly, and he seems disappointed when Midoriya only cocks his head in curiosity. “You need a proper teacher, if you’re ever going to get better. The other one, Shinsou. He wants to be a Hero, right?”

Midoriya nods eagerly. “Underground! His Quirk is perfect for Battle Heroics, and he could probably be trained in Intelligence. I wouldn’t put him on any Rescue missions, but he would be excellent at interrogations, if you could get permission to use Brainwashing—”

Eraser Head holds up a hand, stalling Midoriya’s voice. “I’m going to stop you there. I don’t know—or care—whether you want to be a Hero.” That stings, because Midoriya hadn't even been talking about himself. “It’s impossible, without a proper Quirk. The Hero Public Safety Commission will never issue a license to a Quirkless person. Shinsou, on the other hand, I can deal with.” He narrows his gaze. “As long as he curbs that mouth of his. Do you know where I can find him?”

Midoriya’s stomach sinks. Today really isn’t a great day. It’s been a while since the last time someone had told him he couldn’t be a Hero—partially because he’d stopped running around announcing it. He shakes it off. No matter who tells him otherwise, Midoriya will be a Hero, whether the Hero Public Safety Commission approves or not.

“He’s in 1-C, which I, um, I’m pretty sure you know. I saw him this morning, when we went jogging together, but I don’t have class with him until fourth period.” Midoriya’s hands grip anxiously on his straps.

Eraser Head shoots him another lingering look. “Listen, kid. I still don’t like you.” Midoriya does his best not to cringe away. “And I don't think you should have one spot—let alone three—at this school. But there’s only one way to make up for that, and it isn’t dropping out. That would be a whole lot of wasted potential. So far, you’ve proved my first impressions of you wrong. If you want to keep doing that, and keep earning your place, you’ll have to get stronger. I wouldn’t… hate it,” he says, his face twisting unhappily behind his capture weapon, “if you joined Shinsou in training. You’ll have to sit out sometimes, but observation is your thing anyway, right?”

Midoriya’s mouth falls open. “Oh my God.” He waits for Eraser Head to say something, to yank the proverbial carrot away. Instead, he rolls his bloodshot eyes in silence. “You’re serious? You—you’d actually, you’d, you—”

“Don’t give yourself an aneurysm,” Eraser Head mutters.

Midoriya has to take a breath and picture the words in his mind. “You’d actually let me train with you?” He has to stop anything else from coming out; he doesn’t want to give Eraser Head any ideas about giving him the wrong address, or making him act as the training dummy.

“If you can handle yourself appropriately, then yes. You’re determined to stay at Yuuei.” He glares lightly, but relaxes his scowl with a sigh. “Better make it worth your while.”

Tears jump into Midoriya’s eyes. He wrestles with the lump in his throat, and barely manages to choke out a whispered, “Thank you.” Eraser Head rolls his eyes and tells him to meet at the P.E. grounds after his lessons this afternoon.

Midoriya wipes his tears into the gauze on his wrists, and then jolts into a sprint towards the nurse’s office with a shouted goodbye at his newest Sensei.

Midoriya’s new scars itch—especially the ones around his throat. Maybe it's only because he can't hide those behind his blazer the same way he can hide the ones on his wrists. His mother's horrified sobs still echo in his ears, and he rubs his neck uncomfortably. That, however, only serves to remind him of Shigaraki’s frantic scratching. He stops.

A moment later, he finds that his fingers are back on his neck.

“Midoriya-kun,” says Principal Nedzu, “I believe you are developing a new nervous habit. Is your assignment causing you undue stress?”

Midoriya pulls his hand down and sits on it. “N-no, Sensei. I think I’m just itchy.”

Nedzu makes a curious humming, chirruping noise. “Your scars may need ointment. Try not to scratch, for now, Midoriya-kun. We don’t want to invite infection.”

“Of course.” Midoriya sits more firmly on his left hand.

He’s a little surprised that Nedzu hasn’t mentioned being outed as Quirkless—the news had a field day with that information, and Midoriya is sure that Nedzu is dealing with the fallout and backlash as it is. The only good thing about how Shinsou revealed Midoriya’s (and Yuuei’s, by extension) lie-by-omission, is that he’d already gotten the worst insults aired out on national television.

Midoriya tries not to remember that.

“Have you made any discoveries?” Nedzu asks, his ear twitching forward in intrigue.

Midoriya blinks, coming back to the present, and nods. He lifts the topmost paper sitting in front of him, reviewing his own scratchy handwriting. Beneath it, a gruesome photograph of a bloodied back glares up at him.

This is one of the most interesting assignments Nedzu has had him do. Midoriya is quite sure that he’d pulled some strings to get his paws on Nighteye’s brand-new breakthrough in this case, even if it is an odd attack.

“I think it’s fairly obvious that Stain is shorter than Ingenium, from the angle of the wounds. The one on his shoulder was definitely a reach, which is why it was so small and shallow. On the other hand, it’s really weird that he wasn’t aiming for the heart or the throat. During all of his lethal attacks, Stain targeted major arteries. With Ingenium, he seems to have avoided all of his usual hotspots—especially with the bruise on Ingenium’s thigh. Stain could have stabbed him in the femoral artery and left him to bleed out, which he definitely would have, before anyone found him. It’s unlike every other crime scene, and definitely not in line with his modus operandi.”

Nedzu’s small, sharp teeth gleam. “You’re quite right. Tell me, why do you believe this is?”

Midoriya hems and haws for a moment. He won’t insult Nedzu’s intelligence by asking if he has any theories—obviously, he does—but he wonders how deeply Nedzu has thought about this. He could probably pin down Stain with relative ease, if he put the full might of High Specs behind the investigation, but he’s holding back. Midoriya doesn’t understand why.

“I think it’s indicative of Stain’s temperament and how he views Ingenium,” he says, instead of asking. “The wounds don’t match at all. In fact, I’d go as far as to say that this wasn’t Stain, if Ingenium hadn’t been so badly wounded in the area he was. To me, it all points to, to the idea, um, that Ingenium wasn’t a target. He’s not a Hero that Stain was trying to cull.” Midoriya bites his lip.

“If that is so,” Nedzu’s black doll-eyes glimmer leadingly, “why was Ingenium injured at all?”

“There’s a thousand possible reasons,” Midoriya says, setting his notes back down. “He could have been at the wrong place at the wrong time. He could have intercepted Stain by accident on the way to another target. Ingenium could have been tracking Stain, and successfully caught him. Stain could be branching out, and leaving a message for the other Heroes that he will both kill and maim.” Midoriya blows out a breath. “It’s all so inconclusive, without Ingenium’s report.”

Nedzu’s paw taps the file stack. “I believe that is where Sir Nighteye-san was caught, as well. There is much to learn from this encounter, most of which cannot be gleaned until Iida-san returns from his medically-induced coma. I assume that he awoke sometime yesterday, and that the police have not taken—or possibly filed—his statement yet.”

Midoriya’s hand twitches beneath his leg. “Ah, Nedzu-sensei? Can I ask a, a, um, a question?”

“Of course!” Nedzu focuses his full, rapt attention on Midoriya. His white paws cross, one over the other, and rest on the dark surface of his desk.

“Why haven’t you solved this case?”

Nedzu blinks, and Midoriya hurries to clarify.

“I, I just mean, not that you have to! Or, or are obligated, or anything like that. I just think that, with High Specs, this case could probably be solved in a matter of days, if not hours. There’s plenty of evidence—somewhere, I guess—about Stain’s path, and his crimes, and things like that. I just, um. I’d like to know why, specifically, you chose not to provide intelligence for this case. Unless—unless Sir Nighteye prevented you from assisting!” Midoriya bites his lip to stop himself from speaking any more, waiting for Nedzu’s response.

“Well, that’s a curious question, Midoriya-kun. I think it’s both simpler, and more complex than you’re thinking.” Nedzu must see the burning eagerness in Midoriya’s eyes, for he laughs and hops to his hind paws, standing on the seat of his chair.

This, of course, only brings him to roughly the height of his computer monitor. He clambers up onto his desk, and approaches Midoriya, carefully stepping around the paperwork stacked in neat little towers across the wood surface. When his bright red children’s shoes touch the edge of the desk, he stops.

“It is simpler, because, indeed, Sir Nighteye-san has not asked for my assistance as of yet. I will not stick my snout where it has not been invited, especially with such a high-profile case as this. Offering my services would end with a rather put-out Nighteye Agency, don’t you agree?” Midoriya nods, accepting the principal’s point easily. “On the other paw, it is also complex, as my reasons for not interfering are multifaceted. Tell me, Midoriya-kun, why do you think that Stain kills?”

It’s a difficult question. Midoriya struggles to come up with a concise statement, his brow creasing.

Nedzu holds up a paw to stall him. “I am sure you could provide me with a dozen plausible reasons. Many have begun to speculate, both online, and in the crime-fighting forces across the country, as to the reasons why the Hero-Killer acts so harshly. To me, his motivation is unimportant.” Midoriya jolts a bit at the solidity of the statement. Nedzu lifts his muzzle so that he’s looking directly into Midoriya’s eyes. “Only his actions matter.

“His killings are sending ripples across the country. You know of the copy-cat murders and attacks that have begun cropping up. There have been many news reports, and forensics experts brought around to speculate as to his reasonings. ‘Killing fakes’ is so flimsy an explanation, after all.” Nedzu licks his chops. “I will not capture him, because I want to see.”

When no more words are forthcoming, Midoriya ventures a question. “See what, exactly?”

Nedzu spreads his paws, little clear claws curling as his toes flex apart. He encompasses the world, his head tilting back so that his damp nose points into the air. “Everything, Midoriya-kun. I want to see everything the Hero-Killer can give me. I want to see his victims; his wounds; his message; his fans; his cynics. Stain is a thought-provoker on a national scale, the likes of which we have not seen in many years. I would like to see the chaos he can wreak, and where he intends to take his little crusade. I want to see his response to the copy-cats. I would like to unravel the mystery of his standards. What makes a Hero worthy of killing? What saves one Hero, but damns another? How high is he willing to strike? How far will he travel? How many innocents will be caught in the crossfire?” Nedzu relaxes his arms to his sides, teeth bared hungrily. “Who will rise in the wake of his inspiration? Will the naysayers prevail, or will a new wave of villainy descend upon us, governed by these conflicting morals?”

Midoriya’s eyes are wide.

“Don’t tell me, Midoriya-kun, that none of this interests you?”

It’s the disappointed slouch in Nedzu’s ears that sends Midoriya stuttering. “A–ah, no! I, I mean, yes! It’s all very interesting, vitally interesting, of course, Nedzu- sensei , but…” He leans forward, breath catching. “Isn’t it a little… cruel? People’s lives are at stake. If he continues, more people will get hurt, no matter what.”

Nedzu gives him a soft, condescending pat on the head. “Absolutely. That is why I am not stopping Sir Nighteye-san, and others, from hunting the Hero-Killer. To do so would be an obstruction of justice, obviously. However…” He tilts his head, observing Midoriya carefully. “I am not often inclined to stop a train simply because it is crashing, Midoriya-kun.”

Midoriya is sure Nedzu is being honest. He’d much rather watch the flames, count the dead, and compile the statistics of the crash, than prevent it. A train running smoothly would be boring.

“Oh,” Midoriya breathes.

Nedzu’s ears perk again. “You are so intriguing. I find it incredibly difficult to believe that your thirst for knowledge causes no deeper, darker curiosity to grow in you.” Nedzu’s paw pats Midoriya’s freckled cheek. “It’s one of our main points of divergence, you know.”

“Really?” Midoriya asks, unbothered by Nedzu’s casual touch.

“Undoubtedly! I learned fairly early in my career that I do not have a human perception of morality, nor do I care to craft one. I am a creature of logic and information, and it does not bother me when it is gained unethically. Ethics are such finicky things, anyway.”

Before Midoriya can catch it, a question flies out of his mouth. “Even after the way you were treated?” He claps his hand over his lips, wishing he could pull the words through the air and stuff them back into his throat, where they belong. He cringes.

Of all the taboo topics, Midoriya has never asked about Nedzu’s past.

Nedzu pays no mind to Midoriya’s self-flagellation. He grasps his paws behind his back and leans up on his hind toes a bit, before settling back.

“I believe that the way I was created plays a large role in my callousness towards humanity,” Nedzu says conversationally. “There is very little in this world that I have not experienced first-hand, Midoriya-kun. It makes it difficult to muster up such human things as compassion and empathy, which you possess in spades. Not to mention, as an animal, most emotions are beyond my physical capabilities.”

“I’m sorry,” Midoriya whispers, abashed. He catches his hand halfway to his neck, and shoves that one beneath his leg, too.

“Never stifle your curiosity for the sake of another’s feelings, Midoriya-kun. Especially not mine, as most that I display are falsified.” Nedzu gives him one last pat, and hops his way back to his seat. “Now, let’s discuss the possible ramifications of Stain’s most recent attack…”

As Nedzu continues to speak, half of Midoriya’s mind spins away. His hand takes notes thoughtlessly, while he contemplates the implications of Nedzu’s self-stated emotionlessness. What had he said to Aizawa, weeks ago? Something about Midoriya being the only one who could possibly understand Nedzu’s place in the world fully.

He goes a little cold. If Nedzu means that Midoriya will be like him—unfeeling, and willing to let others be hurt for the sake of data—he’s completely wrong. But something tells Midoriya that Nedzu knows very well Midoriya’s moral limits, and won’t be testing them, yet. He’ll just have to wait for the day that Nedzu sees fit to put him to the test, and hope he doesn’t disappoint.

The sun warms his tanned skin. Normally at this time, Midoriya would be heading to the train station, and to Dagobah beach to clean with Shinsou. Today, he’s studying a map—obtained at the front desk in the Hero tower—and trying to find the P.E. grounds. He wonders if the other, normal courses have physical education classes. Maybe he should have asked someone earlier.

Instead, he’s wandering down the paved pathway, hoping that there’ll be a sign on the building he’s looking for.

Besides the main, H-shaped building with its four iconic towers and sky-bridges, Midoriya hasn’t seen much of the Yuuei campus. The Unforeseen Simulation Joint doesn’t really count, in his opinion. (All he’d done was fall down the stairs and cry. He didn’t even get to explore!) The map he’s holding boasts about the four mega Grounds: Alpha, Beta, Gamma, and Omega; the four gyms of the same names; the historic Sports Festival Stadium; and the massive stretch of undeveloped forest that populates the grounds. Nowhere does it mention the P.E. grounds.

Midoriya tosses his head back and groans. He spins in place, shaking the map at the cloudless blue sky. “Why does this place have to be so huge?”

“Hi!”

Midoriya shrieks. It’s instinct—a new one that surprises even him—that has his red-sneakered foot kicking out at the voice that startled him. It goes straight through the body of the taller, blond boy standing next to Midoriya, who he swears wasn’t there a moment ago.

The boy laughs and steps back, and the shirt he’s wearing flutters to the ground, directly through his skin.

“You’re the naked guy from the third year’s Sports Festival!” Midoriya blurts, stumbling back onto both feet. “Sorry about kicking you, Senpai!”

The blond boy grins sheepishly. “Nah, that’s alright. I didn’t mean to scare you so bad. You’re the Quirkless first-year, right?” He sketches a bow. “Nice to meet you.”

Midoriya doesn’t like that he’s back to being “the Quirkless such-and-such” again. It had been nice to be anonymous, for a little while. He bows back to his senpai, and then jerks upright.

“You’re in the Hero course!” Midoriya says.

“That’s right,” says the boy.

“Do you know where the P.E. grounds are? I’m supposed to meet Eraser Head-san there, but they’re not on the map,” he says, frustration creeping into his tone. Midoriya shakes the map again demonstratively.

“Oh, sure!” The boy points his thumb over his shoulder, at the gray-brick building behind him. “It’s that one right there! I was actually leaving for the day when I saw you.” Midoriya withholds another groan.

It was right there the whole time? He sighs.

“I wanted to introduce myself,” the boy continues, seemingly oblivious to Midoriya’s embarrassment. “I’m Mirio Togata! I thought you did really well in the sports festival, for a Quirkless guy. Congratulations on second place!”

Midoriya flushes, even though the compliment is backhanded. “Thank you, Senpai. I’m Midoriya Izuku. Pleased to meet you!” He bites his lip. “I’d really love to stay and ask you a couple questions about your Quirk—it’s so interesting, and I have so many ideas—but I think I'm already late.” He scratches his neck idly, then snatches his hand down.

“No worries!” The boy, Mirio, gives Midoriya a bright grin. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again, Midoriya-kouhai. I heard a rumor that you’re Principal Nedzu-sama’s personal student.” Suddenly, Mirio’s guileless blue eyes seem a bit sharper, despite their round appearance. Midoriya gets the feeling that Mirio is a lot smarter than he seems to be. “I’d never pass up an opportunity to talk to someone like you.”

“Like me?” Midoriya blinks owlishly.

“You were hand-picked for your intelligence, right?” Mirio cocks his head inquisitively. “I can only assume that Nedzu-sama had a reason to choose you, over everyone else in Japan.”

Midoriya hopes that his face doesn’t give anything away. If by reason, you mean “no one else would think to get themselves hit by a car and concussed for a chance to talk to him,” maybe.

“Ah, um, I guess so! I do have a lot of questions for you,” Midoriya says. “I’ll do my best to find you again, Mirio-senpai! Have a good day!” Midoriya bows away, and jogs to the front of the P.E. building that Mirio had pointed at.

He takes a big breath, and throws open the doors.

“Jeez, Midoriya,” Shinsou groans. Midoriya takes a second to adjust to the dimmer lighting of the gym, before he sees Shinsou.

He’s laid out on the linoleum, arms and legs splayed out like a starfish. His cheek is pressed to the floor, sweat slicking the roots of his gravity-defying purple hair so that it hangs limply into his eyes.

“Took you long enough,” Eraser Head grunts. The dark-haired Hero has his hands shoved into the pockets of his Hero suit, though he’s conspicuously missing his capture scarf. Midoriya thinks that the sight of his pale neck is strange—a little unnatural. Aizawa scowls at him. “You’re not dressed out?”

Midoriya licks his lips. “I was with Nedzu-sensei, ” he says. “We don’t do much physical activity.”

Shinsou snorts into the floor. “No kidding. He doesn’t need to lift more than a finger to destroy someone.”

Aizawa uses the toe of his black, rubber-soled combat boot to prod Shinsou in the ribs. Shinsou groans and squirms away, leaving a sweaty streak on the shiny basketball court he’s laying on.

“Up, brat. It’s your lucky break. Midoriya, hit the locker room and get dressed in that.” Aizawa points to the wall on Midoriya’s left, where a short metal bench sits. On it is a plastic package that he’s sure contains a P.E. uniform. “When you get back, we’re gonna start with some stretches, and get your physical baselines.”

Midoriya gets changed as quickly as he can, swapping his uniform and backpack with the P.E. uniform when he comes back. Shinsou and Aizawa seem to be locked in some kind of awkward staring contest that breaks when Midoriya nervously trots up.

Aizawa gives Midoriya a long look.

“You’re definitely not the same size you were when we first met,” he says. It sounds utterly begrudging, as if Midoriya had grown his muscles simply to spite Eraser Head’s previous observations. “Who told you to start working out?”

Shinsou scoffs, but looks at Midoriya to answer.

“Um, no one?”

“Is that a statement or a question?” Eraser Head asks sarcastically.

“A statement, sir,” Midoriya says. His hand twitches at his side, and he forces it to stay there.

“I told you,” Shinsou grumbles sullenly. “Midoriya’s all about implementation. It was his idea.”

Midoriya is touched that Shinsou had been defending him to Eraser Head. It occurs to him that there is someone to credit for the inception of the desire to grow stronger, though, and he turns to Eraser Head again. “Actually, our friend, Hatsume-san, was the one who told me that I needed to get stronger. But, one of your students, Bakugou Katsuki, made me realize that I needed to start training.”

Eraser Head’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead. It’s the most expression Midoriya has ever seen on his face.

“Bakugou Katsuki?” He squints at Midoriya. “The one who blew you to kingdom come and called you a dekunobu on live television?”

Midoriya winces at the reminder. “Kacchan’s not all bad,” he says reflexively. He’s rewarded by Eraser Head’s mouth falling open.

“You call that little psycho ‘Kacchan?’”

Shinsou laughs. “He did seem to have it out for you, Midoriya.”

“We’ve known each other forever,” Midoriya says defensively. “He… He’s my rival.” The words aren’t really right—Kacchan is about a thousand other things, along with that—but they’re close enough, for now. He clenches his fists. “If he gets stronger, so do I.” Determination shoots through his bloodstream, and Midoriya stands taller. “He may have beat me, but I won’t let him win again. It’s my turn.”

Shinsou grins unsettlingly. Aizawa glances between them, his brow furrowed.

“Whatever,” he settles on. “Shinsou, drop and give me push-ups until Midoriya’s tests are done.”

“What?” Shinsou shrieks. Midoriya startles away, unused to such volume from Shinsou, who usually prefers a low, dry murmur. “That took us almost thirty minutes! No way can I do push ups for that long!”

Aizawa smiles—wow, it’s like a perfect imitation of Shinsou’s horribly toothy contortion—and points at the floor. “Then switch to push-ups on your knees. You need all the basic stamina you can get, string-bean. If you don’t want to, you know exactly where the door is.”

Shinsou groans, rolling his head back in a way that reminds Midoriya of Hatsume’s full-body movements.

Aizawa turns his grimace-smile on Midoriya, and he knows he’s in for a world of aches and pains.

Good. Finally, he can start making real strides to catching up with Kacchan.

Todoroki sits with them at lunch, now. He sat with them yesterday, the first day they’d returned after the Sports Festival, and seems to be continuing the trend, today.

Midoriya has found, without the threat of his father hanging in the air, Todoroki’s ferocious countenance melts into a quiet, observant persona that seems at odds with his quick-to-light anger from before.

“Midoriya,” Todoroki’s monotone voice says.

“Ah, um, yes?” Midoriya twitches guiltily. He’s been staring at Todoroki’s palms for the past five-or-so minutes, wondering if each one is textured differently, and Hatsume has swept up several of his pork cutlets because of it.

“If you’d like to hold my hand, you should ask,” Todoroki tells him.

Midoriya eeps, and Shinsou snorts into his water glass, so Hatsume has to swoop to the rescue to thump him on the back as he coughs.

“He doesn’t want that!” Monoma barks from Midoriay’s right, affronted. “He has to eat somehow.” At this, he clenches his hand where it’s interlaced with Midoriya’s until it hurts.

“Ouch, Monoma-kun. I wasn’t going to let go,” Midoriya says, blinking at him pitifully. The blond-haired boy’s grip loosens again. “Sorry, Todoroki-kun,” he continues, scratching at his neck idly and then jerking his fingers away when he realizes what he’s doing. “I was just curious about your Quirk, and your piebaldism, and whether the texture of your skin has been affected by your temperature fluctuations.”

“Ha!” says Monoma. “You’re balding?”

Todoroki leans around Midoriya to blink at Monoma. “No.”

Shinsou nearly chokes on his water again, and has to set his glass down. “Sitting with you guys is like watching a comedy act that doesn’t know they’re performing.”

Hatsume kicks Midoriya under the table. “Do you think we ought to change the texture of our baby?”

“Ouch,” Midoriya complains again, moving his legs and accidentally bumping Todoroki’s. “That’s what I was trying to figure out. And, no, Todoroki-kun isn’t balding. Not that I know of. I meant the white half of his hair,” Midoriya says, gesturing to the right side of his own head. “I did some research, and there’s several reasons why Todoroki-kun, um, well, looks the way he does. It could be complete bilateral chimerism, which would explain the perfect split, or it could be piebaldism. It really comes down to his symptoms.” Midoriya turns to Todoroki with a blush. “Um, it would be really easy to tell with some blood work.”

“My mother has white hair,” Todoroki says placidly, sliding his chopsticks into his noodles. “I inherited it from her.”

“Well, I know that,” Midoriya says, trying not to roll his eyes. “But that’s a good point towards the chimerism side. Piebaldism is usually localized to a portion of hair, rather than the whole head.”

“Are we taking bets?” Shinsou asks. “Ten yen on halfie here being a chimera like our illustrious principal.”

“You’re on,” Monoma says, leering at Todoroki unpleasantly. “I think he’s a genetic freak, the likes of which we’ve never seen before.”

Midoriya elbows him sharply in the ribs.

“Jeez! Sorry, Todoroki.” Monoma rolls his eyes. “I meant that you’re a miracle, and a gift of divine intervention brought by God himself.” He pauses for a moment, and then asks, “Do the carpets match the drapes?”

Midoriya elbows him again while Shinsou snickers into his katsudon.

“I am my father’s favorite genetic freak,” Todoroki says primely. This time, it’s Midoriya who nearly inhales his water.

Hatsume kicks out again, and catches Monoma, who yelps like a stepped-on cat.

“Oops!” She grins unashamedly, and accepts a low-five from Shinsou. “Anyway, Super-Nerd, we could totally use whatever you learn about him to fix the calibration on the body warmers. It’ll make the overall temperature balancing so much easier—”

He chooses to move on from Todoroki’s self-deprecation. “I know, right? If we know what texture each side of his body supports, we might be able to replicate it to help disperse the temperature of the suit.” Midoriya grins back at her.

Their latest project, assigned by Power Loader, is to calibrate a thermoregulator for one of the class 1-A kids. Someone named Asui Tsuyu, with a Quirk called Frog. She faces a known Quirk backlash during the summer months and the winter months, which she brought to the attention of the Management Department, who turned to the Support Department for some kind of internal device that could be used to undercut any temperature fluctuations.

Power Loader had asked Midoriya and Hatsume to submit a design, along with two other teams from 2-H and 3-H.

“Halfie-kun, you gotta present yourself for testing, ASAP,” Hatsume tells Todoroki. “We’re gonna blow those other teams out of the water, and if Super-Nerd needs your skin, or blood-type, or spit for that, you gotta give it.” Her yellow eyes are scarily intense.

Midoriya’s free hand waves wildly. Monoma keeps the other pinned to the cool metal surface of the table, with probably more force than necessary. “Todoroki-kun, you don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with! I was just wondering, since you seem to only produce one element from each side of your body, if those sides are primed to handle the temperatures differently.”

“You just have to ask, Midoriya,” says Todoroki. His eyes, one blue, one gray, settle intently on Midoriya’s freckled face.

For a moment, it feels like everyone in the cafeteria turns to look at him. The weight of all those gazes settle into his skin, flickering like a cascade of sparks over his body.

“O-okay,” Midoriya stutters. He wonders exactly what Todoroki would do, if he asks. “Please, Todoroki-kun, can I use you to help build our thermoregulator?”

His head tilts to the side appraisingly. A single strand of white hair falls into the red half of his scalp, and Midoriya resists the urge to pet it back into place with an ironclad will.

“Only if you explain it to me as you go,” he says, voice low and even.

“Yeesh,” says Shinsou, snapping the moment like a stick of Pocky. “Can anyone say ‘sexual tension?’”

Midoriya’s entire body flushes from head to toe.

“You didn’t see him give Midoriya-kun his shirt,” Monoma says, a snarky little half-smile on his mouth. “I thought Recovery Girl was going to write them up for PDA.”

Hatsume cackles madly. “And then there were all those posts about Super-Nerd’s giant shirt!”

“What?” Midoriya asks.

“You’re kidding,” Shinsou says, leaning his cheek onto one fist. “You weren’t on Twitter after the sports fest? It was all you, everywhere. You in that giant shirt during our fight was a whole conspiracy.” Then, he turns to look at Hatsume with his eyebrow cocked. “Wait a minute, you have Twitter?”

“Duh.” She rolls her eyes, and her whole head with them. “How else would I know what people were saying about our babies?”

“People actually noticed Todoroki-kun’s shirt?” Midoriya squeaks.

There’s a round of scoffing and laughter. Even Todoroki gives him a little eye-crinkle that Midoriya thinks means he’s being laughed at.

“You, a hundred-and-sixty-five centimeter short stack tried to wear Todoroki, a hundred-and-seventy-five centimeter giant’s shirt,” Shinsou says, his voice dry as sandpaper.

“A hundred-and-seventy-six, actually,” murmurs Todoroki.

Monoma narrows his eyes. “You’ve only got six centimeters on me.”

“That’s cute,” says Shinsou. “Why don’t both of you catch up to me, and then we’ll talk.”

Hatsume pulls a tape measure out of the pockets sewn into her uniform skirt, and yanks Shinsou’s fist out from beneath his chin. She pulls his arms straight out, and begins unrolling the tape measure from the tip of his fingers on one hand, across his shoulders, to the tips of his fingers on his other hand.

“Let’s settle this, why don’t we?” she says, grinning. Hatsume holds up the end of the tape measure for their inspection. “Purple-kun, here, is one-seventy-seven. Blondie? Care to get measured?” She wiggles the tape measure enticingly.

“No!” Monoma scowls. He clenches Midoriya’s hand tighter. “I’m perfectly aware of my height, thank you very much.”

Midoriya shakes his head. “No thanks, Hatsume-san.” He blushes. “I already know that I’m short—no need to rub it in.”

She laughs. “We’re conveniently sized, Super-Nerd. I bet you none of these guys could have fit into those Hover Boots during the Sports Festival, could they?” She gestures at the other boys, who shake their heads.

“Hold on, I never even thought about that. You guys actually switched shoes. How small are you?” Monoma asks, tugging on Midoriya’s arm.

“Hatsume has pretty big feet!” he says defensively.

“I’m one-fifty-seven centimeters,” she says proudly. “Same as Miruko!”

Monoma shoves Midoriya’s shoulders down into Todoroki’s lap and grabs his leg, pulling and twisting until he can see Midoriya’s bright red trainer. Midoriya gives Todoroki an apologetic smile. Todoroki looks down at him expressionlessly, and dangles a chopstick-full of noodles over Midoriya’s face until he takes the hint and opens his mouth.

“You totally have normal-sized feet!” Monoma cries, de-shoe-ing Midoriya’s foot. He’s thankful that he changed his socks after his run with Shinsou this morning.

“Put his goddamn shoe back on,” Shinsou sighs. “I’m trying to eat.”

“My doctor says I’m supposed to keep growing, since my mom is so much taller than my dad,” Hatsume tells them. “She’s why my feet are bigger than the rest of me. And why my skin is so dark—and why I’ve got dreadlocks.”

“Maybe Midoriya is just a really tiny guy,” Shinsou says.

A shadow—well, a second shadow, Midoriya supposes—falls over him. He tilts his head back, and starts choking on the bite of Todoroki’s noodles in his mouth.

“What the fuck is going on here?” Kacchan barks. Midoriya’s heart drops somewhere beneath the red vinyl of the booth seat that he, Monoma, and Todoroki share.

Monoma doesn’t miss a beat. “If it isn’t a 1-A dog, come to sniff out the real winners of the Sports Festival.” He sets the shoe on Midoriya’s stomach, and tucks Midoriya’s outstretched leg over his own lap. His condescending smile contorts his whole face meanly.

Todoroki puts down his chopsticks. He leans back to look up at Kacchan, and inadvertently exposes Midoriya to him in full.

“Hello, Bakugou,” Todoroki says rotely.

“Fuck off, half-’n-half,” says Kacchan. “Why is Deku in your fucking lap?”

“Say fuck one more time, and you get another gold medal,” Shinsou mutters. Kacchan scowls at him.

Todoroki looks down at Midoriya again, who finally manages to swallow his noodles. “Are you supposed to be Deku?”

“Ah, um, hi, Kacchan.”

Kacchan’s face twists. Even upside down, Midoriya knows his confused-and-annoyed expression. Monoma slaps Midoriya’s thigh and laughs, startled and loud, like a hyena.

“Deku?!” he squawks. “Oh, this is rich. Are these mutual nicknames? Do we have your precious little childhood friend? Tell me, how jealous are you that he lets me hold his hand?” Monoma bares his teeth and leans over Midoriya, towards Kacchan. “Just another thing I’ll be stealing from 1-A.”

Kacchan’s palm crackles menacingly. “He ain’t my goddamn friend, you freaking weirdo. Keep him, if you want a useless fucking burden on your back.”

Midoriya cringes.

“Excuse me?” Shinsou snaps.

“Super-Nerd, he is way meaner than you made him seem,” Hatsume says. He can’t see her face from this angle, but her and Shinsou’s legs angle towards Kacchan like they might stand up.

“Mean?” Kacchan sneers. “I’ll show you mean.”

“Ah—” Midoriya jolts upright, turning so he’s kneeling up in the booth, reaching out to stop anyone from moving. “Um! Did you need something?” It comes off more confrontational than Midoriya was hoping, but the words are out of his mouth before he can edit them.

Kacchan stops halfway through a swipe, his palm red-hot and glowing. Behind him, Monoma’s hand clenches on the fabric of Midoriya’s blazer, tugging tensely. Todoroki’s left side is ferociously cold, and Midoriya can see the frost that spreads from his fist where it rests on the tabletop.

Kacchan bares his teeth at Midoriya. “From you? Never. Icy-Hot here got lost on his way to his proper place, and I came to make sure he remembered it. I should have known he’d turn and run to your pitying ass.”

Over Kacchan’s shoulder, Midoriya watches more members of 1-A starting to take notice of the confrontation. He can see Kendo Itsuka’s auburn ponytail swinging around, too, at the 1-B tables.

What does Kacchan want?

To confront Todoroki in front of everyone? That seems unlikely. It would put Kacchan at a tactical disadvantage, which he knows as well as Midoriya does. Besides, he had his chance to say something after the Sports Festival, when he’d stood on the podium and glowered the cameras into submission.

Kacchan clicks his tongue impatiently. “Same stupid Dekunobu as always. Need someone to jerk your strings around for you?” He juts his sharp chin forward, eyebrows lowering when Midoriya flinches back. “I hope you learned your lesson about fighting me.”

Midoriya swallows. His hands lower to his sides again. There we go. He’s a little relieved. Kacchan wants to make an announcement to everyone about me. It’s devious of him; pretending to search for Todoroki and stumble upon Midoriya. It’s exactly the kind of ego-protecting move he’d expect Kacchan to make.

He wants to single Midoriya out without giving him the satisfaction of actually being recognized.

“I learned, Kacchan,” Midoriya whispers. Kacchan’s red eyes trace the pink scar tissue ringing his throat in thin, perfect circles, where Sonic Wave’s panels had melted into his skin. “I won’t make the same mistakes, next time.”

Kacchan rears back. “Next time?! There’s not gonna be a next time, shithead! You’re never going to get to fight me again. I’m surprised Yuuei hasn’t kicked your Quirkless ass to the curb, yet!”

There are a couple gasps from the people listening to their conversation. Todoroki stands, shoving himself into Kacchan’s space and looming over him.

“Bakugou, I don’t appreciate that,” Todoroki says, slow and measured, with that hint of flash-fire temper reappearing. “Midoriya is my friend.”

Midoriya gapes. Shinsou snarls, twice as loud, pushing Hatsume out of the way so he can climb out over her. He stands, clenching his fists, and makes a two-person wall with Todoroki so Midoriya can’t even see Kacchan’s face.

“Get your attitude straight, asshole, before I have to straighten you out, myself. Midoriya belongs here just like everyone else. Unless you want to take that up with Principal Nedzu, I suggest you run along.” His shoulders are tense under the gray of his blazer.

Monoma pulls on Midoriya’s jacket, settling him back into the booth. He hands him his shoe with a pinched expression.

Midoriya ignores him, and leans around Todoroki’s square hip to make eye contact with Kacchan. He looks shocked right out of his anger, and Midoriya can’t help but sympathize. His own eyes are wide with surprise at the defensiveness of his friends.

Their eyes meet. Kacchan’s face is so easy to read: what the hell is this?

Midoriya suspects his own face says something like, I’m just as surprised as you are.

Unfortunately, it’s not in Kacchan’s nature to back down from a direct challenge, and Shinsou has just thrown one in his face.

“I don’t know how that fucking nerd has convinced you that he deserves to be here,” Kacchan bites, his teeth bared, “but he doesn’t. He’s a liability, and he’ll never be a Hero.”

Shinsou goes rigid all over. “Fuck you.”

Kacchan’s face twists, and he shoves Shinsou with both hands, sending him stumbling into the table. Midoriya falls out of the booth, scrambling up in front of Shinsou. He can feel the heave of Shinsou’s chest against his back; Todoroki’s arm is so cold that it burns his fingers where Midoriya pulls him back.

He's only got one shoe on, but that doesn't matter right now.

“I’m not in the Hero course, Kacchan,” Midoriya reminds him. “I’m a Support student.” For a moment, Kacchan seems to turn this information over in his mind. Before he can stop himself, Midoriya plows on. “But I’ll be a Hero, one day. You can’t stop me.”

Kacchan glares into his eyes.

In his ringing ears, Midoriya can hear his own voice from that first day Kacchan had returned to his house.

“I’m not worthless!”

Kacchan’s lip curls. “Then I’ll just have to keep showing you where you belong: beneath me. You’re nothing but a pebble on my path, Deku. Your little fucking friends won’t be there to save your ass when you throw yourself into danger, the way you always do.” There’s bare honesty in his eyes that makes Midoriya’s heart clench in his chest. “You’re gonna get someone else killed, playing pretend, trying to keep up with the real Heroes.”

Behind him, Shinsou tenses. Midoriya uses his shoulders to keep him back.

“Your definition of Hero is different than mine, Kacchan. I’ll always help someone in need—no matter what. I’ll keep getting stronger, so that I can stand next to you to do it.” He can feel his eyebrows furrowing, his nails digging into the stiff fabric of Todoroki’s blazer. “I will be a Hero. You can try to stop me—or you can become the Hero I know you can be.”

Kacchan’s snarl twitches. “Are you—you fucker! Quit looking down on me!”

“Bakugou, man!” cries the redheaded boy, Kirishima, tugging on Kacchan’s shoulder. “Relax, bro.” Kirishima’s wide eyes dart around the cafeteria, which Midoriya realizes has gone quiet in the wake of their argument.

Kacchan jerks his shoulder out from under Kirishima’s grip, his blazing gaze locked on Midoriya. “Our whole lives, you’ve thought you’re good enough to stand side by side with me,” he growls. “You’re not. You’re a goddamn security risk.”

Midoriya goes pale. He wouldn’t.

He’d told Kacchan about Shigaraki in confidence, thinking that he’d never have a reason to tell anyone about their chance encounter. He hadn’t made a concerted effort to censor his words, or edit Shigaraki’s lingering presence from his stream-of-consciousness thoughts in Kacchan’s company, since then.

Is he going to expose the initial, unreported break-in to the whole first-year class?

 Finally, a modicum of triumph creeps into Kacchan’s expression. “That’s right. You’re already putting everyone else at risk, just by existing.”

“Bakugou-kun,” someone says, a whip-snap. It’s an inky blue-haired boy from Kacchan’s class. The one with the engine Quirk that reminds Midoriya of Ingenium. “This is disrupting our lunch period, and disturbing the members of our class. Please return to your seat at once.”

Midoriya blinks. The tension that hangs in the air dissipates, and Kacchan clicks his tongue unhappily.

“Fine. I’ll let that snotrag prove to everyone exactly how useless he is.” He shoots a cruel smirk at Midoriya over his shoulder as he slouches away. “No assistance necessary.”

Midoriya’s heart beats double-time behind his ribcage.

“Coward,” Monoma says, like he hasn’t been hiding behind Todoroki the entire time. Kacchan doesn’t even grace him with a backwards glance.

Shinsou jerks out from behind Midoriya where he’s been pinned against the metal edge of the table. People start filtering back into their seats, wayward glances—suspicious and pitying, derisive and disgusted alike—fling towards their booth.

“What the hell man?” Shinsou says in an irritated undertone.

Midoriya turns, and sees that he wears a peculiar expression. His brows are pressed together; his mouth downturned. Shinsou’s lilac irises aren’t angry—just confused, and a little wounded.

“He’s definitely not your ‘rival.’ That douchebag deserves to get socked in the jaw,” he continues, his own jaw ticking. “Why’d you get in the way?”

Immediately, Midoriya’s fingertips brush his throat. The scarring there is still tender and taut beneath the pads of his fingers, and he can’t help the jump of his tendons under his own featherlight touch.

“Kacchan,” he begins. Then, he sighs. “It’s hard to explain. Let’s sit down, okay?”

Midoriya slides back into the booth. Monoma hesitantly skims the back of his hand, and Midoriya flips it so their palms touch. Their fingers lace together, Monoma’s cool, pale skin pressed against his tan and freckles and new scars. He leans closer, like it isn’t enough for him. Their arms touch, shoulder-to-elbow-to-palm, then their knees.

“I’m not a thing to own,” Midoriya tells him in an undertone. Yeah, he’d caught that little comment at the beginning of this whole mess.

Monoma’s cornsilk hair tickles his raw neck, and he gently rests his ear on Midoriya’s shoulder.

“I know,” Monoma says. He’s got a nice voice, when he isn’t being derisive. It has a high, melodic quality. “I’m sorry. I was just trying to rile him up. When we fought, he was easy to provoke.”

Hatsume butts her knees into the underside of the table, rattling it. She frowns—an uncommon expression on her face. It makes her golden eyes serious and a little intimidating, when they fixate on Midoriya.

“You don’t talk about him the right way,” she says. “He’s not your friend, Super-Nerd. He thinks…” she struggles for a second, and makes a frustrated sound in the back of her throat. “I got too used to you being on my wavelength,” she says, flapping a hand at him. “I can’t figure out how you’d say it.” Hatsume leans forward, her dreadlocks cascading over her shoulders. “He thinks you’re an obsolete machine. Bakugou thinks you’re an old model—that you can’t keep up with us newer versions.”

“Hatsume,” Todoroki says coldly. On Midoriya’s left side, a wash of cool air raises goosebumps on his arm.

“No, no,” Midoriya says. “She’s right. Kacchan doesn’t really understand me. It’s not his fault—”

“Bullshit!” bursts Shinsou, and Monoma grips Midoriya’s hand harder.

“Please, just let me explain!” Midoriya begs. The adrenaline is starting to fade, and exhaustion is setting in. He wants to clear the air before lunch is over, and everyone has time to stew and come to the wrong conclusions. Their eyes settle on him, and he sees Shinsou’s mouth flatten into a tense line.

“Kacchan and I have known each other our whole lives,” he starts. In his lap, his free fingers pick at the cuticle on his thumbnail. “We were raised together. When we were little, we were friends—sort of. Mostly by proximity, and because we both thought All Might was the best Hero. But Kacchan has always been raised to think that he’s the best; everyone fed into that. Even me.” Midoriya bows his head. “He can be the best. I know it. But when you’re told that your whole life… it makes you think differently about the world.

“His mother, Mitsuki-obasan , is a Russian immigrant, and a supermodel thanks to her Quirk, Glycerin. His father is Bakugou Masaru, the lead fashion designer of UNIQLO. They literally named him ‘victory.’” Midoriya glances up helplessly. “I’ve thought he was amazing since we were skipping rocks and building sandcastles—and he used to tolerate me as his sidekick. We were going to be a crime-fighting duo. Then, of course, my Quirk didn’t come in.”

He bites his lip.

No matter how many times he tells himself that it was inevitable, it still hurts to think about what could have been. Midoriya had never been the most popular, or the fastest, or the most advanced in class—but he’d been a person. One of the crowd. Kacchan used to look at him with more than annoyance.

“He turned on you,” Todoroki says, his voice quiet and sure. “Everyone did.” In his eyes, Midoriya can see the echoes of that yawning distance. Being a solitary creature, separate from the crowd, no matter how hard you try to shove yourself in.

When he looks at Shinsou, it’s there on his face, too. Monoma’s expression is distant and filled with melancholy. Even Hatsume, who Midoriya had seen as rather indomitable, wears her loneliness uncomfortably in the tense line of her shoulders.

Midoriya nods at Todoroki’s words. “Nobody could check Kacchan’s ego, because, as much as his parents and the teachers inflated it, it was true. He’s got it all: brains, brawn, money, and the Quirk.” Midoriya shuts his eyes in defeat. “Kacchan is perfect.”

“When did he start using that against people?” Shinsou asks roughly. At the edge of the table, his fingers grip and dig in harshly.

“I was probably the first,” Midoriya admits. “I’m a pretty easy target, all things considered. And, well, where we grew up, no one cares much for… outcasts.” He ducks his head. Suburbia can be crueler than the slums, when it comes to maintaining the status quo. “I was weird from the start—being Quirkless just made it so that everyone could get away with hating me. But Kacchan didn’t care about me, specifically. He wanted everyone to see that he was going to be the best, no matter what.”

Monoma tenses against his side.

“I’ve never been able to let it go,” Midoriya sighs. “I know Kacchan can be the best, but I want him to be better. I want to be there, with him.” Again, a feeling stirs deep in his gut, pooling and unfurling until his fingertips tingle with it. It makes him clench his teeth and grasp Monoma’s hand tighter. “Every step he takes forward, I want to take with him. I won’t be left behind.”

This, too, he can see reflected in the faces of his friends. It’s that Yuuei spirit—the one that carried them a cut above the rest, and got them into the iconic school.

Shinsou narrows his eyes. “I don’t put up with bullies,” he says. “If Bakugou fucks with you again, I’ll Brainwash him and make him clean Dagobah until it’s spotless.”

Midoriya laughs. “A little community service never hurt anyone, Shinsou-kun.”

His neck flushes, and Shinsou rubs it aggressively. “Oh, would you cut that out? Call me Hitoshi, already.” His tired purple eyes glance up, a little shyly. “I’ll call you Izuku. Or… Deku, if you want.”

“Deku?” Todoroki questions. “That’s obviously meant to be an insult.”

Hatsume takes a moment, but she bounces back into her overeager, joyful movement within a heartbeat. “No way!” she shouts, making an X with her arms. “It totally sounds like dekiru —you know, like, ‘can do!’”

“Oh, that’s priceless,” Monoma says. “I’ll bet that Kacchan,” he draws the nickname out sarcastically, “never thought that he’d hear Deku in a good context.” His silvery eyes look sidelong at Midoriya. “You want to exchange names like school girls with crushes, Deku-kun?”

Midoriya goes bright red.

“I’d like to use everyone’s first names,” Todoroki inserts smoothly. “My father doesn’t want me associating with other students, so I think it would be excellent if I could be seen with all of you, directly in front of the press.”

“Uh, um, o–okay,” Midoriya stutters. The last time anyone had let him use their first name was before primary school, when he’d come up with Kacchan’s everlasting nickname. “You can call me Izuku, or, or Deku, I guess.”

Monoma sighs in a put-upon way, but there’s a flash of a genuine grin beneath it all. “I suppose you can all call me Neito. Unless you’d prefer to use ‘my love,’ or ‘king.’”

“The day I call you King is the day you know I’m in life threatening danger,” Shinsou says dryly.

“I think my father would choke and die if he heard me call someone my love,” Todoroki says idly. “I might try it.”

“Man, what’s your deal with your dad?” Shinsou asks. (Hatsume, now that all the tension has faded, steals his pork cutlets without remorse.)

Midoriya winces preemptively.

“He is a scumbag,” Todoroki says, with no further explanation. Midoriya breathes a sigh of relief. He really doesn’t want to get into an ethical debate with his friends about the Hero ranking system—which is where he would inevitably take the conversation, because Endeavor deserves to have his Hero license revoked and probably some jail time.

Hatsume cackles. “You know, Halfie-kun, I could probably help you make something—”

“M–Mei-chan!” Midoriya interrupts, entirely sidetracking her. “I’m sure we don’t want to go spreading treasonous plots against the Number Two-ranked national Hero,” he squeaks nervously. “On camera, at least.”

Hatsume practically melts, all previous ire forgotten. “Oh, Super-Nerd, that’s just so cute! No one’s called me that since primary school.”

“That’s cute?” Shinsou asks incredulously. “Did you not hear the second half of what he said?”

The bell rings, and Midoriya dumps his katsudon broth into his mouth as fast as he physically can while his friends bicker lightheartedly around him.

Friends, he thinks, with a happy glow. Friends who stick up for me.

Chapter Text

Excerpt from “ Julius Caesar ” by William Shakespear, performed in 1599.

Accessed: May 11, 2232.

“It is easier to find men who will volunteer to die, than to find those who are willing to endure pain with patience.”

Excerpt from the “Japan’s Most Wanted” page on the national Japanese criminal database, published May 10, 2232.

Accessed: May 11, 2232.

“Before your travels, be sure to check the Most Wanted list, and be on the lookout for any suspicious behavior. Heroes are always just around the corner!

“SAITAMA PREFECTURE:

“Mudslide: alias Owari Kenji

“Jokestar: alias Gunbei Dan…”

Audio clip from “Electronic Quirks in England” by Westin Howard and Justin Jackson.

Accessed: May 11, 2232.

HOWARD: This most recent batch has been so promising—

JACKSON: With the exception of one major outlier.

HOWARD: Yes, well. I still believe that their Quirk was misclassified, but we can’t help everyone.

JACKSON: [Laughter.] True, that. Anyhow, we’ve seen some huge leaps in terms of patient responsiveness after a dosing of microwaves. We might finally be able to make a conclusive statement on the effectiveness of microwaves as a deterrent against electronic-Quirked Villains.

HOWARD: Unfortunately, we’ve still got to get over the hump of everyone thinking that microwaves cause radiation. [Laughter.]

Midoriya is a busy, busy person. Now that the school year is in full swing, he has three major projects, personal lessons, after school training, and his normal classes to balance. He’s engaged in school life in a way that he’s never been engaged in anything besides Heroes, before. Midoriya has to draw his entire focus to Yuuei, or his academics will start falling through the cracks.

This is why his early morning jogs with Shinsou have become a little neglected.

In the month before the sports festival, he and Shinsou had jogged together every morning religiously. Shinsou had taken the train to Midoriya’s neighborhood, and they’d done laps on a winding, beautiful, self-made path. After the first day, when they’d been heaving and sweating on Midoriya’s doorstep, Shinsou had shot him a jealous look.

“This is nothing like where I live,” Shinsou said. The breeze in the trees; the luscious, well-kept park nearby; the seawall by Dagobah. Even the beach itself, though trash-strewn, was different from what Shinsou was used to.

Once, Midoriya had insisted on going to Shinsou’s side of town—to get even for the number of times Shinsou was getting up hours early to ride the train to Midoriya’s apartment. He didn’t live in Musutafu. Instead, Midoriya had taken the train to Saitama Prefecture, where Shinsou lives. He ended up on the southern edge of Kawaguchi, an hour’s trek from the heart of Tokyo, in front of the Daisuke Gakuen Children’s Home, yawning at the long, early-morning trip.

Shinsou’s unflinching grimace had encouraged Midoriya to suggest that Shinsou came to Musutafu from then on, even if he felt guilty about making him wake up earlier to get there.

Today, however, he’d made the trip out, and finished up his Saturday morning run with vigor. Shinsou’s retreat into the recesses of the Children’s Home was accompanied with a stern glare—a don’t ask, don’t tell kind of look that Midoriya’s familiar with reading.

It's not as if Shinsou lives in a total ghetto. Saitama is a beautiful prefecture with lots of tourist areas. On the trip there, Midoriya had gotten to see Mount Fuji from the misty train window. But it's not as well-kept as the neighborhood that Midoriya and his mother live in. He’s one of the poorest in their area, in the family unit apartments he calls home. Here, the Daisuke Gakuen Children’s Home is overcrowded with kids, and surrounded on all sides by single-person apartments. They're on the furthest edge of the prefecture, practically falling into Tokyo—but the untravelled, warehouse-filled north side of Tokyo crawling with retired yakuza.

Midoriya sighs to himself. He's got homework waiting for him back home, and about a half-dozen costume ideas chasing themselves around his brain. He wants to visit Dagobah, and spend some time picking up trash.

Instead, he pops an earbud into his ear, and starts jogging again. Sometimes, he just needs a mental break from the stress of school, and solo exercise works wonders for Midoriya.

The English podcast he's listening intently to distracts him from the sweat dripping down his spine: it's two England-born Quirk biologists who specialize in electronic Quirks, discussing their trials of the effects of electromagnetic waves on their subjects’ Quirks. Midoriya follows the cracked sidewalk until it ends. Then, he steps onto the asphalt of the road, and continues forward.

There's no hesitation as he continues on. His legs burn, and his lungs heave, but his mind is finally still as he puzzles through the language barrier and the technical jargon of the podcast.

It's nice.

He's jogging through an echoey underpass—which still has a bit of lingering morning fog caught in it—when a sound catches his attention.

Midoriya tugs the earbud out of his ear, the tinny sound of English voices continuing where the buds hang around his neck. There it is again; a sort of scraping, rough noise. Like a canvas tarp unrolling, or a flag unfurling. His steps slow, and then stop.

There’s blood on the ground.

Midoriya’s heart leaps into his throat, and he has to stifle a shocked gasp. His footsteps had already been loud enough. He hopes whatever it is hasn’t heard him yet.

Where is he? In the dimness of the underpass, he doesn’t want to risk his phone’s bright screen. Shit. He should have been paying more attention. Who goes running alone in a prefecture they’re not even from, before the sun is up? Only dumbass Dekus, of course.

The sound kicks up again, and Midoriya holds his breath to hear it better. Beneath that strange, irregular swishing noise, he can hear someone’s labored breaths echoing and bouncing back to him.

“Hello?” he calls. “Are you hurt?”

The sound ceases, and so does the breathing. Midoriya takes a shaky step towards the blood droplets, careful not to step in them.

“I just want to help,” he assures. “I saw blood…” He takes another tentative step forward when no one answers him. Maybe it’s a wounded animal? He’s in a residential area, but it might be a dog that got hit by a car, or something.

There’s a flurry of sound, footsteps pattering in rapid succession, and Midoriya’s vision goes dark. On the jut of his Adam’s apple, something warm and wet presses down.

A breathy giggle echoes around him, heating the back of his neck as it tickles his ear. “Oh, wow,” a girl’s voice murmurs. “I’m so lucky! I don’t know if I can drink anymore… but your concern so sweet.”

It’s a knife, Midoriya realizes. When the girl presses her chest to his back, and tugs him closer, the blade kisses his throat in an unpleasant bite. Her hand covers his eyes.

She’s got blood on her fingertips. It smears, hot and sticky, on his temple.

Midoriya’s breath goes shuddery in his chest.

How is this possible, he wants to cry out. Two Villains? A second murderer with their hand around his throat!

Somehow, somewhere, Midoriya feels like Shigaraki Tomura is laughing at him.

“You smell so good,” the girl says, half-groaning. Her nose skims the shiny burn scarring on Midoriya’s neck. She inhales deeply, like he’s a fresh bouquet. “Way better than that lame-o that I just drank. Can I get a look at you?” She releases him, shoving him hard, and sending Midoriya stumbling. He trips over something he can't see in the darkness, and catches himself on the rough asphalt. It skins the palms of his hands, but he’s not paying attention to the stinging—he’s staring in horror at the body that he’s sprawled on top of.

The boy is lifeless, obviously dead. His throat is a mangled mess of gore and shredded tendons. Blood is everywhere; on Midoriya, now, too. The boy’s stomach has been ripped open, his slippery innards draped on the ground. Midorya’s knee is pinning something that might be intestine.

He gags, and the girl laughs.

“You’re adorable!” she says, delighted. Midoriya tears his eyes away from the corpse—oh God, the smell —and meets the eyes of the murderer who’d been dragging the body of her victim away.

The first thing he registers isn’t the blood. It isn’t the knife glinting in her hand. It’s her hair. The murderer’s hair is a beautiful, shining golden blonde, twisted into two messy buns, one on either side of her head. It’s almost the exact same hue as her eyes, he thinks hysterically. Her honey-colored eyes, with their vertically-slitted pupils. The girl's shell-pink lips are spread wide in a grin, and a blush dusts her pale cheeks. Her chin is drenched in blood, trailing down the front of her sailor fuku, like she’d had a cup full of it, and missed her mouth. Midoriya can see straight up her skirt at this angle, but his eyes are fastened on the thigh-holsters that she wears, where the handles of several knives protrude.

If I can get one of those knives—

But she’s already upon him again.

“What’s your name?” she asks in a giggly whisper. “I’m Himiko, but you can call me Himiko-chan, okay? We’re gonna be good friends. Best friends.” She bears down on Midoriya, her sharp knee digging into his spine.

He doesn’t let her shove him down onto the body, his forearm trembling where it’s holding all of their weight. He’s going to be picking gravel out of his elbow, if he lives. His other hand darts under Himiko’s skirt, and she shrieks.

There’s a flash of blinding, white-hot pain, and Midoriya grits his teeth around a scream. Her knife sinks deep into the meat of his bicep, and he drags his hand back.

Her eyes widen terrifyingly. He can see the entire ring of her irises, her pupils contracting into near-invisible slits.

“Naughty, naughty!” she screeches. “I don’t like dirty boys!”

“Sorry,” he groans. Then, he plunges the knife he’d stolen into her thigh.

Himiko wails, jerking back, her hands twitching and fluttering around the handle sticking out of her milky skin. Midoriya scrambles back, gripping his throbbing arm, and swaying to his feet.

Tears track down Himiko’s bloody face. She looks up at him, and gives an awful, cackling sob-laugh that makes his stomach hurt. “You,” she gasps, “you’re not naughty! What a smarty-pants. Taking my own knife.” She clambers jerkily to her feet.

Midoriya knows that you’re supposed to leave objects in the wound to stem the bleeding when you’ve been stabbed, but Himiko’s got about four other knives to choose from, and he’s sadly unarmed. He can only hope that the blade isn’t serrated, when he jerks it out of his bicep.

He sinks down into a defensive crouch, holding the stolen knife in a reverse-grip in his left hand.

Thank God for Neito making me eat with my left hand, Midoriya thinks. He’s not ambidextrous, but holding hands with Monoma at lunch every day has forced him to use his off-hand so much that he’s passably dextrous with it. The knife doesn’t waver in his grip.

Himiko lets out another demented laugh/sob. Her hand shakes where it presses on her thigh, blood gushing down and soaking her white kneesock.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Midoriya warns her. “You should turn yourself in to the police.”

“The police?” she asks, tilting her head curiously. A tear trails off her chin. “Not the Heroes?”

“Well, them, too,” he says. He bites the inside of his cheek, feeling the steady dribble of blood from his open wound pulse with every heartbeat. How long can he face off with her? Is she any proficient with the knives she carries, or does she rely on stealth and surprise to attack?

“Most boys tell me that the Heroes are gonna get me,” Himiko says, like she’s confiding in him. “Some of them talk about that all the way until I can feel their blood dancing in my belly.”

Midoriya swallows thickly. “The Heroes will only need to be called if you’re violent,” Midoriya says. “If you turn yourself in peacefully, you won’t have to deal with them.”

She laughs breathily. “You’re so funny. You never told me your name, funny boy.”

He thinks he remembers reading something about endearing yourself to mass shooters, and how they can become sympathetic to their victims. Does that rule apply here? Himiko already told him that he smells nice, and that she thinks he’s cute. He takes the chance.

“I’m Midoriya Izuku,” he says cautiously. “It’s n–n—” he has to choke back the revulsion before he can get the words out— “it’s nice to meet you, Himiko-chan.”

Himiko’s face drops, and he thinks for a moment that this was the wrong move, that he’s offended her somehow. Then, a manic grin tears her face in half. The bloodstained fangs in her mouth still have bits of human gristle in them.

“Oh, you’re the best! Izukun, you’re so sweet to me.” Himiko presses her hands to her face, squishing her cheeks and squealing like a normal girl might if she saw something unbearably cute. “My belly is all full right now, but I want you so bad. Look at you, all bloody…” A flush suffuses her face. “I bet you taste so good, Izukun.” She licks her lips, catching some of the tacky, drying blood from her previous victim.

It’s obvious that she drinks the blood of her victims. Her fangs can attest to that. The only question in Midoriya’s mind is whether or not it’s a Quirk compulsion pushing her to do it, or some kind of mental illness influencing her. In nature, animals shy away from cannibalism most times. In human-kind, their bodies physically cannot stand eating human flesh. It causes nasty, easily-identifiable sores in the mouth of the cannibal.

Midoriya has no idea if this is true of blood drinkers like Vlad King. He doesn’t dare to ask the girl in front of him, who is starting to sway in place.

He licks his lip nervously. Her gaze tracks the movement. “You know, you can always ask people to just… give you blood,” he says. “Instead of killing them.”

Himiko’s brow furrows. “That’s stupid,” she tells him. “No one would just let me take their blood. I’m a monster. That’s why it’s gotta be this way.” Himiko glances down at the corpse of her mutilated victim. “I get so hungry… I can’t help myself. They’re just so cute. I want to be them—their blood sings to me,” she sighs. “Like a little birdy. They chirp at me until I can’t stand it.” Himiko bares her fangs at him. “Then, I have to tear their hearts out to stop the sound; to fill up my rumbling tummy.”

One hand clenches over her blood-drenched sweater. The other swirls her fingers through the mess on her chin, and she sucks at her fingertips absently.

Tingling, ice-cold fear washes down Midoriya’s back. How many people has Himiko killed? She talks about it like she’s been doing this her whole life. As if it’s an inevitable cycle that she finds herself unable to tear out of.

His mouth is moving before he can think. “I’d let you take my blood, Himiko-chan.”

Himiko’s lips part around her finger. There’s a moment of stunned silence, where the air between them hangs heavy with the scent of iron.

“Really?” she asks, her eyes wide.

Midoriya doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing. What is he doing?!

He nods. “Really. If it would help you stop hurting people, I’d give you blood.” His head swims. His arm hurts so bad, he can barely think, and he can’t bear to look down at the body in front of him. If he does, he’ll vomit, and everything will be ruined. “I still think you should turn yourself in,” he can hear himself saying, as if from a great distance.

Himiko shakes her head. Gore flies off of her chin. “I want to be free, Izukun. No one understands the singing—how hungry I get. If I went to them, they’d lock me up forever, and I’d starve. They hate people like me.”

Midoriya thinks that this is a pretty good refutation. However, there’s a body at his feet that he can’t ignore.

“You can’t hurt anyone else, Himiko-chan,” he commands. It comes out stronger than he thought it would, the words scraping his throat as they leave him. “I’ll bring you blood, if you go to the police. I won’t let them starve you.”

Again, she shakes her head. She starts backing away, towards the rising sunlight at the end of the underpass. “I can’t. I can’t. They’re evil, Izukun. They’ll hurt me. They’ll kill me for what I’ve done.”

He gets desperate. He steps over the body, following Himiko as she retreats, leaving a trickling trail of her blood. “Don’t hurt anyone else! Please, Himiko-chan! I promise—I swear, if you come to me, I’ll give you my blood.”

Midoriya can see that this resonates through her.

“If I… When I get hungry…” her luminous eyes bore into his. “Izukun will feed me?”

He nods, every muscle in his body tense.

Himiko takes another step back, into the dawning sunlight. Her head is a halo of gold, the blood on her front thrown into sharp relief. “I won’t drink anyone else,” Himiko tells him, her words fervent. “If Izukun feeds me, I’ll be his, and only his. I’ll be you, okay? I won’t need anyone else, if my Izukun will sing for me.”

Midoriya’s cold with terror. This isn’t what he meant. He didn’t want her free, roaming the streets, searching for him. He wanted her behind bars, but alive. Cared for enough to be punished for her crimes—even if they were driven by her madness, or her Quirk.

He lunges forward, trying to grab her arm, and she dances away from him, suddenly nimble as a mouse. Despite the knife still lodged in her leg, she’s several paces away when she calls, “I’ll find you, Izukun! I’ll keep our promise, okay? Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Her finger drags a heart shape over the breast of her sweater, leaving behind a bloody trail, and she crosses an X through it.

Then, Himiko is gone.

Midoriya lists to the side, and vomits up his breakfast.

Nedzu’s paw caresses him unceasingly, and Midoriya can’t find it in himself to be bothered. He feels like a small child, cradled as he is in his mother’s embrace. Nedzu petting his hair back only adds to the soothing unfamiliarity of the scene—though it doesn’t stop his trembling.

The police officer rubs her nose. She’s a tall, skinny woman with a perfect recall Quirk called Snapshot that she’d used when she took Midoriya’s statement earlier. At her side, hovering over the woman’s shoulder, is the Nekomata Hero: Kitten Claws. She’s the Dawn Hero in charge of Himiko’s case file, and her two black cat tails have been twitching and swaying unhappily the entire time she’s been in Midoriya’s presence.

“Kitty-san, Officer Tashiro-san, is there anything more that Midoriya-kun is needed for?” Nedzu asks. “I would like to settle this matter, so he can move on as quickly as possible from this fiasco.”

Midoriya gives a particularly hard shudder, and Nedzu’s paw presses down harder on his scalp.

Kitten Claws gives a plaintive little nyah. “I guess not. It’s all so shocking, nyah. We’ve never seen the perp act in daylight, so it’s terrible luck that Midoriya-kun ran into her. Not to mention, I really want to get a security detail on his apartment.”

“That can be worked out with the Musutafu branch,” interrupts Tashiro. She’s got deep bags under her eyes, which is probably because she’d been coming off the night shift when Midoriya got brought in, and it’s now around noon. Her blue eyes find Midoriya’s, and she gives him a stern, concerned glare. “Be extremely careful from now on, son. As you’ve already seen,” she gestures to his injured arm, which is wrapped in a sling, “Toga Himiko is armed and dangerous. Now that you’ve given her incentive to find you, proceed with extreme caution. She’s an A-rank Villain.”

“I know,” Midoriya says hollowly.

The Hero and the officer grimace in unison. Behind him, his mother gives a little hitching sob, and her arms tighten around his shoulders.

The boy’s body hasn’t been identified yet—Midoriya keeps asking, and no one will give him a straight answer why. He suspects that Nedzu would dearly like to tell him, but won’t, to save face in front of the foreign police force. Perhaps if it were Tsukauchi and the Musutafu police, he might dare to engage Midoriya. Here, he settles with the petting.

Midoriya is released from the North Tokyo Police Department into the blinding midday sunlight, still shivering lightly. He’s starving; every time he thinks about asking for food, the nauseating smells of the underpass return to him, and he thinks better of it.

Principal Nedzu drove his mother to the police station, and Midoriya doesn’t even bother to speculate on how that situation went down. It just means that the Blood Hero: Vlad King is in the car, too, and an embarrassed flush creeps up Midoriya’s neck. He wishes he could just stop shaking.

He wants to think of something else. Anything else.

Midoriya’s brain starts another loop of what he could have said, to stop her. If he’d run faster, would he have caught her before the boy was dead? A few minutes later, and would he have missed her entirely? If he’d stayed in bed this morning, instead of going to Shinsou’s, he never would have met Himiko.

“Midoriya-kun, are you well enough to discuss school?” Nedzu asks. He turns around in his seat to look at Midoriya, who knows that his face is probably pale and sweaty.

“Please,” he says, his voice rough. “Please, let’s talk about school.”

“Yorifuji-san’s classes have been going well, yes? Would you like to discuss the most recent project that you are working on?”

Broadcast-sensei ’s most recent assignment is a relief to think about. Midoriya throws himself into explaining the intricacies of costume shoes and their legal requirements to his mother, and possibly Vlad King, if he’s listening. Sadly, Monoma’s dress shoes do not fit the requirements. Midoriya is eager to correct them, and delve into Monoma’s combat abilities to see what style would suit him best. Scrapping his entire gimmick is overdue, but Monoma’s scandalized expression keeps Midoriya from telling him.

“Neito-kun sounds like a good friend,” Inko says. Her soft fingers brush the hair back from Midoriya’s face. “I’m glad…” her mouth wobbles dangerously, her damp eyes filling with tears again. “I’m glad that you’ve found them, finally.”

Shame and embarrassment flood him. It occurs to him that this might actually be the car that had hit him, months ago, and his face burns red. He notices, only after a series of deep breaths to calm the flush, that his shaking has stopped. Not wanting to bring it back, he goes on to tell his mother and his sensei his ideas on a proper gimmick for Monoma to lean into, and bat around a few concepts for Shinsou.

He and Monoma have had lengthy, loud discussions about his costume, and chosen Hero name of “Phantom Thief.” Both, to Midoriya, are fairly awful. A tuxedo simply could not be conducive to battle, and it offers little in the ways of protection or gear. Something light, flexible, and with plenty of armor would be better for Monoma, who would be fighting hand-to-hand with any Quirks he could manage to borrow in the heat of battle. Who knows what kind of transformation he might have to make? No, a constrictive tuxedo wouldn’t do.

Monoma does not agree with this sentiment. He also doesn’t agree that the name Phantom Thief is far too close to the Villain moniker, the Peerless Thief. Nedzu laughs at this.

“Nedzu-sensei, what am I supposed to do?” Midoriya implores. “He won’t listen to any of my critiques!”

Vlad King heaves a sigh in the driver’s seat. “Monoma-kun needs delicate handling. Kendo-san is fairly good at controlling him—have you asked her for advice?”

That’s right; Vlad King is Monoma’s homeroom teacher, as the 1-B Hero teacher. He and Aizawa are counterparts in the Hero department.

“You know Izukun’s friend?” Inko asks, perking. Midoriya flinches so hard that he slams his elbow into the car door. Her wide green eyes turn on him, fretful. Nedzu’s ears twitch forward.

“Midoriya-kun?”

“Sorry, sorry,” he gasps. “Just—the name. I’m good. It’s fine.” His mother’s face is heartbreak personified.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” she says, reaching out to cup his chin. 

He ducks into the collar of his shirt, and watches the skin between her eyebrows crumple like tissue paper. He doesn’t want to be touched right now. The shakes have come back; he shoves his hands into his armpits, hunching over his knees. His shirt still smells like the plastic packaging it came out of, when Officer Tashiro had given it to him to change into. Midoriya’s other clothes are somewhere in the evidence room in sealed bags, their bloodstains waiting to be swabbed and tested.

He knows that they’re hoping to find some of Toga Himiko’s blood on his clothes. Kitten Claws hadn’t been able to keep the eagerness off of her face when she’d heard that Midoriya had managed to injure Himiko.

Midoriya looks up at Nedzu, who watches him carefully.

“Sensei,” he says. He fights his throat, needing his voice to stay steady. They’re out of the precinct, now, so he can finally ask the questions that plague him. “Would the Heroes—the police—would they starve Himiko-chan?”

Inko gasps, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. Midoriya can see Vlad King’s bicep stiffen in his peripheral vision. He’s not worried about them. Midoriya burns with the need to know.

“She told me…” he has to swallow. “She thinks she’s a monster. She thinks that they’ll kill her for what she’s done.” He can hear her voice, echoing around him, bouncing off the walls of his skull. “I think… I think it’s a Quirk compulsion. I didn’t get to see what hers was—she never used it—but she made it sound like she tries not to drink blood, and the desire overwhelms her.” In his armpits, his hands clench into fists. “She shouldn’t be punished for that.”

“Izuku!” his mother whispers, aghast. “How could you say that?”

He trains his eyes on Nedzu and doesn’t answer her.

Nedzu hums thoughtfully. “That’s a good question, Midoriya-kun. I do believe it depends on Officer Tashiro’s personal opinion. She could decide that it is a necessity to provide Toga Himiko with blood, as one would provide water to someone with an aquatic Quirk. She could also decide to intentionally withhold blood, as part of Toga’s imprisonment.”

Midoriya’s eyebrows furrow. “That’s wrong,” he declares, with no further thought. “That’s cruel and unusual punishment. Himiko-chan might even die, without blood. How would they know?”

“You don’t think the girl deserves it?” Vlad King speaks up.

Midoriya gives a soft scoff of disgust. “Do I agree with starving people? No.”

“Now, that’s not what I asked,” Vlad King rumbles. “There’s a difference between withholding food from a prisoner, and withholding blood from a murderous cannibal.”

“You don’t know that,” Midoriya fires back. “Frankly, I’m surprised that you think that way, as someone in possession of a blood Quirk. If you hurt the wrong perp and were under investigation, and the police refused to provide you with blood, how would you feel?”

Vlad King shrugs. “My Quirk lets me manipulate my own blood. I just need a bit more iron in my diet than your average man. I don’t drink it.”

Midoriya narrows his eyes. “You’re being purposefully obtuse. Fine—what if they took all the iron out of your diet entirely. Out of the water; out of your meals. What if they called that your due, for hurting someone?”

“I’d never hurt anyone,” Vlad King refutes easily.

Midoriya grits his teeth. He doesn’t know if he’s ever been this angry at a Hero—besides possibly Endeavor. Thinking of Endeavor only makes his fury burn brighter.

“If you can’t understand hypothetical situations, just say that,” Midoriya bites out.

“Izuku!” his mother says, reprimanding. He ignores her.

“Is there anything that protects prisoners from that kind of treatment?” Midoriya asks Nedzu, who looks like he’s enjoying Midoriya’s anger.

“Nothing that I am aware of,” Nedzu answers pleasantly. “There are precious few laws concerning incarcerated people in Japan. Especially little, in the case of a ranked Villain.”

Midoriya’s nostrils flare. He chews his lip aggressively, further ignoring his mother’s pointed looks. He leans back against the seat, thumping his head into the headrest.

“I want to change that,” he says, finally.

This feels like a big deal. Ever since coming to Yuuei, Midoriya has been wondering how, exactly, he could become the Hero he wants to be. He doesn’t think getting into the Heroics department would help him, much, since he doesn’t have a Quirk for them to hone. Besides, without one, he doesn’t truly belong on the frontlines of a battle. Not that it would stop him, if push came to shove, but putting himself there would just be bad planning.

This? Midoriya can do this. He can change things for someone like Toga Himiko. Even if only for after she’s captured.

Nedzu’s eyes glint. “Midoriya-kun,” he says, savoring the syllables, “I believe you’ve found your next major project.”

His mother gives a little huff of surprised indignation.

“This is what you teach him?” Vlad King asks interestedly. “Politics?”

Midoriya can’t help the twitch of his eye. “Fundamental rights shouldn’t be political.”

“Izuku,” Inko says, with much more force behind the stern admonition.

“What?!” he demands.

He claps a hand over his mouth. His mother gapes at him. Nedzu looks like he wants to laugh. He turns around in his booster seat, facing the road again, his fuzzy ears perked.

“I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt, because you’ve had a very difficult morning,” Inko says, slowly. “But if you speak to an adult that way again, you are going to be in trouble. Mind your manners, please.”

The shamed flush that crawls over Midoriya’s skin probably raises the internal temperature of the car by ten degrees.

“Sorry,” he whispers.

It’s not his mother’s fault that Midoriya is riled up. He feels immensely guilty for taking his frustrations out on her. It just seems like such a simple concept; people should get to eat, even if they’re in prison. It doesn’t make them less deserving of basic necessities, just because they hurt someone. The golden rule: do unto others what you want done to you.

The rest of the car ride back to Musutafu is silent.

Midoriya doesn’t sleep. Instead, he researches. He turns his headphones up as loud as they will go, and tries to drown out the thrumming of his heart, and the scraping that he keeps hearing. After the eighth time he whips around, thinking that Himiko will be dragging a body behind him, he gives up entirely on ignoring the memories. He turns on every light, because when he closes his eyes, he keeps reaching up and expecting sticky blood to be smeared on his temple.

His notes are shaky, but legible. That’s all that matters. Writing with his left hand is hard, but not impossible.

He’s never been gladder that he scrambled his data, because he’s sure that breaking into the files of the Musutafu police department would get him arrested several times over. Now that he’s got Nedzu on his side, he’s less worried about that.

Besides, the more information he has, the easier his case will be.

He wonders if Nedzu is going to make him represent himself in court. He wonders a lot of things. He fills half of his notebook with information and speculations, and statistics start to swim through his head around seven in the morning. Sunlight is coming through his window.

Something scrapes behind him.

He sighs and takes out his earbud, and then screams. His mother stands in his doorway, wringing her hands anxiously.

“Oh, Izuku! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you. Your music was so loud, you didn’t hear me knocking,” Inko frets.

Midoriya presses a hand to his chest. Beneath his fingertips, his heart throbs so hard that it’s actually painful. He has to catch his breath, and hold it to hear her apologies.

“Did you need something?” he manages to gasp out after a few breathless tries.

“Oh, yes,” she says, radiating worry. “Katsuki-kun is here.”

Midoriya closes his eyes. It lasts about half a second, before that feeling of terror washes over him again, and he pries them back open.

“I’ll talk to him,” Midoriya decides. It’s easier than trying to explain to his mother why Kacchan is here—he doesn’t know, anyway—or telling her to send him away. That’ll just make him irate.

He stands up, and experiences a wave of vertigo so bad that he has to grip the back of his desk chair to stay upright. His mother’s face creases with worry.

“I’m alright,” he tells her. “You don’t have to… I can handle this.” Midoriya tries to inject confidence into his words. Truthfully, he doesn’t know if he can handle whatever Kacchan is going to throw at him.

He uses the wall to guide himself to the front door. His mother disappears into the kitchen, an anxious air following her.

Kacchan is outside the front door. Midoriya steps out to talk with him, and closes it behind them. Kacchan, who opened his mouth as soon as Midoriya came into sight, pauses and gives him a hard once-over.

“You look like shit,” he says.

Midoriya assumes that this isn’t what he showed up to talk about. It’s seven—maybe—in the morning on a Sunday. Kacchan might be diligent as all hell, but even he likes to sleep in on the weekends.

“Do you need something?” he asks. This should be the question of the day. Midoriya rubs his left eye with his palm, and then the other.

Kacchan stares at him with a narrow gaze. Something scrapes behind him. Midoriya whirls around, and watches an elderly man drag his trash to the stairs, and then down to the dumpsters. His heart thumps unevenly in his chest.

“Why’s there a cop parked in front of your complex?” Kacchan asks.

This, too, isn’t what Kacchan originally came to ask about. Midoriya elects to ignore the question.

“Why’d you come here?”

Kacchan glares harshly. “Fuck off.” It’s too early in the morning for him to posture beyond this, because he simply chooses to get to the point. “I wanna know what that rat-dog is teaching you. And why those fuckhead freaks that sit with you think you should be at Yuuei.” Then, he takes another hard look at Midoriya. “But now I wanna know why you look like shit, and why a cop’s parked out front.”

Midoriya sighs. He leans his head back against the door. His eyes close of their own volition, and he wrenches them back open.

Something scrapes behind him. He turns; nothing but the breeze rustling through the trees.

Kacchan waits.

“Do you remember Shigaraki?” Midoriya asks.

“Don’t be stupid.” That means yes.

Midoriya takes a breath, tasting iron in the back of his throat. “‘Violence begets violence.’ He told me that, once.”

Kacchan watches him warily. “He’s a Villain, Deku. They say a lot of shit.”

“I’m starting a new project,” Midoriya says. Something scrapes behind him. There’s nothing there, he knows. He turns to look, anyway.

“What the fuck are you looking for?” Kacchan demands.

Midoriya swallows. “Yesterday… I met a girl named Himiko.” He presses his palm flat against the door, tracing the grain. He can feel his heartbeat in the stitches on his right arm. He wasn’t supposed to take the sling off, yet, and he regrets removing it.

“Deku, if you don’t start making sense in the next ten seconds, I’m gonna explode your face. I don’t care if there’s a cop right there.”

“Yesterday, I met a girl named Himiko,” Midoriya repeats. “She’s an A-ranked Villain, based in Tokyo. She stabbed me. I stabbed her. Mutual stabbing was had.” He gestures vaguely.

Kacchan gives him exactly two seconds to elaborate, which he chooses not to do, and then buries his fingers in his hair. His aggrieved sigh is hilarious—Midoriya struggles not to laugh.

“I might be slap-happy,” Midoriya tells him. “I haven’t slept.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Kacchan asks. It’s different from the way he normally asks it. More genuinely questioning, rather than the normal rhetorical insult he uses it as.

“I don’t know,” Midoriya laughs. “I’ve got no idea.” He points over the balcony edge, where he knows the cop is stationed. “The cop is for me. Obviously. A-ranked Villain, and all.”

Kacchan squints at him. “You let her go?”

“Mutual stabbing,” Midoriya reminds. “There was also a dead body involved.” He tries to maintain the blasé tone that he’s been using up to this point, and only just fails. He doesn’t want to think about the nameless boy, or the feeling of a squishy intestine under his knee.

“Fuck, Deku.” Eloquent. “Lemme in, you asshole. Let’s get out of the open.”

This is a fairly sound tactical decision. Very like Kacchan. Midoriya opens the door, and nearly falls into his apartment. Kacchan catches him by the back of the shirt and heaves him to his feet. It’s the Tokyo police station shirt. It still smells vaguely of plastic, and it helps Midoriya remember that he’s at home, and not there.

“Is that number three?” Kacchan asks.

“Huh?” Midoriya is busily locking the door behind them.

“Number three. The third Villain you’ve met. If you count that shitty slime.”

Midoriya is startled to hear Kacchan talk about the Sludge Villain. He’d thought that Kacchan might never speak of him aloud again, for the harsh reminder that he’d been weak enough to need to be saved.

“I guess. The USJ had a lot more Villains, but I didn’t talk to any of them. Does Shigaraki’s portal count? I didn’t talk to him, either, but he knows me by name.” Midoriya ponders this as he leads Bakugou into the apartment proper.

“Izuku?” Inko calls. “Who are you talking to?” She comes around the corner and startles at the sight of Kacchan in her home. “Oh! Katsuki-kun, I’d thought…” she trails off. It’s obvious that she’d thought he would never deign to step foot in their apartment again after age five, when he’d thrown the largest tantrum anyone in the history of the world has ever seen. “It’s nice to see you, dear,” she says tactfully. “Are you going to Izuku’s room?”

Midoriya glances at Kacchan. Kacchan doesn’t return the look.

“Yeah. We’ve got some shit to talk about,” Kacchan says. It’s the lack of hostility in his voice that surprises Midoriya, though he supposes it shouldn’t.

When they’re here, things are different.

Ever since the USJ, when Midoriya had come home to find Kacchan lounging on his sofa, Kacchan has been hanging around. In Midoriya’s apartment, Kacchan isn’t so angry. Well—maybe that’s not quite the right way to phrase it. He’s still exactly as angry as he’s always been, which is maximum fury at all times. It’s just that Kacchan doesn’t let the anger get in the way of speaking, like he does when they’re in public. In the Midoriyas’ apartment, Kacchan weasels all kinds of information out of Midoriya guiltlessly, without needing to resort to violence.

It could have been like this years ago.

Midoriya guesses that he didn’t have any information that Kacchan wanted badly enough to not hit him, before.

Now, Kacchan trails behind him as he heads down the short hallway to his All Might shrine of a room. (He refuses to be embarrassed. Just because Kacchan is lucky enough to have a room in his house meant for awards and valuable knick knacks, doesn’t mean Midoriya can afford that luxury.)

“Don’t break anything,” Midoriya tells him.

“Break anything?” Kacchan snorts. “This shit is worth more than your whole family combined.”

That’s not a huge hill to overcome, as Midoriya and his mother are the only members of his family. Kacchan seems to realize this too late to edit his insult, and his face twists unhappily. He sits on Midoriya’s bed—which is still made, since he didn’t sleep. Midoriya closes the door to his closet, where all of his dirty laundry is piled up.

Something scrapes behind him. He whips around, but Kacchan is the only thing there.

“Seriously, what the fuck do you keep looking for?” Kacchan asks.

“Her.” Midoriya frowns. “Or, the body, I guess.”

Kacchan gives him a look that clearly says “Explain.”

Midoriya sits on the floor, his back to the closet door, and explains. He’s so tired that Kacchan has to snap his fingers a couple times to remind him to speak. Little sparks flare up when he does that, and Midoriya watches them burn out on Kacchan’s sweatpants.

“Tokyo.” Kacchan shakes his head. “Fuck the whole prefecture.”

Midoriya laughs, and halfway through, it turns into a sob. He presses his hands over his face, even though it pulls at his stitches unpleasantly, and cries big fat tears into them. Kacchan lets Midoriya cry for a few minutes in silence. It’s nice of him.

“Sorry.” Midoriya pats his face dry on his shirt. He finds the sling discarded on his desk, and slips his arm back into it. The stitches are really starting to hurt again.

“Whatever,” says Kacchan. He’s noticed the mess on Midoriya’s desk, and points at it. “What’s that shit?”

“My new project. I asked Nedzu-sensei if I can pass some legislation protecting the rights of prison inmates.”

Kacchan clicks his tongue. “Fuckin’ bleeding heart. This ain’t for that girl, is it?”

Midoriya struggles to answer. “Only partially!”

Kacchan groans. It’s a warm, homey sound that Midoriya hasn’t heard in a long time.

“I just… you didn’t hear her, Kacchan. She was so scared of the police. She told me that they’d kill her, if she went to them.” Midoriya stares at Kacchan, imploring him with his eyes, hoping he’ll understand. “Sure, she was crazy, but doesn’t that just mean she needs more help? Not less.” Midoriya swallows. “I told her I’d give her my blood if she went to the cops, but I guess she didn’t really understand the offer. I hope she doesn’t hurt anyone else…”

“Even if that means she hurts you, instead?” Kacchan’s red eyes are shrewd.

“It doesn’t have to hurt,” Midoriya says. “She just needs some blood. You know, if there wasn’t such a horrible stigma around villainous Quirks, she probably wouldn’t be killing anyone. She thinks she’s a monster, too.” Midoriya remembers Vlad King’s flippant responses in the car, and gets angry all over again. “You should have heard Vlad King-san.” Midoriya glowers at the floor. “I thought I might actually punch him.”

Kacchan spreads his legs, leaning back on his hands. “What’d that stupid bastard do, now?”

He and Midoriya bounce from topic to topic, Midoriya’s exhaustion weighing him to the floor. There’s no telling how long it’s been, when Kacchan finally offers some information of his own.

“I’m heading to fuckass Tokyo tomorrow,” Kacchan says.

“Huh?” Midoriya asks groggily. Their conversation had hit a warm lull for a moment, and he might have fallen asleep. He’s stopped feeling that stupid blood on his face every time he closes his eyes.

“Hero course internships start tomorrow,” Kacchan tells him. “I’m with Jeanist.”

This has Midoriya unsuccessfully trying to sit up. He manages to roll so that he’s at least looking at Kacchan. “Best Jeanist?! Number 3 ranked Hero in Japan? Number 1 on the popularity poll?!”

Kacchan grins smugly. “I’ll be with Genius Office, which is—”

“In Tokyo,” Midoriya says into the floor. “Be careful.”

“Do you think I’m dumb? Fuckin’ obviously.”

“Kacchan sugoi,” Midoriya murmurs. “I can’t believe you really get to meet Best Jeanist.”

“I get to work with Best Jeanist,” Kacchan says. “Beat that.”

“I got to work with Sir Nighteye-san,” Midoriya remembers. “And Eraser Head-san.” He probably shouldn’t mention anything about the Stain case.

“Stain? The Hero-Killer?” Kacchan asks.

“I think I lost my brain-to-mouth filter,” Midoriya tells him.

“You don’t have one of those,” he dismisses. “The rat is letting you work the Stain case?” Jealousy is thick in Kacchan’s voice.

“Only sort of. I just get to look and make observations, not actually help anything. And you get to work with Best Jeanist! I don’t wanna hear it.”

Kacchan is marginally pacified by this reminder.

“Besides,” Midoriya continues, “We’ll probably give it up, now that I’m gonna do law stuff.” He waves a limp hand at his desk.

Kacchan makes a derisive sound. “Yeah. You be sure to let me know how well that goes over with your psychopath girlfriend, when she pays you a visit.”

“I’m not gonna tell her anything about it,” Midoriya says grumpily. “I don’t wanna give her false hope. Or scare her away.”

Kacchan snorts. “Only you, Deku. You’re the only bastard crazy enough to be worried about scaring away a Villain.”

Midoriya thinks Kacchan is probably right. It’s a pretty good thing that Himiko had run into him, then. Midoriya doesn’t think about it after that—if only because he’s finally fallen asleep.

Chapter Text

Crumpled up piece of paper that Midoriya Izuku steps on at 8:04, May 13, 2232.

Accessed: May 13, 2232.

Engineer

Speed Machine

Ingenium

Ingenium II

Tenya

Excerpt from “VILLAIN 22431009: HERO-KILLER STAIN” case file, annotated by Sir Nighteye.

Accessed: May 15, 2232.

“The Villain’s attack pattern varies between the hours of 22:00 and 05:00. As such, a team of two Underground Heroes has been identified in every Japanese prefecture, and will work to divide up their working hours so that at least one Hero in contact with Nighteye Agency is on-hours during those times. As it is difficult to predict the location of an attack, teams will be focused on canvassing their prefecture in search of victims.

“Do NOT engage the suspect. If the suspect is seen, IMMEDIATELY call for backup. The Nighteye Agency will be available from 22:00 hours to 05:00 hours until the case is closed, to connect an Underground Hero to a larger attack force, if necessary.”

Excerpt from “No Longer Human” by Dazai Osamu, published 1948.

Accessed: May 15, 2232.

“People talk of ‘social outcasts.’ The words apparently denote the miserable losers of the world, the vicious ones, but I feel as though I have been a ‘social outcast’ from the moment I was born. If ever I meet someone society has designated as an outcast, I invariably feel affection for him, an emotion which carries me away in melting tenderness.”

Yuuei feels empty without the Hero students milling around. The first-years’ internships started this morning, and the second-years’ first official work-studies. The third-years with work-studies are gone, too. It makes for a very subdued campus, which Midoriya supposes is better for him, since he can’t seem to stop seeing flashes of Himiko in his peripherals.

Sleeping helped. When he’d woken up—after sleeping all the way through Sunday until his alarm for school went off—he’d been starving. He was so hungry that it managed to overpower the nausea, and he thinks he’ll be able to eat a little easier, from now on. He’s also stopped hearing the scraping quite so often. Every rustle in the bushes still makes him jump, but he stiffens instead of turning to glance behind him.

Hatsume starts his morning off with a boisterous hug. He finds himself shying away from her wide, golden eyes, but is otherwise fine amidst the ceaseless noise of the Support department. They’d finished their thermoregulator last week with little issue. Now, they’re onto Hatsume’s next big project, which she and Midoriya had been given by Nedzu and Power Loader-sensei, personally.

After winning the thermoregulator contest against the other two Support teams, Hatsume and Midoriya received their grand prize: beefing up the Yuuei defense system. Hatsume, who really couldn’t care less what the project is as long as she can build things to her heart’s content, is ecstatic. Midoriya, who spent about a straight week skulking around outside of Yuuei, exclusively studying the defenses, is also pretty damn pleased.

They’re working with Midoriya’s favorite Yuuei secret today—another prize for winning the contest.

“You ready?” Hatsume asks, bouncing on her toes. Their backpacks are slung over her shoulders, so that Midoriya is free to hold a flashlight and a map.

The map he’s clutching is like no other that he’s ever seen. The paths on it are color-coded: bright blue for Yuuei, gray for Ketsubutsu, red for Shiketsu, pink for Seiai Academy, and green for Isamu Academy. The map has multiple pages, and Midoriya has it open on the one that shows only the Yuuei-blue paths.

“Into the catacombs,” Midoriya murmurs.

It’s a dreary, cloudy day. Midoriya and Hatsume stand at the base of a massive fountain, where a miniscule symbol is carved into the underside of the marble. Midoriya’s fingers find it, and ever so gently depress the button. A pneumatic hiss echoes across the deserted plaza, and the stones under Midoriya’s feet begin to slide away.

Hatsume peers down at them, entranced. “It’s like something out of a sci-fi movie!”

Once the stones are done retracting on their motorized path, dim blue emergency lights begin to blink on, illuminating the downward-sloping pathway.

“It’s handicap-accessible,” Midoriya says wonderingly. There’s even a rail along the wall at hip-height, that he touches with a reverent hand.

Hatsume grabs his shoulders and steers him into the tunnel. They spend a moment searching for the next button with the Yuuei crest, and slip the opening shut above them. Midoriya takes a deep breath, and snaps out his map. He points to the spot they’d descended into, tracing a finger down the straight, long line they’ll be following.

“Alright. Let’s find the Yuuei generators.”

Hatsume cheers, and Midoriya cracks a grin. Even the lingering anxiety about being in a dark tunnel can’t overpower his excitement at traversing through the Yuuei Tunnels, which have been the epicenter of myths and urban legends for decades. They’ve been utterly unprovable, and there’d been no support for their existence other than the time that a man had fallen into them after an earthquake cracked the ground open.

Now Midoriya is standing in them, ensconced by one of the greatest Hero school secrets of the past fifty years. He kind of feels like his heart is going to melt into his shoes.

Nedzu gave them permission to come into the Tunnels to locate the Yuuei generators, to attach their newest security measure to them. The Microwave Emitter is stored safely in Midoriya’s pocket—it’s about the size of a wristwatch—waiting to be plugged into a power source. The generators are dead-center beneath Yuuei, and, with about eight different back-up energy stores, it’s unlikely that the Microwave Emitter will ever die. It’ll definitely disturb any microwave usage not connected to the official Yuuei database—sorry, cell phones—but it’ll also make any electronic Quirk impossible to use unless they’ve been tuned into Yuuei’s private frequency.

Midoriya dearly hopes that Kurogiri’s warping Quirk utilizes electromagnetic frequencies.

Not that this is their only plan to buff the defense of Yuuei, of course. This is just the first in a series of small changes that they’ll be making. After the Tunnels, they’ll be visiting the walls around Yuuei and installing microchips with area-specific activations on them. It’ll make it a huge hassle if anyone needs to update the machinery, but it’ll keep them twice as safe in the meantime.

Hatsume’s got some harebrained idea about making Yuuei float that Midoriya doesn’t even want to consider the logistics of. How the hell does Nedzu have the money for some of these plans? Midoriya thinks it’s much more reasonable to just… put sand underneath the stones, or something, but whatever. Sometimes compromise is necessary in a partnership.

They jive through the Tunnels, pointing eagerly at the cameras and the splits in the path that indicate the directions of other schools. Midoriya is desperate to compare Shiketsu and Ketsubutsu to Yuuei’s might, but those are trips for another day.

The sheer size of the generator offshoot stuns Midoriya.

The supercomputers have to be thirty feet tall, their blinking lights mesmerizing him. It’s toasty-warm in the temperature-controlled room, to prevent moisture from forming and ruining the machines. He fits his arms around the end of one row, and presses his cheek to the metal. It hums under his skin, alive in a way that makes his stomach jolt.

Hatsume snickers at him. “You’re gonna be late to third period if you keep hugging the generators.”

Midoriya reluctantly pulls away. He takes the little wafer of wires from his pocket, searching for somewhere to plug it in, within the maze of perfectly organized and labeled motherboards and microchips.

“You know,” he tells her, “I didn’t even care about computers before Yuuei.”

She gives him a curious look. “Not at all?”

“Well, I played video games, and that kind of thing—oh, look! My phone is offline. Success!” He shows her the data bar at the top of his phone, where the “No Service” signal has popped up. “Anyway, I played video games and watched HeroTube, of course, but I wasn’t into robotics or anything cool. I’d never even taken apart a PC before February.”

“Really? That’s so boring,” Hatsume says, twirling in a circle with her arms outstretched. “I’ve been inventing since I was little.”

“My passion has always been Heroics, not Support.”

“That’s true,” Hatsume laughs. “I can’t imagine you not knowing something about Heroes. Hell, without you, I never would have thought of using microwaves to fry electronic Quirks.”

“Most people wouldn’t,” Midoriya assures her. “It’s kind of a new thing, anyway. They’re testing it in England—I only learned of it because of a podcast I’ve been listening to. They haven’t copyrighted any concrete designs yet, so I figured I’d try my hand.”

He pops the cover back on, concealing the little plastic tag with Hatsume and Midoriya’s signatures.

They trot along back towards aboveground-Yuuei in comfortable silence for a minute, before Hatsume wonders, “What happens when those Hero course kids come back and run into the Emitter?”

Midoriya laughs at the quirk of her eyebrow. “Don’t worry, Nedzu-sensei and I already thought of that. We wouldn’t implement something that makes it impossible for the students to use their Quirks inside the grounds.”

It had actually taken some serious thought. It’s still unknown exactly what causes people to develop technological Quirks, but they’re becoming more common by the day. The debates about what constitutes an electronic Quirk are heavily argued, too, though Midoriya tends to shy away from that. Categorization isn’t as interesting as figuring out how the Quirks actually work, to him.

However, there is one main thing that connects all the people with technological Quirks, and that’s their ability to sense frequencies. Because their bodies produce microwaves on their own—or possess internal wiring that produces electromagnetic waves in the microwave region—they’re incredibly sensitive to changes in the microwaves around them. Like little antennae, it’s natural for them to tune into the frequency that they’re hearing all the time. Before, Yuuei had the same frequency as everywhere else in Japan, which is guided by the cellphone towers. Now, Yuuei has its own personal frequency. Anyone not tuned into it will run into a wall with their Quirk, and be unable to produce their Quirk effects.

It’s a simple matter of hitting someone with an electronic Quirk with a tuning fork, and letting them find resonance.

Midoriya explains this to Hatsume, who oooh s appreciatively.

“So, what’s the tuning fork?” she asks.

Midoriya goes pink. “That’s… well, we couldn’t think of a better solution!” He sighs at her questioning look. “They’ve got to lick a WiFi router.”

Hatsume bursts into shocked cackles. “No way!”

“Way,” Midoriya says glumly. “It’ll take ages for their bodies to naturally adjust to the change—in fact, I don’t even know if it’s possible for them to. The British guys have figured out that giving them direct contact with the microwaves guides the resonance, and direct contact with the most resonant part of the human body, the mouth, makes the resonance almost instantaneous. We were thinking of handing out USBs to the students that need them, plugging them into the WiFi routers on one end…”

“And sticking the other end in their mouth!” Hatsume bumps his shoulder with hers. “Super-Nerd, that’s genius!”

Midoriya groans. “It’s embarrassing as hell.”

“Not everything can have a sophisticated answer,” she says, and Midoriya has to agree. Until they can think of something better, that’s the only way to tune the students into the frequency.

He just hopes people don’t hate him too much when they realize that their phones will never get service on campus again.

The next few hours, Midoriya is excused from class to assist Recovery Girl in the nurse’s office. He's a little disappointed; he could have hugged the generators for much longer without worrying about missing class. Students come streaming in, complaining all the while about their Quirks not working, and not having any phone service. He gets over his chagrin after the tenth time he hands someone a USB to lay on their tongue.

“It works faster if you don’t talk,” he starts telling the whiny ones. Recovery Girl shoots him an appraising look, and he blushes from head to toe.

“I don’t even have an electrical Quirk!” one girl tells him.

Midoriya gives her a sympathetic look. “Can you use it?”

“Obviously not. Why do you think I’m here?” she says snootily. Midoriya hands her the USB, and goads her into putting it in her mouth.

“Try your Quirk, now,” he says.

She rubs her palms together so fast that they become a blur. At the end, she claps and a wave of heat blasts Midoriya backwards. She grins.

“Hey! It’s back!”

“Congratulations,” he says. “You’ve got a technological Quirk.” Her smile quickly drops into a scowl.

She refuses to leave until he explains to her why she has a tech Quirk, when she “clearly” has a biological-emitter Quirk. He sends Recovery Girl pleading looks that she resolutely ignores.

“There’s a lot of possibilities,” Midoriya warns. “But I think that you’re actually agitating the particles in the air. Basically, you’re vibrating the air until the frequency changes, and that heats up the air so fast that you can create a sort of directed blast out of it.” He mimics the pushing movement she’d made after rubbing her hands together. “That’s why you have a technological Quirk. You know,” he says, starting to think harder, “I bet you could make a nuclear bomb, if you can vibrate the particles fast enough.”

“Okay,” Recovery Girl interrupts, as the girl gets a scary-looking smile on her face, “back to class, missy.” The elderly woman rounds on Midoriya, and gives him a solid knock on the head. “And you, troublemaker: no giving them crazy ideas.”

Midoriya rubs his head and pouts. “I was just saying …”

He hopes the Hero students aren’t this rude, when they come back.

On Wednesday, Nedzu springs an idea on Midoriya.

“Midoriya-kun, I would like to offer you an opportunity,” he says. “I know we have largely moved away from the Hero-Killer: Stain’s casework, and into the realm of law. I appreciate this change, and the ability to guide you on your chosen path. Unfortunately, one of our students is the younger brother of Ingenium.”

Midoriya gasps, covering his mouth. Ingenium had ended up paralyzed from the waist down after his encounter with Stain. Midoriya had seen the gruesome photographs of the wounds for himself; he’d speculated that Iida’s spine would be affected before the man was even out of his coma.

“Yes. It is quite tragic.” Nedzu’s paws cross on his belly. “Ingenium’s brother, Iida Tenya, is interning in Hosu this week, with the Normal Hero: Manual.” He must see the look on Midoriya’s face, because he nods gravely. “We believe that Iida-kun chose this internship to bring himself closer to the area that Stain is currently in, in an attempt to enact revenge on behalf of his brother.”

Anxiety rushes over Midoriya. “Oh, but that’s so risky!” His brows press up in worry. “If Ingenium couldn’t handle Stain, how could Iida-kun possibly hope to survive?”

Nedzu gives a soft little sigh. “You and I may be able to think rationally about this, but do remember that Iida-kun very well may be a more emotional creature than either of us. Survival might not rank in his mind, beyond the idea that he could strike back at the Hero Killer.

“I wanted to extend to you the opportunity to connect with Iida-kun, and try your hand at your first intentional manipulation.”

Midoriya’s mouth falls open. “Wh–what?”

“I know that we haven’t discussed this much, Midoriya-kun, but my hope for you is to one day be able to wield all the abilities that I have at my disposal, with the morals and ethics of a human.” Nedzu’s gaze is intense. “I believe that we see things similarly. Right now, Iida-kun is in a delicate position. You understand this, yes?”

Midoriya nods slowly.

Of course, he does understand what Nedzu is getting at. Iida Tenya’s mental stability has been rocked by the injury his brother has faced. He’s putting Yuuei’s reputation at risk by throwing himself into danger—not to mention the physical risk he’s taking. That, however, isn’t the extent of the opportunity that Nedzu is providing Midoriya. He’s also offering to put Midoriya into Stain’s home territory.

“Is this because of what I asked you?” Midoriya says. “When I asked why you hadn't caught Stain?”

Nedzu gives him a pleased grin. “Very astute, Midoriya-kun.” He sits quietly, letting Midoriya work it out on his own.

Nedzu is giving him a very generous gift. He will deposit Midoriya into the heart of Tokyo, with a boy who seeks to take down Stain. He is giving Midoriya the opportunity to choose whether or not to pursue Stain. If he chooses to stay back, he will have to work to convince Iida Tenya not to. If he does pursue Stain, he’ll have to fight for his life alongside a stranger.

The principal knows that Midoriya wants Stain off the streets. He knows that seeing Ingenium’s injuries has affected him. He also knows that Midoriya would never personally choose to seek out Stain—it would be far too dangerous.

“You’ll get what you want either way,” Midoriya says slowly, as it dawns on him.

“Right again, Midoriya-kun!” Nedzu gives him applause that Midoriya struggles not to find condescending, though he knows that Nedzu doesn't mean it to be.

“Either I’ll stop Iida, and save Yuuei’s reputation, or I’ll stop Stain, and boost it.”

Nedzu nods. “Not to mention, you also benefit, no matter the outcome. I will station Aizawa-san and Shinsou-kun in Hosu tonight, regardless, and they will serve as your backup, should you so need them.”

It takes him a moment to locate his courage. It seems to be hiding somewhere in his chest, behind the memory of the body that he’d knelt over in that Tokyo underpass. Midoriya finds it, anyway. He presses into it, his fists clenching on his knees.

“I’ll do it.” Midoriya locks his blazing green eyes on Nedzu. “Take me to Hosu. I’ll take down Stain, and save Iida. I can do it.”

Nedzu claps his paws. “Oh, wonderful! I’m so excited to see you work, Midoriya-kun!”

Nerves tear at Midoriya. He’s buckled himself into the improved version of the Sonic Wave Emitter, which has so much additional padding beneath the metal that he’s starting to sweat. Not to mention that he’d had to requisition the Hero costume of the expelled 1-A student, who apparently had a taste for black, and belt buckles.

Midoriya’s new costume will do what he needs it to, he assures himself. It’s long-sleeved, and has full-length pants with shiny gold kneepads made of some kind of hard plastic. They don’t really go with his red shoes, but matching isn’t his biggest concern. (Somehow the stars aligned, and the rebuilt Sonic Wave is made of gold-plated metal, not silver. Small miracles.) He’s more worried about the gold-painted ninja stars stuck in the pockets of the costume. No way he’s touching those without proper training.

He’s busy cataloging his Hero suit, so he won’t fly into a panic attack.

Why, someone might ask, would he fly into a panic attack? Perhaps someone like Monoma would ask this of him. Midoriya would tell mental-Monoma why. He looks out of the train car window, into the sea of flames that have engulfed Hosu, and thinks, that’s why.

Somehow, Hell has come to Japan, and Midoriya is heading straight into it.

A massive creature wrenches apart the side of the traincar, sticking its beaked head through the new gouge and screaming. There’s something tortured about the Nomu—for that’s undoubtedly a Nomu, like the one Midoriya had seen in the USJ. The creature’s eyes bulge out of its skull; it claws at its own skin, and the metal of the train, and through the flesh of the people nearest to it. It screams again.

Midoriya flicks on the Sonic Wave Emitter, and gives a wordless shout. Energy ripples out, shoving the Nomu off of the track and down onto the street below. He turns, wide-eyed, to the panicking people in the train. He barely remembers to turn off Sonic Wave before yelling, “Get to a building!”

Someone yelps, “Wait, kid—” but Midoriya is already leaping from the stalled train and out into the chaos.

On his wrists, the Jellyfish Capture flings out. In an urban area like this, he can safely swing to the ground from something like the elevated train track he'd just jumped from. He’s never been so glad for Aizawa’s bodyweight training, as his forearms hold him steady while he careens through the acrid night air of Hosu under attack.

He lands in the middle of a group of screaming citizens. A winged Nomu swoops down at them, and Midoriya unleashes a cry to beat it back. He herds the group into a clothing store with a shattered front window. He doesn't have time to take a breath.

A masked Hero that Midoriya recognizes dashes past him, her creamy thighs reflecting the green plasmic light of her hair. It’s Burnin, a female sidekick who works under the Flame Hero: Endeavor. She lunges at the Nomu, her plasma hair searing straight through the skin of the beast and severing its head from its body.

Burnin lands and throws her head back with a cackle. “Flame on!” she shouts. She sees Midoriya standing, awestruck, and calls, “Hey, brat! What’cha standin’ there for?! Either beat some ass, or put out some fires!”

“Do you know where the Normal Hero: Manual is?” Midoriya yells back, over the sound of a Nomu screeching. “I’m supposed to be interning with him!”

She shakes her head enigmatically. “I’ll tell ‘im you’re lookin’ if I see ‘im!” she says. Then, she sprints off towards the sound of screaming. Midoriya tears in the opposite direction, away from the bright flames.

If I were the Hero-Killer: Stain, Midoriya thinks, struggling not to cough from the smoke, where would I be? In the dark, surely. Away from the Heroes, too. Midoriya dodges and weaves flaming cars, and around the mutilated bodies on the ground. There’s no time to stop and help—he’s got nothing for them, anyway. Emergency aid services can’t come into active Villain sites.

This is an active Villain site, if Midoriya has ever seen one.

He’s getting further from the calamitous sounds of battle when he realizes that he’s going too slowly. He’ll never be able to check all the alleyways, like this. Besides, he’s about eighty percent sure that Iida Tenya would have given Manual the slip ages ago, if he’s as big a risk as Nedzu made him seem.

Shit. Midoriya hopes his backup is out there somewhere, and not caught up with the Nomu.

He’s not going to back out, now. It doesn’t matter if he’s scared, or alone, or facing down the Hero-Killer. Midoriya will do his best to save the most people he can. He’d thought it before: he wouldn’t place himself on the front line, strategically, but if he found himself there, he’d fight tooth and nail.

Hello, front line.

Hello, Stain.

Midoriya swings into one of the deepest, darkest alleyways he’s ever seen, the soles of his shoes slamming into the body of an emaciated man. He pins the man to the wall with his bodyweight, and feels ribs crack beneath his feet.

“Iida-kun, are you injured?!” Midoriya shouts, not taking his eyes off the Hero-Killer.

“Another Hero brat?” Stain grumbles.

“Who’s there?” Iida calls. “I’ve been stabbed, but I’m alright. Stain can paralyze you!”

Someone else groans, long and low. It’s a hurt sound that grates along Midoriya’s exposed flesh. Midoriya leans away from the swipe of a knife, landing on the ground.

“Is there someone else here?” he calls. Stain catches his breath, body curling protectively over his ribs. The whites of his eyes shine reflectively in the darkness.

“The Hero, Native,” says Iida, who sounds like he might be straining quite hard. “Who are you?”

“I’d like to know, as well,” says Stain. His voice is grittier than a smoker’s, and his eyes haven’t left Midoriya, yet. “You interrupted my culling, boy.”

“Iida,” Midoriya calls, strafing towards his prone body, “do you remember me? Bakugou yelled at me in the cafeteria the other day.”

“Deku?” he says, confusion thick in his throat. “The Quirkless student?”

Midoriya grits his teeth. Damn you, Iida. “Yes, that one.”

Stain huffs a laugh. “A little Quirkless nothing thinks he can face me?”

Midoriya drops into a crouch in front of Iida’s body. He can’t believe that he’s in this position again, so soon after the last time. He’d made it out with Himiko—he can make it through this.

“I don’t need a Quirk to stop you from killing him,” Midoriya says.

Stain and Himiko aren’t so different, are they? he tries to reassure himself.

Name one similarity between them! the second half of his brain wails.

Before he can continue the solo-argument, Stain lunges forward. Midoriya raises his knee to deflect the knife, leaving a gash through the plastic of his kneepad. Midoriya is weaponless. Behind him, Iida’s breaths go harsh.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Iida sobs. “Go away!”

“Be quiet!” Midoriya says harshly. He can see a discarded, bloody knife on the ground. Stain stabs towards his head, and he ducks, leaping forward and rolling to secure the blade. Behind him, Stain cackles.

“Leaving him defenseless? So like you fake Heroes.” His figure, faintly outlined by a distant streetlight, looms over Iida.

Stain is going for a fatal blow to the heart. It’s his go-to culling move.

Midoriya’s not going to let him get that far. He throws one of those stupid ninja stars that his pockets are full of, which turns out to have wickedly sharp edges, and watches it stick in Stain’s shoulder. Stain growls.

Midoriya doesn’t pause. He takes two steps forward, bringing the long blade to bear, and stabs down as hard as he can. Stain dodges—insane reflexes—and Midoriya has to catch himself, before he impales Iida.

“Deku,” Iida cries, “leave! This is my battle!”

If he had time to sigh, he would. Instead, he swerves around another swipe from Stain’s katana. Jellyfish Capture shoots out, locking onto the roof of the building to his right. Stain slams straight into the near-invisible cord, and bounces back. Midoriya swings himself closer and tries to slash with his left arm. Stain parries.

“If it’s your battle, why don’t you get up and fight!” Midoriya shouts, aggrieved. He kicks out, and Stain catches his ankle.

Oh no, Midoriya thinks. Stain gives a wicked grin, and wrenches Midoriya’s foot the wrong way. Midoriya screams—God, that’s about a million times worse than getting stabbed—and his vision goes multicolored. He swipes with his left arm out of pure instinct, catching something solid.

Stain grunts, and retreats for a second.

That’s all Midoriya needs to shove his hand in his pocket and send the message that’s been waiting there.

“King Neito” goes out to his group chat, along with a pin for his location. He’s had it primed since the side of the train had been torn open like a can of tuna.

“So the little Quirkless Hero can fight,” says Stain. “You should listen to your friend, and limp away while you still can.”

“We’re not friends,” Iida sobs.

Nice. Real nice.  

“I’m not going anywhere, as long as you’re here,” Midoriya tells the prone boy. Tears sting his eyes, and his stomach heaves with nausea. “Let Iida go, Stain. He’s just a kid.”

“He’s man enough to come looking for revenge,” Stain says. “He should be man enough to take the punishment.”

“You’re creating a cycle,” Midoriya says, woozy with pain. “You hurt his brother. Would it be Hero-like to let that go?”

“All Might-sama wouldn’t—”

“Are you kidding?!” Midoriya’s anger briefly overwhelms the agony. “If someone killed David Shield, All Might would Detroit Smash them into Hell, personally. All Might is human, just like you and me.”

Stain scoffs. “That’s where you’re wrong. All Might-sama would never hurt someone out of revenge.”

“You’re delusional,” Midoriya decides. “All of you Villains put Heroes on a pedestal, and then go around being mad that it's not real. You’re just using All Might’s name to justify your cause. You don’t know the first thing about him.”

Stain hisses like a stepped-on cat. “I should break your other ankle, for that.”

“You’re sullying All Might’s name with your Villainous cause,” Midoriya says. “You’re making him look bad, just by being associated with you.”

“I do what he cannot!” Stain roars. He slashes wildly with his blade, and Midoriya uses his own to catch the strike, even though the movement sends a wave of needle-like torture straight down his leg.

“You kill because you can’t make real change!” Midoriya screams. “You’re weak! Your will is weak—your cause is unjust! If you really cared about Heroes being good people, you’d start with the damn ranking system!”

Stain heaves for breath, literally frothing at the mouth. He takes a step forward, and rests the tip of his katana on Midoriya's chest.

“What do you mean by that, boy?”

Midoriya’s head pounds. “You think Hero society is corrupt, right?” he demands. “You think Heroes are only in it for the cash and the fame?”

“They are,” Stain spits.

“I agree,” Midoriya says. This shocks everyone in the alley into silence. “The way to fix that is to change the ranking system. Heroes are paid for media appearances. The higher the rank, the more they’re paid.” He sneers. “Do you know why All Might gives over sixty percent of his paycheck to charity? He makes trillions of yen a year. His agency does it for the tax breaks. Even with only forty percent of his paycheck, All Might makes more money than you or I will ever see in our lifetimes—combined. Forty years of being the Number one Hero has its benefits.”

Stain presses the tip of his katana forward, piercing the layer of armor Midoriya’s borrowed costume gives him.

“That’s not his fault,” Stain growls.

“That’s not my point,” Midoriya says, frustrated. “My point is that Heroes try to climb the ranks for money. Fame equals money. The more spotlight they get, the more they’re paid. If you were smart,” he snarls, utterly beyond any politeness, “you’d be trying to take down the ranking system. That would solve all your so-called problems.”

Stain yanks his blade away. “You think I didn’t try the pacifist route?”

Midoriya grasps the Jellyfish Capture to stay upright. His ankle throbs so violently that he can feel the gorge rising in his throat.

“I tried to bring attention to the issues,” Stain rants. “I tried the Vigilante shit. The people only respond to blood. They’re beasts. Beasts can only be taught one way.”

“Violence begets violence,” Midoriya says, the words tearing out of him unbidden. It becomes truer every time he says it. “If you want change— real change, not just fear—you’d be taking down the system, not the people who play it.”

“If they’re succeeding in it, obviously they’re corrupt!” Stain shouts. His blade swings out to point at Native, slumped over on the ground, barely breathing. “That one, he profits off of the mockery of Native Americans. He makes his money off of racism!”

“Do you seriously think that’s the biggest problem Hero society is facing?!” Midoriya wants to laugh; he swallows down bile. “You’re a lunatic. Why don’t you do some research into the Number Two Hero, for a change? I’m sure you’d be surprised at what you find.”

“What’s this about my father?”

Oh, thank God.

Todoroki stands at the mouth of the alley, shoulders heaving with his labored breaths. Iida staggers to his feet, tears and blood dripping down his face.

Midoriya sways. His hand is sweating so bad that the only thing keeping him upright is the Jellyfish Capture being attached to his wrist. He can feel his previously-injured bicep twitching and spasming under the strain.

“Eyes on me, boy,” Stain growls. The cool, serrated metal of his katana nudges Midoriya’s chin. “What’s a Quirkless little bug know about the Hero industry, huh?”

Midoriya wants to spit on him. He considers it, for a moment. “Obviously more than you,” he says, instead.

Stain scoffs. “You ran in here to save that revenge-driven idiot, and you haven’t the slightest ability to fight me. That’s my blade you’re holding. That boy barely even knows who you are.” Stain jerks his chin toward Iida.

“It doesn’t matter,” Midoriya says harshly. “I would have come, no matter who it was.”

“Gloryhound,” Stain growls, leaning into his space. “And a suicidal one, to boot.”

Midoriya shrugs. If that’s what Stain wants to think of him, so be it. “It doesn’t matter what you think. You’ve already shown me that your cause—the one thing I actually know about you—is nonsense. If you continue to kill, you’re doing it for you, not for society. Definitely not for All Might.”

“You know nothing,” Stain scoffs. “You won’t last a day in the real world, boy.”

Midoriya’s face twists into a scowl. He is so sick and tired of people telling him that he doesn’t understand the world he lives in. He understands plenty, thank you very much.

“Because you got so far, right?” Midoriya sneers. “Don’t throw stones from a glass house, Hero-Killer.”

The katana presses more insistently, drawing blood. Stain’s hideous tongue hangs out of his mouth, curling around his rough blade. Flames lick forward, and Stain leaps further into the alley to escape them. Todoroki catches Midoriya around the waist as he sags forward.

Midoriya shivers. The sweat on his hairline has gone cold as ice.

“You’re going into shock,” Todoroki murmurs.

“Shouto-kun,” Midoriya says, his words quiet and desperate. “I didn’t think anyone was going to come.” He swallows thickly. He’s starting to run out of anger, and, more importantly, adrenaline.

“How sweet,” Stain says scathingly. He lifts his blade, moonlight shining off the silver metal. “I don't normally cut down trees before the roots can grow, but you've shown me that my culling must reach deeper. I'll whet my blade with your blood, and leave your corpses for the vultures to find. Justice has already been served, tonight.”

Native! Midoriya can’t hear if the Hero is still breathing, against the alley wall he’d been propped on.

“Why don’t you fuck off?” a deep, exhausted voice calls. It bounces down from the rooftops, echoing off of every wall.

“Who dares—” Stain begins to spit, before going entirely slack.

Midoriya could cry. “Hitoshi-kun,” he calls hoarsely. The tears finally spill over, soaking Midoriya’s cheeks.

Todoroki stoops, and sweeps Midoriya up into his arms. He gives a pained shriek as his ankle is jostled, biting his lip halfway through it. Iida paces forward warily, one hand pressed against his bleeding shoulder.

“What has happened to Stain?” he asks, his words hollow.

Shinsou swings down from the roof, his white capture weapon a blinding beacon in the darkness. Behind him, Eraser Head drops to the ground on silent, catlike feet.

“Aizawa-sensei,” Todoroki acknowledges.

“Aizawa-sensei!” Iida gasps, in a much different voice. He stumbles back a step, eyes wide and frightened.

“Aizawa-sensei,” Eraser Head agrees. “Shinsou. Use your capture weapon to wrap Native’s wound.” His eyes don’t move from the three boys in front of him. “Well. This is interesting, isn’t it.”

“Izuku needs medical attention,” Todoroki says fearlessly.

“So I see.” For a moment longer, Eraser Head holds them pinned beneath his gaze. Then, he tilts his scruffy chin up, and both Iida and Todoroki hasten towards the mouth of the alley.

Todoroki gets yanked back by the Jellyfish Capture, which is still embedded in the wall. Midoriya grimaces as he recalls it, his wrist aching. The Nomu must have been cleared from this area, because he can see emergency lights flashing. Iida calls out for medics in a strong, flat voice, and herds them towards the alley. Todoroki sets Midoriya down, grasping his elbow and slinging Midoriya’s arm around his shoulders to help him hobble forward.

It’s then, in the confusion of getting aid for everyone, that a Nomu sweeps down.

Everyone else ducks. Midoriya is stuck, tottering on one leg, and the claws of the Nomu sink into the flesh of his shoulders. He’s jerked out of Todoroki’s grip with a cry.

Flames lick the bottoms of his shoes; a capture weapon snags around his broken ankle. The howl he lets out is so loud and agonized that the fabric instantly loosens, and he slips free. He shoots out the Jellyfish Capture, which manages to catch on the gutter of a nearby building. Unfortunately, the gutter rips off with little fight.

Midoriya draws it back to him, and starts trying to beat the legs of the Nomu with the weak metal. His vision keeps dotting out, as his legs swing and dangle. They’re so high up, now. He stops hitting the Nomu, afraid that it’ll drop him. He’d die, falling from this height.

Something lands on top of the Nomu, which shrieks in fright. Midoriya flaps like a flag in the wind. The Nomu gives another yelp, and they start falling, its open wings the only thing keeping them from plummeting straight into the concrete.

Midoriya squeezes his eyes shut, not wanting to see the street spinning closer.

There’s a strange change in movement, then, and it feels like he’s been tackled from the side. The pain in his ankle is blinding. He must black out for a moment, because he opens his eyes, heaving for breath on the sidewalk. Crouched over him like a demon, is Stain.

“Everything I do…” Stain pants, slavering over the body of the Nomu, “is for a better society.” His knife rips through the brain of the creature, silencing it. The crowd of Heroes in front of them stand, enraptured.

From afar, Endeavor’s flames approach. Midoriya struggles in Stain’s grasp, though every movement sends nauseating torment searing up from his ankle. Stain presses his head down into the concrete, grinding in until he feels like his skull might pop with the pressure.

“I don’t throw stones from a glass house,” Stain tells him. His voice is as ragged as his clothes. “If the rankings are what needs to go, I’ll take those down, too. But these fakes…” he eases up on Midoriya, leaning back to leer at the unmoving Heroes. “These pretenders need to be eradicated.”

Endeavor shouts, “Hero-Killer!” delightedly, his flame-shroud lengthening.

“Endeavor,” growls Stain, finally leaving Midoriya. His spiked shoes drag forward, heedless of the outstretched wing he’s standing on. “The fakes must be eradicated. You will pay for your misdeeds in blood.” Stain’s aura of malevolence grows so strong that the Heroes visibly flinch back from him. His voice drops to the lowest rasp that Midoriya has ever heard. “The real Heroes… must be brought to light.

“Come. Face me, you fakes.” A switchblade snicks out of its casing, silver edge catching the moonlight. Stain bares his teeth in a horrible grimace. “The only one who’s allowed to kill me is the real Hero: All Might!”

One of the Heroes stumbles back, and falls. Even Endeavor’s flames dim, flickering lowly in fear.

Midoriya lets fly a single, stupid, gold-painted ninja star. It strikes Stain in the back of the neck, and he crumples to the ground.

Several Heroes trip backwards onto their asses, including Todoroki and Iida. Midoriya flops down, exhausted.

“Fuck, man,” breathes Shinsou.

Too right, Midoriya thinks. Then, he blacks out from the pain.

Nedzu is not pleased. He sternly admonishes Midoriya for abandoning all sense, and continuing with the plan even though it was clearly not safe, in the hospital.

Nedzu stands on Midoriya’s thighs, smooshing Midoriya’s face between his soft paws. “Midoriya-kun,” he says, his voice trembling and twanging on the edge of a growl, “do you remember the conversation we had after your first police interview?”

“Yesh,” Midoriya says, speaking through his squished lips.

Nedzu leans in until their noses nearly touch. “I chose you for a reason,” he reminds. “You will not die before I have had a chance to train you to the fullest extent.” His tiny claws curl out, and prick Midoriya’s freckles. “I trusted you to follow our plan. If I cannot trust you with yourself, you will lose countless opportunities.” His beady black eyes bore into Midoriya’s. “Do you understand?”

Midoriya thinks.

He’s sharing his hospital room with Iida and Todoroki, who are watching this interaction with rapt attention. Eraser Head is slouched in the doorway, hands shoved into his pockets.

Nedzu means the opportunity that he’d given Midoriya to manipulate Iida. He also means the opportunity to stop Stain. Nedzu had intended their fight to be much more contained, and more supervised, had Midoriya actively chosen to track the Hero Killer down. By not bowing out of the plan when it had derailed, Midoriya put himself at risk in a way that Nedzu didn’t anticipate, and couldn’t assist with.

He means: if Midoriya doesn’t start putting himself first, Nedzu will prevent him from helping people in the future. He won’t extend any more field opportunities. He will keep Midoriya locked in Yuuei, doing menial projects, and experimenting in the bubble of safety that Nedzu can control every single aspect of.

Midoriya swallows.

“I understand, Sensei,” he says. “I’m sorry for betraying your trust.”

Nedzu gives an appreciative hum. “Thank you, Midoriya-kun. I think, from now on, we’ll be working on your self-worth. I underestimated how large of a factor it is in your decision making process.”

Midoriya flushes. Eraser Head scoffs, turning towards his students.

“Brats,” he says. His hair raises off his shoulders as his Quirk activates. “Use your Quirks without permission again, and I’ll expel you on the spot.”

Iida and Todoroki bow their heads, cowed.

Nedzu hops to the end of Midoriya’s hospital bed. “You boys are quite lucky that Midoriya-kun was there. Stain’s injuries can all be attributed to him, and, as he received no damage of a Quirked variety, you will be allowed to take credit for his take-down.” Nedzu gives them a short burst of applause. “Though uncouth, congratulations are in order for your first Villain capture!”

Midoriya gapes. “Wait, wait, wait—”

Iida’s mouth falls open. “I do not deserve that!”

Todoroki smiles faintly at Midoriya. “I think,” he says, his quiet voice cutting through the din, “that that’s probably the first time a Quirkless Hero has ever captured a Villain.”

Everyone turns to look at Midoriya.

“B–but,” he stutters, “but, I’m not a Hero! I’m not even in the Hero course!”

“Neither is Shinsou, and he’s getting partial credit,” Eraser Head drawls. “If that means anything to you.”

Midoriya supposes that it does. He thinks of Shinsou’s future as a Hero as inevitable—he’s simply getting prepared for his transfer. But himself? Midoriya hadn’t even considered entering the Heroics course. He’d switched tracks entirely, focusing on the internal workings of the industry.

“I doubt it would benefit anyone for Midoriya-kun to be placed in the Hero course,” Nedzu says. “His flexibility is his greatest strength, and that is derived from his multitude of interests. To place him with the Hero students now would be to his detriment, not his advantage.”

Todoroki pouts.

“I never thanked you,” Iida says suddenly. Midoriya blinks. “I am deeply regretful that my actions and emotions caused you to get injured on my behalf. I am sorry that I put Yuuei’s reputation at risk.” He swallows, his throat bobbing with the motion. “But I am so, so grateful that you decided to intervene. I’m not sure why you came to Hosu. I do not know why you acted with such chivalry.” Iida’s chin wobbles. His handsome face scrunches, and his dark eyes fill with tears. Midoriya watches in shock. “Even when I begged you to leave, you stayed. You placed yourself in danger to save me.” He bows forward, and Midoriya can see every pained tremble that shoots through him at the motion. “I will forever be in your debt, Midoriya Izuku. Thank you for reminding me what it means to be a selfless Hero.”

Midoriya clasps his hands over his heart. It feels as if the muscle will punch through his chest any second now.

“Oh, Iida-kun,” Midoriya whispers. “I’m so sorry about your brother. I understand why you had to go after Stain—I really do. But please, remember, being a Hero means putting yourself at risk for the sake of others, not for yourself. Ingenium will live to fight another day—through you.”

Iida straightens up, tears glimmering on his cheeks. Determination firms his mouth. He turns to Eraser Head, who watches with his hands shoved in his pockets.

“Sensei,” Iida says, “is it too late to change my Hero name?”

Eraser Head raises an eyebrow. “Got something better than your given name?”

“Yes.” Iida stares at Midoriya. “I’m going to be the Turbo Hero: Ingenium II.”

Eraser Head sighs. “Sounds fine to me. And you, brat?”

Todoroki tilts his head contemplatively, his eyes on Midoriya. “Not yet, Sensei. I think… I think I still have some growing to do, before I can give you a real one.”

Nedzu spins around. “What about you, Midoriya-kun? What name will we give the press to call you? Shinsou-kun has already submitted the Persuasive Hero: Temptation, as his title.”

Really? Shinsou had taken his advice, and left out any mention of Brainwashing, which was nice. It didn’t make a mention of his preference towards antagonizing his targets into responding, either. How perfect.

But what was Midoriya supposed to call himself?

Todoroki wears a little smirk in the corner of his mouth. “I thought you would already have one,” he says.

“Is that not what Deku is?” Iida blinks.

Midoriya startles. “Um, no. Deku is…” Actually, Deku is perfect. He’s already used to people calling him Deku, anyway, so there’d be no adjustment to hearing it. He looks at Nedzu, who waits patiently. “Deku is great, actually.”

“Just Deku?” Nedzu clarifies.

Midoriya nods, feeling it resonate through him. “Deku, the Quirkless Hero.”

Chapter Text

Excerpt from “Nightly News with Neji” published May 15, 2232, 23:00.

Accessed: May 15, 2232.

“Another shocking pronouncement comes tonight, after the emergency lockdown that Hosu City went into at 18:04 this evening lifts: the Hero-Killer: Stain has been taken into custody! His supposed defeat is in the hands of none other than Yuuei High School’s second-place Sports Festival victor, the Quirkless Midoriya Izuku. He and three other Yuuei students were on scene at Hosu tonight…”

Captioned clip from HeroTube video “QUIRKLESS HERO: DEKU” by ProHeroChaser, posted on May 15, 2232, 23:54.

Accessed: May 16, 2232.

“Do I think Deku will survive the Heroics industry? Hell no. But do I think he’s making history, just by trying? Absolutely. Say what you want about the kid—he’s got balls. If I’m being honest, he’s earned my respect for the sheer audacity of his first take-down being fricken Stain. Stain, you guys.

“He went from second-place in the Sports Fest to the biggest star Yuuei has produced in years. Even if he dies horribly, he’ll still have been the first Quirkless Hero. He doesn’t even have a damn Provisional License! I’m telling you guys, keep your eyes on him.

“Deku is going to keep making waves, no matter what he does. I, for one, can’t wait.”

Excerpt from “Unevolved Buddies ;)))”

Accessed: May 16, 2232.

tentenluvsdakobeni: Let’s all cheer on Deku, the Quirkless Hero, for representing people like us everywhere. We are loved. We are heard. We are still here.

miyaisabigboy: i wanna buy his merch so bad

miyaisabigboy: no idea what his hero costume is dont care i want merch asap

blueminkcoat : Best day I’ve had in a long time. Keep going guys. I never thought I’d see something like this in my lifetime

anonymous-user: Every day is an opportunity to prove the world wrong about you!!!!! Be yourself unashamedly!!!!!!!!!!

Sir Nighteye is undoubtedly pissed. As disappointed and stressed as Nedzu had been, when he’d rushed into Midoriya’s hospital room, Nighteye is one thousand percent angrier. Midoriya and Nedzu had conveniently forgotten that Nighteye Agency are the overseers of the Hero-Killer: Stain case, and, therefore, are responsible for taking statements and clean-up of the legal side of the capture.

The only bright side is Togata Mirio’s presence.

“Hi, kouhai!” Togata chirps with a sunny smile.

Midoriya’s face responds automatically, his freckled cheeks lifting as his lips spread wide. “Togata-senpai! It’s so great to see you again!”

Togata laughs. “Well, I can think of a few better circumstances to meet you in—” he eyes the cast on Midoriya’s right foot— “but I am glad to see you whole. No puncture wounds anywhere, right?” he jokes, making a frame with his fingers and acting like he’s peering through it at Midoriya’s torso.

“Not from Stain,” Midoriya assures. He pats his belly. “I think my gooey caramel center should be safe for another day.”

Togata laughs again, and Midoriya sees Sir Nighteye’s stern, irritated expression drop for a moment. His emerald eyebrows scrunch back down over his eyes with a vengeance. “As hilarious as this all is,” Nighteye says bitingly, “I would like to get to the point of why I am taking time out of my astonishingly busy day to speak with you, here, in this damnable school.”

Midoriya is propped up in the nurse’s office at Yuuei, blearily awake after the late-night healing session Recovery Girl had performed for him. He’d had a displaced trimalleolar fracture, which can’t be healed in only one session. She’d done a light bit of surgery, to be sure that the bone shards were pinned correctly in his ankle, and healed what she could. Tonight, he’ll be returning for the second round of healing.

Sir Nighteye runs brusquely through the set of questions he has to ask Midoriya. He points over Togata’s shoulder at the lines he should be filling out on the official forms, making minor corrections as they go.

It occurs quite late to Midoriya’s sleep-addled mind that Togata is Sir Nighteye’s work-study student. “Oh!” he exclaims to himself. “How interesting…”

“Hm?” Togata asks, his tongue poking out as he writes.

“It’s just that, well, I didn’t think you’d want to go into Intelligence Heroics, Togata- senpai . But, since you’re working with Sir Nighteye-san—”

Togata blinks at him. “I’m not going to be an Intelligence Hero. I’m aiming for Battle Heroics.” Togata jams his thumb into his chest. “Lemillion, at your service!”

Midoriya cocks his head. “Then, no offense, why are you with Nighteye Agency? They specialize in Intelligence, and don’t generally work on the front lines. They have set patrol routes, but they’re much narrower than an agency like, say, Endeavor Agency’s are. Nighteye-san’s work focuses on connecting Underground Heroes to Daylight agencies, and providing them with a plan to act on for taking down organized crime. Most Battle agencies focus more on hand-to-hand combat, or—”

“That is quite enough,” Nighteye says.

Togata’s round, blue eyes are wide. “Woah,” he breathes. “You sure do know a lot about Nighteye Agency, kouhai. I knew there was a reason I wanted to ask you for Quirk advice!”

Midoriya is touched. “You wanted to ask me for advice?” His eyes water. “That’s so flattering, Togata-senpai. As one of the Yuuei Big Three, I’d expect you to have top-notch Quirk counseling—you definitely don’t want to hear anything from me.”

“No way!” Togata says. “I’d love to hear your thoughts on Permeation, and we get a little less help than you’re thinking. Nejire-chan and Amajiki both have fairly straightforward applications of their Quirks—ah, those are the other members of the Big Three,” Mirio explains, scrubbing a sheepish hand through his hair. “I actually struggled a lot with Permeation. That’s the whole reason I met Sir in the first place!”

“Correct.” Nighteye uses the barest tip of his finger to press his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “I scouted Mirio-kun after his disastrous Sports Festival showing last semester, and aided in changing his Quirk approach.”

“Really?” Midoriya asks, intrigued. “That’s very generous of you, Nighteye-san. It seems a little counterintuitive to pick up students looking to enter the Daylight, Battle field, but I suppose that growing your connections with future Heroes can only benefit everyone in the long run. I wonder if Nighteye-san has taken on any Underground students, and whether Shinsou-kun would be a good fit with Nighteye Agency… His personality is so abrasive that he and Nighteye-san might only butt heads and not get anything accomplished, but, on the other hand, it may force Shinsou-kun to realize that he has to make nice with the higher ups…”

Togata chuckles, breaking Midoriya from his thoughts.

“I do not often take on students,” Nighteye says frostily. “Much like your own position, being a work-study student with the Nighteye Agency is a coveted thing.”

Midoriya nods. “With cases like the Hero-Killer, it’s easy to see why Sir Nighteye-san is so amazing!”

Nighteye’s lip curls. “Flattery doesn’t work on me, boy. Focus on keeping yourself from the clutches of Villains—which I take it has been happening far too often for a first-year who is not even a member of the Heroics course.” His yellow eyes narrow behind his glasses.

Midoriya’s breath goes short. Does he know about Himiko? No one knows about Himiko. How? Who told him? Does he have connections with Kitten Claws? Was he talking about Shigaraki?

“Hey, don’t sweat it!” Togata claps Midoriya on the back, jolting him into the present. “As long as you keep winning the fights, I think meeting Villains can be excused.” He gives Midoriya a wink and a thumbs up. “We’ve really got to run, but I still want to talk with you about Permeation!”

“Of—of course! Anytime, Togata-senpai. We should have lunch,” Midoriya suggests, flipping tracks in his mind.

Nighteye sneers, and quickly leaves without a backwards glance. Togata takes down Midoriya’s phone number, disappearing through the door to chase after his mentor with a cheery wave goodbye.

Midoriya sighs, slumping into the hospital bed.

Two hours later, Midoriya arrives at Support studio 1-H huffing for breath, uniform in utter disarray.

“Are you alright, Midoriya-kun?” The Excavator Hero: Power Loader asks, worry evident in his tone. The nineteen other members of the class swivel to see the potential gossip.

“Fine, thanks,” Midoriya gasps. He tries to squash down his frizzy curls with one hand, the other tugging at his poorly-done tie.

Most students in the Support course don’t don their uniforms until third period, anyway, which is when they switch from lab to normal coursework. Midoriya hastily strips off his outer layers.

The press have once again swarmed Yuuei, hoping to catch one of the four students reportedly on scene for the Hero-Killer’s capture the previous night. Iida is probably still sleeping off his various injuries in the Hosu General Hospital. Todoroki, Shinsou, and Midoriya had been summarily dismissed after their check-ups, freeing the room for more pressing cases. Todoroki and Shinsou, however, are still obligated to finish out their work-studies.

That means that Midoriya had been the only one who came to Yuuei, last night, for Recovery Girl's healing. He’d left after Nighteye’s visit, to gather his uniform from his apartment and return for classes. Luckily, he'd thought ahead. He and Hatsume’s exploration of the outer fences had unveiled some very interesting side-entrances and exits to the school that they otherwise would've never known about. Midoriya had hiked a short path east of the front gates, and let himself in unmolested by any eagle-eyed camera people.

He is a little sweaty, though.

Hatsume’s eyebrows sit high on her forehead. “You had an eventful night,” she says, rather unnecessarily. “So, Stain. Did he stab you a lot? Cut you up all over your body? Did you need a blood transfusion?” She gasps, grasping Midoriya’s forearm. “Did your heart stop and your life flash before your eyes?!” Her gaze lands on the boot Midoriya wears on his right foot, concern pulling her mouth into an uncharacteristic frown. She glances into his eyes and finally asks, “Are you really okay?”

Her care is all the more evident when she sits down at their desk, rather than leading Midoriya to their workstation. Instead of sitting with her—which Midoriya has discovered is difficult to come back from, with a broken ankle—he leans his hip against the metal edge of their desk and angles himself towards Hatsume.

“I’m good,” he says. Hatsume shoots him a disbelieving look. He holds up his hands, palms out. “Really! I promise, I’m on the mend. He didn't cut me up too bad, and I didn't need a transfusion. I just had a little nick on my chin. I definitely didn't see my life flash before my eyes. I’ll visit Recovery Girl-san again this evening, and I should get out of the boot, then. Eraser Head-sensei benched me until she gives the all-clear,” he says, pouting a bit.

“You’re crazy, Super-Nerd,” Hatsume says with a relieved laugh. “I can’t believe you seriously took down the Hero-Killer last night, and you’re here like this is half as important.”

Midoriya jerks back in offense. “Mei-chan! Don’t say that. Inventing with you is twice as important as the Hero-Killer will ever be.”

A huge, glowing grin slides across her lips. She leaps out of her seat, wrapping him in a constrictive, warm, thoroughly Hatsume-brand hug. Her head rests on his shoulder. Midoriya sinks into the heat of her body, and the comfort of being in the arms of his first high school friend.

The class president clears their throat. Their black-painted lips are tilted in a suggestive smile, and their dark eyes sweep back and forth between Hatsume and Midoriya, full of implications.

“Still not dating, Nishida-san!” Hatsume says. Midoriya is surprised Hatsume even knows what the angle of Nishida’s mouth means. Most times, the body language of the people around her is something Hatsume can’t seem to decipher—but, maybe Nishida has asked the same question enough times at this point for even Hatsume to recognize the pattern.

“I know, I know,” says Nishida. “Just your cursory PDA reminder. And a big congratulations from 1-H on taking down that masked menace, Midoriya-kun.” Nishida gives Midoriya a much more genuine grin, their arms crossing. “I know I’ll be sleeping better at night.”

One of the girls towards the front of the class scoffs audibly. Heads turn in her direction, the girl’s spine stiffening under the attention.

“Something to say, Umiko-san?” Ino, the vice president, challenges. He tosses his long, burnished copper hair out of his face, sneering at Umiko coldly.

The girl has her coily hair pulled back from her face in a set of neat cornrows, with a plain blue bandana protecting it from stray sparks. Her full lips curl into a scowl. “I just don’t think we should be so eager to support a Quirkless kid over Stain, especially since Stain was out there making a difference.”

“Yeah,” another student chimes in, their dark sunglasses flashing. “You’ve all seen the video, right? He was out there doing good, trying to bring back real Heroes.” They jerk their chin in Midoriya’s direction with a light snarl on their mouth.

Nishida stares both of the students down. “I’m not against expressing differing political opinions in this class, but I’ll say this just once: if anyone has a problem with Midoriya-kun’s Quirk status, keep it to yourself. Otherwise, I’ll report you to the guidance counselors for mandatory microaggression training.” They look around, making eye contact with a few more people. “And, just in case anyone gets any big ideas, remember that the Hero-Killer: Stain—” they emphasize the title harshly— “permanently injured your fellow student’s older sibling. Not to mention the fact that Midoriya-kun is wearing a cast because Stain literally broke his ankle.”

“They mean,” Ino says loudly, over the unhappy grumble that kicks up, “keep your mouths shut. Mind your own business. Got it?”

There’s an aura of begrudging assent, and people start to return to their own projects. Nishida sends Midoriya an apologetic look, heading back to their own desk. Ino scowls darkly at the remaining gawkers until they face their own work again.

In Midoriya’s chest, a gentle bloom of appreciation grows.

He’s never had anyone protect him like that, in front of such a large crowd. Nishida and Ino aren’t even his friends! Midoriya is struck by how good his class representatives are, and his eyes begin to water. Even though they’d earned their positions in odd ways—Midoriya still remembers Ino trying to strangle his desk partner—Nishida and Ino have proven themselves to be worthy of their responsibilities and titles.

“Come on, crybaby,” Hatsume says fondly. “Let’s start working on that new gate design. I think that I’ve finally managed to pin down a replica of Shigaraki’s Quirk that doesn’t rely on nuclear decay. Yay!” She pumps her fist. “Avoiding radiation poisoning, one baby at a time.”

Midoriya sniffles, wiping his nose as he laughs. “Always looking on the bright side, aren’t you?”

She hooks her muscular arm around Midoriya’s waist, and helps him hobble over to their workstation. When Midoriya is seated, Hatsume gestures at the variety of materials spread across the plastic-coated surface of the desk. Normally the desk is devoid of junk. Today, Midoriya can see a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, a tank of bleach, a jug of pure vinegar, and even a giant shaker of salt.

“This isn’t everything,” Hatsume tells him. “Some of my test projects are in the chem lab, because safety or whatever. Apparently sulfuric acid is ‘extremely dangerous’ and ‘will burn a hole through the desk,’” Hatsume says, making air quotes around the sentences that someone—most likely Power Loader—told her. “I’ve been trying my best to recreate what you told me his Quirk does, but it’s seriously difficult.”

Midoriya bites his lip. He doesn’t want to fanboy over a dangerous Villain’s Quirk, but man, it’s hard to reign himself in.

“It’s really amazing to see,” he tells Hatsume. “It’s so delicate, and near-instantaneous. You could watch the skin peel off your muscles in seconds.”

“That’s the problem,” she sighs, kicking up her feet so she can spin on her stool. “I can’t get anything close to instantaneous. The closest thing I’ve gotten is a hydrogen peroxide-vinegar-salt mix that can instantly rust steel. It still takes ages for it to do anything more than surface damage, though, which makes it basically useless.”

Midoriya nods, pinching his lip between his fingers. “You said sulfuric acid, right?”

“Yup,” Hatsume says. “I did a quick search on the most corrosive acids—most of which Sensei told me are totally off-limits.” She pouts. “I got sulfuric acid, sulphonic acid, sodium hydroxide, and hydrofluoric acid.”

Midoriya blinks. “That’s awesome! Any of those should be able to do what we need.”

“You have no sense of adventure,” Hatsume chides. “I wanted to get my hands on some fluoroantimonic acid.” She flexes her fingers, wiggling them eagerly.

“You’re crazy!” Midoriya gapes. “We don’t need that!”

“Yeah,” she grins, “but imagine what we could do with it.”

Unwillingly, Midoriya imagines Hatsume with a superacid in her grasp. He shudders. No matter what good could come of it, even the mental image paints a terrifying picture.

“We just need to figure out how to properly interlock the steel pieces without them actually interlocking,” Midoriya says, lacing his fingers together demonstratively. “I was thinking that something like chainmail might work—though I really don’t know. This is all speculation.”

Hatsume nods absently, spinning so that she faces the table. She goes to town on a sheet of thin design paper, sketching who-knows-what.

Attempting to counteract Quirks that they don’t know the extent of is an art medium in futility. Try as they might, all their efforts could be for naught, if Shigaraki’s Quirk works differently than Midoriya is hypothesizing. It’s similar to the situation with the warp-Quirked man. Midoriya has to hope that his ability to teleport will be interrupted by the Microwave Emitter, while simultaneously planning for every possible instance in which the device doesn’t work.

The infamous Yuuei gate has already fallen to Shigaraki’s Quirk once before; it’s their job to make sure that it won’t, next time.

Midoriya has never been happier that he’s a member of the Management department, alongside Support. Without his newfound knowledge of materials, he might not have any ideas on how to combat something like Shigaraki’s Quirk. The chemical composition of the material doesn’t seem to matter when pitted against Decay—unless liquid truly is impervious, as Midoriya thinks it might be—so simply rebuilding the gate tougher than before is a no-go. Without his Introduction to Costume Production textbook, Midoriya would be at a loss.

Thankfully, he and Hatsume had pored over the textbook with dire intent, and made a list of all the possible materials that could help them. Midoriya is working with the assumption that anything not directly attached to the material that comes into contact with Shigaraki’s Decay will survive the Quirk. The two instances he has to work with are the destruction of his own clothes.

Midoriya’s tie had crumbled to dust mere seconds after Shigaraki touched it, with the rest of his clothing remaining intact. In the USJ, the same thing had happened to Midoriya’s uniform blazer. Both times, though the fabrics had been directly touching other clothes, and even Midoriya’s bare skin, the item that Shigaraki had touched was all that Decayed. Of course, there’s several logistical questions that come into play with this: none of the threads survived, nor the buttons on Midoriya’s blazer, so why would the Quirk ignore other fabrics touching the item?

He digresses. Some things can’t be known without extensive testing, and this is true of Shigaraki’s Quirk, for now.

Midoriya leans over Hatsume’s shoulder, spying down at her sketch. She’s drawn the three patterns of chainmail that they’d decided would work best, with her own twist thrown in. Through each “knot” of metal, where the loops and rings connect, a long, horizontal rectangle has been drawn. In traditional chainmail, half of the purpose is malleability. It’s been designed as a piece of clothing, that someone could feasibly wear, and not get impaled in.

Even now, thousands of years after its invention, chainmail remains one of the best defensive armors ever created.

However, Hatsume and Midoriya don’t need a wearable design. They need a stagnant, un-Decay-able, interlocking gate that can unfurl at a moment’s notice. Therefore, it stands to reason that sticking huge pieces of rebar through the knots would work almost exactly like the slatted gate from before, with the additional benefit of having about a trillion more pieces for Shigaraki to touch before it would fall apart.

It’s not strategically going to work for every piece of fencing around Yuuei (obviously), but it will work for the biggest target.

Hatsume holds up the sheet. She and Midoriya point simultaneously at the middle drawing, with her modified version of the sweet pea weave, stuck through with potential rebar.

“Time to get weaving,” Hatsume says, with a conspiratorial grin. “Then we can do the fun stuff, like explode it.”

Midoriya catches her infectious smile. It’s impossible to feel listless with Hatsume around, urging him forward.

When Midoriya appears in the doorway of 1-I, Broadcast is already there.

He stops Midoriya with a gentle hand on his shoulder, his pink eyes soft and understanding.

“Good morning, Midoriya-kun,” Broadcast says, his honeycomb voice smooth as silk.

“G–good morning, Broadcast-sensei,” Midoriya replies, a little breathless. His trek across the building seems a lot further than it did yesterday, with a bum foot to lug around.

“I’m glad to see you back with us, today, and mostly unharmed.” He glances down at Midoriya’s booted foot, his creamy brow dappling with concern.

“I’m glad to be back,” Midoriya says, though he was here literally yesterday morning. It feels like it should have been much longer, with everything that’s happened. The Stain mess has upended Midoriya’s life again, right after he was finally managing to recover from the stress of Himiko.

Broadcast offers Midoriya a bittersweet smile. His calloused hand tousles Midoriya’s hair—while Midoriya fights the urge to lean into his touch—and he says, “You sure are a Villain magnet, kid. Try to remember to let the adults help you out sometimes, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Midoriya says, breathless for an entirely different reason than before.

Broadcast steps aside, letting Midoriya into the classroom right as the bell rings. Midoriya realizes instantly that Broadcast pulling him aside was a strategic move; Midoriya’s Management classmates go deathly silent when they see him. His sensei had saved him from passing-period interrogation and politics.

Thank God for the Suggestive Hero: Broadcaster.

Midoriya scurries as fast as he can to his seat at the back of the class, and cracks open his I-C-P notebook. He’s determined to have a solid foundation built for Monoma’s costume revision by Friday—tomorrow.

The first month of Introduction to Costume Production focused on identifying common mistakes in rudimentary costumes, and learning the basic legal requirements that design companies are expected to comply with. In this class, there are no formal exams. Instead, Broadcast had given them all example costume designs, required them to label all of the violations, and write an essay explaining why the violations could be dangerous for the Hero wearing the costume.

Simultaneously, they’d been expected to correct a real first-year’s costume design. The week leading up to the Sports Festival, they’d done presentations where they explained all the issues they’d identified in their assigned costume, and three main edits that could be made to fix it.

Now, they’ve moved on to their second unit.

They’d made preparations and preliminary edits last month: now, they’re expected to make real, physical changes to the costumes of their peers. Midoriya, who had one of the worst costumes out of the class, is stuck making a new design entirely from scratch. He’s lucky that he knows Monoma, or he’d be in the dark about where to even start, and he’d surely be shot down when he has to present the new design to him.

That’s right. They’re going to be presenting their edits to their assigned Hero student, for a grade.

Midoriya wonders what the Management student that was assigned the expelled student is going to do. In fact, he wonders what he hell Management did last year, when Eraser Head expelled his entire class.

Maybe Midoriya can suggest that Broadcast swap Shinsou’s costume with the expelled student’s costume. After all, Shinsou would be a member of the Hero course after this semester. His costume will need to be edited, too, once he gets there.

Midoriya skitters up to Broadcast’s desk, trying to avoid the curious, judgemental gazes of his peers. Broadcast marks papers—or, possibly paints his nails. It’s a little difficult to tell, because Broadcast gives Midoriya a smirk so perfect—his sharp, white canines catching on his soft pink lower lip—that his heart does a somersault that Midoriya thinks is probably really bad for his future health, and Midoriya’s vision grays out.

“Long time no see,” Broadcast jokes.

If Broadcast used Attraction on Midoriya, he may literally never recover control over his own emotions again.

“Ha,” Midoriya says faintly. “Yeah.”

“Can I help you with something?” Broadcast asks, saving Midoriya from having to visibly shake himself out of his stupor.

He clears his throat. “Um, y–yeah. Yes. I just wanted to ask—and maybe, um, make a suggestion?—about something.” Biting his cheek, Midoriya soldiers through his anxiety. “Is the costume for the 1-A student who was expelled still part of the class revisions?”

Broadcast looks intrigued by the question. “As far as I know, yes. How did you know that Fukasawa-kun had been removed from Yuuei?”

“The rumor mill,” Midoriya tells him. “People have been talking about it since the first week of school. But, I was wondering if maybe… maybe instead of that one, you could reassign the costume?”

Broadcast blinks. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Midoriya takes a deep breath. “My friend, Shinsou Hitoshi, is in Gen Ed. I don’t know if it’s big news, but he received a formal invitation to transfer from Gen Ed. to Heroics at the start of next semester. He’ll be taking the open space in class 1-A, and he'll need a Hero costume. I was thinking… it might be, um, beneficial, if the student with Fukasawa’s costume swaps it for Hitoshi-kun’s.”

Understanding dawns on Broadcast’s face. “I see. That’s a pretty smart idea, Midoriya-kun. You want to swap an out-of-rotation costume for Shinsou-kun’s future design?” Broadcast puts a contemplative finger to his chin. “It would save Shinsou-kun a lot of grief, next semester—and time for the design company. Big batches come out much quicker than singular costume requests, after all.” He glances up and gives Midoriya a warm grin. “I think that is an excellent solution to a problem I didn’t even know we’d have. Thanks, Midoriya-kun!”

Midoriya blushes so hotly that he goes genuinely woozy from the bloodrush.

“O–of course, Broadcast-sensei. It was no trouble, none at all.”

Midoriya floats back to his seat in a daze. When he sits down, possibly the greatest idea he’s ever had in his entire life hits him. It’s his own inability to tear his eyes away from the sweep of Broadcast’s white hair that makes Midoriya’s brain spit out the idea. 

“Oh my God,” he whispers, staring down at the sheet of paper with Monoma’s tuxedo costume printed on it. “I’m going to make Neito-kun an R-Rated Hero.”

Without a single secondary thought, Midoriya rips the old design in half.

The girl sitting in front of Midoriya turns, shooting him a judgemental look. He ducks his head under her scrutiny, but she faces the front again after a few seconds.

He looks back down at the stack of design papers on his desk. Monoma wants to stay with the formalwear? Fine. Midoriya is going to make it the sexiest, most kickass formalwear anyone has ever seen.

The first suit he draws gets scrapped. It’s too stiff, too close to what Monoma already has. The second draft is closer. It’s around the sixth version that Midoriya knows he’s struck gold.

Rule number one of costume design is minimizing the amount of skin showing. The pinstripe suit Midoriya has drawn does exactly that—despite the apparent lack of a shirt beneath the jacket. The second rule is providing ample body armor. With the design Midoriya has, fitting the suit jacket and slacks with armor-padding will be child’s play. The third rule? Gimmicks are everything.

If Monoma wants to stand out, looking like a certified Italian mobster will do all the work for him. The bare chest beneath the suit jacket will carry Monoma’s newly-invented R-Rated persona. Being in possession of a touch-activated Quirk, and with the added restriction of a time limit, Monoma will need to be up close and personal with anyone he's fighting. The whole point of an R-Rated gimmick is to attract, for one reason or another.

Like bees to flowers, Villains and civilians will trail behind an R-Rated Hero. Both have the ability to boost Monoma’s strength in a fight.

Not to mention, Monoma can wear as many watches as he wants with this outfit. Midoriya hastens to add the chain of a pocket watch to the design.

He’s found that, at some point, he’d grown somewhat fond of the costume he’d been given to fight Stain in. Whoever Fukasawa was, their taste in colorscheme was nothing to scoff at. Midoriya sets to coloring in the silver pinstripes of the suit—he searches for the colored pencil that best matches Monoma’s eyes. He’ll find the fabric swatch for it, later.

With the jacket, there are endless possibilities. Midoriya badly wants Monoma to have a weapon—he and Hatsume had fangirled for an entire lunch period over the idea of getting to design a tranquilizing gun for him—and he’ll leave room on the inside of the jacket for storing one. The slacks, too, could easily conceal weapons or first-aid supplies. Midoriya had learned the importance of needing both from his encounters with Himiko and Stain—he can’t help but roll his eyes at the fact that those moronic gold ninja stars were what had taken Stain down, in the end.

When the bell finally rings, Midoriya could kiss the design.

He manages to escape the classroom without speaking to any other students, though some of them look like they’d sorely like to have a few words with him. He’s well versed in running away, though the boot hinders him somewhat. Midoriya is sure that lunch will be hell, especially with his friends still missing. He might try to convince Hatsume to eat somewhere else with him, just to avoid the worst of the crowds.

Midoriya limps his way to fourth period. Without Shinsou, 1-C holds an air of judgemental hostility that raises the hair on his arms. Ectoplasm-sensei snaps his exposed teeth at them, and they settle into their seats unhappily, a few bolder students swiveling around to stare at him periodically.

Midoriya ducks his head into the crook of his arm. This feels a lot more like middle school than he’s comfortable with, especially after several months of unbothered existence.

He’s shocked at how much it hurts. He’d told himself over and over again to not get used to the way people were treating him. Of course, his main worry had been his Quirk status getting out en masse, but that had come true, and only about half of the people he’d been expecting to hate him actually seem to. The other half appeared to either be truly neutral, or great at disguising their disgust with him.

Now, though… all those people who’d curled their lips at him after the Sports Festival are glaring.

He wonders if the issue is with him being claimed a Hero, or his takedown of Stain.

At the end of the period, his notes are a mess. Math is his worst subject, already, and today will put him behind the learning curve for sure. Midoriya is too anxious to pay much attention to the mathematical proofs that Ectoplasm was teaching, and he knows he’ll be paying for it later on the homework.

The bell rings; he swallows dryly.

He should have packed his things early—respect for class time be damned. Now, a group of eight-or-so students converges on his desk. Midoriya thinks he sees Ectoplasm pause where he picks up his own materials, and hopes that the Hero won’t feed him to the wolves.

“Listen, man,” says a short, scaly student, “you should really keep your nose in your own business.”

Midoriya bites his lip. Hurry, hurry, hurry. He sweeps his notebook into his backpack, not caring if the pages get bent, and zips the bag as quickly as he can. Damn the stupid boot on his foot. If he’d at least had crutches, he might be able to use them to get some space from the people around him. Instead, one boy puts his hand on Midoriya’s desk and leans into his face.

“I don’t know where you get off, trying to take down the Hero-Killer,” the boy says coldly, “but Quirkless don’t deserve to breathe the same air as someone like him.”

A few other students nod. One at the back of the pack gives a great big gasp, and the rest turn to face her.

“What’s wrong with you, Ren?” another lingerer asks, hand on Ren’s shoulder.

“My o-jii-san is Quirkless,” the girl says, hand clutched to her chest. Her face screws up. “I don’t like that Midoriya-san got Stain-san captured, either, but leave his Quirk status out of it.”

The boy with his hand on Midoriya’s desk scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Oh, please. It’s time for people like your gramps and useless, here,” he jerks his thumb at Midoriya, “to die out.”

Arguing breaks out in the group. Midoriya manages to scoot around the edges of them, and catches Ectoplasm’s lingering glance as he flees the classroom as fast as he can hobble away. He doesn’t know why it stings so much that Ectoplasm hadn’t intervened. Midoriya turns the matter over in his mind, limping towards the cafeteria.

It takes him a moment, but he does eventually land on a conclusion that feels right.

Ectoplasm is a Professional Hero. It is quite literally his job to intervene when there’s an injustice near him—even if it’s not inherently violent in nature. The fact that he didn’t grates at Midoriya somewhere deep under his skin.

The anger is similar to how he’d felt in the car with Vlad King. He hadn’t really thought about why he’d been so angry with the Blood Hero, but it seems obvious, in retrospect. He’s a Hero. His casual dismissal of Himiko’s fear, and his reaction to the idea of mistreatment at the hands of the police had irked Midoriya’s sense of justice. How could a Hero be so contemptuous?

Hell, Midoriya’s class leaders had felt the need to speak up on his behalf, and nothing like the scene from 1-C had happened, then. If students could see that Midoriya needed help, why can’t seasoned Pros?

He finds himself scowling.

Midoriya stops walking. He’s not hungry, anyway. Now that he’s on the first floor, the sunshine outside the wide windows is calling to him. He sighs down at the boot on his foot, knowing that getting too far from the classroom will just cause more grief in the long run. Instead, he leans his forehead against the glass and stares out at the empty courtyard. Normally the upper-year Heroics students populate the grounds, traversing between classes and friends. Without them, it’s desolate.

He can’t distract himself from the anger simmering in his gut. It swirls and writhes, traveling through him like a living creature until his brow furrows and his fists clench.

Midoriya remembers Shigaraki’s words from the USJ with startling clarity.

“They do help some people,” Midoriya had said.

“Not you. Not me. Sure as hell not the people that really need it. They ‘help’ when it’ll get them fame, or money. That’s not heroism. That’s a money-grubbing bitch,” Shigaraki had replied.

Midoriya thumps his forehead on the window, biting his lip. Why does it seem like every time he remembers Shigaraki’s words, they become truer?

He and Principal Nedzu had dismissed Shigaraki Tomura as childish. Dangerous, only for his physical prowess and his destructive Quirk. Their hypothesis that Shigaraki might be All For One’s successor/son has since remained unproven, though the Nomu certainly point towards someone with the ability to transfer multiple Quirks onto one subject. But, Shigaraki himself hadn’t seemed as dangerous as the successor of someone like All For One warrants, according to Sir Nighteye and Nedzu.

Now, Midoriya’s not so sure.

Maybe the danger doesn’t lie in Shigaraki’s ability to kill during battle. Maybe, the danger is in the insidious creep of his words through Midoriya’s mind. Like poison, they’ve started to cloud his vision and clot in his veins. Even though he’s noticed, it’s become impossible to siphon out of his system.

“Midoriya-shounen?” a deep, tentative voice calls.

He turns. All Might stands in the middle of the hallway, wringing his hands nervously, his body frail and emaciated.

“Ah, A—” Midoriya barely manages to catch the exclamation. “Ahhhm. Yes, sir? Is there something you need?”

All Might gives him a sheepish smile. “I was wondering, my boy, if you’d like to have lunch with me? There are a couple things I’d like to speak with you about.”

Midoriya can feel a smile threatening to split his face. “Of course!”

All Might leads him to the Heroics tower, and up to the fourth floor. They detour away from the teacher’s lounge, and enter an office that Midoriya has never been into before. It’s obviously All Might’s personal office, though there’s very few things that mark it as his. The little plaque on the desktop reads Yagi T. All Might seats himself behind the desk, and fidgets anxiously with a bento box.

“Ah, I wasn’t sure if you were going to get to eat or not,” the Number One Hero says, and pushes the plain box towards Midoriya.

Oh my God. All Might made me a bento. Midoriya pinches himself, just to be sure he’s not dreaming. Kacchan is going to be so jealous.

“Thank you,” he says, reverent.

All Might smiles faintly. “You’re welcome, of course.” He waits while Midoriya gets a bite into his mouth to broach the topic he’d wanted to speak with Midoriya about. “My boy, how much do you know about the man named All For One?”

What a coincidence. It feels like an omen, for All Might to have sought him out for this conversation at the exact moment he was thinking about Shigaraki. It’s almost a little scary; a shiver skates down Midoriya’s spine.

“Not much,” Midoriya says honestly. “Principal Nedzu-sensei thought that I should understand who he was, so that I could put Shigaraki Tomura’s existence into context. Sir Nighteye-san didn’t like that I’d been told anything about him.”

“You spoke to Mirai?” All Might’s eyebrows shoot high on his forehead. “When was this?”

“Before the USJ, and earlier this morning. Nedzu-sensei called him in to update the All For One casefile with Shigaraki’s information, from when I’d spoken to him. This morning, he needed my capture statement for the Hero-Killer casefile.”

“Ah, yes,” says All Might. “Congratulations are in order for that, my boy. Though your approach was risky, it paid off in the end.” He smiles at Midoriya, but it falters after a moment. “You said you spoke to Mirai before the USJ... was this when Shigaraki took you hostage the first time?”

A blush stains Midoriya’s cheeks. “Right. The first time.” All Might had been the one to rip him out of Shigaraki’s grasp, the second time. Phantom fingers dance on Midoriya’s throat, and he clamps his own palm over his scars to muffle the memory of Shigaraki’s touch.

All Might takes a breath. “Midoriya-shounen, I believe you are in grave danger.”

Midoriya blinks. “Um, what?”

The Hero clasps his bony fingers together, resting his interlocked knuckles against his mouth. “My boy, do you remember the day we first met?”

Midoriya nods. He won’t be forgetting that day any time soon. Nearly losing his life to the Sludge Villain; having his hope crushed by All Might; saving Kacchan. “I remember.”

“That day, after your daring rescue of Bakugou-shounen, I’d wanted to speak with you. With the exacerbation of my injury, and having to push past my time limit, however, I desperately needed rest. I fell ill for the rest of the week—and, let me tell you, Recovery Girl was not pleased with me.” His mouth quirks humorously, but falls again, like he can't hold it. “Of course, you were long gone by the time I’d recovered.” His blue eyes are intent on Midoriya’s face. “That day…

“That day, I badly wanted to offer you something. Now, I believe it would only exacerbate your situation with All For One.”

Midoriya is on the edge of his seat. All Might had wanted to give Midoriya something? What could it possibly have been? If it was a dressing down, he doesn’t think that All Might would go to such lengths, all these months later.

“What was it?” Midoriya can’t resist asking.

All Might purses his lips tightly together. “I don’t want you to be in more danger,” he says haltingly.

“I already know about All For One,” Midoriya reminds him. “Not the other way around.”

All Might’s brow draws low. “I’m not so sure about that, my boy.” At the confusion on Midoriya’s face, he explains. “I’ve spoken to Nedzu-sama about the Shigaraki boy’s infatuation with you. He was not so concerned as I was about what it might mean for you. I have faced down many Villains in my time, Midoriya-shounen, and the ones who cause the most damage are often the ones we underestimate. When you explained his initial reaction to you, I’d hoped that he was simply intrigued by your presence and guidance. Then, at the USJ, he attached himself to you, again.” He sighs. “Nedzu-sama had to call me in, even though the plan was for me to sit out of that fight.” All Might’s blue eyes are imploring. “Please understand, this is no fault of your own. You hold a certain… goodness, I suppose, that is appealing on an intrinsic level.

“In fact, it’s part of the reason I’d wanted to let you in on this secret, originally. That day, when you saved Bakugou-shounen… I was reminded of what makes a Hero. My boy, you have no idea the impact you’ve had on me. But I believe that you’ve had a similar sort of impact on Shigaraki Tomura. If your reports are to be believed—and I think they are—Shigaraki’s infatuation with you will make it back to All For One, if he is truly alive.”

Midoriya gapes. “Infatuation?”

All Might nods gravely. “It is not every day that you can escape lethal retribution from betraying a Villain, the way you did with Shigaraki Tomura. Consider, also, that he might have understood your effort to save him from Present Mic’s attack, when he caught you.”

Midoirya’s heart is galloping in his chest. What kind of infatuation is All Might talking about? It’s difficult to imagine Shigaraki as anything besides a grinning menace, but Midoriya knows that there’s much more hiding under the surface of the fit-throwing man-child. Shigaraki’s opinions on Heroes, and their treatment of Villains, are astoundingly well thought-out.

And, as much as Midoriya doesn’t want to think about it, Shigaraki is an adult man. He seemed to delight in touching Midoriya—dragging his fingers down the column of Midoriya’s throat, and tugging Midoriya against his chest at every opportunity.

Though he wants to stoutly deny that he could evoke any kind of physical attraction in anyone, let alone a Villain, Toga Himiko pops into his head.

She’d told him so many things. Himiko had called him sweet, and told him he smelled good. She thought he was adorable; her desire to taste his blood had been insatiable.

Midoriya drags himself out of his head. “But, what does all that have to do with your secret?”

All Might sighs. “I suppose you’re right, my boy. Even if I keep you in the dark, you are already a target. Knowledge is your forte, is it not? Perhaps arming you with more will allow you a leg up, should you ever encounter Shigaraki again.”

Midoriya leans forward eagerly, trying to shove the thoughts of all of the Villains who’ve had their hands on him away.

That is the day Midoriya Izuku learns of One For All.

Sunday, May nineteenth, Midoriya meets Toga Himiko for the second time. He’s hauling trash in the rain, the waves crashing angrily into the sandy beach of Dagobah. Shinsou called hours ago to beg off of trash duty, citing the thunderous storm. Midoriya, who struggles more every week to find time for Dagobah, had put on swim trunks and dragged himself out of bed, anyway. The wagon that he uses to haul trash is nearly full. Today, he’s got a stack of tires taller than his head.

He’s just stuffing the last bits of garbage that he can in the edges of the wagon, when she calls out to him.

“Izukun,” Himiko’s high voice sings. For a moment, he can’t see her through the sheets of pouring water. He spins, panic shooting through him like lightning through the sky.

Himiko walks through the rain without a care in the world for her soaked clothes. Her bangs are plastered to her pale face, her wet skirt whipping against her legs in the harsh wind. A beaming smile breaks out across her face. She leaps for him, arms spread wide, and Midoriya catches her.

Just like Mei, he thinks, and then wants to hit himself.

This is a Villain. A murderer. She’s nothing like his innocent, kind best friend, and he wishes he could seriously erase the thought from his brain.

“Himiko-chan,” he says tremulously.

She nuzzles close, pressing the ice-cold tip of her nose to his neck. “You smell so good in the rain,” she says. “I can almost forgive you, just for that.”

“Forgive me for what?” Midoriya asks. He tries not to let his hands clench around her waist, not wanting her to react violently. He can’t see any knives, but he knows she must have them, somewhere.

“Lots of things, silly. But mainly for taking down Stainy-chan. He was so cute.” She pouts. “If it wasn’t for you, I would have been following in his footsteps the past week.” Her gold eyes lock onto his. “I’ve been so good, Izukun. I remembered our promise.”

“That’s good,” he says. Relief nearly bowls him over. “That’s great, actually. Really good, Himiko-chan. I’m glad you didn’t hurt anyone.”

She grins, her fangs on display. “Yeah! But I spent a long time looking for you, you know. I thought you lived closer to me,” Himiko complains. “I got so hungry.” She pulls back, leaving Midoriya suddenly cold in the rain and wind. Himiko sticks her wrists under his nose for inspection, and he has to take a steadying breath.

Her forearms are marred with bite marks. It looks like she’s been gnawing at her own flesh, the skin red and inflamed. His fingertips hover over a sluggishly bleeding crescent.

“Himiko-chan,” he whispers, horrified. “Did you do this to yourself?”

She pouts. “Duh. When I get too hungry, I dream about all those delicious little birdies dancing in my tummy, and I wake up like this.”

Midoriya feels like someone has taken his heart out of his chest, and replaced it with a hunk of ice. “I—I’m so sorry. I am so sorry, Himiko-chan,” he whispers. He bows his head to her. “I didn’t realize that you’d be in pain. I would have… I would have found you sooner.”

She giggles. “Oh, Izukun. Don’t worry, I don’t usually get hungry this fast. I had to go on the run for a bit, and my Quirk uses up a lot of the blood I drink. I’d go seriously crazy if I had to drink every single week.” Her eyes go hazy, and she leans up on her toes. “You’re the nicest boy I’ve ever met. I want to taste all that sweetness, like honey in my mouth. I want to pour you down my throat and drink you all up until you’re nothing but a little bit of green fuzz, Izukun.”

Midoriya bites his lip. “I don’t know how much blood I can give you, Himiko-chan. You… you killed that boy. I want to help you, but you need to leave me enough blood so that you can keep coming back for more.”

She plasters herself to his front again. Her sharp teeth nip at his earlobe, and she whispers, “My own personal feast. I’ll try not to kill you, okay, Izukun?”

“Not the neck!” he manages to yelp, and her teeth, which had begun to graze his throat, pull away. “Someone will see, if you leave marks on my neck.” He swallows, and offers her his dripping arm. “You can drink from here, or my thigh, if you want the femoral artery.”

Himiko sighs, but tucks herself into his embrace again. She turns so that Midoriya is pressed along her back, her distinctive hair buns brushing his cheeks. Like this, she lifts Midoriya’s left arm across her body, and pulls the soft crease of his elbow into her mouth.

His whole body goes warm. He doesn’t want to think of this as erotic—it feels dirty, and wrong to view Himiko’s feeding as sexual—but he can’t help the electric shock that jolts through him as her lips close tenderly over the vein. She kisses his arm softly. The tip of her tongue traces over his skin, and all of a sudden, it’s like he knows exactly what she’s feeling.

Midoriya’s heart beats steadily. He can feel the blood rushing through him, beneath his delicate, thin skin. She sucks on his arm hungrily, savoring the flavor of that insubstantial membrane; the way the rain tastes mixed with his sweat. Then, so gently she could be cutting through butter, her teeth break the skin.

Blood gushes out. Himiko groans, low in her throat, and begins to drink.

It aches like hell—but no worse than giving blood at the doctor’s office does. Midoriya watches her, holding onto Himiko’s waist with one hand to steady them both. The rain soaks his overheated body.

It goes on and on, endlessly, like the crashing of the waves. Himiko’s grip tightens; he bites down on a pained sound. It feels like ages go by, before her tongue laves at the deep wound. She can’t seem to help herself, as she laps up the steadily-beading blood. Midoriya watches her spit coat the punctures.

“Just like I thought,” he says, woozy from the blood loss.

“Hm?” Himiko makes a questioning noise, too blissed-out to do much more.

“Your saliva. It’s a coagulant. See? I’ve already stopped bleeding.”

Himiko sighs mournfully. “All that beautiful blood, locked up inside you.” She presses a chaste kiss to Midoriya’s arm, before letting it go. “It was even better than I thought it would be.”

Then, as Midoriya watches, she sheds her skin. When Himiko turns around again, his own face stares back at him, lips twisted mischievously.

Midoriya gapes.

Himiko leans forward, and presses a warm, bloody kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Izukun,” she says, in his voice. He watches in slack-jawed awe as his tanned, freckled skin sloughs off of her, leaving her utterly bare beneath the pouring rain.

“Himiko-chan!” he squeaks, squinting into the sky. “Is that your Quirk? How does it work? Can you turn into anyone whose blood you drink? How much blood does it take for a full transformation?”

Himiko giggles. “It’s called Transform. I need about a mouthful to get the whole-body transformation, and two swallows for clothes. I never get to keep mine,” she pouts.

Midoriya’s mind starts spiraling out, possibilities flickering and expanding on an enormous scale. The applications of a Quirk like Transform… they’re endless. He shrugs out of his shirt while he thinks, and tries to wring some of the water out of the sopping material.

“That’s so cool, Himiko-chan,” he says earnestly, tugging the fabric over her head.

When her face reappears, she looks stunned.

“No one…” her mouth gapes. “No one has ever said that about Transform.”

Midoriya takes her hands between his. His left arm will have a massive bruise soon, but he doesn’t regret giving her his blood. He tries to remember that she’s a Villian—he should probably try to take her to the police station, actually, even if they would starve her—but it’s hard. Right now, she just looks like a wet cat, her pupils huge and round.

“Well, that’s because everyone else is pretty dumb,” he tells her. She laughs lightly, incredulously, and throws her arms around his neck.

“Izukun,” she croons, soft and sweet, “I love you.”

His eyes fly wide. “W–what?!”

Himiko laughs again, loud and boisterous, leaning back and using his neck to hold herself up. A blush spreads across her cheeks, and she gives him a look that he can only call sappy.

“I love you. I’ll be yours forever, even if you capture Stainy-chan a hundred times.” Her eyes go sharp. “You’re mine, Izukun. You belong with me. You understand me—my hunger. If you ever leave, I’d go crazy.”

Midoriya’s not feeling so warm and fuzzy, anymore. He swallows, trying to lean back while trapped in her embrace.

“Himiko-chan,” he says, trying to get his footing again, “there are more people in the world that would help you.”

“No way. I’ve never met another person like you,” she tells him. “You’re one of a kind, Midoriya Izuku. I’ll do anything to keep you with me; to make a world where I can be myself, the way I am with you.”

Panic floods Midoriya’s chest. Lightning flashes over the crashing waves, and thunder rolls across the land so heavily that he can feel it in his bones.

He pulls back, tugging at her hands until she unlocks them. He holds them in his own, gripping tightly enough that it must hurt, and tries to smooth his face, which he can feel is showing his emotions far too clearly.

“Himiko-chan… I can’t be with you,” he says, voice beseeching. “I want to help you, and I won’t stop giving you blood—” he hurries to clarify, when her face twists monstrously— “but, um. Um, ah—uh. My, my heart! It’s, um. I’ve already given my heart to someone else.” Midoriya licks his lips nervously.

Himiko’s expression clears instantly. “Oh!” She blinks for a moment, clearly thrown. “I still love you,” she tells him.

“That’s okay,” Midoriya says. “As long as you understand that I’m, um, that I’m taken.” She begins to pout. “And—” he rushes to add, tugging their clasped hands so that she can feel his heartbeat with her knuckles— “I’m working to make a world where you can be who you are, too.”

Himiko’s head tilts, her eyes wide. “What does that mean?”

Midoriya swallows. “You know I attend Yuuei, right?” She nods, and he lets out a relieved breath. “Well, I’m Principal Nedzu’s personal student.” She blinks, a slow smile creasing her cheeks. “After I met you, I asked him if he would help me help you. I want to make it so that people like the police could never deny you blood, if you’re ever captured.” He stares into her eyes, willing her to understand. “I want to make it so that you can get the help you need, without having to kill. And I want other people like you to be safe to live their lives, too, without being afraid or ashamed of who they are.”

Himiko’s hands spread against his chest. She presses forward, tilting her head back so that their lips nearly touch.

“Himiko, your Quirk is a part of you. You should never have had to kill to get the blood you needed,” Midoriya tells her. “You should never be afraid that the police or the Heroes will hurt you. You deserve help, just like everyone else.”

He watches as tears fill her eyes.

“Are you trying to convince me not to love you?” she asks, voice trembling. “Because it’s not working.” She goes on tiptoe to press another kiss to his cheek. “I love you; I love you; I love you, Midoriya Izuku.” The tears fall, and mix with the rain dripping down her face. Determination pulls her blonde eyebrows together. “I’m gonna help you, okay? I have a connection. There’s someone I’m gonna meet, and I think he can help. He worked with Stainy-chan, so I think he’s gotta have ideas on how to make everything better for people like me.”

Is there ice in his veins? There must be. Something must be clouding his vision, too, because he blinks dark spots away.

“Himiko-chan—” he starts to say, but she’s already pulling away, excitement lighting her face. He’d forgotten she was naked below the waist, and has to jerk his chin up. “Wait!” He yanks his swim trunks off, thankful that he’d decided to wear boxers beneath them. Midoriya holds them out in her direction, not looking even as she giggles and takes them from him.

“So respectful,” she teases. “Such a good boy.”

He tries not to let this distract him. “Wait, Himiko-chan, you said you know someone who worked with Stain?”

She nods, smiling wider. “He’s got The Broker, Giran-san, out looking for people who support Stainy-chan’s cause. He said that some guy who helped attack Hosu is searching for help for his group, and I thought I was gonna have to say no, because of our promise, you know? But now I definitely know I’ve gotta help! I can’t let you do all the work, Izukun.”

“No, no, really—” he starts to chase after her, as she backs away into the heaps of trash that she materialized from.

“I love you, Izukun! I’ll do anything to stay with you, okay? I won’t kill anyone—I swear! But I gotta do something to help you. That way I can be free!” Her giant grin is the last thing Midoriya sees of her. “Bye-bye, Izukun. I’ll miss you when I’m gone.”

Her voice bounces against the trash piles, confusing him. He tries to run after her wet footprints, and falls to his knees as his vision goes out. He can’t catch his breath properly, his heart hammering in his chest.

“Fuck,” he gasps.

Toga Himiko is going to be in contact with Shigaraki Tomura.

Midoriya buries his head in his hands, and curses into the rain.

Chapter Text

Excerpt from the Daily News website, posted May 18, 2232, 05:00.

Accessed: May 19, 2232.

“The recent attack on Hosu City continues to make its effects known on the area. Rescue Heroes have finally been removed, making Hosu City no longer an active Rescue scene. The lives lost during the attack are mourned by everyone across Japan. Our hearts go out to the families of the victims. A surge of violent crimes has risen after the attack, many following the creed of the Hero-Killer: Stain, who was captured on May fifteenth, and is currently facing sentencing for charges of Insurrection, Obstructing the Performance of Public Duty, Crimes of Disturbance, fourteen cases of Crimes of Homicide, three cases of Criminal Injury, and two cases of Crimes against Reputation. Please be on guard for the fanatic followers of the Hero-Killer: Stain.”

Captioned HeroTube clip from “Mutant Uprising: UPDATE” by user EekoKeepsUpWithTheNews, posted June 1, 2232, 09:32.

Accessed: June 2, 2232

“What did I tell you? I fucking told you. If I could print ‘I told you so’ on a shirt and wear it around, I would, because I was so right. Who said that mutants love to do quote-unquote retribution? Me. And now, look.

“After the Griffin Potholder Case was dismissed with no settlement for the Griffin, Officer Kenshi-san was found dead. Guess what? His fucking hands were missing. Ha! I told you fucking so.

“All that aside, these people are dangerous freaks. They look for any excuse to torture us normal people, all because they’re too fucking ugly to stand themselves. I have a solution for every mutant: kill yourself. Go ahead and just… take yourself out of the equation. Then, everyone will be happy, right?”

Audio clip heard on a radio tuned into the Musutafu Police Force's wavelength, spoken on June 2, 2232, 11:41.

OFFICER 1: Slow day, ain’t it.

OFFICER 2: [Groans.]

OFFICER 3: You did not just seriously say that.

OFFICER 1: What? What did I do?

OFFICER 2: Everyone strap in.

 “Midoriya-kun,” says Nedzu, “you worry me.”

 Midoriya ducks his head, letting his bangs fall over his eyes so he doesn’t have to face the concerned twitching of Nedzu’s ears. It’s strange to see him here, in the Midoriyas’ apartment. He so clearly doesn’t belong, in his pressed little suit, among the knick-knacks and cluttered childhood photos.

 “I know, Sensei.”

 Nedzu sighs. “I admit, I’m not well-versed in the more subtle human emotions. I am… unsure of how to convince you that you have worth.”

 Midoriya cringes. “I understand it—sometimes. It’s just…”

 “I know, Midoriya-kun. It is very difficult to think of yourself as a person, rather than a burden, when our society constantly seeks to reaffirm your place in it. But I am afraid that you are going to switch from thinking yourself completely superfluous, to believing your worth lies only in what you can provide for others.”

 Midoriya’s hand slides over the thick bandage wrapped around the crease of his elbow. Even with Recovery Girl’s Quirk, Himiko’s bite mark had scarred over. The puncture marks were too deep.

 “But…” he says, quietly, “doesn’t it?”

 Nedzu’s ears droop. “No, Midoriya-kun.” He rests his paws on his knees. “Even if you were a criminal, who hurt others for his own pleasure, you would still have worth. You would still deserve common decency.” Nedzu must see Midoriya’s confused squint. “Consider this: the legislation you are writing protects whom?”

 “People accused of crimes?” Midoriya responds.

 “Correct. Criminals—or, at the very least, people who are believed to have committed crimes. And yet, you feel so strongly for them that you are actively trying to win them rights. Regardless of their Quirks, or what they have done, you believe that they deserve just punishment.”

 Midoriya nods.

 “Why, then,” Nedzu says, “do you not believe yourself worthy of the same?”

 His mind goes blank.

 “But… it’s not the same,” Midoriya says, lamely.

 “I agree.” Nedzu takes a sip of the fragrant tea that he prefers. “You are not a criminal. You have never sought to harm anyone, nor have you tried to put others down. In fact, you are by far the most intrinsically good person that I’ve ever met, Midoriya-kun. Therefore, not only do you deserve the same rights you are trying to grant others: you deserve more. You should be celebrated, and appreciated for who you are.”

 Izuku gapes.

 Nedzu sighs. “Aside from that, I do wish that you would take better care of yourself, Midoriya-kun. You have people looking up to you, now. The Hero-Killer: Stain has thrown you into the spotlight, and I don’t think it’s likely that you will come out of it for quite some time. You will be under strict scrutiny from here on out, and there is only so much I can do to protect you from that. If you insist on continuing to provide Toga Himiko with blood, I suggest making sure that you are the only person who knows of it.

 “Should the information get out that you are aiding and abetting a serial murderer, I do believe you will find it much more difficult to pass your legislation.”

 Midoriya firms his shoulders. “Hai, Sensei.” His eyes harden. “I can do this. Once the bill passes, I’ll capture Himiko-chan, and she can receive her judgment. Until she’s guaranteed safety in police custody, I’ll continue to give her blood, so she won’t hurt anyone else.”

 It’s hard to read Nedzu’s body language. Midoriya thinks that the chimera himself doesn’t know quite what to think.

 “Just remember, Midoriya-kun,” the white-furred principal says, “you will always have my support. Even if you decide to forsake this world, and start anew. I will provide you with the means to accomplish your goals, to the best of my abilities.”

 “Thank you, Sensei,” Izuku says, bowing his head under the weight of that proclamation.

 School on Monday morning starts off with a summons from Recovery Girl. Midoriya hurries out of the Support studio, bursting into the nurse’s office with an exclamation of, “It’s healed, I swear!”

 The Youthful Heroine: Recovery Girl gives him an unimpressed look. A small crowd of Hero students are sitting in the office, taking up all the beds and chairs that she has. Midoriya stutters to a halt.

 “I would suspect so,” Recovery Girl says snidely, “since I saw you yesterday, and healed it myself.” She whacks Midoriya across the shins with her oversized syringe-cane. “Now, go get those USBs from the top shelf, and start handing them out, troublemaker.”

 He’d completely forgotten that the Hero students who had been off campus for their work-studies last week would be returning, today. With the Microwave Emitter at full blast, they’d be at a loss with their inability to use their Quirks. Midoriya pops open the cabinet where there’s now a box full of single-use USBs, and sets it on the counter. He snaps on a pair of blue rubber gloves and turns to the closest Hero student, who stares down in confusion at his phone.

 “Um, hey,” Midoriya says. “Are you ready?”

 The blond boy looks up, and Midoriya recognizes him. It’s Kaminari, from the Sports Festival—the one who’d been part of Todoroki’s cavalry team. It seems Kaminari recognizes him, too, because his face lights up.

 “Oh, hey! You’re Deku!”

 Midoriya blinks. “Ah, um, yeah. That’s me.”

 “Dude, it’s totally awesome that you’re fighting all the prejudice and stuff, and still trying to be a Hero. You’re Support, right?” Kaminari glances around. “Or… do you work here? Are you trying to be a field medic?”

 Midoriya bites his lip. “It’s, uh, kind of hard to explain. I’m Principal Nedzu-sensei’s personal student, so I’m not technically Support. I’m in Management, and Gen Ed. classes, too.”

 Recovery Girl wheels by on her rolling stool, and smacks Midoriya with her cane in passing. “Get a move on, sonny! I didn’t call you in here to chitchat.”

 Midoriya hisses, rubbing at the spot on his shoulder. “Sorry, Recovery Girl-san.” Midoriya peels open the plastic wrapping of the USB, sticks one end into the WiFi router sitting on Recovery Girl’s desk, and offers the other end to Kaminari.

 Kaminari grins, raising both eyebrows. “You know, I’ve never been asked to professionally charge a computer,” he jokes.

 “Huh? Oh, no! This is how you can reactivate your Quirk,” Midoriya clarifies. “Sorry. I forgot to explain. When you put the end into your mouth, you’ll resonate with the new frequency of microwaves that the school runs on, and you should be able to use your Quirk again right away.”

 Kaminari pops the metal into his mouth, and speaks around it. “I didn’t know that schools could run on radiation.”

 Midoriya tries to stifle a laugh. “That’s not really how it works. They’re just waves in the air, like radio waves, or light. Not the microwave you use to cook with.”

 Kaminari hums. “Makes sense.”

 “You can spit that out now,” Midoriya tells him. “Go ahead and—carefully—test your Quirk for me, just to be sure.”

 Bright yellow electricity crackles at Kaminari’s fingertips, and he cheers. The girl in the chair behind him leans forward.

 “Aw, c’mon,” she whines. “How come the dunce got to go first? He doesn’t even have a technology Quirk.”

 “Don’t be jealous, Jirou-chan,” Kaminari says, with a flirtatious smirk. “Deku-kun here knew the school wouldn’t last another minute without Electrification.”

 “Actually,” Midoriya says absently, pulling out the plug and tossing it into a plastic waste bag, “only technological Quirks are affected by the change in microwaves. So everyone that’s having trouble with their Quirk technically has an electronic Quirk, just by classification.”

Kaminari blinks at him. “Really? But I just produce the lightning, I can’t, like, control it or anything. My Quirk counselor says that it's an idi–idiot Quirk, or something.”

Jirou cackles. “Even your counselor thinks you're stupid? That's a riot and a half.”

Midoriya unpeels another USB for Jirou, the purple-haired girl sitting behind Kaminari. “I think you meant to say ‘idiopathic.’ It means spontaneously developed—but I don't really think your Quirk is idiopathic. Maybe, um, maybe in your family? If no one else has a technological Quirk, I guess. But, otherwise, you've got a very clear emitter-based tech Quirk.”

Kaminari’s mouth is slightly agape. “Wait, seriously?” He points at Jirou enigmatically, and says, “I thought tech Quirks are all like Jirou’s, with the wires ‘n’ stuff! Like, um,” he thinks for a minute, and then snaps his fingers. A little bolt of electricity flickers up. “Like that guy, Laser! He had a mechanical eye that could shoot lasers, right?”

Midoriya bites his lip thoughtfully. “That’s a good example of someone with a tech Quirk, but they can be hard to pin down. Most technological Quirks are multifaceted, and it can be really difficult to figure out the full extent of your abilities without a lot of testing. It’s more likely that you just lack finite control, which can be misleading for Quirk counselors, who worry more about the easily identifiable signs in the Allard classification system.” He looks over Kaminari. “I have a lot of questions about your Quirk, Kaminari-kun. Like, how do you generate the electricity, in the first place? Is it stored static? Is it friction? I doubt that it’s kinetic or potential energy. Or is it something more biologically based, like harnessing the electrical currents that Kaminari-kun’s brainwaves produce? That’s my best working theory. It would explain why he goes braindead when he overuses his Quirk…”

Jirou laughs throatily. “Holy shit.”

Midoriya blinks out of his stupor. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to get distracted.” He hands Jirou the end of her USB to suck on.

Kaminari looks floored. He grasps Midoriya’s wrists, a light shock traveling through Kaminari’s fingertips and buzzing against Midoriya’s skin. “Dude, this is crazy. How do you know so much about me?”

Midoriya blushes. “Well, I watched your fight during the Sports Festival. I haven’t spent much time thinking about you—sorry, that sounded kind of rude—but I did make some preliminary theories on your Quirk and its drawbacks. I think it’s pretty obvious that you have a tech Quirk. After all, manipulation of electromagnetic waves is like, checkbox number one.” He peels another USB for the student waiting after Jirou. “You should probably see your Quirk counselor again, if you want to change the classification,” he tells Kaminari.

“Dude, why would I see that weirdo when you’re right here?”

 Midoriya splutters. “I—I’m not a professional! I just make guesses!”

 “You sure sound pretty professional to me,” Jirou says, using Kaminari’s shoulder as an armrest.

 Midoriya smiles at the next girl who scoots forward to accept the USB he’s offering her.

 “If you know so much about Quirks, do you think you could explain why I’m visible, now?” the girl asks him. Her hair is a beautiful, filamented green color that reminds Midoriya of jellyfish tentacles. It catches the light and refracts it, sending glimmering rainbows bouncing off all the reflective metal surfaces of the room.

 “Hagakure-san?” Jirou gapes. She leans forward, putting both hands on the girl’s shoulders and yanking her around. “You’re—you’re not invisible!”

 Kaminari’s mouth falls open. “Wait a sec—Hagakure?! You’ve actually got a body!”

 Midoriya blinks, backing up to give them space to inspect the girl. She blushes delicately under the attention, and Kaminari coos.

 “Are you not normally visible?” Midoriya asks curiously.

 “Nope.” Hagakure empathetically shakes her head, and with it, her entire upper body, crossing her pointer fingers into an X for emphasis. “I’m usually completely invisible, from head-to-toe. Even my hair.”

 “That’s so cool,” Midoriya says, starry-eyed. “You Hero course kids really do have the most interesting Quirks.” He sighs, longing for a notebook. “I can only give you guesses, but I think your Quirk probably relies on the refraction of light. It must be a natural part of your DNA—you might even have a mutation-type Quirk, if that’s the case. It’s your natural state, right? Can you turn it off and on at will?”

 “Nuh-uh,” Hagakure says. “It’s a permanent state of being. If I can turn it off, I’ve never figured out how.”

 “Like a chameleon,” Midoriya says wondrously. “Can I touch?” He gestures to her arm. Hagakure nods, giving him a thumbs up, and offers her wrist. Her skin is soft to the touch, and milky-white. It’s like she’s never been outside a day in her life; every vein is plain, beneath her epidermis. Midoriya hums, considering. “I don’t think it’s mutation. It must be involuntary—but there’s nothing about your skin that physically suggests that your actual body is causing the refraction. It’s got to be something internal, instinctively camouflaging you. I bet, with enough effort, you could probably make yourself visible at will—and maybe even produce light!”

 Hagakure beams. “Cool! I guess I should probably go back to being invisible, then—before Recovery Girl kicks your butt.”

 Midoriya spins, blanching at Recovery Girl’s stern expression. The Hero students laugh.

 They stick around for a few more minutes as Midoriya processes other Hero students, peppering him with questions on Quirk theory and why he knows so much about it. When Recovery Girl eventually shoos them away, they bid him a warm goodbye.

 “We’ll see you around, man!” Kaminari tells him.

 Midoriya’s a little late with his returning wave, shocked that they’d been so nice.

 The more Heroes he meets from Kacchan’s class, the more he realizes how genuinely good they all are. He can’t wait for the day that they’re faced with Shinsou’s stout, aggressive sarcasm. They seem to handle Kacchan well enough, so they might be able to crack Shinsou’s tough shell, too.

 Only time will tell.

The semester flies by Midoriya faster than he can recognize. End-of-term exams send Midoriya on a study spiral more intense than any other in his life.

In Support, he and Hatsume unveil their semester’s school-appropriate, non-national-secret masterpiece: Shinsou’s personally modified version of the Sonic Wave Emitter. Shinsou had gotten to name it. He’d taken one look at the silver-and-black contraption, and called it The Muzzle. The Muzzle wraps around his throat, and over his nose and mouth, to disguise when he’s the one speaking. Hatsume begrudgingly acquiesced to letting Midoriya etch the metal with fanged teeth—for the gimmick factor, he’d insisted.

Behind the scenes, Nedzu had quietly patented the Microwave Emitter for Hatsume and Midoriya. Apparently, a few scientists from I-Island are very eager to meet the two students behind Yuuei’s “revolutionary” defense against technological Quirks—they’d received invitations to stay on the Island for a few days at the end of their summer break. The principal has started preliminary sales of the device to the other Hero schools connected to Yuuei by the Tunnels, hoping to extend the protection to other possible League of Villain targets.

In Management, a fashion-show parade of Hero course students filters through the classroom in their improved costumes. Midoriya had been vindicated to see several of his classmates blush when Monoma had strutted in like a particularly arrogant peacock. Monoma’d argued with Midoriya about changing his name, too, but they’d eventually come to settle on the Heartbreak Hero: Larcenist.

Getting him to agree to be R-Rated had been a walk in the park, in comparison.

Broadcast had handed Midoriya’s final submission back to him with a sly wink, and an A+ that both sent his heart into palpitations.

Midoriya had placed third in 1-C’s math exams, first in the English exams, and first in their chemistry exams. The two girls who’d beaten him in math looked ready to cry on each other in gleeful surprise.

With Nedzu-sensei, Midoriya submits the final draft of his exhaustive new legislation. Midoriya, being fifteen, Quirkless, and a student, simply won’t have the time or influence to get a bill passed by himself. Instead, he hands the reins to Nedzu, who has a considerable aura of influence, a sizable amount of money at his disposal, and a propensity for the intricacies of law that he’s been keeping himself away from for nearly fifteen years.

As he finally passes the enormous stack of papers to Nedzu, Midoriya’s head thunks down on the dark wood of the desk.

Nedzu laughs barkingly. “Ready for break, Midoriya-kun?”

He groans wordlessly at the floor, stress draining out of him like the sun breaking through the clouds. “I’ve never studied so much in my life.”

“I suspect not,” Nedzu says, his voice bright. “That means that I’m doing what I’m supposed to.” He pets Midoriya’s hair lightly. “But, before I can let you go and take Aizawa-san’s exam, I have two last surprises to spring on you, my dear Midoriya-kun.”

Midoriya manages to drag himself upright again. “What is it?” he asks, curious despite his mental exhaustion.

Nedzu presses the buzzer on his desk, and his office door opens on command. Standing in the doorway is All Might, in his skinny form, and Detective Tsukauchi Naomasa. Midoriya hasn’t seen the Detective since the USJ, and it worries him a little bit. He calms himself with a reminder that Nedzu had planned this.

“Good to see you again, Midoriya-kun,” Tsukauchi says with a smile.

“You, as well, Detective-san,” Midoriya replies, confused. He turns to Nedzu, who gives him a tooth-bearing smile.

“Ah, Midoriya-shounen, it was I who asked to meet with you,” All Might says. The tall man scuffs at the back of his neck.

Midoriya blinks at him. “Really? Have I done something wrong?”

Nedzu laughs. “Not quite.”

“Not at all,” All Might corrects. He and Detective Tsukauchi walk over to stand beside Nedzu’s desk, looking nervous and eager at once. “I have a proposal for you, Midoriya-kun.” Midoriya cocks his head. “Do you remember our last conversation?”

Vividly, Midoriya thinks. The bloody legacy of All Might’s secret Quirk wasn’t liable to leave his mind anytime soon. He nods, waiting on the edge of his seat to hear where this could be going.

All Might gives him a huge grin. “Midoriya Izuku—” the sound of his full name shocks him— “I would like to offer you the honor of being the ninth holder of One For All.”

Wait. What?

“What?” Midoriya says, mouth agape.

All Might extends a hand to him. “More than a year ago, when we first met, I wanted to offer this Quirk to you. It was my own weakness that prevented me from doing so. Now, I stand before you today, and humbly beg that you join me in the fight against All For One, and put him to rest for good.” All Might’s eyes are searingly earnest. “I do not wish to burden you with a fight that you will not win, but it is my duty to pass on the legacy that I have carried for more than forty years. I have searched, Midoriya Izuku, and you are the only person worthy of this Quirk. You are a Hero, Midoriya-kun, and I would be honored if you would continue your journey with the help of One For All.”

His heart sits in his throat.

Tears well up in his verdant eyes, and stream, unbidden, down his cheeks.

“B–but…” his voice trembles. “So many people are looking up to me as a Quirkless Hero. I don’t want to let them down. I want to take it—please believe me, All Might-sama, I want to—but I don’t know if I should. Your legacy should be done justice, and I don’t know if I can give you that.” He sniffles plaintively.

All Might’s face relaxes, his smile softening at the edges. “I understand, Midoriya-shounen. One For All is not a life sentence, if you do not want it to be. It can be passed on whenever the user is ready to depart with it. I only fear that when I face All For One in our final battle, the Quirk will not survive. I cannot let the last memory of my mentor die away like that.”

“And,” Nedzu pipes up, his eyes scarily bright, “you don’t have to use the Quirk, if you don’t wish to, Midoriya-kun. You can simply treat it as a keepsake, until you are ready to pass it along to someone else. You can choose whether or not to nurture it into your own.”

Midoriya would never do that; Nedzu must know that he wouldn’t. He could never let something so important to All Might sit, stagnant in his body.

Midoriya bows his head, the force of his emotions nearly bowling him over.

“Okay,” he says, though it sounds more like a sob. “I’ll be the ninth holder of One For All.” When he looks up, All Might is crying, too. “Thank you for choosing me, All Might-sama.”

All Might reaches forward, and brushes a tear from Midoriya’s cheek with the pad of his thumb. It’s the most fatherly gesture anyone has ever given him.

“There is no one worthier than you, Midoriya-kun,” All Might murmurs.

Midoriya feels sick to his stomach—and that’s before he has to eat a hair.

He’s still choking a bit on the scratchy feeling in his throat, when he turns to Nedzu and asks, “You said two surprises. Is there something else?”

“Astute as always,” Nedzu chitters. “I simply wanted to extend an invitation for you to spread your analysis wings, and join your Hero course yearmates on their summer camping trip. They’ll be focusing exclusively on strengthening their Quirks during the duration of their stay.” He presses a faux-demure paw to his snout, and says, “Oh, and the camp is run by the Wild, Wild Pussycats.”

Damn. He knows Midoriya so well.

“Of course! I’d love to go,” Midoriya assures. Nedzu slides him the information sheet without pause.

“Now, you’d really best run along, before Aizawa-san has my head for keeping you.”

Nedzu is right. By the time Midoriya shows up to Ground Gamma in his P.E. uniform, Eraser Head is practically fuming. Of course, it’s in the subtle, suffocating way that only Eraser Head can manage to fume, but still.

“Sorry, Sensei,” Midoriya says, catching his breath. He’d run practically the whole way here.

Eraser Head narrows his dark eyes. The wordless reprimand hurts more than a verbal one would. Midoriya lowers his head.

“Give him a break,” Shinsou sighs, sounding too tired to put up with Midoriya and Eraser Head’s endless back and forth. Midoriya knows it’s just the nerves getting to him.

This is Shinsou’s final exam—his final test, before he’ll be promoted into the Hero course. He has to prove himself to Eraser Head, or Eraser Head might just deny him entry for another semester. (Midoriya seriously doubts that Eraser Head would waste his own time like that, but that had been his threat.)

Eraser Head gruffly explains the trial they’ll be put through. Midoriya is there as a supporting cast member only, and Shinsou is expected to take control of him with his Quirk before they even begin. That’s alright with Midoriya—he’ll still be able to see and hear what’s going on, if not react. Eraser Head will get a five minute head start to hide himself and an object—he holds up a bright red sneaker that Midoriya is chagrined to see is identical to his—in the testing area.

They can either find and capture Eraser Head, or find and escape with the object. They’ve got an hour to do either one, or they lose.

When Eraser Head darts off into the maze of pipes, Shinsou takes control of Midoriya.

Midoriya floats, weightless in his own mind. It’s soft and warm, where he drifts in the empty white expanse of Brainwashing. He can see, still, and hears when Shinsou commands, “Make me a plan to take down Eraser Head.” He can feel his mouth start to move, words pulled from his mind like fish on hooks. He hears again, “Make me a plan to take down Eraser Head, within the parameters of the test,” in a significantly more annoyed tone. That’s funny, and he finds himself laughing.

Then, from afar, he can see something shadowy. Midoriya can’t move his head or blink his eyes on command, but he sharpens what little attention he has towards the dark figures. Panic starts to dart through him—is it a Villain?

Midoriya supposes that the buzzer goes off.

Shinsou directs him to “Follow at my pace, and make as little noise as possible.” The shadows follow, but not in the way Midoriya expects them to. Not like any human or animal that Midoriya has ever seen. They appear in front of Midoriya’s path, lingering in the corners where his eyes naturally fall under Shinsou’s hold.

After ten minutes of jogging and light parkour, they begin to whisper.

“Ninth,” the shadows call. It echoes in his head, just as loud as Shinsou’s commands. It’s uncomfortable. It rings, too harsh in the comfortable silence that Brainwash gives him. “Ninth. Ninth. Ninth!”

It’s multiple voices, overlapping and layering over themselves. Midoriya tries to squirm away from the noise, but there’s nowhere to escape.

“A ninth!”

“Another!”

“A boy!”

“Quirkless, just like Toshi.”

“A strong spirit.”

“Ninth!”

“Why is he trapped?”

“Ninth, are you there?”

“Ninth, can you hear us?”

Midoriya wants to claw at his ears, but it’s impossible under Shinsou’s hold. He can’t even call out for help, like this.

He tries to shut out the shouting, and think. Here, he’s got nothing to do but think. While his body moves under Shinsou’s direction, Midoriya tries to figure out what the shadows are. He’s never seen them in Brainwashing, before. Shinsou doesn’t seem to be reacting to them at all.

There’s only one conclusion Midoriya can come to.

One For All has come alive, beneath his skin.

This does actually manage to calm his panic some, and though the shadows are still so loud that they’re giving him a headache through the buffer of Brainwashing, he can weather it. He thinks he can feel a trickle of blood on his face, but he can’t be sure.

Fortunately, the shadows shut up when Shinsou leads him to Eraser Head. He’s prowling along the alley like a jungle cat through a forest. Midoriya has no idea what plan he’d given Shinsou—or even if Shinsou chose to follow whatever he’d come up with—so he watches, eager to see how this will play out.

Almost immediately, Eraser Head uses his capture weapon to tie up Midoriya’s unresisting body. He goes limply, and Eraser Head hangs him over the bend of a streetlight. From this vantage point, Midoriya can watch Shinsou dance around Eraser Head’s textbook jabs and sweeps. He’s getting backed into the dead end of the alley, when Midoriya hears, “Cut yourself free!”

Midoriya falls, the jolt of landing hard ripping him out of Brainwashing’s hold. He’s got a knife in his hand, somehow, that must have come from Shinsou’s costume.

The shadows disappear.

“Midoriya?” Shinsou calls, breathless.

“Yeah!”

He’s under again in a second. Shinsou’s order, “Corner him,” has Midoriya’s body working on autopilot to block Eraser Head into the alley. Without his capture weapon, he’ll have to pull off some very interesting parkour to get away. Shinsou throws questions at Eraser Head, hoping to trip him into responding.

The shadows are back.

“Ninth!” they call in a great big chorus.

“He must be doing it on purpose.”

“Who’s the purple kid?”

“Are we battling?”

“Why did he let himself get caught again?”

Their questions wash over him, battering him like waves against a sharp rock. He wishes he could say something back, but he seems as insubstantial as mist in the realm of Brainwash. Inside his head, he stretches out an arm to the nearest shadow.

“So he can hear us!”

“Kid, are you okay?”

“Shh,” one voice says. It’s masculine, and soothingly low. “I think we’re hurting him.”

Thank God. The voices go quiet, and Midoriya can focus back on what’s happening to his body.

He and Shinsou are ransacking a warehouse, tossing wooden crates full of packing peanuts left and right. After a minute, Shinsou sighs exasperatedly. “Stop.” He talks to himself, somewhere beyond Midoriya’s comprehension, putting a hand on his forehead. “Follow me, quietly.”

They start out on their trek again, and Midoriya notices that Shinsou has slung the cut ends of Eraser Head’s capture weapon around his neck. The means Eraser Head is functioning the same way they are: on foot.

Shinsou might just win this, yet.

It’s a long time later when they finally run into Eraser Head again. Shinsou commands him, “Start crying.” Midoriya feels tears flood his eyes, which overflow and begin to drip down his cheeks near-instantly. “Call out for help, as loud as you can.”

This turns out to be really loud. Midoriya begins to scream for help, his voice tearing from his throat again and again, endlessly. He thinks he probably looks strange, standing utterly still as he is, wailing for help with tears gushing down his face.

Eraser Head comes running.

Immediately, Midoriya feels guilty. It isn’t his plan, he knows, but he still feels bad for playing with Eraser Head’s emotional responses. Shinsou leaps down from the top of a pipe where he’d been hidden, and tackles Eraser Head to the ground.

Midoriya continues to scream, and he tires of it very shortly. He looks for the shadows again, which linger amorphously in his peripheral vision. He wonders if All Might has ever been under a Quirk like Shinsou’s—if he would have known to warn Midoriya of this happening.

He supposes he’ll have to ask.

“Shut up!” Shinsou commands. Then, something pinches Midoriya’s wrist, hard. He blinks at the sudden return of color and sound.

“Did we win?” he asks, dazedly. His voice is so hoarse that he knows it’ll be gone in a few minutes.

Shinsou gives him an enormous, scary grin, and says, “I’m officially a member of the Yuuei Heroics course.”

Midoriya launches himself at Shinsou, giving him a big, soundless hug, and Shinsou endures it for thirty seconds longer than he normally would. He must be really, really happy.

Midoriya hopes that the shadow-people can see this, too.

“Brat.” Eraser Head lifts the mangled bits of his capture weapon from around Shinsou’s neck. “Do I have to tell you not to torment my hellions?”

“I think you should give me any and all warnings, as a precaution,” Shinsou says. “But I make no promises to follow them.”

“They’re gonna love you!” Midoriya rasps.

“If they don’t spontaneously combust as soon as Shinsou enters the room,” Eraser Head says dryly.

“Midoriya is friends with like half of them, already,” Shinsou says with a shrug. “How hard can it be?”

On Sunday, when his voice has finally recovered, Midoriya and his friends make plans to go to the Kiyashi Ward Shopping Mall, which Monoma had overheard class 1-A planning to go to. As a certified party-crasher, Monoma hadn’t been able to resist the temptation of going just to ruin 1-A’s good time with his presence.

Midoriya seriously doubts that anyone in 1-A actually cares whether or not they’re there, which is why he agrees to go. That, and he does actually need some camping supplies. He spends the train ride there texting his friends and switching between tabs on theoretical legacy Quirks. (It’s basically unheard of, and unthought of. Midoriya sighs.)

The mall is overcrowded with people streaming in every direction. Midoriya, even standing still, is bumped on either side. Monoma has Midoriya’s hand in his, steady against the tide of so many strangers, and Hatsume is a solid wall on his right. They trail after Shinsou’s purple mop, tracking him above the crowd. Todoroki opted out, citing the fact that he’s paying his mother a visit in the mental hospital as his excuse for skipping the trip.

“Okay, here’s the athletic gear. Are you sure you don’t want to come with us, Midoriya-kun?” Monoma asks. He and Shinsou are shopping for the training camp, too—which they’ve been advised to prepare for in a way that makes Midoriya nervous for the fate of their muscles.

Midoriya shoots him a smile. “No, thanks! Mei-chan wants to look at a new Lego set that came out, and I figured I’d go with her. My mum’s birthday isn’t too far off, and I want to start looking for a gift for her.”

“We’ll call when we’re done,” Shinsou says.

He and Mei split apart from the guys, heading towards the section where the toy shops are congregated. She gasps, pulling away from him.

“Look! Super-Nerd, there’s a brand new drone! I thought they wouldn’t be releasing until December—they must be ahead of schedule! I gotta—” and she’s gone, her pink dreads lost in the ocean of people.

Midoriya surges after her, but a father with a stroller glares him down when Midoriya nearly trips over them.

“M–Mei-chan! Wait up!” he calls.

It’s too late. She’s gone, and he had no idea what store she’d even been looking at. He turns in place, searching for the pink of her hair, but colors assault his eyes from every side. Toys, people, little stalls of perfume and cheap jewelry. None of them are Hatsume.

Midoriya rakes a hand through his hair, and checks his phone. Maybe he can go back to the sports store, and meet up with Monoma and Shinsou? But when he looks down at his screen, the battery sign flashes before it goes black.

“You can’t be serious!” he groans.

“Oh, deadly,” someone says, their breath curling over the shell of his ear.

Midoriya jerks around, eyes wide. For a moment, he’s almost expecting to see Himiko, who he hasn’t seen since the first time she’d taken blood from him. Grinning down at him from within the shadow of his hoodie is none other than the star of his nightmares, Shigaraki Tomura.

“I knew leveling up my intelligence skill would pay off,” Shigaraki gloats. “The devs are finally giving me a break, after that shitty Hero-Killer subplot.” Quick, like a cobra strike, Shigaraki’s hand wraps around Midoriya’s throat.

Before Midoriya can do more than suck in a surprised breath, Shigaraki’s mouth is on his.

Midoriya squeaks. His hands are trapped between them, resting on Shigaraki’s chest, curled halfway into fists. Against his, Shigaraki’s lips are painfully rough, the cracked skin catching on Midoriya’s and scraping. He shudders, trying to pull back. Shigaraki lets him, thumb resting over Midoriya’s trachea.

“W–w–what was that?!” Midoriya gasps. He licks quickly over his lips, and instantly regrets it. Shigaraki’s eyes follow the movement hungrily. He can taste that dry, dusty smell that follows Shigaraki on his tongue.

Suddenly, he realizes that he hadn’t factored Shigaraki into the equation when he’d agreed to take One For All.

“Your reward, for taking down that asshole, Stain.” Shigaraki rasps. “It's like fate, or destiny brought us together again.” His cracked lips curl into a grin. “We have so much to talk about, Midori-chan. Should I say Midoriya Izuku? Or do you prefer Deku, now?”

Midoriya’s heart is galloping in his chest. Over the pulse point thudding in his throat, Shigaraki’s fingers drag and press. He’s sure Shigaraki can feel every beat, and it makes his heart race faster. Sweat beads at his hairline.

Shigaraki leads him by the throat to a nearby fountain, and tugs him so that they’re sitting side-by-side.

Midoriya can’t stop feeling the echo of Shigaraki’s mouth against his. He’d never been kissed, before. The closest he’d come was Himiko’s lips pressed to his cheek. Himiko, who’d told him she would be seeking out Shigaraki’s organization. Had they met? Was she alright?

As long as he’s stuck with Shigaraki—literally—he might as well dig for information, right?

“I thought…” Midoriya says slowly, thinking, “I thought that the Hero-Killer was working with the League of Villains.”

Shigaraki scowls immediately, his hand clenching down on Midoriya’s windpipe with crushing force. He chokes quietly.

“That fucking bastard. A Hero whore, just like the rest of them, just like everyone else. Said my ideals aren’t strong enough—he called me childish!” Shigaraki snaps. His wild eyes fall on Midoriya, and he relaxes his grip. His thumb rubs over the spot where it had dug in, hypersensitive to Midoriya’s scarred skin. “But, you took him out for me. I can’t believe the Heroes have kept you around, this long. They’re doing better than I gave them credit for.” He seems to register something, because he says, “Hey, you’re a Player Character. Answer me this: I hate Stain. He’s a Hero-worshiping whore, just like the rest of them. All my new party members all follow that so-called Hero-Killer’s creed… What makes him any different from me?”

Shigaraki stares at Midoriya, like he’s supposed to answer.

Tears have gathered in Midoriya’s eyes, and he knows his face is bright red from the brief loss of air. He sucks down a desperate breath, and lets it go tremblingly. He swallows, straining against Shigaraki’s grip.

“All Might is the strongest,” Midoriya says quietly. “He’s the Symbol of Peace—literally. People think that he’s an infallible pillar of light. A representative of Heroes as a whole. He’s the face of modern Heroics.” He remembers Stain’s face, and the crazed look of worship on it. “Stain used All Might as a scale to test other Heroes against, and when they fell short, he cut them down.”

“Stain,” Shigaraki sneers. “He doesn’t know the first thing about my ideals. My hatred. Why does he get all the credit for Hosu, when it was my beasts that killed the most? I shed the most blood—three Heroes died, screaming, at the hands of my Nomu.” Shigaraki’s free hand comes up to his own neck, and begins to claw at it. His ragged nails drag over old scrapes, drawing blood. “So why does he get all the credit? We’re both just destroying what we don’t like.”

The blood under Shigaraki’s fingernails terrifies Midoriya. How easily could he rip open Midoriya’s throat?

“His conviction,” Midoriya whispers. He remembers how to talk to Shigaraki, now. “Stain’s conviction makes people want to party-up with him. Their base-stats are the same, because they can understand his motivation. They might not like his methods, but deep down, those stats make it so they can see his dialogue box. Even your… your new party members. They might not like All Might, but they know his strength, and what he stands for. Stain is sending a message with his killings. You’re not.”

Shigaraki bares his teeth. “You know what you’re talking about, Midori-chan. You always have too much information. What mod gave you an OP intelligence stat?” He shakes him lightly. “I want you on my team. Dungeon-crawlers are so much easier if you can cheat your way through. Is the cheat code sending a message? Sensei never told me that.” He scratches more aggressively at his neck. “I just want to destroy them. Heroes. Society. Everyone.”

His eyes, the color of garnets and fresh blood, fasten on Midoriya.

“Even you, Midori-chan.” Shigaraki’s hand creeps under the collar of Midoriya’s shirt, until his palm is pressed, splayed across his spine. His pinky finger is raised, just barely. “If I could kill you all, I’d do it in a heartbeat. Everyone else gets to live the way they want. Why not me? All I want is to be rid of this fucking itching.” At this, his nails gouge into his own skin, and pierce deeply into Midoriya’s. Midoriya flinches, his back arching away.

“I–I don’t get to live the way I want!” Midoriya says desperately.

Shigaraki gives him an appraising look. “No, I guess you don’t. Maybe the devs had to give you that OP INT. stat to make up for the Quirkless debuff. I bet your health bar is puny too, even though you're a Player Character.”

“Exactly,” Midoriya gasps, trying not to squirm as Shigaraki’s nails pluck out of his skin one by one. “Lots of people are like you,” he says. His thoughts are racing, too fast for him to keep up with. “Your new party members—” he starts.

“Don’t go betraying me again, Midori-chan,” Shigaraki interrupts. “I still haven’t forgiven you for last time.”

“No!” Midoriya gasps as Shigaraki’s hand slithers out of his shirt, settling on the back of his neck again. “I think I know one of them, that’s all! I’ve been worried about her.”

Shigaraki goes still. “You know one of my new recruits?”

“T–Toga Himiko—have you met her?” Midoriya desperately hopes he was right about Shigaraki being the one she’d been searching for.

Shigaraki bares his teeth. “That little psycho. She’s obsessed with Stain, and her little boyfriend—”

Midoriya goes bloodless. Shigaraki’s fingers clench, ragged nails piercing his tender skin with painful intent.

“Are you dating Toga Himiko?” Shigaraki asks, voice so quiet and even that a shudder rips through Midoriya’s body against his will.

“No,” he says, with feeling. “She’s, um, she told me that she loves me, but I rejected her. We have a deal… I give her my blood, so she doesn’t starve.” He thinks it would be a terrible idea to tell Himiko’s new boss that she’s not supposed to kill anyone.

Shigaraki’s grip doesn’t relax. He leans in until his breath ghosts over Midoriya’s freckles—he smells like sake and dust—and sinks his teeth into Midoriya’s earlobe. Midoriya jolts, squeaking.

“She can’t have you,” Shigaraki murmurs. “You’re my Player Character. I’ll bet she doesn’t even know about the USJ, does she? If you’re going to switch teams for anyone, it’s going to be for me. I’m not afraid of a little friendly-fire.”

“Himiko-chan doesn’t have me,” Midoriya rushes to reassure him. “We’re just friends—strictly friends. I told her that.” Not really, but close enough. “But, I only meant that, since she’s on your team, you might like to know that she feels the same way that you do. She’s trying to make a world that she can be herself in—and I want to help her.”

Shigaraki leans back so that he can take in Midoriya’s expression.

He can’t help it; his mouth starts to get away from him. “Did you know that eighty-one percent of the suicides reported last year had mutation-type Quirks? Or that the people registered in mental hospitals have a disproportionately high percentage of Quirks that could be considered villainous? In Tartarus, more than sixty percent of the inmates possess a mental-based Quirk, rather than a physical one,” Midoriya babbles. Shigaraki’s hand settles back around the base of his neck. His fingers tug distractingly at the hair on Midoriya’s nape as he speaks. “Um, a couple weeks ago at a trans-rights rally, a middle school girl was killed by a Hero who thought she was going to attack him, and the Hero was strangled to death the next morning. And, ah, the officer of the Griffin Potholder Case was found dead, with both his hands removed after he broke the hands of that mutant-type woman.”

A slow grin creeps across Shigaraki’s face.

“S–so, so, you’re not the only one who h–hates this society,” Midoriya says.

Shigaraki leans in. This time, Midoriya can tell what he wants—though he doesn’t know what to do about it. Shigaraki’s hand on his neck is distracting, and he uses it to pull Midoriya’s face so that they meet halfway. His lips press against Midoriya’s, more intent this time. Midoriya gasps, eyes fluttering shut. Instinct, both fearful and something… else… something he doesn’t want to think about, or name, guides him. He shifts his head to the side so that their mouths slide together, the sting of Shigaraki’s chapped lips sending shivers skating down Midoriya’s arms.

Shigaraki gives a pleased little hum, and Midoriya jerks back.

The Villain lets him catch his breath, the smuggest expression Midoriya has ever borne witness to in his life settling on Shigaraki’s face. It sends Midoriya’s heart racing, and he knows that Shigaraki can feel the pulse under his fingertips.

“You’ve been doing your research, haven’t you?” Shigaraki says, smiling. “Did my little speech in the USJ inspire you? I’m proud, Midori-chan. Most of the disgusting little Hero-wanna-bes can’t be bothered to look into the system they’re trying so desperately to be a part of. But you… you’re looking. And helping one of my party members… defeating Stain…” He gives another sound, low in the back of his throat, that sends a ripple of unfamiliar heat through Midoriya. “Yeah. You definitely deserved a reward.”

This is exactly what All Might was worried about, Midoriya realizes. He was worried that Shigaraki would fall for Midoriya, and make him do something he didn’t want to.

But… did I really not want to? Midoriya tries to shake off the confusion. Shigaraki is a Villain, he reminds himself. He’s holding you captive, right now. He didn’t give you a choice.

You leaned in, the other half of him says. If you didn’t want to kiss him, you would have at least been scared of it. You wanted it.

“This has been a very enlightening conversation, Midori-chan,” Shigaraki says, interrupting Midoriya’s internal argument. “I have my cheat-code, now. The people stopping us from living the way we want… it’s Heroes! Filthy blowhards who think they can play judge, jury, and executioner because of All Might. Once they’re gone, I’ll be able to destroy anything that makes me itch.” His eyes lower into a half-lidded stare that makes Midoriya’s stomach squirm. “And then… then, you can be my reward.”

Shigaraki gives Midoriya’s neck an affectionate squeeze, and stands.

“Oh, and just in case you get overzealous, my little Hero, don’t forget that I can dust everyone in this mall faster than you could even scream for help, okay?” Shigaraki says. He turns his back on Midoriya, and disappears into the crowd in a breath.

When Midoriya finally manages to tear his eyes from the people, his heart drops into his shoes.

Hatsume stands a foot away, gaping at him.

Chapter Text

Excerpt from “Top 10 Camping Tips for Beginners!” by unknown, published October 10, 2220.

Accessed: June 2, 2232.

“The most important thing to remember is that safety ranks above everything else! All of the tips listed here are to ensure that your activities will be the safest they possibly can be, and that you leave your campsite fulfilled and unharmed!”

Captioned clip from Shukan Jitsuwa Jikko Iinkai ’s “LGBT Opinions” broadcast, aired May 30, 2232, 15:00.

Accessed: June 2, 2232.

TSUKI: Can you please explain to us how you came to be in a relationship with the world-famous game developer, Umemoto Tadashi?

MITA TAMOTSU: It was a bit of a meet-cute, if you can believe that. I worked at the only twenty-four hour coffee shop in Neyagawa—that’s in Osaka, if you didn’t know. Dashi would work late, always pulling crazy hours, and I worked the overnight shift to support my o-kaa-chan , and pay my bills. He came in one day, looked me in the eye, and said, “I’d like to talk to you when I’m not half out of my mind with sleep deprivation.”

TSUKI: So cute. You’ve been married for nearly thirty years, now, correct?

MITA: Right. Our anniversary actually coincides with the original release of his very first game.

TSUKI: How sweet! And, as one of the first openly homosexual couples after the Quirk laws were passed, how have you dealt with the media backlash?

MITA: My mutation Quirk, Lion, has made my life difficult. Being with Dashi is one of the only things that’s ever been easy for me. Dashi chose me, and I chose him. We support each other, and that’s all we’ve ever needed to stay strong. We were very lucky to be able to wed at all.

Texts between Bakugou Katsuki and Midoriya Izuku, sent beginning June 2, 2232, 17:20.

Accessed: June 2, 2232.

KACCHAN: oi

KACCHAN: obasan is asking wya

KACCHAN: its dinner night u asshole

KACCHAN: mum made katsudon for ur shitty ass

ME:

Sorry! Sorry! I’ll be there soon.

There was a villain at the mall, but I’m on the way back!

KACCHAN: i aint ask for ur whole life story nerd

“Please, Mei-chan, it’s not what you think,” Midoriya begs.

Hatsume plants her hands on her hips, shopping bags swinging wildly and nearly bowling over a small child. “Midoriya Izuku, you have a lot to tell me.”

Midoriya gives her another pleading look as he dials, Hatsume’s heavy, kitted-out phone buzzing angrily in his hand. He’s called Nedzu once, already. He hopes the second time is the charm, or he’ll have to call the police. Midoriya’s fingers are crossed that Nedzu’s simply busy in a meeting, and that the second call will go through.

It rings, and rings, and—finally connects.

“Midoriya-kun?”

“Nedzu-sensei,” Midoriya says, unable to keep the saturated relief from his tone.

“Are you alright?” The last time Midoriya had called him, Himiko had just taken his blood and run off into the rain—perhaps his instant concern is warranted.

Midoriya swallows. “Sensei, I need help.”

Hatsume grows alarmed. Midoriya shuts his eyes, trying to block out the thrum of the crowd that surrounds him. His stomach churns.

His lips still sting with the memory of Shigaraki’s.

“Are you in immediate danger?” Nedzu asks, his voice cool and business-like.

“I—I don’t think so. I’m not hurt. No one was hurt.” At once, Midoriya realizes the truth of the statement, and has to sit back down on the edge of the fountain. He presses a hand to his throbbing temple. “Shigaraki was here, at the Kiyashi Ward Mall.”

From the other end of the phone, Midoriya can hear Nedzu’s intake of breath.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“As soon as I can,” turns out to be about twenty minutes later. Midoriya returned Hatsume’s phone to her, and she’d called Monoma and Shinsou to them without another question. They’ve gathered around Midoriya like little ducklings, worried by his obvious stress.

“What happened?” Shinsou asks in an undertone, darting glances at Midoriya.

Hatsume shakes her head. “All I saw… I saw a guy—kissing Izuku.”

He ducks his head, tips of his ears burning harshly. Hatsume never uses his name. He’s worrying them—all of them—but he can’t seem to make himself say anything to reassure them.

What is there to reassure? Everyone had survived. Shigaraki hadn’t even tried to Decay anyone. Hell, no one else had even known the danger they’d been in.

No one knew, because Midoriya had been the target. His lips had pressed against Shigaraki’s; he’d received his apparent reward for capturing Stain. Then, he’d gotten word on Himiko, who seems to be surviving just fine. Hopefully Midoriya hadn’t put her under too much scrutiny, after accidentally revealing himself as her would-be lover.

He digs his fingernails into his scalp roughly.

How did it end up like this? Torn between the affections of two Villains; soothing their egos. Midoriya swallows thickly. He doesn’t think he’d ever have let Himiko kiss him the way Shigaraki had. She had tried to put herself in his space, the same way Shigaraki did, and Midoriya had forced distance between them. With Shigaraki… Midoriya’s mind throws the memory of his own submission at him, again.

Why had he done it? Why lean in? Why take it that step further—away from the uncomfortable mashing of mouths, and into the soft press of a real kiss?

As much as he wants to blame fear, blame Shigaraki’s deadly hand, which had guided him forward, Midoriya knows that it would be a lie. Being told it was for a job well done… a reward for good thinking, and bold actions. That had to play a part. He can't help but think of how often he's been remembering Shigaraki’s words from the USJ—remembering, and comparing the behavior of the Heroes around him to them. Is it because he'd wanted confirmation from the Villain that Midoriya is right? That they agree on a fundamental level about society?

Does he so desperately crave praise, that he'd go searching for it in a Villain?

He clenches his teeth.

“Midoriya-kun?” calls Nedzu, his voice worried.

“Sensei!” Midoriya’s bottom lip wobbles. His sensei trots forward, weaving between the legs of other pedestrians. “Thank God.”

“I’ve called security. They’re working on clearing the mall, now.” Behind Nedzu, Midoriya can see the looming figure of skinny All Might, and Detective Tsukauchi’s brown fedora at his shoulder approaching.

“Security?” Monoma demands. “Izuku, what the hell happened?”

Midoriya bursts into tears.

Nedzu reaches him, and clambers up into his lap. His paws land on Midoriya’s cheeks, right in the path of his tears.

“Shh, Midoriya-kun,” the chimera soothes. “We’re here, now. You’re safe.”

This only makes Midoriya’s crying turn hysterical. He starts to hiccough, laughter curling into his sobbing. Was I ever actually in danger?

All Might’s face is creased with uncertainty. “Are you all right, my boy?”

Midoriya looks into his bright blue eyes and says, “I don’t know.”

It takes the entire rest of the afternoon, but eventually, everyone agrees that Midoriya should still attend the training camp. With Himiko’s knowledge of Midoriya’s home-area, getting away from Musutafu might even help to throw the League of Villains off of his trail, should they go searching for him. He hadn’t let his friends sit in on the interrogation.

They look like they’re going to make him regret that, now.

“Midoriya-kun,” Nedzu says, “I believe Tsukauchi-san should be able to take you and your friends back to your homes safely.” His glass-bead eyes glimmer, and Midoriya knows that Nedzu is giving him permission to explain. Whether or not to take the opportunity is up to Midoriya.

He and his friends pile into the police cruiser, Midoriya smushed in the middle of the backseat between Hatsume and Monoma. In the front, Shinsou cranes his long neck to make demanding eye contact with Midoriya.

Monoma and Hatsume take his hands simultaneously.

“Super-Nerd,” Hatsume begins quietly, her yellow eyes shining with concern, “are you okay?” She lifts his left hand, holding it between both of hers and pressing them to her chest like she wishes she had something to curl up around.

Midoriya swallows. “S–sort of.” He looks at his knees.

Monoma’s fingers clench around his. “You don’t have to tell us, but we can’t help you, unless you do.” He brushes his blond fringe out of his eyes, and Midoriya avoids his inquiring gaze.

Instead, he makes eye contact with Detective Tsukauchi in the rear view mirror. He’s got creases at the corners of his eyes, where his skin pulls as he frowns. Between his dark eyebrows, too, is a deep furrow. Will Midoriya ever make it to the point where he has wrinkles? At this rate, it’s seeming unlikelier by the minute. Tsukauchi’s eyes are sad, like he can hear Midoriya’s thoughts.

Midoriya presses his lips together. He hopes he wasn’t speaking aloud.

“I should… I should probably start from the beginning,” Midoriya says, slowly. He looks up, knowing that his friends may never see him the same way, again. “Just—just promise me that you won’t tell anyone else? I wouldn’t ask, but it would hurt Yuuei’s reputation, and Himiko-chan… she’s relying on me.”

“Himiko-chan?” Monoma asks.

“Promise me,” Midoriya insists. His friends chorus their vows, and Tsukauchi’s cruiser pulls away from the curb. He takes a breath, squeezing his friends’ hands. “Do you remember on the second day of school, when the alarm went off?” They nod.

“You disappeared,” says Shinsou, his tired eyes studying Midoriya like he’s a puzzle that needs putting-together. “I never asked why.”

“Yeah.” Midoriya swallows. “I got, um, taken hostage, I guess.” To his friends’ aghast horror, Midoriya explains how he met Shigaraki for the first time, his voice strengthening the longer he speaks. These memories are familiar to him, like a pearl that has formed in his mind.

After today, the pearl has taken on a new sheen. Midoriya remembers his defense of Broadcast, and “Villainous” Quirks in general—and, more specifically, the way Shigaraki had pulled Midoriya against his chest and stared into his eyes. That moment, he thinks, was the start of Shigaraki’s obsession with him. It was the moment that Midoriya went from happenstance NPC, to quest-bearing.

He tells his friends about the USJ, skirting around Midnight’s injury as well as he can, and trying his best to describe the horror of the Nomu.

“Aizawa-sensei and I took one down, in Hosu,” Shinsou says. Midoriya watches his Adam’s apple bob around a heavy swallow. “It was completely mindless. Sensei had to nearly beat it to death to get the thing to stand down.”

Midoriya nods seriously. “This one was like that, too—only, it had some kind of regeneration Quirk that could heal it.” He describes Shigaraki’s vocal derision for R-Rated Heroes, as he’d fought Midnight.

Monoma’s affronted scoff interrupts him. “We’re not preying on people; we’re not Villains!”

Midoriya shifts uncomfortably. “Well, um, I don’t know.” Three pairs of eyes land on him. “Not—not that you’re Villains! Just that, well, he might have a bit of a point. The R-Rated gimmick is for both the civilians and the Villains. Midnight-san uses her sexuality to lure the Villains closer so she can knock them out with Somnambulist; Broadcast- sensei actually needs people to like him, physically, for Attraction to work at all.” Midoriya turns Monoma’s hand over in his own, setting the back of his hand on his knee so that Monoma’s pale skin is on top. “Your Quirk needs touch, too, otherwise you’d never be able to Copy anything.”

Hatsume nods, understanding dawning on her face. “Without the gimmick, they’d be relying on Support items.”

“Right,” Midoriya says, encouraged. “So, really, Shigaraki isn’t wrong about R-Rated Heroes using Villains for their own gain. But he is wrong about it being equal to the bad that the Villain is already doing. It’s a logical fallacy, see? The Straw Man Fallacy, where you set up an unequal situation to throw blame or uncertainty on something—in this case, R-Rated Heroes.” His friends blink. Midoriya colors with embarrassment. “S–sorry. I’ve spent kind of a ridiculous amount of time dissecting his arguments with Nedzu-sensei. ”

He continues on, explaining how the Nomu punched Midnight clear across the courtyard. Present Mic’s rush to her defense, and Midoriya’s own interference when Shigaraki tried to sic the Nomu on the Voice Hero—then, Present Mic’s terrifying retaliation. Hatsume grips his hand so tightly that it goes bloodless.

“I fell down the stairs,” Midoriya says, his voice distant. “I was so dizzy—Voice does that to you. It rattles your brain in your head, since the force is so concussive. But… Shigaraki caught me.” This memory, too, takes on new meaning after their shared kisses.

Shigaraki had delighted in Midoriya’s attempt to save him. He’d asked Midoriya if he was thinking of switching classes, presumably meaning video game classes, like rogue or elf. In his version of the world, Midoriya supposes that the classes are Hero, Villain, or civilian.

“Violence begets violence,” Midoriya says, repeating the sentiment that has caused him so much mental grief. He goes quiet for a moment, and notices that Shinsou’s fingers dig into the fabric of the center console that he rests his arm on. “I’ve thought about that too many times to count.”

“Why?” Hatsume asks, her voice a near-whisper.

Midoriya shakes his head. “I hate agreeing with him.”

Shinsou startles, his lip curling defensively. “He’s a Villain.”

“It’s not that simple,” Midoriya says, letting his head fall back onto the headrest behind him. “God, I wish it was.” If it were that simple, he’d be able to capture Himiko with no remorse. “Shigaraki is right about violence being a cycle. It’s irrefutable. But he used the Slothful Induction fallacy to make it seem like the only option is to destroy Heroes, rather than make a reform.” Midoriya tells them how they’d argued about the imperfection of Heroes. He explains All Might’s surprising rescue that led to the Nomu’s capture and Shigaraki fleeing.

He meets Tsukauchi’s eyes in the rear view mirror again, biting his lip uncertainly.

Himiko is dicey legal territory. Midoriya thinks that Tsukauchi puts an inordinate amount of trust in Nedzu. Tsukauchi follows Nedzu’s lead, which means he hasn’t tried to interfere about Midoriya’s handling of Himiko at all, but it’s one thing for him to turn a blind eye, and quite another to listen to Midoriya recount it in the backseat of his police car.

“Midoriya-kun, I know you don’t know me very well,” Tsukauchi says, startling the three other teens, “but I have every faith in you.” His dark eyes speak volumes. Remember that I helped choose you for One For All, too, they say.

Midoriya nods, inhaling shakily. “Okay. Um, Hitoshi-kun, do you remember the second time I came to run with you at your house?”

Shinsou’s mouth goes flat and hard at the mention of the Children’s Home. “I do.”

“Um, well, ah—after, after I ran with you… I kept going.” Midoriya doesn’t want to think of the nameless boy that Himiko had killed.

He tries not to ever think of that boy, and the other (literal) skeletons hidden in her closet. At this point, Midoriya isn’t going to turn her in until his legislation passes. He’d promised her. But it still aches, somewhere deep in his chest, to know that he’s single-handedly holding back an unashamed murderer.

Midoriya tells them about getting stabbed (“So that’s what that scar is from…”) and his own retaliatory, defensive stab. He tries to explain, in stuttering, half-finished sentences, how he’d come to the blood-sharing agreement with Himiko. Her Quirk’s influence over her; Himiko’s need for blood; how she’d called herself a monster; her fear of dying in the hands of the authorities.

“She promised me that she wouldn’t need anyone else, if I would give her my blood.” He stares at his hands, trapped in the grasps of his friends. “Cross her heart and hope to die.”

“And how’d that work out for you?” Shinsou asks acerbically. The longer Midoryia speaks, the lower Shinsou’s mouth pulls. His purple eyes are shadowed. “Has making a deal with the devil bit you in the ass, yet?”

“We’ll get there,” Midoriya says, humorlessly. “Next was Stain.” He doesn’t bother to reiterate what the news has been raving about for weeks; he skips to the end. “When I took him down… it had mixed reactions. Himiko-chan came to give me hers, that weekend.”

Midoriya frees his hands to roll up the sleeve of his bright yellow All Might hoodie. In the crook of his left arm, the four pink, circular indents of Himiko’s teeth are blindingly obvious.

“She told me she was mad, but that she could forgive me for how good I smelled in the rain,” Midoriya says.

“That’s sickening,” whispers Monoma.

“I let her drink from me, after being sure she’d kept our promise—”

“And how could you be sure?” Shinsou coldly interrupts.

Midoriya licks his lips. “She’s… Himiko-chan is honest. I can’t really explain it.”

“So, you just believed the words of a serial killer?” Shinsou’s tone is incredulous, but his eyes are accusing. “She chops people up and drinks their blood, but you think she’s got enough integrity to be fucking honest with you about something that could satiate her bloodlust?”

For the first time today, anger ignites in Midoriya. “When she showed me her chewed-up wrists, I thought I could trust her words about being hungry,” he says, his own voice icy.

“She bit herself?” Hatsume questions, confused.

“Himiko-chan tore her wrists up in her sleep,” Midoriya says, not taking his eyes off of Shinsou. “She told me she dreams of drinking, and wakes with them in her mouth. So, yes, I believed her. She chose to return to me—she searched for me, two prefectures away from where we met, just to make good on our deal. Himiko-chan upheld her end, at the risk of her own health, so I did the same.”

Monoma puts a soothing hand on his shoulder. “It’s alright, Izuku. We understand that you were between a rock and a hard place. What were you supposed to do—turn her away?” He cuts his gaze towards Shinsou angrily. “It’s not your fault that Hitoshi-kun has a Villain insecurity the size of Mount Fuji.”

“Not his fault?!” Shinsou bursts, turning around fully in his seat to glare at Monoma and Midoriya, both. “I’ve been told my whole life that I’m going to end up like those sick fucks—I’ve had to claw tooth and fucking nail to make a chance for myself because of people like her—”

“And you think Izuku hasn’t?” Monoma demands. He leans forward, getting in Shinsou’s face. “You may have a shitty Quirk, Hitoshi, but Izuku doesn’t have one at all. Who is the reason you even got third place in the Sports Festival? Who created your exercise plan, and held you to it? Who helped you pass your final exam? Out of the two of you, who really dragged himself up from nothing, huh?”

“The one who’s sucking face with Villains in broad fucking daylight and getting away with it!” Shinsou roars.

“Boys,” Tsukauchi cuts in, his voice measured. “I don’t want to have to pull over.”

Shinsou sits back in his seat, still glaring daggers at Monoma.

Hatsume grabs Midoriya’s wrist tightly. “I believe Izuku,” she says, her voice quiet. When he turns to look at her, her dark skin has gone chalky and pale. “He’s been working this whole time to keep Yuuei safe from these Villains—coming up with security measures that I never would have thought of on my own—all without telling anyone what he’s gone through. If he wanted to help the Villains, all he would have to do is step aside.”

Midoriya could swear that his heart swells in his chest.

“Thank you, Mei-chan,” he murmurs.

“How can you trust that he’s not helping them?” Shinsou demands. “He’s obviously able to keep secrets,” he scowls darkly, “and apparently has everyone on the face of the Earth in his back pocket. How do I know you’re not setting us up to die?” Shinsou stabs a finger at Midoriya.

“If you’d let me finish,” Midoriya says irritably, “you’d understand why I’m waiting to capture Himiko-chan. She’s not going to be free indefinitely. I want her to pay for her crimes, the same as anyone else. I just don’t want her to pay with her life, before the courts even rule for it.”

So Midoriya explains his crusade, which has yet to actually hit the headlines, for new human rights to be added into the Constitution of Japan. The right to life-saving Quirk requirements.

Monoma gapes at him. “But—but that’s so broad! That could mean anything!”

“That’s kind of the point,” Midoriya says.

“What if someone lies?” Shinsou asks, apparently unable to refrain from being snide.

“It’ll have to go through the courts, appeal-style. They’ll have to request accommodations, the same way anyone with a disability would.”

This, it seems, stumps them.

“What happens when someone comes along and says that something the police can’t give them—like no handcuffs, or not being confined?” Hatsume asks him, genuine curiosity in her eyes.

“Like I said, it’ll have to be a formal request of the court. I just want people to have the ability to ask for leniency. People like Himiko-chan, who would literally starve without blood. Then, if she’s denied her request, she can sue the court for restricting her rights, and protect herself.” He swallows. “I just…” he blows out a heavy breath. “How many people are locked away right now, being tortured to death by the lack of something vital to their Quirk?”

Midoriya can see Shinsou’s mouth twisting into a grimace.

“They earned their place where they are,” Shinsou says. “Don’t go sympathizing with people who don’t deserve it.”

Midoriya clenches his fists. “How can you say that?!” His voice is like the lash of a whip. “Don’t you want to be a Hero? How can you think of people—living, breathing people—and say they deserve to live in agony? You’re just like the rest of them,” Midoriya spits bitterly.

“What do you mean, ‘the rest of them?’” Monoma asks cautiously.

Midoriya sighs, thumping his head back. He takes a deep breath, feeling his lungs stretch and his ribs expand against the cotton grip of his shirt. While he breathes, his anger washes away from his head, down into his fingertips. Midoriya pretends to flick it away. “It was a hyperbole. I’ve just been… I don’t know. Frustrated, I guess. I keep thinking about what Shigaraki said, and realizing that most of the Heroes I know don’t act heroic at all.”

It’s quiet in the car.

“Why did he kiss you?” Hatsume asks, her voice the barest whisper. Her shoulder is a line of warmth against Midoriya’s side.

Midoriya closes his eyes. “He said it was my reward for catching Stain.”

“Didn’t they work together?” asks Shinsou, his voice subdued, though still a little stilted.

“I asked that. He said Stain called him childish, and refused to work with him, because Shigaraki doesn’t have any conviction. He asked me what makes them different—to the general populace, at least. He wanted to know why Stain has followers, and he doesn’t. I told him that Stain has values, and people can relate to that, if not the cause, or the effect.” Midoriya picks at the hem of his shirt. “He said he wants to destroy—destroy everything. That his goal is to create a world where he can do that, with no repercussions.”

“That’s crazy,” Monoma says.

“I know,” Midoriya responds, exhaustion weighing his words. “I told him that he’s not the only one who doesn’t get to live the way he wants, including Himiko-chan. She went looking for him, to join up. He got… defensive, I guess. He thought we were dating. He told me—” Midoriya’s throat closes up, and he has to clear it roughly. “Shigaraki told me that I’m his. I told him that I’m just trying to make a world where she can live—and then I started mumbling about some bad statistics about minorities in today’s society, and he got all… eager.”

“Is that when you—when he kissed you again?” Hatsume asks, catching herself halfway through the question.

“Yes,” Midoriya breathes.

Her hand clenches on his wrist.

If it were just the two of them, he’d tell her. He would turn to Hatsume and say, “I think I liked it. I think I liked his hand on my neck, and his sake breath, and his chapped lips.” Midoriya would ask her, “Does it make me bad to want more?” He would look into her golden eyes, so like Himiko’s, and demand, “Would you still be my friend if I agreed with him and Stain that Hero society is corrupt?”

But they’re not alone. Monoma’s fingers scrape against Midoriya’s shoulder. Shinsou’s judging lilac gaze settles over his skin like a sticky film.

Instead, he says, “He came to the conclusion that Heroes are the reason why people face prejudice, and that once they’re gone, I can be his reward.”

Hatsume’s breath catches in her throat. She stares at him with wide, doe-like eyes, full of fear.

Midoriya stares steadily back.

He knows Hatsume has trouble reading body language. She never understands when people are making passes at her, or trying to cop a feel. Most innuendos fly right over her head, because she lives entirely in the literal. He knows, and yet, he finds himself hoping that she understands the turmoil in his eyes.

I don’t know yet if I’d like that or not, Midoriya’s eyes say.

He desperately wishes for Hatsume to be able to read the words written in them.

She swallows, her fingers tense over his scarred pulsepoint.

“Don’t worry, Izuku,” says Monoma. “We won’t let him get to you, again.”

Midoriya turns to look at him, and registers the determination blazing within Monoma’s mirror-like irises. He turns away when Shinsou twitches, like he wants to reach out a hand.

Shinsou looks sad. The bags under his eyes are deeper than ever. “I may not understand, or agree with your opinions on Villains,” he says quietly, “but I still care about you. I want you to be safe. I want… I want to be a Hero, with you. I’ll protect you, until you can figure out a way to put these bastards behind bars for good.”

Midoriya’s heart nearly breaks in his chest. Tears gush down his cheeks without warning, and alarm explodes across Shinsou’s face.

“T–thank you, Hitoshi-kun,” Midoriya sobs, palming at his wet cheeks. “No, no, no one h–has ever, has ever made up with, with me after an argument,” he sobs.

Shinsou’s face crumples like tissue paper. “Izuku, no matter what, I’ll always be your friend. I’m on your side.” He gives Midoriya a wobbly smile. “Who else would let me Brainwash them into passing a test with me?”

Midoriya gives a little hiccupping laugh.

He’s late to dinner by about an hour. Normally, this wouldn’t be an issue. His mother works odd hours at the hospital, forever stuck on the rotating shift schedules that are impossible to pin down. Midoriya often eats dinner alone.

Today, however, is dinner with the Bakugous, at their house. Midoriya has Tsukauchi drop him off in the front drive, and hopes nobody notices that he just clambered out of a police cruiser. Of course, this must be too much to ask for.

Kacchan’s derisive tsk echoes across his front lawn. He leans against the fence of his front porch, wearing that awful, threadbare skull T-shirt that his mother hates. Midoriya can see that his feet are bare on the white-painted wooden planks, and wonders where he hides his horribly mangled combat boots when he’s home.

“Can’t keep yourself out of trouble for even a week, can you?” Kacchan says, rolling his eyes. “My mum wants us to compare grades. I swear to God, if you give her a reason to tan my hide, I’ll take it out on you twice as hard.” He throws Midoriya a challenging look over his shoulder as he shoves the front door open.

“If I beat you in school, you deserve some motivation,” Midoriya says quietly. “I’m not just gonna let you push me around, anymore.”

Kacchan gives him a hungry little grin, like he’s hoping for after-dinner violence more than he’s hoping for dessert. “Shuddap, fuckin’ nerd. Come get your food.”

“Katsuki!” Bakugou Mitsuki calls, her voice sharp. “Mind your fuckin’ manners, brat!”

“Oh, Suki,” Midoriya’s mother says fretfully. Mitsuki cackles, and as Midoriya enters the dining room he gets to watch her dump more pork cutlets onto his mother’s plate.

“Izukun!” Mitsuki beams. It always throws him, how perfectly expressive her face is of positive emotions. She and Kacchan could be twins, only she’d be the comedy mask, and he would be the tragedy. Midoriya drinks in the contours of her smile. Kacchan shoves him roughly, sending Midoriya stumbling towards his chair.

“Hi, Obasan, Ojisan,” Midoriya greets. He gives a brief bow. “Sorry for being late. There was a Villain at the mall, and I got held up.”

Bakugou Masaru settles his glasses more firmly on his nose, peering through them at Midoriya. “And you’re alright, Izukun? No injuries? I know how you love to get up close and personal with Hero fights…”

His mother gives a frightened little gasp. “Oh, promise me you didn’t go looking for the Villain! After Stain, and that little girl, I don’t want you anywhere near any Villains!” Her round green eyes stare up at Midoriya pleadingly.

Mitsuki and Masaru exchange confused glances. Midoriya hurriedly takes his seat, rubbing his chopsticks together and averting his gaze. Kacchan throws himself into his own chair, giving a hard ha! at Midoriya’s predicament.

“Did your girlfriend,” Kacchan leers the word, “pay you another visit?”

“Girlfriend?” Every adult at the table blinks simultaneously.

Midoriya groans into his hands. “She’s not my girlfriend. How many times am I going to say that today? And, no, I haven’t seen her since the beach,” he says vaguely, shooting Kacchan a frustrated scowl that makes satisfaction curl across Kacchan’s smirk.

“What’s this?” Mitsuki demands, gesturing with her chopsticks. “I haven’t heard anything about a girl.”

Midoriya scowls twice as hard at Kacchan. His mother had been there in the aftermath of his first encounter with Himiko, but he’s successfully managed to keep the knowledge of his blood-donating arrangement a secret from her. She’d probably ground him for life if she found out her son was letting a serial murderer drink his blood.

That just means that Midoriya is going to have to dance around lying very precariously.

“She’s just a friend,” Midoriya says forcefully, kicking at Kacchan’s shins beneath the table. He snarls angrily when Midoriya connects; Midoriya tucks his legs up under himself. “Kacchan is just teasing. And, no, I didn’t go looking for the Villain at the mall.” He grimaces down at his plate.

I didn’t have to. He came to me, Midoriya thinks bitterly. For a moment, he’s lost in the memory of Shigaraki’s mouth on his, and he finds himself brushing the rough edges of his fingernails over his lips.

Kacchan’s eyes narrow dangerously.

“Well, then forget all that,” Mitsuki says impatiently. “I wanna know how you did on your final exams! Katsuki, here, is third overall in his class.” Pride layers her voice like icing on a cake.

“Some room for improvement, there,” says Masaru quietly. Kacchan snaps his teeth angrily, stabbing his noodles with vicious intent.

“Izuku?” his mother asks. “What about you?”

Midoriya swallows his bite. “Um, well, it’s kind of hard to say. In Support, we don’t get ranked competitively. Our final exam was more of a cumulative thing, but our design was really well-received! Shinsou-kun loves his gear, and everything seems to be working as it should.” He knocks his knuckles against the grain of the table superstitiously. “In Intro to Costume Production, I got an A-plus on my costume redesign—”

Mitsuki and Masaru gasp simultaneously.

“You’re in a costume production class?!” Mitsuki howls. Masaru’s brown eyes are wide behind his glasses. She slams her chopsticks to the table with a squeal, and launches herself across the dishes to wrap her arms around Midoriya’s head. “Oh, that’s so wonderful! I had no idea—”

“We would have helped—” Masaru says.

“—one kid takes after us—”

“—who knows what those Hero professors are teaching? Anything you want to know about fashion, you can get from me,” Masaru mutters, raising his eyebrows sternly at Midoriya.

Mitsuki finally releases him, and he gasps for breath. “I’m so excited to talk shop! You have to tell us everything!”

Kacchan scoffs. “He ain’t a damn angel, just ‘cause he’s in a prissy-boy class.”

Mitsuki reaches around and whacks Kacchan on the back of the head without looking.

“What about the rest of your classes, Izuku?” his mother asks. She looks soft and warm, like she’s just happy to be sitting in the room with the Bakugous.

“Ah, um, I did alright. I’m ranked f–first in 1-C, but I could have done better on my math exam.” All the parents exchange satisfied nods. “In my personal lessons, I finished with my first major project. I have to wait to see, um, the outcome, still. It’s a little more abstract than a grade. And my friend, Shinsou-kun, passed his Hero course entrance exam!” He beams. “He’ll be joining Kacchan’s class next semester, and he’s going to the training camp with us, tomorrow.”

“Oi!” Kacchan kicks the leg of Midoriya’s chair, sending it scraping over the tiles with a terribly raucous noise. “You’re coming with us?”

Midoriya’s eyes dart around. “Um, ah, y–yeah. It—it’s a good opportunity to observe you guys’ Quirks and t–take notes.”

Kacchan’s face creases with confusion. “What are you lying about?”

“Katsuki!” Mitsuki whacks him again.

“Ow! What, woman?”

“Don’t embarrass the boy! He’s probably just nervous about being around all those unfamiliar faces, aren’t you Izukun?” Mitsuki says comfortingly. “You’ll be alright, hon.”

“Unfamiliar faces? Don’t make me laugh!” Kacchan’s lip curls back. “Those losers never stop talking about Deku.” He rolls his eyes enigmatically. “It’s always, ‘Deku-kun said my Quirk is technological,’ or ‘Did you see Deku with that 1-B asshole?’ or—” Kacchan adopts the most sickly sweet false expression that Midoriya has ever seen, clasping his hands against his cheek like a lovesick schoolgirl— “‘Deku’s hair looks like fresh grass, haven’t you noticed?’ or ‘Izuku told me that my Quirk is beautiful and thinking about it makes me want to cum in my pants—’”

“What?!” Midoriya squawks.

“Oh, don’t pretend like you don’t know you’ve got that half-n-half bastard wrapped around your little finger!”

“Don’t be crass, Katsuki-kun,” Inko reprimands quietly. “We’re at dinner.”

Kacchan slumps back into his chair with an irritated huff, still glaring at Midoriya.

“This is the first I’m hearing of any admirers, Izukun,” says Masaru.

Midoriya splutters. “W–well, I didn’t know anything about it! And, um, I’m sure Kacchan’s just exaggerating. I’ve only met a few of his classmates. I’m closest with Shouto-kun—”

Kacchan makes a noise of disgust. “You call that fucker ‘Shouto-kun?’ No wonder he—” he glances at Midoriya’s mother, and visibly edits his words. “No wonder he can’t keep his mind off you.”

Midoriya frowns in offense. “What else would I call him?”

“I’ve got a whole list of things you could call ‘im—”

“Let’s not,” says Mitsuki, annoyed. “It’s good that our Izukun is finally getting the recognition he deserves,” she announces. “After all that awful press with the Hero-Killer, I’m glad to hear that these little brats haven’t been taking it to heart.” She reaches forward, caressing Midoriya’s freckles with one baby-soft thumb. “I know I woulda been obsessed, if I was your age. All those brains in there. Just like my Masaru.”

Masaru gives Midoriya a small, private smile. “She’s just thinking about all the clothes you can design her,” he says jokingly.

“Masaru!” Mitsuki growls, kicking out like Kacchan does. Masaru dodges with practiced ease, chuckling to himself. “I’m just thinking that this one—” she grabs Kacchan by the skull and shakes him— “needs to buck up and start listening when Izukun speaks. Obviously, if that insane little rat-man wants Izukun’s opinion, he should be listening.” She releases her son, who scowls and shovels food into his mouth. “But… now that you mention it, I do want to know what our sprout has been designing.”

Mitsuki laces her fingers beneath her chin, and leans forward eagerly.

Midoriya blushes under the attention. He bites his lip. “It’s—it’s not much, but I’m pretty proud of it.”

“Proud of what? Making that 1-B prick parade himself around like a pay-per-view special?” Kacchan gives him a toothy smirk. “I’d bet that teacher of yours gave you the plus just for taking after him.”

“Broadcast-sensei isn’t like that! Besides, I worked hard on Neito-kun’s gimmick.” Midoriya crosses his arms frumpily.

Masaru leans in on Midoriya’s right, his glasses flashing. “What is his motif?”

“I, um, well, I convinced him to become an R-Rated Hero.”

“Izuku!” his mother gasps, scandalized.

Kacchan cackles.

“It wasn’t for anything weird, I swear! Neito-kun’s Quirk relies on physical touch, and he’s got a naturally antagonistic personality—”

“I’ll fuckin’ say.”

“—so I had to think of something that could get him the touch that he needs. He’s handsome enough, and he’s got a pretty big ego. Actually, I think he’s got the perfect personality for an R-Rated gimmick, and he still has room to hone it.” Midoriya taps his chopsticks on his plate. “Originally, he had this awful tuxedo for his costume.”

“An entire tuxedo?” Masaru blinks.

“That’s goddamn ridiculous,” Mitsuki posits, her mouth full.

“I know,” Midoriya agrees. “I tried for ages to get him to scrap it, but he completely refused. So I ended up with a kind of nineteen-forties inspired pinstripe suit, and a fedora. It’s just the jacket and the pants, so he’s going to look a bit like yakuza , but there’s no helping that.”

Mitsuki and Masaru hmm together.

“Colors?” Mitsuki asks, closing her eyes like she’s trying to picture it in her mind.

“Charcoal gray and silver chrome.”

They both ahh at this.

“Thread or fabric?” Masaru asks, his fingers tapping the edge of his glasses.

“Thread. Fabric would take way too much production for a Hero costume—” they nod along agreeably— “and it would make the body armor more noticeable. Plus, thread is cheaper.”

“Don’t skimp because of the cost,” Mitsuki warns with an admonishing finger. “Right now, Yuuei will cover all the costs and take care of the damages. Now’s the time to go buck wild and create to your heart’s content.” She sighs longingly. “I miss the days of free designing.”

Midoriya hums around his bite. “Well, with this, his Hero costume can’t take too long to produce. They burn through them so quickly that any extra durability is one hundred percent necessary, and thread is not only cost-friendly, but it also means his costume can survive a little longer. You never have to worry about it fraying, because it’s gone in a week.”

A real, genuine grin spreads beneath Masaru’s mustache. He claps Midoriya on the shoulder, startling him, and says, “Atta boy, Izuku. That’s the thinking of a true designer.”

Mitsuki laughs. “Wish this one could have some of that.” She jerks a finger at Kacchan, who snorts indignantly.

“He can keep all that shit,” Kacchan sneers. “I have brains where it really counts: on the battlefield. I still beat his ass in the Sports Festival, don’t forget.”

“Yeah, yeah, Kat,” she says. “Our wonderful little prodigy finally made good on his lifelong promise. Only two more wins to go, and then it’s on to the Hero rankings.”

Kacchan almost glows with praise and expectation. Midoriya thinks he can see his head actively swelling. He almost can’t help himself.

“Don’t be so sure,” Midoriya says, his voice cold and determined. “Next time, I won’t make it so easy.”

Kacchan turns to him, slowly enough that he knows Kacchan is thinking over his own reaction. His palms rest flat on the edge of the dinner table. Midoriya can see in his eyes the calculation of what he can and cannot say in front of both of their parents.

“Try all you want, Deku,” Kacchan says. “I’ll make sure you never get number one while I’m around.”

They lock eyes, and it’s like a physical jolt shoots through them both at the same time. Midoriya is struck with the burning desire to leap to his feet. He wants to throw himself at Kacchan, to tear at his face with claw-like fingernails, to rake the serious expression from Kacchan’s features. Midoriya wants to scream. He wants to win.

For one glorious, furious moment, it eclipses everything else.

On his chopsticks, his grip tightens. He imagines that Kacchan can see his thoughts. Kacchan’s face twists into a horrifyingly beautiful snarl, every tooth gleaming and ready to sink into his skin and tear out his heart.

Oh, what he wouldn’t do to be able to tackle Kacchan over the table.

It’s this thought that startles him out of his anger. It reminds him of his own words from earlier in the day, when he’d told Shigaraki that he doesn’t get to live the way he wants to.

Victory has never been something that Midoriya covets. He’s a peaceful, pacifistic person most times, and very rarely is he drawn into violence and agitation the way he has been recently. He swallows, trying to push the foreign feeling from his limbs. He unclenches his chopsticks.

Kacchan scoffs. “Wimp.”

Midoriya looks up, and sees a flash of what is almost… disappointment in Kacchan’s eyes.

Well, too bad. Midoriya isn’t going to fight Kacchan just because he wants it. So he goes back to talking about costume design, and tries to pretend that there hadn’t been a fervent moment of connection between them.

Chapter Text

Excerpt from “Heirloom Quirks” by Cassidy MacIntosh, published February 12, 2211.

Accessed: June 3, 2232.

“The concept of an ‘heirloom’ Quirk is a redundant one. In technicality, all Quirks are heirloom Quirks. The Quirk, by definition, is an inherited genetic mutation that can only be passed on through bloodline. Therefore, all Quirks are ‘heirloom’ Quirks. However, the concept that we will be exploring in this paper is that of Quirks that could be given in a different manner.

“There have been rumors in the past of a benefactor who can give and take Quirks at will, who will do so for a certain price. This rumor has never been supported. In this paper, we will delve into the science that could make this a real possibility.”

Captioned clip from the HeroTube video “Quirk Awakenings: Everything You Need to Know” posted by ParentingTips2200 on April 5, 2208, 08:00.

Accessed: June 3, 2232.

“The most important thing to remember is that this is a new experience for both you and your child. If you panic, they will panic, and that can cause accidents. No matter what kind of Quirk your little one inherits, each and every Quirk is a gift. Remember that this is a special moment in your child’s life, that they very well might remember for the entire rest of their life. It can be a scary memory, or it can be a happy one, depending on how you react. Keeping a calm head is one hundred percent necessary, no matter what happens.”

Excerpt from “The Very Hungry Quirk” by Rosalinda Perez, published December 2197.

Accessed: June 3, 2232.

“There once was a child, who was very hungry. The hungriest child there had ever been. For breakfast, this child ate an apple. Then a pancake. Then a watermelon. Then…”

Midoriya rides the bus to the Wild, Wild Pussycat’s training camp with class 1-B. Shinsou had gone ahead with Eraser Head and class 1-A, who’d gotten a strangely early start on the trip. He sits shoulder to shoulder with Monoma.

“So, Midoriya-kun,” says Kendou Itsuka, who Midoriya hasn’t spoken to in months, “how did your final exams go?”

Monoma huffs out a laugh against Midoriya’s neck, which he squirms away from ticklishly. He shoves lightly at Monoma’s forehead with his palm until the blond scoots further down on the seat, so that his cheek is resting on the outside of Midoriya’s soft red sleeve.

“Better just tell him about ours, Kendou-san,” Monoma advises. “This one had about thirty of his own.”

“Thirty?” Kendou repeats, raising her auburn eyebrows with sarcastic incredulity. “Oh my, how taxing.”

Midoriya laughs. “It was only seven, I swear!”

Her mouth plops open, all traces of satire withering like slugs under salt. “Seven?! Really?”

A teeny brown-haired girl gives a squeak. She clutches her hands over the crown of her head, angling her face towards Midoriya across the aisle of the bus, though he can’t see her eyes beneath the thick fringe of her bangs. “I can’t imagine having to study for that many exams at once!”

“A–ah! Well, um, it really wasn’t seven exams per se…” Midoriya does a quick count on his fingers. “It was three exams and four practicals!”

The girl gives another terrified meep of protest.

“Man, that’s totally worse!” says a boy with large, exposed teeth. He gives Midoriya an impressed look over the back of the seat in front of the one Midoriya’s sharing with Monoma. “How many didja fail?”

“Fail?” Midoriya blinks. “None, I think. Well, I’m still waiting for the result of one of my, um, practicals, but none of the rest.”

A few people let out appreciative noises. Looks like Midoriya has a bigger audience than he’d thought. A girl with wavy green hair leans out of her seat from much further down the rows, her sharp teeth bared in a triumphant grin.

“I got first in our class!” she announces, flashing a victory sign with one hand, which has detached from the rest of her body at the wrist. It sits several seats forward, atop the head of the small, brown-haired girl.

Another student with skin so dark that it looks like an inkspill releases a huge, eye-rolling scoff. “Quit rubbing it in! You beat me by two measly points, Setsuna-san.” Midoriya can only see him, hidden as he is in the back corner of the bus, by the bright silver shine of his hair.

“Two points is a gap you’ll never close,” boasts Setsuna, sticking out her tongue.

Kendou gives Midoriya a soft grin. “I got third,” she confesses. In a lower voice, she continues, “I know we can be a lot, but I think everyone is really eager to meet you, Midoriya-kun. We’re all excited to get to work with you during our training.”

“Heck yeah we are!” This is the boy with large teeth again, who is sitting side-by-side with Kendou. “Honenuki Juuzo, at your service! I seriously can’t believe you didn’t fail any of those exams. Not even one?”

“N–no,” Midoriya says nervously.

Honenuki sighs dejectedly. “I barely passed ours. I’m ranked nineteen, just above—”

“Okay!” Monoma interrupts, bolting upright in their seat and nearly shoving Midoriya straight into the aisle. “We don’t have to worry about such trivial things as exams anymore, now do we?” Monoma gives a very loud, very fake laugh. “We need to be worrying about besting class 1-A!”

A short, round boy with pale hair shoots Monoma an anxious look. “Really, Monoma-kun, I think you should be more worried about your grades.”

Midoriya blinks at his seatmate. Monoma’s face flushes a bright pink, and he lets out another loud laugh.

“I’m not sure what you mean, Shoda-kun, because my grades are fine and we have absolutely nothing to discuss about them!”

“Dude, it’s unmanly to lie,” Tetsutetsu Tetsutestu (who Midoriya does actually recognize from the Sports Festival, as the metal boy who’d fought Kirishima from class 1-A) says. He frowns at Monoma. “We all support you, bro. It’s okay to make mistakes, as long as you work hard to fix ‘em.”

“Mistakes?” Midoriya asks blankly.

“Yes,” says a girl with long, thorny vines for hair. She presses her hands together over her chest, where she wears a silver cross on a thin chain. “I will keep you in my prayers, Monoma-kun. Rest assured, with the assistance of our classmates, and your strikingly intelligent friend, your abysmal grades will soon see improvement.”

There’s a chorus of agreement from the other students on the bus.

“‘Abysmal?’” Midoriya yelps. “Your grades are abysmal?!”

Monoma winces. “Um. Perhaps.”

“Does that mean bad?” asks a tall blonde girl with two large, protruding horns. “Because if that means bad, then yes. Neito’s grades are bad.” Her accent is harshly American.

Beside her, a dark-haired boy with his hair pushed back in a patterned bandana pats her arm. “Yes, Tsunotori-san. Abysmal means bad. Say it with me, ‘abysmal.’”

Monoma groans as Tsunotori learns how to say just how awful his grades are in Japanese.

Midoriya grips his friend’s athletic shirt in his hand. He kind of wants to shake him. “You failed your exams and didn’t say anything about it?!”

Monoma adopts a pleading wobble to his lip. “I swear, I was going to! Maybe. Probably. We had kind of a crazy weekend, if you remember!”

Midoriya does shake him at that. “No you didn’t! That happened at three in the fricken afternoon yesterday!”

“Well, what was I supposed to say? ‘Hey, Support genius, once-in-a-generation Hero-course transfer, son of the Number Two Hero, and Principal Nedzu-sama’s goddamn hand-chosen personal student, nice weather we’re having. Oh, and by the way, I failed my exams!’”

“Yes!” Midoriya groans. “Why didn’t you ask to study with us? I tutored Hatsume in all the regular classes, because she has a really hard time retaining information. She said she failed all of her middle school classes. I would have helped you, too.”

“I’m not supposed to need help!” Monoma snaps.

Midoriya’s eyes go wide. Monoma seems ashamed, his brows drawing close, but he doesn’t break eye contact.

“Not to be a total dick,” Monoma says, forcibly lowering his voice, “but out of the five of us, I’m the only normal one. Shouto’s got no idea how to interact with other people because his dad beats the everloving hell out of him. Hitoshi is a foster kid with Quirk insecurities wider than the Pacific. Mei, frankly, lives in her own world about eighty percent of the time, and only comes down to talk to you. And you…” he hesitates. “As amazing as you are, Izuku, I can’t hold a candle to you. You’re so good. You’re smart, and nice, and pretty, and strong.” Monoma’s lips twist painfully. “All I am is the normal one. So, no, I didn’t want to ask you for help with something as menial as exam prep. I wanted to be able to do one thing—just one fucking thing—on my own.”

Midoriya kind of feels like he wants to sob.

“Now, look. You’re going to cry, all because I can’t keep my shit together.” Monoma releases a wet, bitter chuckle, and Midoriya is horrified to see tears in his gray eyes. “You already built my entire costume. You hand-crafted a persona for me. You even picked my damn name! And I can’t even take a couple stupid tests without your help.” He swipes an angry palm across his eyes. “I bitched at Hitoshi for relying on you, but I’m a hypocrite; I’ve been using you just the same. The only thing I’ve done for myself since coming to Yuuei is lose the damn consolation match of the Sports Festival. I’m useless.”

Midoriya can’t stand it any longer. He lurches forward, wrapping his arms tightly around Monoma’s ribs and squeezing. He shuts his eyes tightly, burying his nose into the crook of Monoma’s neck, which smells faintly like the soap he uses.

“Neito,” Midoriya whispers, “please don’t ever say that again.” A few tears escape from his closed eyes, and fall heavily onto the collar of Monoma’s shirt. “You’re so much more than normal. You’re witty, and loyal, and determined. You beat Yaoyorozu Momo in the Sports Festival! Heiress to the Yaoyorozu fortune! Born and bred Heroine!” Beneath him, Monoma takes a shuddering breath. His hands clench against Midoriya’s back. “You work hard, and I know you can do better in school. Please, don’t feel like you’re—like, like, like you’re—”

“It’s okay,” Monoma breathes, the words warm against Midoriya’s skin. “I know it’s hard for you to say. I’m sorry I said it. I didn’t mean it.”

Midoriya shakes his head, his eyelashes dragging wetly against Monoma’s shoulder. “You’re my best friend, Neito. I would do anything for you. I want to help you. Being around you… you make me a better person.”

Monoma scoffs, pulling back. “Now you’re just saying nonsense to puff up my ego.”

“No! It’s just like you said: out of all of us, you’re the most normal.” Midoriya settles his hands into his lap, and stares down at them. “Before you guys, the only friend I’d ever had was Kacchan. I love Mei-chan, and Hitoshi-kun, and Shouto-kun, but… I know we’re not the most socially adjusted people out there.” He glances up at Monoma imploringly.

Monoma gives him a look.

“Okay,” Midoriya says, “more like the least socially adjusted people anywhere.” They laugh a little. “But, seriously. You’re kind of the one teaching us how friendship works.”

“Like a child’s dog,” Monoma says, rolling his eyes, but there’s a little smile playing on the edges of his mouth. His eyes go soft and reflective. He takes Midoriya’s hand, lacing their fingers together so Midoriya can feel his steady heartbeat. “I guess it’s alright to be the leader, sometimes.”

“Join me and Mei-chan for the next round of exams,” Midoriya insists. “I’ll make sure you don’t fail again. I promise.”

Monoma finally gives in to the grin. “With both of our brains together, we’ll be unstoppable, right? I’ll blow everyone else out of the water.”

“Don’t get cocky so quickly, Monoma-kun,” comes a soft voice. Midoriya turns around. In the seat across the aisle from them, no more than twenty centimeters away, a milky blue eye blinks at them through a fringe of short silver-gray hair. The girl ducks down, away from Midoriya’s shocked gaze.

On the other side of her, pressed against the window, a dark-haired boy gives Monoma and Midoriya an awkward glance.

A flush crawls up Midoriya’s neck. Monoma groans and bangs his head into the fake leather of the seat-back.

“You didn’t hear any of that, got it?!” he barks, pointing a finger at the pair.

The girl pulls her knees up to her chest. Her eyes are cool and judgemental. The boy mutters something, his own blush burning the tips of his ears as he jerks his head around to stare out the window at the passing scenery.

Kendou leans around to peer at them and says, “It’s very healthy to talk through your emotions, Monoma-kun.”

Monoma howls in agony, and kicks her seat as hard as he can.

When they finally arrive at the campgrounds, it’s lunchtime. It turns out that most of Midoriya’s extracurricular reading is fairly worthless, too, because they’re staying in a cushy lodge, rather than in actual tents. Monoma smacks him lightly when he lets out a disappointed sigh.

Midoriya is quickly cheered by the arrival of the Wild, Wild Pussycats.

“Rock on with this sparkling gaze!” Mandalay shouts.

“Lending a paw to all those in need!” Tiger booms, the ruffles on his skirt flouncing up.

“Here to train you kittens up!” Ragdoll chimes, batting the air with her costume’s paws.

“Stingily cute and catlike!” Pixie-bob continues, striking her own pose.

“The Wild, Wild Pussycats!” they all yell. Their finishing pose is so animated that they practically have sparkles shooting off of them.

Midoriya can hardly contain his squeal. Monoma slaps a hand over his mouth to muffle it. The rest of class 1-B seems a little miffed by the high energy after their long bus ride, but they’re smiling indulgently at the Hero team.

“The four-person team who set up a joint agency more than a decade ago! They specialize in mountain rescues when there’s natural disasters! This is their twelfth year together—”

Midoriya is summarily shut up when Pixie-bob slams her cushy white paw-shaped glove into his face. He stumbles back into Monoma, who hooks him under the armpits to keep him upright.

“I’m eighteen at heart!” Pixie-bob says shrilly. She points a claw at Midoriya threateningly. “At heart…?”

“Eighteen!” He gulps.

Vlad King snickers. “Go on, everyone. Greet your hosts.”

1-B’s loud chorus is nearly indecipherable, since they all say different things. Midoriya himself says, “Pardon the intrusion!” but he’s pretty sure he hears Monoma say, “Thanks for having us!” and Tetsutetsu shout, “Please take care of us!”

“This whole area is our property,” Mandalay explains. She points to a far-off cliff and says, “All the way to that highway, there. You’ll be staying here in the lodge, on the left side. Class 1-A will take the right. Boys in the first room, girls in the second, and anyone else can come speak to us directly!”

“Training will begin in just a moment! We’ve got to gauge everyone’s baseline, and then pummel it into the dirt!” Tiger says, hitting his fist into his open palm. 1-B cheers uproariously.

“Make sure you save all the strong ones for me,” Pixie-bob says, licking her lips salaciously. Midoriya blinks.

“Gross, Nee-san!” Ragdoll says, rolling her eyes. “At least wait until they’re legal to start preying on them.”

Mandalay shoves Pixie-bob’s shoulder with her own. “Come on, Imouto, don’t start taking ‘cougar’ too literally, or we’ll have to put you down like a rabid stray.” Pixie-bob starts shrieking and batting at her teammates playfully, but Midoriya’s gaze is drawn to a young boy standing to the side of all the hubbub.

“Who’s that?” he asks Monoma.

“How should I know? I didn’t even recognize the Heroes,” Monoma says.

“Oh,” says Mandalay, like she’s just remembered that the boy is there. She pries Pixie-bob’s paw from her face and says, “That’s my cousin’s kid, Izumi Kota.” Her pink skirt swishes as she crouches beside the boy. “Say hello, Kota. This is class 1-B, who’ll be training with us for the next week.”

Kota scowls.

“Hi!” says Midoriya, when no one else does. He takes a few steps forward, and extends a hand. “I’m Midoriya Izuku, from Yuuei High. It’s nice to meet you!” The boy squints suspiciously.

“Are you tryna be a Hero?” Kota asks.

“Ah, um.” Midoriya scratches his neck sheepishly, and then yanks his hand away. “Sort of. I’m not in the Hero course, if that’s what you mean.”

Kota gives him a wary, confused glance. He’s seen the scars on Midoriya’s neck, and the ones on his wrists. He didn’t think they’d be seeing anyone besides the Wild, Wild Pussycats on this trip, and he hadn’t bothered to pack long sleeves. Out of his uniform, all of Midoriya’s scars are on display, even the one on his ankle from Recovery Girl’s minor surgery.

“O–oh,” says Midoriya, tucking his hands behind his back. “Sorry.”

Monoma saunters up and plants his elbow on Midoriya’s shoulder to lean against him. “You looking for a Hero, kid? Well, then look no further than yours truly! The Heartbreak Hero: Larcenist, at your service!” Monoma throws his head back in an enigmatic cackle, and doesn’t see Kota’s windup.

Midoriya claps both hands over his mouth when he punches Monoma right in the crotch.

“Kota!” Mandalay gasps. “Why would you do that?!”

The young boy begins to stalk away, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He tosses a glare over his shoulder at Monoma and Midoriya and bites, “I don’t wanna hang out with guys who plan to be Heroes.”

“My goodness,” says Kendou. “What an attitude.”

One of the boys Midoriya hasn’t spoken to yet lets out a low bark of laughter. He’s got long brown hair and a shaggy beard, which he scratches contemplatively. “What a brat!”

“Don’t give him any attention, Shishida-kun,” says Shoda, the vice president who’d pointed out Monoma’s poor grades earlier. “My younger siblings are the same way. They think it’s embarrassing to be associated with someone in class 1-B.”

Monoma gasps for breath indignantly on the ground. Midoriya pats his shoulder worriedly.

“They—” he pauses for breath— “should—” Monoma begins pushing himself upright— “learn the might of 1-B!”

Tetsutetsu cheers. “Look at that display of manliness! It’s almost enough to put a tear in my eye!”

“A manly tear,” says a student with large facial pincers, his tone dry as a desert. At his side, Setsuna laughs boisterously.

“Alright,” Tiger announces, clapping to get their attention. “Everyone form up! It’s time for the Quirk trials!”

“And after, lunch!” Ragdoll says, her smile wide and beaming. The students cheer.

Vlad King nudges Midoriya with one shovel-sized hand. “Hey, kid. I got the rundown from Nedzu-sama.”

Midoriya’s eyes pop wide. “Y–you, you did?!” He wouldn’t have been Midoriya’s first choice of confidant, but if Nedzu trusts him…

Vlad King nods. “You can stick around and take all the notes you want. I know your assignment is kinda abstract, or whatever. Just don’t get in the way of the exercises, alright?”

Oh!

“Oh!” Midoriya says. “Um. Y–yeah! Sounds good. I’ll be sure to stay out of the way.” He breathes a sigh of immense relief.

So, Vlad King doesn’t know about One For All. That’s both good and bad news. Good, because Midoriya’s opinion of the man isn’t very high; bad, because that means he’ll have to practice entirely in secret, somehow.

Yeah. He’s going to be spending the training camp trying to activate his super-secret heirloom Quirk without anyone else’s knowledge. All Might hadn’t given him much to work with at the mall yesterday, besides asking quite anxiously if Midoriya thought Shigaraki knew that the Quirk had been passed on. With all the Villain’s pointed remarks about Midoriya’s so-called “Quirkless debuff,” he doesn’t think so.

Quirk activation is supposed to be natural. From what he’s read, it’s a spontaneous thing for most kids, where they hit the activation requirements and finally unlock their genetic enhancement. For others, with biological developments, it might be something more like the unfurling of a tail, or the first flap of wings. Midoriya, who has the severe, obvious lack of a Quirk factor, has no idea how One For All is going to manifest.

All Might’s ability to puff in and out of his “buff” form doesn’t seem like something Midoriya would be able to hide, and he has no idea what form the Quirk had taken in the other users. The most he knows of them is that their shadow-selves appear when he gets Brainwashed by Shinsou.

Midoriya sighs, and heads back to the bus to dig out his notebook from his backpack.

After lunch, class 1-B is allowed to explore the lodging. Apparently, 1-A was supposed to appear a bit after lunch had been served, but they’re nowhere to be seen, so far. Midoriya heads into the edge of the forest behind the lodge.

From what he’d seen during their preliminary tests, none of the 1-B students have any sensory-based Quirks. He should be safe, here where they can’t see him. He bites his lip.

“How the hell am I supposed to do this?” he whispers to himself.

It’s not as if he feels any different. There’s no tickle in his body where there wasn’t one before. There’s no sudden urge to pop out of shape, or inflate like a balloon. He clenches his fists. Midoriya’s eyes fall shut, and he takes a deep, calming breath. Freaking out about how to activate the Quirk isn’t going to help it happen.

The common denominator in most Quirk activations is that they happen organically.

Midoriya exhales in a big gust, and turns to the tree he’s been leaning against.

“If it has to be organic, the best thing I can do is push myself.” He’d prefer to have a gym to do this in, but the small in-house equipment room had been full of people when he’d headed outside, earlier.

So he starts doing the basic warm-up routine Eraser Head has drilled into him and Shinsou. Midoriya stretches out his arms, and drops to the ground to do a few push-ups. He’s taking care to pay attention to his body, movements controlled and careful. When he’s worked up a bit of a sweat, he hops up, and takes off in a light jog.

Midoriya tells himself not to go far, doing simple laps around the lodge, still in sight of the clearing that rings the building, but he quickly loses himself in the run. It’s not often that he runs in total silence, though he does take care to keep an earbud out, now, while he’s working out. Here, in the wilderness, there’s no phone service. His is back in his bag, in the boys’ room of the lodge.

Instead, his listens to the sounds of the forest around him. His own breaths are loud, and his footsteps, too, but not loud enough to truly disturb the nature. Birds squall back and forth over his head. Sticks and leaves crunch beneath his feet. Midoriya becomes vaguely, mysteriously aware of the leaves rustling in the breeze, and how the sun dapples against his skin warmly.

He’s entering The Zone.

It doesn’t matter how long he’s been at it. He lost track of how many loops he’s done around the lodge. All that matters is the steady beating of his heart, and the press of his ribcage against his sticky shirt. Long ferns brush against his sweat-soaked skin, and they tingle and itch strangely.

Midoriya pushes harder. His feet start to move faster, flying through the underbrush with no goal in mind. He darts around trees, keeping to his self-made path as his chest starts to heave. He pushes harder. His legs pump, muscles straining and calves burning. Even his arms ache where they swing powerfully at his sides. He pushes. He pushes. He pushes.

There!

It’s like electricity courses through him. One moment, Midoriya is sprinting forward, the next, he’s flown two meters ahead in one bound. Sparks crackle off of his skin, brilliantly green. He skids to a stop, his feet digging trenches into the dirt.

“Oh my God.” The power dissipates into the air, gone between one breath and the next. His left leg, the one that he’d leapt off of, aches a bit, like he’s strained the muscles. “Oh my God. ” Midoriya looks down at himself. “It actually worked. I have a Quirk.” He clenches his fists.

“I have a Quirk!” he whisper-shouts. A smile tears across his face. “I finally, finally have a Quirk! All Might’s Quirk!” He can feel it now, idling beneath his skin like the buzz of cicadas on a hot summer night.

He closes his eyes, trying to let the power surge through him the way it had, before. Immediately, he can tell that this is a bad idea. The power is so strong that it burns, racing through his veins like liquid nitrogen. It sears along his neural pathways, exploding out of him in a tiny shockwave that bends the grass away from him.

Midoriya groans, clenching his teeth and standing as still as he can. His muscles twitch, spasming erratically under the coil of sheer, unadulterated energy. He bites it back. All at once, the power ceases, like he’s flipped a switch.

He sags against a nearby tree, gasping for breath. He thinks he might have cracked a tooth, but otherwise seems unharmed. It’s lucky. If he’d even moved a step, his body might have blown apart like an over-pressurized balloon. This simile has him straightening up with a gasp.

Is that why All Might has his muscular form? A physical manifestation of the vast recesses of energy that squirm through Midoriya’s insides? He doesn’t think his body can do that. Perhaps because All Might had started out so large, he’d been able to contain the power better. When he’d gotten injured during his fight with All For One, and started losing muscle mass, the Quirk must have enabled him to flex the power and return to a state that could handle the excess energy better.

Of course, it’s utterly unheard of, and complete nonsense, but what other explanation could there be?

Midoriya mutters to himself as he thinks. His hand curls over his lips to protect at least some of the integrity of the information.

“If All Might needs his buff form to activate One For All, does that mean that I need to get bigger? I seriously don’t think I could get that large—ever. All Might is two-hundred-and-twenty centimeters tall, and two-hundred-and-fifty-five kilograms. I’ll never be able to match that, even if I became a bodybuilder and trained every day. But if the Quirk needs me to disperse the power to use it… how can I do that? It’s like a waterfall, and I’m a tiny little sakazuki, trying to hold all that water. What do I do with the overflow? What happens when it does overflow? Am I gonna die?!” Horror drenches Midoriya. “If I try to channel all the power at once, there’s no way my body is going to be able to handle it! I’ll explode into a million pieces!”

He starts to panic-pace in short strides.

“No, no. I just won’t be able to handle a hundred percent of the Quirk. It would be like Kacchan trying to only set off Howitzer Impacts all the time, instead of smaller blasts.” Midoriya takes a calming breath. “That’s right. Most Quirks are never used to their fullest potential, otherwise it would kill the user. Just like how humans can only use their natural strength in times of extreme stress, because our bodies would wear out, otherwise. Okay. I can do that. I still have a Quirkless body, so I probably don’t have the same inhibitors built into me that normal people do. I’ll just have to… channel the waterfall? Slow it down? I can’t get a bigger cup. Gah! If only I could somehow—”

“Izuku?” Monoma calls. His voice bounces off of the trees around Midoriya, startling him. “Izuku! It’s time for dinner! And those 1-A bastards finally showed up!”

“Coming!” Midoriya calls back. He looks down at himself, and tries to scrape away some of the grass seeds that got stuck to his sweat. He limps out of the tree line, shaking out his left leg as he goes. It’s not too bad—just sore, really—but noticeably worse than his right leg.

“Yikes,” Monoma says when he sees him. “What were you doing in there? Rolling around on the ground?”

Midoriya laughs. “Just jogging. You know me.”

“Yeah, yeah. Overzealous, as usual. You’re just like Awase-kun and Tetsutetsu-kun. Those two can’t sit still for more than an hour without complaining about wanting to be in the gym.”

“I just like to be moving. It helps clear my head.”

Monoma’s eyebrow ticks down worriedly. He bumps Midoriya’s shoulder with his own, staying pressed close even though Midoriya is both sweaty and dirty, and probably smells.

“Hey,” he says. “I promised that I wouldn’t let that bastard near you again, didn’t I? So don’t worry about it.”

Midoriya blinks. He’d actually kind of forgotten about Shigaraki, for a few hours. He’d been so consumed with One For All that he hadn’t been thinking about anything but activating it—and even that had gotten lost in the pure clarity that comes from a runner’s high.

He smiles, anyway. “Thanks, Neito-kun. I trust you.”

They walk into the full dining hall, and Midoriya is greeted with about a half dozen shouts of exhausted surprise. The first one up to see him is Todoroki, who looks more disheveled than Midoriya has ever seen him. Todoroki grips his wrists in both hands.

“Izuku,” he says, his voice ragged, “remind me to never trust Aizawa-sensei again.” Todoroki’s head thumps into Midoriya’s shoulder, and he slumps into Midoriya’s surprised embrace.

“What happened?” he asks, bewildered by their mangy appearances. They look worse than him!

Shinsou, laid out like a deflated pancake on the table closest to the door, mutters, “Betrayal. Betrayal happened.”

“Wimps,” says Kacchan.

Kaminari groans, “I don’t know how you still have the energy to be mean.” His hair is full of dirt and leaves, and he flashes Midoriya a weary smile. “Long time, no see, man. Glad you’re here.”

“Thanks,” Midoriya says, still lost. He catches the glance of Uraraka, whose face is distinctly green-tinted. She offers him a small, nauseated smile.

“Aizawa-sensei threw us off a cliff,” she says. Monoma barks a startled laugh at Midoriya’s side, and Todoroki breathes a low whine into his shoulder.

“Actually,” says Hagakure, fully invisible, “Pixie-bob-san threw us off the cliff. Aizawa-sensei just told her to.”

“Same thing!” bursts a girl with bright pink skin. Ashido Mina: another girl Monoma had fought in the Sports Festival, who’d given him a bad acid burn on his forearm. “Sensei is so evil.”

“Cruel and evil,” adds the boy with tape-dispenser elbows.

“Sensei will show you ‘cruel and evil’ if you don’t shut up and eat your food,” Eraser Head says, his voice rumbling across the dining hall like a particularly quiet thunderclap. Everyone still sitting at the table ducks their head and starts shoving food into their mouths at double-speed, even Kacchan.

Kota, who’d been walking by with a box full of vegetables in his arms, laughs meanly. Monoma sticks a foot out to trip him, and Midoriya catches the boy’s shoulder before the box can tumble from his grip.

“Neito-kun!” Midoriya admonishes, his brow furrowing. Todoroki turns his face from Midoriya’s neck to stare at Monoma.

“That little bastard deserves it!” he defends. “He punched me!”

“In the balls,” chortles Tetsutetsu, carrying his second plate back to the 1-B tables.

Shinsou snorts into his bowl of rice. Kota kicks Monoma in the shin and runs away before he can retaliate. Midoriya grabs the tail of his shirt, tugging him back to Midoriya’s side as he growls and struggles.

“Let him go,” Midoriya soothes, “he’s just a kid.”

“A kid who needs to learn a lesson!” Monoma snaps.

“Why don’t we get some food?” Midoriya says, steering Monoma away from Kota—who hides behind his aunt’s leg—and toward the table laden with dinner.

“You should sit with us,” Todoroki says, his lips squished into Midoriya’s throat where he slouches. It seems like exhausted Todoroki is much clingier than energized Todoroki. “1-B has had you all day.”

“Let ‘em keep him,” mutters Kacchan.

“No way! I haven’t talked to my friend in forever! ” says a shrill voice.

Midoriya jerks straighter. “Dark Shadow-san! It’s been so long!” He turns, one hand on Todoroki’s back to keep him from toppling over.

There, hovering above the bird-headed boy, Tokoyami Fumikage, is the sentient Quirk, Dark Shadow. The Quirk stretches its connection to its host, pulling Midoriya closer to the table by the hand. It’s warm and soft, and not at all like touching a shadow should be.

“Dark Shadow,” groans Tokoyami, covering his beak with one embarrassed hand. “Please, unhand Midoriya-san. He hasn’t even gotten his food yet.”

“I forgot that you made friends with a Quirk,” Monoma says in an undertone.

“Remember when you throttled him with your thighs?” Todoroki says idly. Midoriya splutters.

“Let’s not talk about that! Food, first, please. I’m starved.”

“Maybe if you hadn’t spent the entire afternoon running laps for no reason—”

“It’s a productive way of killing time! Besides, this is a training camp, isn’t it?” Midoriya heaps rice into a bowl, dragging Todoroki along as he takes a bit of everything from the table.

“A Quirk training camp,” Monoma reminds, “not a physical training camp.”

Midoriya arches an eyebrow at him. “Well, um, I’m not sure you’re aware, but I’ve got to do something while I'm here.” Todoroki mutters something about sitting still and looking pretty, and Midoriya pats his back. “Yes, you’re very pretty, Shouto-kun.”

Monoma snickers. They split after gathering their food, Monoma heading to the 1-B half of the room, and Midoriya scooting in at the end of the table where Tokoyami sits. Todoroki, rather than finding a proper seat, drops down onto the floor and tucks his head into Midoriya’s lap.

“It’s nice to meet you officially, Tokoyami-san,” Midoriya says, between bites.

“You as well, Midoriya-san. Dark Shadow speaks highly of you, though you have not had a chance to interact for long.” The boy appears to have teeth, which is a bit baffling to Midoriya. What is the purpose of the beak, if he has teeth? He tries not to stare.

“Well, Dark Shadow-san is one of the most interesting cases of an idiopathic Quirk that I’ve ever seen! I would love to study the two of you. I have so many questions.”

“Like what?” Dark Shadow asks curiously. It crosses its arms over Tokoyami’s plumage, resting atop his head.

“For starters,” Midoriya swallows his bite, and gestures with his chopsticks at Dark Shadow, “are you corporeal?”

“What do you mean by that?” asks the boy sitting across from Midoriya, who has many arms with thin webbing between them.

“Ah, um. W–well, Dark Shadow can’t really be a shadow if it's corporeal, can it?”

“I’m a ‘she,’ not an ‘it!’” Dark Shadow says, affronted. Midoriya blinks in astonishment.

“Really?” He gasps, leaning in to observe Dark Shadow’s figure. “I don’t mean to be rude, but that’s amazing! To have an entirely different gender from your host—unless—?” Midoriya gazes inquisitively at Tokoyami, who shakes his head without hesitation.

“No, no, I am definitely a male,” he says, blushing across the bridge of his beak.

“Well, then, it’s just as I thought! You are quite literally a one-in-a-trillion Quirk, Dark Shadow-san!” Midoriya puts a finger to his chin. “It’s actually more likely that you’ve got Vanishing Twin Syndrome than it is to have a fully sentient Quirk.” He glances up at Tokoyami. “Have you ever checked for that?”

Both the Quirk and the boy blink at him.

“How… how would one check for such a thing?” Tokoyami asks, confusion thick in his voice.

“I guess you’d have to ask your parents, if you can. They should know if you had a twin in utero who suddenly disappeared. If I’m not mistaken, Vanishing Twin Syndrome happens in about thirty-five percent of twin pregnancies, so it’s really not that uncommon. And it would make much more sense if you’d simply absorbed your twin’s genetic material, and inherited their—or her, in this case—Quirk factor. Either option is ever-so interesting.” Midoriya’s eyes sparkle. “Who was your childhood Quirk counselor? They really should have asked about this before.”

Tokoyami takes a moment to formulate an answer. “I—I have seen many Quirk counselors and specialists over the years. Dark Shadow… she is accursed. Her power… overwhelms me. She grows in the darkness, like all heinous evils, and cannot be controlled. Her bloodlust is insatiable; her destruction knows no bounds. I have pled with many priests who follow the path of our damnable biology, and none have been able to purge me of this malediction.” Tokoyami presses one hand over his eyes.

Dark Shadow, cowed by Tokoyami’s harsh words, gives a soft whimper and seeps back into his skin.

Midoriya’s heart lurches in despair. “Oh, Tokoyami-san, please don’t say that! Dark Shadow-san is wonderful, not a curse. I can’t believe that you’ve had so much trouble with her over the years. Really, it’s very strange.”

Tokoyami sighs. “Yes, well, sometimes that is the way of the darkness.”

“I just mean…” Midoriya bites his lip. “I know a girl who struggles with Quirk-induced urges. From everything I’ve researched, and what I know from her, most Quirk urges are driven by a lack of something essential to your body. Take Vlad King-san for example,” Midoriya says, pointing to where the Hero sits with the Wild, Wild Pussycats. “His Quirk, Blood Control, allows him to remove and telekinetically control his own blood. He requires a lot more iron in his diet to make up for the constant loss of blood, so he often eats red meat and beans—foods high in iron. My friend… she has something similar.” Midoriya swallows, thinking of Himiko’s mangled wrists. “Sometimes, when she can’t get what her body needs… it forces her to. Human bodies are designed to seek out the things we lack, which is what cravings are as a whole.” He squints, cocking his head. “I just wonder what it is that you could be lacking, to send Dark Shadow into such a tailspin.”

Tokoyami blinks at him.

“Actually,” Midoriya says, picking up steam, “I’m sort of in the middle of a big project involving involuntary Quirk cravings! It would be amazing if I could study you and Dark Shadow, and hopefully I’d be able to figure out what Dark Shadow is missing!” At the look on Tokoyami’s face, he starts to backtrack. “I mean, of course, only if you’d want that. I know it sounds super invasive—and it probably is super invasive—but I might be able to help. Not that I could do better than all the professionals you’ve seen, or anything like that—”

“Shut the hell up, Deku,” Kacchan snaps, from the opposite end of the table. This is when Midoriya realizes that the rest of class 1-A has fallen silent, and most of them stare at Midoriya with wide eyes.

“See,” Kaminari says, crossing his arms smugly. “I told you that he’s awesome!”

Jirou breaks into laughter. “You have a total hero complex, don’t you Midoriya-san?” she snickers.

“N–no!” he denies. “It’s just so… so interesting! Come on, you can’t seriously tell me that you’re not all wondering what it is that Dark Shadow is craving badly enough to hurt someone for. What is it about the dark that changes her? Is it a lack, or an overindulgence? It could be something as simple as needing to have a glass of orange juice before sunset—or as complex as a mental block that you’ll have to work through. Did you have a fear of the dark as a child that transferred to her? Is it something more occult? Is she hunting? Is it more avian—like trying to roost for the night? Do you ever get the urge to migrate with the changing seasons? She doesn’t look nocturnal, but that could be a possible explanation, too. Obviously, light harms her in overlarge quantities, but is it because she’s actually shadow, or because she stores shadows? Is she really just swelling up with an absorption of all the darkness?”

At the multi-armed boy’s side, a boy with a tail gives a low whistle. “Wow.”

Midoriya closes his mouth with a snap. “S–sorry.”

Tokoyami looks a little shell-shocked. “I have never had such brightness directed at me. I find myself blind; blinking sunspots out of my eyes.”

“Wh–what?”

“Don’t mind him,” says Ashido. Her grin is enormous. “Do me next! My turn, my turn!”

“Your turn?” Midoriya asks.

“My Quirk, silly! Analyze it! Oh, please, please, please—” she presses her hands together like she’s praying, bowing her head towards Midoriya as she begs.

“O–oh,” he says, shocked. “Well, um, I guess if you really want me to, I can.”

Right as Ashido starts squealing with glee, Eraser Head interrupts with a harsh, “No.”

Ashido’s lip juts out pitifully. “Aw, but Sensei—”

“I said no, Ashido. It’s time for the hotsprings—unless you want to skip out on that for some bonding time with Midoriya. And, afterwards,” he cuts his eyes to Kaminari, the tape-elbow boy, Kirishima, and a quiet, muscular boy in turn, “your remedial lessons will start. Chop chop.”

She slumps miserably onto the table. Everyone else gatherers their dishes to stack and pile into the bins at the end of the table. Todoroki groans when Midoriya nudges him awake.

“You,” Eraser Head says, looking down at Todoroki, who has drooled on Midoriya’s thigh. “I expected better of you. Sleeping under the table like a dog. Did you even eat?”

“Lower your expectations, Sensei,” Todoroki says, wiping his cheek. “Midoriya fed me while I was down there.”

“Sounds like a double entendre,” says a tiny boy with purple orbs for hair. Eraser Head smacks the back of the boy’s head as he walks past.

“Bathtime,” Midoriya tells Todoroki, and helps him to his feet.

The hot spring is crowded, but still soothing. Midoriya tries to let the water unknot his semi-injured left leg, which is starting to ache like hell after his Quirk usage from earlier. He’s lucky that he didn’t accidentally shatter the thing, but that doesn’t mean that it didn’t hurt, anyway. At least it hadn’t been his rebuilt ankle.

He starts to grin like a loon.

His Quirk injury. The leg he’d hurt using his Quirk. His legendary Quirk, given to him by All Might!

Kacchan smacks his arm. He can tell it’s Kacchan, because after you’ve been hit by the same person more than a hundred times, you start to be able to tell who it is. Like learning your family member’s footsteps. Midoriya blinks up at him.

“Quit grinnin’ like a weirdo,” Kacchan grumbles. “I’m pissed at you, you know.”

“What for?” Midoriya asks.

“My mom won’t stop bugging me about getting you as my costume designer.” He rolls his garnet eyes. “I tried to tell her that you ain’t even a real designer, but now she’s got a bug up her butt about it. Won’t give it a damn rest.”

“It’s only been like a day,” Midoriya says. “How could she not have given it a rest? You’ve been on the road since like six thirty in the morning.”

Kacchan scowls and taps the side of his head. “I can feel it.”

Midoriya laughs. Then, over Kacchan’s shoulder, he watches the ball-haired boy begin to climb the wall dividing their half of the hot springs from the girls’ half.

“Hey!” Midoriya calls. He starts wading over to the far end of the hot spring, past the other scoffing male students who watch the boy climb with dumbfounded expressions of disgust.

Thankfully, before the boy reaches the top of the wall, Kota appears. His spiky hat doesn’t hide his expression of disgust, and he uses what looks like a rolled-up comic to smack the ball-haired boy down.

“Before tryna be a Hero, why don’t you work on being a normal person, first?” he spits. Midoriya rather agrees.

The boy falls quite unfortunately onto Iida’s face. On the other side of the wall, Midoriya can hear someone call out a boisterous “Thank you, Kota-kun!” that the young boy turns to receive, apparently forgetting that the girls are completely naked in the bath. He goes stumbling back with a shocked cry, and slips—right off the edge of the wall.

For an agonizing second, Midoriya’s panic almost ignites One For All beneath his skin. Thankfully, his lunge remains unaided. He smashes his kneecap against the rough, rocky edge of the hot spring, slicing it open, but manages to get his hand securely under Kota’s head and catch his ankle before the boy hits the ground.

“Ouch!” winces Midoriya.

“Damn, Deku-kun!” cries Kaminari. “Your knee!”

“Come here,” Todoroki commands, wading through the water to Midoriya. He settles himself with a grimace on the edge of the pool, letting his foot dangle in the water. His blood pollutes the clear blue.

Todoroki’s right hand is cool, and he presses a gentle layer of frost over the gash to still the bleeding. He lifts himself out of the pool, and offers Midoriya a hand.

“Let’s go get you stitched up,” he says, his heterochromic eyes serious, all traces of sleepy happiness gone.

“I’m worried about Kota-kun, too,” Midoriya says, cradling the boy to his chest. “He should have woken up already. He must have been so afraid of falling that he passed out.”

“Take ‘im to Mandalay,” Kacchan says irritably. “He’s her brat, right?”

“Her cousin’s kid, I think,” Midoriya corrects idly.

“Who gives a rat’s ass?” Kacchan says. “Just take the little bastard and get your fucking knee fixed!”

“For real, Izuku,” Shinsou says, his purple eyes latched onto Midoriya’s wound. “It looks nasty as hell.”

So he lets Todoroki guide him to Mandalay, dripping water and blood in a steady stream behind them. Midoriya sets Kota on a couch, explaining shortly what had happened to a worried Mandalay and a distressed Ragdoll. He sticks out his leg, watching with interest as Tiger sews stitches into his knee.

“This is a bad spot to need stitches, kit,” Tiger says. “Everything is gonna tug at them. Trying to keep it still will be impossible, unless we give you crutches. Don’t play too rowdy for the next couple of days, okay?”

Todoroki grips his shoulder as Midoriya nods his assent.

He waves Todoroki on, and hangs back to speak with Mandalay. Kota’s behavior has been bothering him all day.

“He doesn’t like Heroes, does he?” Midoriya asks, nodding towards Kota’s slumbering form.

Mandalay sighs. “No, he really doesn’t.”

“It’s strange,” says Midoriya. “In this day and age, wanting to be a Hero is practically a staple for all kids. Everyone I’ve ever known has wanted to be a Hero, at some point.”

Mandalay brushes Kota’s hair back from his face tenderly. “I’m sure he would be the same, if it weren’t for his parents.” Her brown gaze finds his, and she says, “You might know them, actually. I heard you at dinner. You seem pretty well-informed, for a high school student. Kota’s parents… my cousin… they were the Water-Hose Duo.”

Midoriya gasps. Mandalay offers him a sad smile. “Yeah,” she says, “I figured you’d know what happened to them.”

“It was so tragic,” Midoriya says, pressing his fist over his heart. “I cried for ages.”

Mandalay cocks her head. “It’s funny,” she says, her brows furrowing, “he might actually benefit from hearing that. See, Kota loved his parents. When you’re a kid, your parents are your whole world, you know? And to have them taken from you so suddenly… it’s awful enough, on its own. Of course, they died such meaningful deaths. Muscular was caught because of them. Everyone praised their deaths as honorable, and noble. It was all Kota heard, after they died. How honorable; how noble. They died for a greater cause. Their deaths were meaningful.” She scowls. “He’s a little kid. He missed his mom and dad, and people threw that in his face. He didn’t care if they died the most meaningful deaths in the history of the planet. They still died, and left him alone.”

Midoriya’s lip trembles. “How awful,” he whispers.

“Yeah,” Mandalay sighs. “So, he kind of hates Heroes. I can’t blame him, either. He resents us Pussycats, since he’s stuck surrounded by the very culture that got his parents killed. But he’s got no one else to go to.” She looks down at her un-gloved hands, and swallows. “Most of us… having kids is really dangerous in our line of work.” Mandalay looks up into Midoriya’s eyes, suddenly scrutinizing him. “Hey, can I trust you not to blab to anyone else?”

“Of course!” Midoriya blinks, startled by the question. “I’d never tell anyone else about our conversations.”

“Good.” She settles again, her face dropping its hard lines. “The kid thing… it’s why Pixie-bob has been so weird about you guys. Recently, she got told that her ‘biological clock is ticking,’” Mandalay says, making sarcastic finger quotes around the words. “It was a doctor who told her, after she got injured in our last big Rescue mission. She’s been really freaked out since then. I guess you just never realize that your time is up until it’s gone, you know? She got a wake-up call, and now she thinks that every mission could be the one that takes away her ability to have kids for good.” Mandalay glances at Midoriya. “Of course, you’re a guy, so you don’t really have the same kind of pressure, but I thought… you seem extra empathetic. I thought you could probably understand.”

Midoriya nods. “I understand. It’s probably really scary to realize that your life could be cut short—just like the Water-Hoses’. Especially for Heroes, since you guys live your lives so strictly.”

Mandalay’s eyes are sad. “It’s a hard world we live in, Midoriya-kun. We’re taught as kids to believe that the pinnacle of success is getting to be a Hero. You train your whole childhood away, working your body and your Quirk until you can’t anymore, just to get the title. Then you spend the rest of your life in and out of hospitals, hoping that you haven’t finally broken that last little piece of you that makes you useful.” Her shoulders tense. A tear trickles down her cheek, and she wipes it away hastily with a false, wet laugh. “I’m sorry, Midoriya-kun. That was really depressing.”

Midoriya takes her hands in his. They’re warm and rough with callouses. “Please don’t apologize, Mandalay-san,” he says.

“Sosaki,” she says, suddenly. “My name is Sosaki Shino. I’m thirty-one years old, and my damn name is Shino.”

Midoriya gives her a tiny smile, squeezing her hands in his until she looks at him again. Her eyes swim with tears. “Sosaki-san,” he corrects himself. “Please, don’t apologize for your feelings. Being a Hero… no one ever tells you the hard parts, do they? All they tell you is how goddamn honorable your death will be.”

Sosaki’s breath shudders, and her hands grasp Midoriya’s hard enough to hurt.

“It’s okay to mourn who you could have been. It’s okay to hate the life you’ve been forced into.” He bows his head over their joined hands, his own eyes filling with tears. “We fight every day—put our very lives on the line—for something that could be accomplished with just a little bit of compassion.”

“What do you mean?” she asks, sniffling.

“Violence begets violence, Sosaki-san,” Midoriya says. “You have to offer an open hand. If we only tried to help, rather than to harm, this world would be so different.” He swallows, staring into her eyes imploringly. “I’m Principal Nedzu-sensei ’s personal student, did you know?”

She shakes her head.

“I am. And last week, I gave him new legislation that will hopefully make it so that prisoners can petition for life-saving Quirk requirements. I hope, one day, that I can push it further. I want everyone to have access to that kind of healthcare—because that’s what it is. It should be the same as someone receiving a prescription for vitamins at the doctor.” He bites his lip at her confusion. “You know—it’s like Tiger-san. He had to go to Thailand to get his gender-affirming surgery, didn’t he?”

Sosaki blinks in shock. “How do you know that?’

“I follow a lot of the groups that Tiger-san endorses,” Midoriya explains. “A couple of them are based in Musutafu, where I live. But, the point is, he shouldn’t have had to do that. It’s been so long that transgender people have been fighting for rights in Japan, and they still don’t have them. How many people do you think turn to Villainy because they’re not accepted in our society? Or, like Tokoyami-kun. You heard him at dinner: he’s been through all kinds of Quirk specialists, who haven’t been able to tame his Quirk. If she didn’t have such a glaring weakness, where would that leave him? He’d be shunned; he would be feared. The Hero Public Safety Commission would have scooped him up and put him in a cell somewhere, where he couldn’t hurt anyone.”

Midoriya lets out a frustrated breath, clenching his fingers around Sosaki’s.

“That girl that I was talking about? The one with bad Quirk cravings?” He waits until she nods. “She’s a Villain.” Sosaki blinks in shock. “I’ve been giving her my blood, because her Quirk compels her to drink it. It drives her insane with thirst and hunger. She tears herself up, and eventually succumbs to her Quirk when she’s about to die. She thinks she’s a monster. She’s been turned into a monster by circumstance.” Midoriya’s brows draw together. “Imagine, if instead of being feared and shunned, she’d been able to go to the hospital and apply for blood donations.” He nearly chokes on his rising emotions. “She—she never would have become a Villain. She never would have had to hurt anyone.”

Sosaki nods. “I think I understand,” she says softly. “So, this legislation of yours… It’ll let her get help?”

Midoriya exhales harshly. “I really, really hope so. I want her to pay for what she’s done, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t want her to die in pain and suffering over the thing that’s been causing her misery her entire life.” He closes his eyes. “And there are so many people like her, out there.” Shigaraki flashes across the backs of his eyelids. His frantic scratching, his unbearable itching. “People who don’t get to live the way they want.”

“People like Tiger,” Sosaki says. “Like all those people in his group, who can’t afford to transition.”

“Exactly,” Midoriya replies. “Exactly like that. If we could just break this stupid cycle—”

“We wouldn’t need Heroes at all,” she breathes, her expression breaking like dawn over the horizon. Midoriya’s fingers go completely numb with how hard she squeezes his hands.

“We wouldn’t need Heroes at all,” Midoriya confirms.

“My God,” Sosaki says. “Where have you been my entire life?”

Midoriya gives her a lopsided smile. “Quirkless, right under your nose.”

She laughs a little bit, and releases her grip. She pats lightly at the drying tear tracks on her cheeks, leaning back from Midoriya.

“You’re going to change the world, kid,” she says. “I really hope I get to see it.”

“Me too,” pipes up a little voice.

Sosaki whips around, and Midoriya leans to the side to see past her. Mouth wide open, laying on the couch, Kota blinks his watery eyes at Midoriya. Tears have drenched paths down his face, and a little bubble of snot sits in his nostril. He sniffs it loudly.

“I wanna help you get rid of Heroes,” Kota says, his voice wobbling and cracking, “so that no one has to die like my parents did.”

Chapter Text

Excerpt from the Wild, Wild Pussycats Training brochure.

Accessed: June 4, 2232.

Our striking feline abilities are the cat’s meow!

Need help with large groups? The Wild, Wild Pussycats will save you!

Contact us now for reservation details!

Excerpt from the nutritional value sticker on a jug of milk, best sold by June 15, 2232.

Accessed: June 3, 2232.

Ingredients: Milk, contains less than 0.5% of vitamin D3.

Contains: Milk.

16 servings per container.

Calories per serving: 160

Total Fat: 8g

Conversation overheard between Pro-Heroes Tiger and Ragdoll, spoken June 4, 2232, 07:12.

Accessed: June 4, 2232.

TIGER: Aizawa hasn’t used that foster license since before Put Your Hands Up, has he?

RAGDOLL: Well, Yamada-san is so busy all the time. I don’t blame them for wanting a break.

TIGER: That boy…

RAGDOLL: I agree. He’s got his eye on him, for sure.

TIGER: We’ll have to see if we can’t nudge that along.

RAGDOLL: [Giggle.] Just be smooth about it!

Ragdoll wakes them bright and early the next morning by playing a horrifically loud taiko. She plays it all the way until they shuffle into the dining hall, half of them still in pajamas with unbrushed teeth. 1-B eats in near-complete silence, exhaustion weighing everyone down. By the time they’re up and outside, Komori, the tiny brown-haired girl, is falling asleep standing up. Kendou has to catch her by the elbow.

Midoriya cracks a huge yawn. Monoma uses him like a table, making his footsteps drag as they walk through the dew-wet grass.

Vlad King claps, breaking the stillness of the morning. “Let’s get going! Class 1-A has dominated the news this past semester—and Midoriya-kun, here—” he flushes— “but now’s the time for 1-B to shine, got it?”

Fukudashi Manga, Tetsutestu Tetsutetsu, Bondo Koijirou, and Kuroiro Shihai cry out apologies to their sensei . Midoriya struggles not to laugh at their overzealousness, as the girls stretch and don’t pay much attention to their professor’s posturing. Vlad King monologues about Quirks being exercised like a muscle, and they break into a clearing in the woods where an eruption of noise cascades over them. Midoriya blinks himself out of his stupor.

Class 1-A trains voraciously, half of them running around like headless chickens. Kacchan blasts the sky with wave after wave of explosions, disturbing the birds in the trees and sending them shooting into the air. There seems to be an awful lot of screaming and shouting going on.

“Your training starts now,” Vlad King says. “Normally, your Quirk would grow and adapt with you as you age but, as Heroes, we just can’t wait that long.”

Rin Hiryu, a boy with a dark ponytail who stands on Midoriya’s left, looks close to passing out in fear.

Eraser Head stalks through the middle of the rocky clearing, his hands shoved into his pockets lackadaisically. Kendou turns to Yanagi Reiko, the pale-haired girl who’d been sitting across from Midoriya on the bus yesterday, and asks, “Can only six people handle so many students? We’ll be forty-one in total…”

Eraser Head cuts her off. “That’s what they’re here for.”

“That’s right!” cheers Ragdoll, popping up from nowhere.

“Rock on with this sparkling gaze,” calls Mandalay.

“Here’s the cat’s helping hand!” calls Ragdoll, spinning in place so that her teal hair flies out wildly.

“Coming out of nowhere,” booms Tiger, appearing behind class 1-B and startling them as he bounds forward.

“Cute cat stinger!” cries Pixie-bob, forming a heart with her paw-gloves.

“Wild, Wild Pussycats!” they all shout, striking their ending pose.

More people applaud this time, including Midoriya. It’s enviable to have such high energy this early in the morning, and they’re actually loud enough to compete with the screaming 1-A students. Ragdoll, with her asymmetrical face paint, beams at them, still bent to the side in her pose.

“My Quirk is Search! I can gather information on a hundred people, just by looking at them, including where they are and any weak points!” She bats her long eyelashes demurely.

“With my Earthflow, I can build the perfect place for your training!” says Pixie-bob, wearing a big grin.

Mandalay points with a claw-tipped finger and says, “I can give multiple people advice at once with my Quirk, Telepath!”

Menacingly, Tiger growls, “And then it’s my time to get punching and kicking. So all you power-up types, come to me!”

“That doesn’t seem very P-C,” Monoma says. Tiger smacks his fist into his open palm, and Monoma squeaks.

Vlad King turns to his class and explains where they’ll be assigned as Midoriya thinks to himself.

One For All, from what he’s seen so far, acts like a strength-enhancer. It had boosted Midoriya forward while he was running, augmenting the natural strength of his body. In All Might, it buffs him up so he can deliver devastating attacks. He’d come to the conclusion that he’d never be able to get as large as All Might—which means that Midoriya will never be able to distribute the Quirk quite as well—but he hasn’t had the time to figure out a real solution.

The best thing to do for now is strengthen his body, and hope that All Might and Nedzu will have some ideas. The only one he can think of is to concentrate the power down to a specific part of his body, but his left leg is still achy from yesterday. It’s more likely that he’ll accidentally blow his limb off, than manage to condense all of that immense energy into such a tiny, compact area.

So, Midoriya trains with Tiger until he drops.

By the end of the day, Midoriya is sorer than he’s ever been in his life—and that includes the first day that he’d started training with Eraser Head. Ragdoll and Pixie-bob seem way too excited to point them to the raw ingredients they’ll be using for dinner, and Midoriya swears he sees Ragdoll giggling behind her poofy glove.

Iida manages to hype everyone up for cooking—somehow—which is only barely undercut by Eraser Head’s sarcastic, “Don’t poison me.” Midoriya thinks this is Eraser Head speak for “I believe in you.”

Kacchan, miracle of miracles, blows up an entire furnace trying to light it with an Explosion.

“Obasan would kill you,” Midoriya whispers as he walks by, arms full of peeled potatoes.

“Shut up!” Kacchan’s ears burn red. “I know that already, dipshit!”

“I’m not the dipshit who blew up a furnace!” Midoriya says, indignant.

“Hah?!” Kacchan catches him by the collar of his shirt before he can escape, and Midoriya struggles to keep all the potatoes in his grasp. “Say that to my face, you bastard!”

“Use one finger next time, idiot!” Midoriya shouts, squeezing his eyes shut. When he’s not immediately blown to kingdom-come, he cracks open one timid eye. Kacchan pokes him in it. “Ow!”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” he grumbles while Midoriya blinks harshly. Midoriya sticks his tongue out at Kacchan who barks, “Try that again and I’ll bite it off!”

Sero, the boy with the tape elbows, laughs as he walks past them. “Kinda gross, man.”

Kacchan snarls, releasing Midoriya to chase after Sero. Midoriya grins down at his potatoes, and Shinsou, dragging a pitcher of water with him, murmurs, “You’ve got it bad, if that kind of crap makes you smile.”

Midoriya just blushes and stammers.

Dinner is a mediocre curry, with overlarge potato chunks and undercooked glaze, but it’s still one of the best things Midoriya has ever tasted. A combination of the exhaustion of working out so hard, and the all-natural homegrown ingredients makes the flavors burst on his tongue.

“Kota! Dinner’s ready!” Mandalay calls. The boy, who’d been playing unobtrusively in the woods, comes shuffling out. She makes him wash up, and serves him a plate that he scrunches his nose up at in disgust. He glances around, his hat pulled low over his dark hair.

When he sees Midoriya, he bounds over.

“Um,” Kota says, ducking his head, nervous now that he’s gotten close enough to see that Midoriya is surrounded by other Hero students who chatter and joke loudly. “Can I sit with you?”

Monoma, sitting on Midoriya’s right side, as usual, gives a harsh click of his tongue. Midoriya smacks him lightly.

“Of course, Kota-kun! I’d love it if you ate dinner with me and my friends,” he says brightly. Kota sets his plate down and hops up onto the bench, sitting a little closer to Midoriya than is strictly necessary.

Todoroki looks betrayed by the boy sitting between them, but doesn’t say anything, which Midoriya is grateful for. Kota seems to be the delicate type, like Kacchan, who takes offense easily. He’s sure the kid would run off if anyone made him nervous enough.

“This is Neito-kun,” Midoriya says, gesturing to Monoma, “who you… already know.”

Kota blushes, ducking under the bill of his cap. “Sorry,” he grumbles. “About punching you, I mean. I guess, I’m not really sorry—” here, Midoriya has to grab Monoma’s reaching hand and tug it down to the tabletop— “but Midoriya is cool, so I guess you are, too.”

Midoriya beams. He’s never been called cool by a little kid before, and a warmth grows in his chest at the praise.

“Izuku is possibly the lamest guy I know,” drawls Shinsou. He’s so exhausted that even his hair is starting to droop. Shinsou had been with 1-A today, who’d woken up extra early to start their training. Compounding that with his routine insomnia, Midoriya is sure that Shinsou is a less-than-happy camper.

“Whatever,” says Kota, poking at his food.

“That’s Hitoshi-kun,” Midoriya says, pointing. “And on your other side is Shouto-kun.”

“What’s with your hair?” Kota asks, gesturing at Todoroki’s two-toned head.

“What’s with your hat?” Todoroki replies, taking a bite of his curry.

“Your friends all suck, Midoriya,” announces Kota.

Midoriya can’t help his laughter. “Only sometimes, Kota-kun. You’ll have to forgive them. Everyone is tired from working so hard today—but we’re all excited for the Test of Courage, later! Do you get to participate in that?”

“Or is it past your bedtime?” Shinsou mutters. Todoroki smirks, and Midoriya slaps Monoma again when he gives a cackle.

“No!” Kota says heatedly, glaring at Shinsou. “I just don’t wanna waste my time with you dumb Hero-wannabes.” The words send a shiver down Midoriya’s spine. “I only came over here because Midoriya…”

Midoriya grows alarmed. He widens his eyes at Kota, hoping that the boy will be able to read his plea to keep quiet. As much as he wants to believe that his friends will be as understanding as Sosaki had been, he thinks that Kota announcing that Midoriya wants to demolish Heroes as a profession wouldn’t go over very well.

Kota, who seems to be fairly astute, shuts his mouth with a huff. “Whatever, I guess.”

Midoriya settles a hand on top of Kota’s hat; a wordless gesture of thanks. His friends shoot him weirded-out looks.

After dinner, Kota tugs on his shirt and asks, “Do you wanna see my secret hideout?”

Midoriya has to shove Monoma bodily away, but he turns back and says, “Sure!” with the biggest smile he can manage. He waves at Eraser Head and points into the woods before he leaves, and receives an eye-roll that he takes as permission to disappear with Kota.

Kota leads him on a path that seems to be mostly memory. The sun has set, and the woods are dark and alive in a way that Midoriya isn’t familiar with. Kota isn’t afraid; he bats aside leafy greens and whistles back at the owls that hoot at them. They push through the last of the underbrush, coming upon a sloping trail that winds up the side of the mountain that the lodge is backed against. Their footprints leave tracks in the light dust.

When they reach the end, where the mouth of a cool, moist cave sits, Midoriya gasps aloud.

Kota turns to look, his lips curling into a gloating smirk. “Pretty awesome, right?”

“Totally,” Midoriya breathes.

Out here, away from the artificial lights of the city, the stars are innumerable. The warm summer night sky spreads out before them, now that they’re above the trees. It seems to go on forever in every direction, and Midoriya spends the next few minutes craning his neck and gaping.

“Do you know any constellations?” Midoriya asks. “The only one I know is the North Star. since it’s bright enough to see, where I live.”

“Only a few,” Kota says quietly. “My parents… they were big fans of the outdoors. When they got time off, they used to take me out here. My dad was the one who showed me this place.” Kota’s mouth twists. “You know, technically this whole place belongs to me? My parents owned the land, and the lodge. When they died, I inherited it. But, since I’m too little, Mandalay takes care of it. She and the Pussycats try to make money off stuff like this training camp, so they can keep it nice for when I’m old enough to do something with it.”

Midoriya sits down next to Kota. “Sosaki-san seems like she cares a lot about you.”

“She has to,” Kota says, a hitch in his voice. “‘Cause I’ve got nobody else.”

Midoriya rests his arms on top of his knees, laying his face on them and staring out into the vast sky. “You know, she really doesn’t.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“My friend, Hitoshi-kun,” Midoriya says. “The purple one, from dinner. When his Quirk came in, his parents were scared of him. They gave him up to foster care. When you go into foster care, they search your whole family, as far back as they can. Hitoshi-kun has cousins; he has siblings; he’s got nieces and nephews, and two sets of grandparents. None of them, not one, cared enough to take him in.”

Kota’s teeth grind. “I hate Quirks,” he snarls.

“Hey,” Midoriya says, catching him by the arm. He looks into Kota’s dark eyes seriously, intently. “That’s not the moral of the story, here. Sit down.” He releases Kota, who looks like he wants to storm around and kick pebbles, but sits with an exasperated huff. “Listen, and I want you to really think about this. Are Quirks really to blame?”

Kota tugs on the laces of Midoriya’s shoe until they come undone. “Of course they are,” he spits. “This whole messed up place is because of Quirks. Heroes, Villains… none of this crap would exist without Quirks.”

“That might be true,” Midoriya allows, “but I don’t think you’re right. Hitoshi-kun’s family had a choice to make, you see? They could let their biases control them—give in to fear—and shun Hitoshi-kun. Or, they could have taken him in. They could have given him a chance to prove that he’s more than his Quirk. They let their fear control them, and forgot that, beneath everything on the surface, we’re all the same.” Midoriya pokes Kota’s chest, right over his heart. “We’re human. We can love; we can hate. It’s up to you to choose which one rules your life.”

Kota swallows. His fist curls loosely over his heart, where Midoriya’d touched him. “But Quirks…”

Midoriya shakes his head. “It’s not the Quirk that causes the problem,” he denies. “It’s the people. People who lack compassion, or people who need help, but don’t know how to ask for it.” He bites his cheek. “I don’t know how much you heard last night, but I have a friend who can’t control her Quirk’s urges. She hurts people because of it. And, before you say that it’s the Quirk’s fault, I want you to hear me out. She never would have hurt anyone, if someone had listened to her, and given her what she needed.” Midoriya licks his lips. “If someone had helped her, she wouldn’t be a Villain, now.”

“How is that not the Quirk’s fault?” Kota asks, frustrated. “If they didn’t exist in the first place, she wouldn’t have had a problem at all!”

“It’s not the Quirk’s fault that it exists, is it? Tell me, do you get to choose what skin color you’re born with?” Midoriya asks.

“Obviously not,” Kota says. “I’m not dumb.”

“Well, then, it should be easy for you to understand that Quirks are the same way. No one gets to choose how they’re born. We’re all just doing the best with what we have, right? And some people’s Quirks can make their lives really hard. It’s up to us to be understanding—to help the people around us, so that no one feels bad enough to become a Villain.” Midoriya meets Kota’s searching gaze. “Right?”

Kota’s brow is furrowed beneath the brim of his hat. “I… I guess so.” He looks down at his own loafers. “How come no one ever says that? Even the Pussycats… all they talk about is capturing Villains, and what Villains caused the landslides, and stuff like that.”

“Most people don’t think like me,” Midoriya admits. “I’m kind of weird.”

Kota gives him a searching look. “I dunno… I don’t think so. It seemed kinda simple, the way you explained it. Like the way teachers tell us not to hit people on the playground, or they’ll cry like babies.”

“Exactly,” Midoriya says. “Your teachers never tell the people who are crying to just suck it up, right? They tell the people who hit them to stop hitting them. If you stop hurting them, they’ll have no reason to cry.”

“Some people cry anyway,” Kota tells him. “They’re annoying.”

“Yeah, well, that’s a different problem.” Midoriya laughs. “I cry a lot, you know. I cried twice yesterday!”

“Well, quit it!” Kota says. He jumps up and starts touseling Midoriya’s hair with both hands. “I can’t be friends with a big ol’ baby!”

Midoriya laughs, tickling Kota on the ribs. “Why not? Are you embarrassed of your emotions? Are you scared of them?”

“No!” Kota shrieks, pelting back down the path. Midoriya chases after him, reaching out to poke at him as they go.

“No? Kota-kun isn’t a big ‘fraidy cat, who’s scared of crying?”

“No!” he shouts, turning to face Midoriya with a huge grin. “I’m not scared of no stupid emotions!”

Midoriya picks him up and tosses him into the air. Kota yelps and flails, laughing when Midoriya catches him upside-down so that he has to hold his hat on with one hand. He holds Kota out by the ankles, and shakes him lightly.

“Are you sure?” Midoriya asks.

“I’m sure, I’m sure!” Kota groans. “All the blood is rushing to my head!”

Midoriya tosses him up again, lightly, and flips Kota right-side-up. Midoriya grins at him. “Not gonna cry about it, are you?”

“Hey,” Kota complains, giggling as Midoriya lifts him up to sit on his shoulders.

Midoriya grips his knees to keep him secured in place, and starts jogging back down the mountain. He hopes he’s not late for the Test of Courage—though it would be well worth it.

“Moral of the story, Kota-kun,” Midoriya calls up to him, “your aunt is awesome! She’s such a badass—ah! I probably shouldn’t have said that. Anyway, she’s super strong, and her Quirk is amazing, and, best of all, she loves you.”

Kota grabs Midoriya’s forehead, settling his chin atop Midoriya’s green curls. “Yeah,” he sighs. “I guess she is pretty cool. It sucks that that guy, Hitoshi, or whatever, doesn’t have anyone like her.”

“It does suck,” Midoriya says. “But now he has a lot of friends to support him, and Eraser Head-sensei seems pretty fond of him, too. You know,” he says, in a confiding tone, “I heard Eraser Head-sensei has a foster license.”

“What’s that?” Kota asks, his words vibrating against the back of Midoriya’s head.

“It’s a license that lets you adopt foster kids, like Hitoshi-kun.”

“That scruffy-looking guy can do that? Does he even have a house?”

Midoriya chuckles. “You know, I actually have no idea. He usually lives at Yuuei, with the other teachers. I guess he must, if he’s got the license, but I’ve never actually seen him go home. I’ve only ever seen him leave Yuuei to patrol.”

They come back out into the clearing where they’d eaten dinner, by the training grounds. People are still milling around, but seem to be trickling away down a more clearly-marked path.

“Woah!” Kota gasps. “How’d you find your way back?”

“I followed our footsteps,” Midoriya says. “See?” He crouches down, leaning forward so that Kota can peek over the top of his head and see the path that their footprints had left in the layer of loose dirt on the ground.

“Cool,” Kota says, with admiration in his voice. “We should probably follow the rest of your classmates, so they don’t freak out about you being lost or something.”

So Midoriya piggy-backs Kota all the way to the area where the Test of Courage will be held. The Pussycats (and the teachers) do a headcount, and Eraser Head drags the poor failures off to their extra lessons. They whine and cry, especially Ashido, but eventually succumb to Eraser Head’s unsympathetic stare.

The uneven numbers means that someone—either Midoriya, or Shinsou—will be the odd-man out. Midoriya, feeling sorry for Shinsou, who still seems uncomfortable in general with 1-A, volunteers to go it alone. Shinsou heads into the woods to scare with 1-B, as he’s evening up their numbers to a round twenty. Midoriya sighs and idles in the back, playing some kind of dirt-kicking game with Kota until Mandalay tells them to knock it off.

“Ugh,” Kota groans. “This is boring.”

“Well, if it’s so boring,” says Mandalay, her hands on her hips, “why don’t you go play back at your hideout? I’m sure Midoriya-kun can come get you later, when the Test of Courage is over.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he says, rolling his eyes. But he looks back at Midoriya and asks, “Will you?”

“Of course, Kota-kun,” Midoriya assures him.

Kota darts off into the underbrush with no further hesitation, his footsteps fading; swallowed up by the sounds of the other students instantly.

The first few groups start going, and it’s not long until the distant sounds of screams begin to rise and fall. Uraraka and Asui Tsuyu set off into the darkness, Uraraka already tense with anxiety from the suspense of waiting. Tiger resets the timer for the next group to head off. Midoriya sighs, sitting on the ground and twiddling a blade of grass.

Going last—and alone—sucks.

Only about half the time has passed before Pixie-bob’s head snaps up. She points her nose in the air and sniffs delicately, her brow furrowing.

“Do you smell that?” she asks, her voice low. Mandalay and Tiger turn to her, their faces confused.

Midoriya takes a tentative sniff, climbing to his feet. “Is that… smoke?”

He looks up into the sky, which, only a few minutes ago, had been utterly clear and star-filled. Now, he can see plumes of black smoke curling over the treetops to the west. To the east, a strangely lilac-colored mist rises, too. Midoriya’s fists clench.

Something isn’t right, here.

Suddenly, Pixie-bob glows pink, her feet lifting off the ground like she’s gone weightless with Uraraka’s Quirk. Faster than anyone can react, she’s yanked across the clearing, slamming into a massive—something. Whatever she hits is wrapped in cloth, but solid enough to crack the side of her face open. Blood gushes down her temple, soaking into her pale blonde hair.

From the darkness of the shadows, two people step forward. One is a hulking man with a stubbly chin, and the other has a lizard mutation, who looks like he’s dressed in a bad Stain cosplay. The larger one holds the weird cloth thing.

Pixie-bob drops to the ground in a heap, and the man plants the butt of the weapon on her skull callously.

“This little kitty was in my way,” the man says, his voice pitched strangely high. He giggles. “Should I crush her skull?”

Midoriya lunges forward, but Tiger catches him around the middle, stopping him before he can get more than a step closer to the Villains. The other students draw back fearfully, huddling closer to the Heroes.

The lizard man leaps forward, throwing his arms wide. He wears a bright, manic grin. “I hope you’re doing well, Yuuei High School!” he announces. “We are the Vanguard Action Squad of the League of Villains!”

Midoriya’s blood turns to icy slush.

“The League of Villains?” the boy with the tail says from behind Midoriya. “Who’s that?”

Iida, to Midoriya’s left, clenches his fists. “They attacked the USJ, the first week of school. They planned to ambush our class, but Principal Nedzu-sama interfered with their plans. All Might captured their members personally.” His glare is fierce.

The lizard man scoffs theatrically. “That was then, Hero-ling! This is now. We are the new members of the League of Villains, chosen for our strength of conviction.”

The other man leers over the lizard’s shoulder. “Come on,” he goads, still using that pitched-up voice. “Should I squeeze her until she pops?”

“I won’t let you!” growls Tiger, leaning up on the balls of his feet.

“Wait,” says the lizard, holding up his hands to both his comrade and Tiger. Midoriya blinks, tensing. “Don’t be rash, Magne-nee-san,” he tells his partner. Midoriya squints. “You, too, Tiger. Relax. To take someone’s life, we must follow Stain’s principles.”

Midoriya’s eyebrows shoot up. Okay. So he is actually wearing bad Stain cosplay. Good to know.

“So you’re the ones who follow his ideology,” Iida spits, taking a menacing step forward.

“Exactly!” the lizard says, spreading his arms again. “I am! You, with the glasses, and you, with the curly hair… you were the ones who led Stain to his end in Hosu.” He reaches up over his shoulder to grip a handle that Midoriya hadn’t noticed. “Apologies for the late introduction—” he unsheathes a monstrous weapon— “I’m Spinner! The one who will make his dream come true!”

Midoriya gapes at the weapon. It shouldn’t be physically possible, but it appears to be holding together. About a hundred sharpened blades point towards Midoriya, strapped together with belts and ties. Tiger steps in front of him, using a muscular arm to sweep him back behind Mandalay.

“Say what you want, bastards,” Tiger rumbles. “That girl lying there, Pixie-bob, was thinking about marriage. She was trying to find happiness as a woman, despite her age. How can a man hurt her face like that,” Tiger’s claws extend on the tips of his paw-gloves, “and stand there laughing about it?!”

“Funny!” Spinner yells, dashing towards Tiger. “A Hero who tries to be happy like an ordinary person!”

Tiger parries a slash of that massive amalgamation of blades with his cushy paws.

“Tiger!” Mandalay shouts, “I’ve sent the instructions. Let’s leave the other students to Ragdoll. The two of us will hold them back, here!” She flicks a stressed look over her shoulder at the students. “Everyone, go! Avoid engaging them at any cost. Class rep, you’re in charge!”

“Understood,” barks Iida. “Let’s go.”

Midoriya doesn’t move.

“Midoriya, come on!” Iida says, his voice thinning in desperation. He reaches out, grasping Midoriya by the shoulder harshly, tugging him when he doesn’t turn.

“Go ahead,” Midoriya tells him, ignoring his shock. He shakes out from beneath his grip. “Sosaki-san!” She glances back at him, her brow creased with worry. “I know where Kota is!”

Mandalay gasps, recognition lighting her eyes. “Go, go! Please! Go save him!”

So Midoriya goes. He doesn’t look back at Iida, or the other students, nor even the Villains, though Spinner calls out after him agitatedly. He sets off at a dead sprint down the path that he only half-remembers, trying not to slam into trees that materialize out of the darkness and gathering smoke.

It’s not fast enough. He can hear voices ahead, one trembling and terrified, the other deep and malicious.

One For All flares to life in his veins. He leaps, unafraid, like he had in the woods yesterday. Green lightning arcs off of his skin. Midoriya tackles Kota, sending them both skidding across the ground, tearing the skin of his exposed forearms as he cradles Kota’s head to his chest. He sits up, glaring at the massive, cloaked figure of the Villain who’d been reaching for Kota.

The boy’s hands grasp Midoriya’s shirt shakily. He whispers, his voice harsh and tiny, “M–M–Muscular.”

Midoriya understands. Disgust and fear swoop low in his belly. Muscular, the Villain that had killed both of Kota’s parents in one fell swoop, stands before them.

No reinforcements are coming. Midoriya’s Support items are locked safely in the lab back at Yuuei. It’s just him, the Villain, and a trembling child. Midoriya’s eyes contract to pinpricks.

“Scared, little boy?” Muscular taunts. “I don’t remember seeing your face on the list. That means,” a cruel, ravenous smile wrenches across his face, “I can have some fun with the two of you.”

There’s no one else. It’s just me. Now, get the fuck up, and defeat him.

Midoriya’s legs ache like fire has seared through his muscles—but he can still move. Nothing is broken. It clicks in an instant for him, as he raises his shaking fists. The solution to One For All is to slow the waterfall to a trickle.

He gasps in a breath, clenching his jaw. He tries half—his body screams in protest. Lower. Lower. Lower! He makes it down to five percent, before he can even think to take a step forward.

Shimmering pink patterns trace over his skin; lightning wreaths every bend of his body.

“Lookie what we have here,” says Muscular.

“I’ll protect you, Kota,” Midoriya says, not turning to look at the boy, “no matter what.”

“Coming outta nowhere, preaching justice…” Muscular’s one working eye narrows. “You must be Deku. That irritating little girl is obsessed with you. And everyone else—” he grins, huge and terrifying— “everyone else hates you for taking down Stain! Oh, they’re gonna be so jealous when I tell ‘em I squashed you into paste. Don’t worry.” He rips the black cloak from his shoulders, throwing it to the ground. On his arms, slimy, squirming, pink muscle bursts out of his skin and begins to layer over itself. “I’ll be sure to torment you good.”

The man slams forward with the force of an eighteen-wheeler, and Midoriya can barely raise his One For All-reinforced arm in time to block his punch. Midoriya flies to the side. His shoulder crunches into the face of the cliff wall so hard that he’s sure something is broken. He grits his teeth around a shout of pain that wants to break free.

“Now, why don’t you tell me where the kid named Bakugou is?”

Kota’s sobs are the only sound besides the slow trickle of dust falling around Midoriya.

Muscular grins wider when Midoriya doesn’t answer. “Well, I still have to do my job.” He shrugs, and drives his fist towards Midoriya with lethal strength, muscle fibers snapping and whipping out nauseatingly. Midoriya dives to the side, lightning crackling around him—but his arm!

“Fuck,” Midoriya chokes. The back end of Muscular’s punch has caught Midoriya’s arm, twisting and warping the skin with the friction. In his elbow, something gives a sickening snap!

Pain strikes him, and he stumbles a step, trying not to scream.

“I assume you don’t know the answer,” taunts Muscular, partially obscured by the dust rising around them. “That’s okay. It’s great, even!”

His solid black boot plows into Midoriya’s stomach so hard that spit flies out of his mouth. His torso feels concave—only to be popped back into shape by the force of Midoriya’s spine hitting the cliff behind him. He falls to his hands and knees, coughing. Something wet trails down the side of his face, hot and tangy where it drips onto his lips.

“Yes!” shouts Muscular, exaltant. “Blood! That’s it; keep bleeding for me! This is so much fun.” He laughs, and Midoriya can’t even lift his head to see him, struggling for breath. “What was it? ‘I’ll save you no matter what?’ Then why are you running away? That makes no sense!” Muscular walks leisurely to Midoriya.

He bloodies his fingertips, scraping himself upright.

I can’t worry about Kacchan right now. I have to focus on what’s right in front of me!

Midoriya surges up, One For All making him faster than he’s ever been. His fist connects with the warm, slick muscles of Muscular’s arm, but the man laughs in his face. Reverberations of the power he’s exerting sing through his body. His broken arm sobs with it.

“What’s this power? Is this a Quirk? I thought you were supposed to be the Quirkless Wonderboy! Just wait until the press hears about this—oh, wait.” He cocks his head, every tooth visible in his huge smile. “You’ll be dead before they ever learn about it!” Muscular backhands Midoriya, sending him skidding across the ground again. “That puny Quirk of yours is fast, but weak. With my Quirk, I can enhance my muscles. They get so big that my skin can’t contain them! What am I saying… I’m saying that you’re just an inferior version of me!” He leers down at Midoriya.

Midoriya scrambles to the side as his fist slams down. An explosion of debris flies into the air, a sharp shard of rock gashing Midoriya’s head. As he’s falling, he twists to the side, taking a second punch with his injured arm. His eyesight flickers.

“Can you possibly understand how much fun this is for me?” Muscular wheezes. “I can’t stop laughing! Let’s play, Deku. ‘I’ll save you, no matter what?’ But how? How! Don’t make promises you can’t keep!” He looms over Midoriya, who heaves for each pained breath. “Let’s all be honest with ourselves, yeah?”

Plink!

A tiny pebble hits the back of Muscular’s head.

Kota stands, shaking so hard that it looks like he’s in a localized earthquake. “Water-Hose!” Kota shouts. “My dad… Mom… Did you torture them like this, before you killed them?” his voice rips through the words, teeth tearing through flesh. Midoriya shudders, spitting past the blood streaming over his nose and mouth.

“Huh?” Muscular turns, his joy siphoning away. “For real? The son of those shitheads? This must be fate! Water-Hose… my left eye is like this, thanks to them!”

“Because of you… Because of guys like you—” Kota screams— “the world always ends up like this!”

Muscular sighs, bored. “Kids don’t take on their parents’ responsibilities, y’know,” Muscular says, surprisingly sane. “It’s not like I have a grudge because of the eye. I just wanted to kill someone.”

Midoriya has never been in this much pain before. It’s worse than being suffocated by the Sludge Villain. Worse than having his ankle broken by Stain. Worse by far than Himiko stabbing him. This is all of those put together, and multiplied by ten—no, a hundred. Every millimeter of his body hurts so bad that his vision swims and warps. His own body is attacking him.

Still, the flickers of lightning dance over his mangled limbs. The power of One For All waits under his skin with bated breath, ignorant to the blood and gore.

“This is simply the result of what we wanted to do,” Muscular is saying. “The problem is wanting to do something you’re unable to. Just like your mom and dad,” he roars, raising a club-like hand to swing at Kota’s frozen body.

Midoriya launches himself up. Muscular turns with a laugh and a grin as Midoriya falls at him like a javelin, exclaiming, “I knew that’d get you moving!”

“Actually—” Midoriya says, his teeth gritted— “you’re the problem!”

When they make contact, Muscular’s arm sucks his hand straight in. Midoriya is caught; a hare in a beartrap.

“Are you gonna hit me with those puny fists?!”

“It’s not a matter of whether I can or can’t do it! A Hero—” Midoriya draws back his right fist, letting that burning energy ratchet up to devastating full-force— “always comes through, even at the cost of his life!”

It’s like nothing Midoriya has ever seen. The mountainside explodes with the force of Midoriya’s punch, and he goes flying back. Immediately he knows that his arm has shattered to mush. It’ll be useless from here on out. He’s lucky it’s still attached to his body.

Then, he remembers Kota.

He lunges, digging the toes of his shoes into the ground, aided by One For All, and manages to grasp the back of Kota’s shirt with the barest edge of his teeth. In a mocking facsimile of the way he’d tossed him effortlessly earlier, Midoriya struggles and sweats to pull the boy back over the edge of the cliff.

“Sorry for throwing you so far,” he rasps, standing on fawn-like legs. Kota gasps, his eyes fastened behind Midoriya.

No. No! Midoriya turns, dread churning in his gut. That was one hundred percent! All Might’s Quirk…

Muscular chuckles, muscle fibers sleuthing back into his skin. “You telegraph somethin’ awful. Not a bad punch, though.”

…wasn’t enough!

“Stay away!” Midoriya shouts, his heart pounding.

“Nah,” Muscular sighs, stretching his arm across his chest. “I think I’ll get in your face, since you hate it so much.”

What do I do? What do I do?! I need more time to think!

“What’s the League of Villains after?” Midoriya demands, scooting further in front of Kota.

“Like I care,” Muscular tosses out, his approach not faltering. “I just want to make a mess. As long as I can use my Quirk and kill someone, I don’t care about anything else.” He digs in his pocket. “Don’t you remember? It’s the game we’ve been playing! I know I said it earlier. I totally said ‘let’s play.’” He leers, holding a set of prosthetic eyes. “Well, I’m done playing now. You’re pretty strong. I’ll be using my real eye from now on.”

“Kota,” Midoriya says urgently, crouching down, “hurry! Get on!”

Just as the boy’s arms wrap over him, he leaps, barely avoiding Muscular’s earth-shattering punch. Soaring through the air, horror sweeps through Midoriya. Muscular’s power is twice as much as before. Reverberations of his punch echo all the way through the mountain, the cliff’s edge they’d been standing on cascading down in a deafening landslide. He really had been playing!

Muscular had been toying with Midoriya, and still almost managed to kill him.

The man lunges again. Midoriya makes another hair’s breadth dodge.

“Damnit!” shouts Muscular. “Too much strength!” His fist bored a hole into the face of the mountain, swollen and caught in his disgusting musculature. He tugs at it irritably.

Kota flies off of Midoriya’s back as they both go skidding again. Midoriya is up in a second, everything going red and hazy with adrenaline. He can’t think about his arms, or his chest, or about himself at all. All that matters is Kota.

If we can get back to camp, Eraser Head should be there. He can erase Muscular’s Quirk… a shudder of terror races through him.

No! he tells himself. You don’t have time to be scared!

But can I make it back without being caught? No way. I’m still exhausted from all the training.

Don’t overthink! he begs himself.

If you show your back, he’ll flay you alive.

I have to defeat him—right here, right now! There’s no other choice, Midoriya Izuku! You have to save him. Remember where you came from.

Midoriya straightens up. “Stay back, Kota. When I hit him, run as fast as you can back to camp.”

“When you hit him…” Kota whispers. “Don’t tell me you—no way! Let’s both run! You didn’t even hurt him, and both your arms are broken!”

Lightning arcs up off of Midoriya’s skin.

“It’s fine.” He’d known the risk when he’d used One For All at a hundred percent the first time. He’s willing to lose his arm—his arms, his legs, his life —if it means that Kota lives.

So when Muscular barrels towards them again, Midoriya lets the agony of One For All rip through him again, swinging his arm and holding Muscular back as best as he can. The toes of his trainers dig into the ground. He screams through gritted teeth, tears evaporating from his eyes before they can fall.

“I’m not gonna let you get past me!” Midoriya howls. “So run, Kota, run!”

“Damn you, Deku!” Muscular shouts, bearing down on him with all his might. His grin is bright and sickening. “You’re really the best, huh?!” He swells more, muscles layering, more and more, larger and larger, crushing Midoriya into the ground. “Show me your blood!” he roars.

As if Muscular had commanded it, blood spurts out of Midoriya’s arm, coating his face and chest, and slicking Muscular’s grotesque body.

“A Hero,” Midoriya cries, “will always get past a crisis!”

But he’s losing. His back is flat against the ground, his knees slowly getting pressed down by the sheer strength of Muscular.

I’m sorry, Mom!

Tears trickle out of his eyes, dripping into his ears.

All Might—Nedzu-sensei! I’m sorry!

“I’LL CRUSH YOU!” screams Muscular.

And then he does.

Something wet and cool drips down onto his lips; over his nose. Midoriya splutters.

“Water?” Muscular questions, turning to see.

It’s Kota, standing with dripping hands, his face sick with fear. He shakes like a leaf in a tornado.

“Later… later,” Muscular pants, licking over his lips, his eyes hazy with lust. “I’ll kill you later, kid. I’m so close—”

Midoriya has entered The Zone.

“I was just distracted,” he murmurs.

He doesn’t feel his injuries. Nothing matters, besides the overwhelming waterfall crashing through his body. He’d still been holding it back. Fear, in some dark corner of his heart, had prevented Midoriya from unleashing the full force of One For All against Muscular. Fear of killing? Fear of ending his own life?

Midoriya can’t be sure. It doesn’t matter, now.

It doesn’t matter, because One For All flows through him, bowing his spine and forcing Muscular away like blowing on a speck of dust. Midoriya pushes himself up, as easy as breathing.

“As if I would let you kill him,” he says, hearing himself distantly. Izuku draws his fist back, letting nine generations of energy course through his veins, embracing it, reveling in the pain, and breaks his knuckles against Muscular’s cheek.

The body slams into the face of the cliff, head nothing but a pink splash of brain matter.

Midoriya takes a breath. He rolls his shoulders back, letting One For All fade from his limbs, and he unhinges his jaw for a gut-wrenching howl of victory. His throat tears with it; his eyes water; every nerve alights with all the pain he’d been ignoring.

But he did it.

“There’s still something I have to do,” Midoriya rasps. Kota clings to his shin, crying pitifully. Midoriya wishes he could hug him.

“What could you possibly need to do, all beat up like this?”

“Bakugou… Muscular asked about Kacchan. If all of the Villains here tonight are on his level, everyone is in danger. I have to warn the classes, and the Pussycats, that the Villains are after certain students.” Midoriya takes a breath. “If I can still save them, I’ve got no choice but to act.” He turns to Muscular’s headless body, and swallows. “I’ll just… leave him, for now.”

Kota’s breath hitches.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Midoriya says. “I just… wanted to protect you. I thought my arm being broken would weaken the punch, but I guess not.”

Kota shudders, sniffling against Midoriya’s shorts. “I—I know, know. Y–you were just, just trying to, to, to keep me safe.”

Midoriya frowns. “Kota, there’s still something I need you to do.”

The boy looks up at him, his eyes wide and trusting. “Anything.”

“You’re the only one here tonight who can put out those fires,” Midoriya says, jerking his head in the direction of the crackling blue flames eating up the forest in the distance. “We need your Quirk, Kota-kun.”

Kota agrees to cling to his back like a little tree frog, and Midoriya leaps from the cliff, his legs crackling with One For All. When they hit the ground, he deactivates it, and runs normally. After all, Muscular was right. The press would go insane over the news that Midoriya has a Quirk, especially after all the outspoken support Yuuei had offered him as a Quirkless Hero.

Revealing his Quirk isn’t really an option. He doesn’t know what he’s going to say about defeating Muscular—possibly that his prosthetic eye had exploded after being punched particularly hard—but that’s a later issue.

“Kota-kun,” Midoriya pants.

“Yeah?” he responds.

“Don’t tell the police about my Quirk when they ask, okay? I promise, we won’t get in trouble. I’ll explain everything later. Just—” he takes a desperate breath— “please don’t tell anyone. No one knows but you.”

The boy is silent for a long moment. Then, his arms tighten around Midoriya’s neck. “Okay, Midoriya,” he says. “I trust you.”

“Thank you, Kota-kun.” Midoriya smiles even though the boy can’t see it. “And, you can call me Izuku, if you want. Or Deku.”

“That’s what M–Muscular was calling you, right?”

“It’s my Hero name,” Midoriya says.

“Deku, then,” Kota says immediately.

Then, he nearly plows straight into Eraser Head. He scrapes to a stop, his arms flopping limply at his sides.

“Eraser Head-sensei!” Midoriya crows. “I’m so glad to see you!”

Eraser Head’s mouth falls open, his eyes popping wide. “What the hell happened to you?”

“It’s terrible! I have a lot to tell you,” Midoriya pants. Kota slides off his back, and Midoriya straightens with a jerk. “I need to tell Sosaki-san that I got Kota! I’ll leave him here with you, okay?”

“Wait!” Eraser Head shouts, gruff and confused. Midoriya stumbles to a stop from where he’s started to take off into the woods again. “Do you remember what I told my students in Hosu?”

“I don’t have time for this!” Midoriya says, frustrated. Eraser Head scowls.

“Just—” he clicks his tongue. “Tell Mandalay to send out a message to all the students: I give them permission to use their Quirks in the event of life-threatening danger.”

Midoriya nods sharply. He pivots on his heel, and then spins back. “Oh! One last thing.” He leans forward, and plants a kiss on top of Kota’s hat. “Stay safe, okay, Kota-kun?”

Kota’s lower lip wobbles. He leans up on his toes, and presses his cheek against Midoriya’s. “You, too. You already did enough, tonight.”

Midoriya pulls back with a smile. “Like I said, Kota-kun. If I can save anyone else, I’ve got to. Remember what we talked about.”

Then, Midoriya tears off back into the darkness.

Chapter Text

[SIGNAL LOST]

When Midoriya enters the clearing where Tiger and Mandalay battle, the first thing he does is knock that absurd blade out of Spinner’s grasp. As it hits the ground it shatters, more like a piece of ice than a multitude of weapons strapped together.

“Sosaki-san!” he shouts, crouching over the scattered shrapnel of swords and knives. “Kota is safe!”

She gapes at his battered visage.

“And Eraser Head says to use Telepath to tell everyone in class A and B, in the name of Pro-Hero Eraser Head, permission to engage in combat is hereby granted!”

Mandalay bites her lip, nodding sternly. In the next moment, her voice is echoing his words through his head. Then, she leaps at Spinner, who swipes out at her stomach with his claw-tipped hands.

“Get back to camp!” she instructs. “Those injuries look awful.”

“I can’t!” Midoriya shouts, already sprinting out the other side of the clearing. “Please, tell everyone that the Villains’ target—at least one of them—is Kacchan!”

“Who’s that?” she demands, bewildered.

He doesn’t stop to answer. The larger Villain tries to lunge at him from the side, but a knife flies between them, missing both of them by only centimeters. Behind him, the Villains argue, but he’s already disappearing down the end path of the Test of Courage.

In his head he hears, “One of the Villains’ targets has been discovered! The student: Kacchan! Kacchan should avoid combat and acting alone if possible.”

He runs. Kacchan and Todoroki had gone into the Test of Courage second, so if they haven’t been traveling since then, they shouldn’t be too far from where he is, now. Taking the reverse path might even get him there before any Villains find them. Of course, this is Kacchan, so it’s unlikely that they’d stayed in one place. He’s panting, listening for the sound of Explosion, when something whistles through the air above his head.

Suddenly, in a movement that elicits blinding agony in his arms, he’s scooped up into a cocoon of webbed appendages by the 1-A boy, Shoji Mezou. Midoriya’s chin slams into his shoulder, and Shoji winces.

“Sh–Shoji-san?” Midoriya asks.

“With that injury…” Shoji’s back is sweaty against Midoriya’s own tacky skin. “You really shouldn’t be moving.” His shoulders tremble and jerk from overuse as he gasps for breath. Shoji projects exhaustion from every sweat-soaked pore of his overheated body. “All this to save your friends? What a guy.”

“Just now—” Midoriya asks, squinting into the darkness.

Shoji shakes his head sadly. “It’s Tokoyami-kun. Well, Dark Shadow-san, actually. I was defending us from Villains, and I received an injury.” Midoriya can see the steady dribble of blood from a stump where one of his many hands should be. “Tokoyami-kun couldn’t hold her back, then. She’s gone berserk.”

“No,” Midoriya breathes, thumping his head onto the back of Shoji’s neck.

“Yeah. If we want to get through here, we’re gonna have to do something about her.”

A few feet away, masked in the shadows of the trees and his own Quirk, Tokoyami writhes in the grasp of Dark Shadow. “Don’t,” he chokes out, “Don’t come any closer! You’ll die!”

“Such a beautiful Quirk,” Midoriya sighs, watching Dark Shadow’s swollen form crush trees beneath her gigantic hands.

“I think Tokoyami-kun’s emotions are fueling her, too. His regret, his indignation…” Shoji takes a step back, accidentally snapping a twig under his heel. Instantly, Dark Shadow is upon them, swiping wildly, blindly at the trees and bushes as Shoji ducks away.

He whispers fervently, “She’s a monster, reacting to any movement or sound; attacking indiscriminately.”

“Leave me!” shouts Tokoyami. His voice is tortured and strung-out. Midoriya wonders if Dark Shadow growing this large actually hurts Tokoyami, somehow. “Forget about me! Go to the others, and save them!”

“Midoriya-kun,” Shoji breathes, “the last thing I want to be is a man who leaves his friends behind. You came here like that, looking for Bakugou. I would be worthless if I left Tokoyami-kun like this.”

Midoriya swallows, thinking with all his might.

Dark Shadow is weak to light. The campfire at the lodge might work, but that’s so far out of reach that it’s laughable. Light, light, light… Light! Kacchan and Todoroki are (hopefully) together, and they can both produce bright lights on command. And, it’s two birds with one stone. The only problem…

“Shoji-san,” Midoriya whispers, “how fast can you run?”

The answer is: fast enough. Barely.

They crash through the forest, foliage he can’t duck whipping Midoriya in the face, until they see an enormous glacier, and then tear off in that direction, screaming, “LIGHT! Make a light!”

No one reacts. Shoji goes sliding on the ice, nearly toppling over on the slick surface. Behind them, Dark Shadow tears into a weird tooth-Villain that Todoroki and Kacchan have been facing down. The Villain is grotesque-looking; their arms are pinned to their sides by the full-body straight jacket they’re buckled into. Their mouth stretches absurdly wide, teeth growing and elongating enough to lift them from the ground so they dangle in midair like a demonic enamel-spider.

“Light!” screams Midoriya. “Kacchan! Make a fucking light!”

“Dark Shadow’s gone wild!” Shoji shouts hoarsely. He barely ducks around Dark Shadow’s claw, which rends the soil where Shoji had stepped.

“Wait,” Kacchan commands, figure tense. Shoji stumbles to a stop behind him and Todoroki.

The tooth Villain tries—stupidly—to stab Dark Shadow with his teeth. Dark Shadow, unsurprisingly, shakes him like a chew toy, and flings him so hard against a tree that Midoriya is sure his spine must be broken.

She lets out an ear-bleeding screech. “More!” Dark Shadow cries. “I want more!”

When she tries to dive at them, Kacchan and Todoroki’s hands alight without another thought. Tokoyami cowers on the ground, apologizing over and over again. Shoji hushes him, and they delve into strategizing about how to get Kacchan safely back to camp. At this point, making it through the next five minutes is all anyone is thinking about.

Todoroki crowds close to Midoriya, his eyes worried. “How did you get so injured?”

“We can talk as we walk,” Midoriya says evasively. “Kacchan in the middle, please.”

Kacchan bitches, but follows. Tokoyami fades in the very back of the group, his regret still thick in the air around him.

Todoroki’s concern is palpable, though his face remains a blank canvas.

“I battled a Villain named Muscular,” Midoriya says, trying to keep his voice low to hear any disturbance in the forest. From his cradle in Shoji’s arms, he's not much help besides being a lookout. “He was… strong. But Kota-kun was there, so I had to win.”

“And now?” Shoji asks. “Where is the Villain now?”

“Dead,” Midoriya says flatly.

Shoji’s steps falter.

“You killed him?” Todoroki asks. There’s a sharp inhale from behind them, but Midoriya can’t turn to see if it’s Kacchan or Tokoyami. Todoroki looks cooly disinterested.

“Yes. I punched him a–and his prosthetic eye exploded.” Midoriya swallows.

“It’s alright, Midoriya-kun,” says Tokoyami, bravely. “It can’t be helped, on a night like tonight. Dark Shadow very well might have killed that man that we left behind. It is survival of the fittest. We are Heroes in training.” He sounds a bit like he’s reassuring himself, but it still works. Midoriya’s heart settles into a steadier rhythm.

That’s when they hear the scuffle up ahead.

They dart forward, and Midoriya makes harsh, direct eye contact with one of the people he’s been dreading seeing since he heard the words “League of Villains” fall from Spinner’s lips. In the crook of Midoriya’s arm, his scars give an almost unnoticeable throb. As if the prints of her teeth know that their owner is near. 

Himiko gives a great big gasp, her pupils fattening.

Midoriya can’t help himself. “Himiko-chan,” he breathes.

She hesitates, staring at Midoriya’s blood-caked face with hunger burning deep in her eyes, but turns to flee when Todoroki takes a threatening step in her direction.

“Who was that?” Todoroki demands. Uraraka and Asui, who seem scuffed up, but overall well enough, begin to explain.

On one of his arms, Shoji’s eye blinks at Midoriya curiously. He stays quiet, staring into the woods where Himiko had disappeared. Midoriya misses some back and forth between the others, but jolts back to the present when Uraraka says, “Nevermind that! What happened to Deku-kun?”

“A Villain,” he says absently. “I’m glad you’re alright, Uraraka-san,” he says, giving her a quick once-over. “You, too, Asui-san.”

“Tsuyu, please,” the green-haired girl says.

“Ts–Tsuyu-chan,” Midoriya stutters. “You guys should come with us. We’re escorting Kacchan back to camp.”

“Kero? You’re escorting Bakugou-kun?” Asui asks, pressing a finger to her chin. “Then where is he?”

“What?” Midoriya asks. “He’s right behind—”

It’s like his heart stops beating. There’s nothing but a deserted path at Shoji’s back. No sign of Tokoyami. No sign of Kacchan.

Was it Himiko? Was I so distracted with her that they managed to steal him right from under my nose?!

He starts to hyperventilate.

High above them, an even, cheerful voice calls, “If you mean Bakugou Katsuki, I made him disappear with my magic.” A person in a bright yellow trench coat, complete with a top hat and staff, stands artistically balanced on a wide branch. They wear a painted, ceramic mask over their face, and a full bodysuit, so that even the color of their skin is obscured. “That one shouldn’t be on the Heroes’ side, you know. We’ll give him a stage where he can shine much brighter.”

“Give him back!” Midoriya shouts, the words tearing out of his chest with physical pain.

“‘Give him back?’” The Villain says, tossing a tiny blue marble absentmindedly. “What a strange thing to say. He’s not an object. Bakugou belongs to no one. He’s his own person.” The Villain hums. “You’re quite selfish, aren’t you?”

Midoriya snarls. “I said give him back.”

“Move!” Todoroki commands, stomping a foot down. Ice spears up towards the Villain, who launches effortlessly into the air, gripping their top hat with one hand.

“What we want is simply to show that there’s an alternative. An alternative way of thinking beyond your strict values.” He lands on the very highest branch of a nearby tree, and points his cane down at them. “Kids these days are made to choose their path early on.”

“You’re arrogant,” spits Todoroki. “You’re underestimating us, standing here chattering like we won’t retaliate.”

“You know, I was an entertainer,” says the Villain. “I admit, it’s a bad habit of mine. I improvised a bit and took that bird-headed boy, as well. He seems like he’d be a good fit somewhere a tad bit more… flexible. Moonfish—the man with the tooth Quirk, that is—was on death row. His appeal was dismissed. This boy handily trampled a man like that.”

“Damn you!” Midoriya screams, blood pounding in his ears. “Give them back!”

“Calm down, Izuku,” Todoroki says, dumping the 1-B boy slung over his shoulders to the ground. “Uraraka-san, take care of him.” He takes two steps forward, and slams his foot into the dirt. From the tip of his trainer, the biggest glacier that Midoriya has ever seen thunders into being. It’s at least twice as large as the one he’d frozen Sero in, during the Sports Festival.

“Sorry folks!” calls the Villain, dancing in the air above the spiked tips of Todoroki’s ice. “I’m only good at swindling and escaping.” They give a charming laugh. “Fight with Heroes-in-training? No thank you!” They drift out of sight, behind the opaque glacier. They can hear the Villain’s voice, loud and clear, as they float away. “Vanguard Action Squad, I have the target! It was a short show, but we are closing the curtains. Now, head to the retrieval point within the next five minutes.”

“No!” howls Midoriya, trapped against Shoji.

“We can’t let him get away,” Todoroki says, tearing off after the shadow of the Villain.

They sprint as fast as they can, but the Villain seems to flit between the branches of the trees like they’re completely weightless.

“Damn it!” Todoroki huffs. “If only Iida were here!”

“We can’t just give up,” Midoriya says harshly. Every step of Shoji’s sends writhing anguish through his flayed nerves. He grits his teeth and bears it. “We have to reach the Villain and get them back.”

“But he’s getting further away!” Uraraka pants.

“Uraraka!” Midoriya snaps, the plan coming to him in an instant. “Make us float! And Asui, throw us as far as you can with your tongue! Shoji, adjust our trajectory with your arms!”

“I see,” says Todoroki. “A human cannonball.”

“Wait—but your arms! You can’t fight like that, Deku-kun,” Uraraka gasps.

“Izuku, she’s right. You stay here—”

“No.” His voice is the lash of a red-hot whip. “I don’t feel any pain right now. I can move. I’m not letting him take Kacchan from me.” He snarls, low in his throat. “Hurry!”

“At least take this!” Uraraka says. In an impressive show of strength, she rips her shirt down the middle, and they slow so that she can wrap his mangled arms with it.

With new splints in place, Midoriya, Shoji, and Todoroki crowd together so that Asui’s tongue can wrap around them. Uraraka taps them lightly, negating their weight, and they are flung at mach-speed straight at the Villain. Their weight returns and they crash down to the ground so heavily that Midoriya’s teeth rattle in his skull.

His vision is starting to gray out. The only thing keeping him going right now is the thought of Kacchan, trapped in that tiny blue marble.

“Hey, hey, hey! I know these brats!” shouts a man wearing a black and gray zentai suit, pointing at them. Then, he scratches his chin and demands, “Who are you?”

“Mister,” commands a low, rough voice, “avoid.”

“Right-o!” The Villain Midoriya is sitting on pops out of existence, and a whirl of blue flame sears straight towards him. Midoriya flattens to the ground, but he knows the Villain’s diversion was successful.

He can’t see Todoroki; he can’t see Shoji; and worst of all, the Villain with Kacchan is gone.

Midoriya rolls out of the path of the flames, and right to Himiko’s feet.

“Hiya, Izukun,” she croons, her voice syrupy-sweet. A brilliant blush settles over her cheeks, and her tongue darts out to lick her lip. “I told you I’d be making a difference on my end. I had no idea that you’d be here, too! You weren’t on the lists.”

Midoriya gasps for breath. “Why does Shigaraki want Kacchan?”

She giggles. “You know, I had no idea you were Shigaraki -kun’s beloved. I would have just asked you to put us in contact,” she says. “He was so mad at me when he came back from his little visit to you this weekend. I thought I might actually die!”

Himiko flips up her skirt so she can settle over Midoriya’s lap more comfortably.

“Himiko-chan,” he says desperately, “I really don’t have time for this right now! I need to get Kacchan back!”

“Who’s that?” she asks curiously, leaning in to lick a stripe up the blood that has crusted on his cheek. Midoriya angles his head away, but she makes a disgusted noise regardless. “Yuck, congealed blood is gross.”

“Kacchan—Bakugou Katsuki. They keep saying he was on your list.”

Shoji, appearing out of thin air, smacks the everloving shit out of Himiko before she can answer. She gives a distressed shriek as she’s thrown off of Midoriya, and he struggles to push himself up with his stupid splinted arms.

“So that’s how it is,” Himiko says, her voice cold and hard in a way that Midoriya has never heard. “You’re going to get in my way.” Her eyes are shadowed and nearly pupil-less, and her mouth curls down into a snarl. “I don’t like you at all—and I don’t want you anywhere near my Izukun.”

“She’s crazy,” Shoji murmurs, settling into a defensive crouch. Before he has to do or say anything—thankfully, because Midoriya has no idea what the hell he’s supposed to do in this situation—the Villain, Mister, reappears.

“Todoroki, Midoriya,” barks Shoji, “let’s go. I have no idea what his Quirk is, but that right there just confirmed it.” Shoji opens one of his palms, and shows the two blue marbles that the Villain had been toying with, before. “They’re Tokoyami and Bakugou, aren’t they Mister Entertainer?”

“Shoji!” cries Midoriya, overjoyed.

“Impressive,” says Mister, “in that short amount of time… as expected of a boy with six arms. You’re pretty good at thievery.”

Midoriya and Shoji start jogging towards the mouth of the clearing, and Todoroki sends up a wall of ice towards the Villain he’s been dodging around as he tries to follow.

“Great job, Shoji,” Todoroki says.

The scarred, flame-wielding Villain scoffs derisively at his comrade. “Fool.”

They’re almost out of the clearing, when a Nomu appears out of the treeline, lumbering towards them. Midoriya’s heart seizes in his chest. “This way!” he cries, shifting to the left. Before they can get more than three steps away, a purple-black tear in the fabric of the universe rips wide open.

“Oh no,” Midoriya breathes.

“What is this?” Todoroki spits, lifting his hands like he might spew flames at the warp-Quirk.

“It has been five minutes since the signal, Dabi-san,” intones the warp-Quirk, looking right over the student’s heads without acknowledging them. “Time to go.”

Himiko, without hesitation, heads into a portal a few steps away from her. “Bye-bye, Izukun. I’m sure I’ll see you real soon, okay?” she gives a little giggle, and wiggles her fingers at him as she disappears.

The zentai-clad man dives straight into his portal without another word, leaving the three boys with only Mister, Dabi, and a Nomu. Discounting the warp-Quirk as a fighter—since Midoriya has never seen the thing battle—Midoriya’s not sure how this battle will play out.

They have the upper hand. Kacchan and Tokoyami’s marbles are still securely in Shoji’s grip.

Mister begins to enter the only remaining portal, but Dabi halts him. “Wait. The target is still—”

“They seemed so happy!” Mister interrupts. “So I decided to give those as a present.” Midoriya turns. “It’s another bad habit of mine,” the man chuckles, “one of the basics of magic. When I flaunt something—” he swiftly removes his hat and his porcelain mask— “there’s always something I don’t want you to see.”

Sitting delicately on his tongue like tapioca pearls are two perfectly round, blue marbles.

“No!” gasps Midoriya. He stumbles forward a step, but it feels like he’s had the wind knocked out of him.

He’d thought—

With a snap of the magician’s fingers, the marbles in Shoji’s hands pop, revealing chunks of ice.

“My ice?” Todoroki asks, dumbfounded.

“During your ice attacks, I prepared diversions in my right pocket.” The man replaces his mask and hat.

“Damn it!” Midoriya snaps. “He’s got a Quirk that compresses and confines things!” He starts running forward, arms limp behind him, sprinting with everything he has left.

“If you discovered that what was in my right hand was in my right pocket, of course you’d rush over here happily to retrieve it. There couldn’t be a more obvious trick in the book.”

“Wait!” shouts Midoriya.

“Oh, well,” Mister says, bowing forward so that he’s half-out of the portal. “That’s all from me.” As the words leave his mouth, a blinding, shimmering light strikes him across the face.

His mask shatters into pieces—and Mister coughs out the marbles that had lain on his tongue. Shoji and Todoroki lunge forward, but as Midoriya tries to reach out to grasp one of the flying marbles, his arms give the most distressing wail of the night. It is unignorable.

“Gah!” he chokes, stumbling, tripping over the tip of his trainer, and scraping his bare chest along the rough, burned earth.

Midoriya can only watch as the scarred man snatches a marble right out of Todoroki’s palm. His grin is cruel; Midoriya is sure he can be crueler. A snarl curls his mouth.

“That’s pretty sad, right?” Dabi simpers sarcastically, “Todoroki Shouto.”

Todoroki goes sprawling, overbalanced from how hard he’d been reaching forward.

“Release it,” Dabi commands, his voice back to dead as ice. “I need to be sure.”

“My show is ruined!” cries Mister. He hides in the portal, and snaps his fingers at last. In Shoji’s hand, Tokoyami reappears.

In Dabi’s grip, dazed and confused, is Kacchan.

“Perfect,” says Dabi, sinking back into the portal. “No problem.”

Kacchan blinks, his eyes wide. In a heartbeat—less than a heartbeat, because Midoriya can feel every thump of his, now that Kacchan has returned—Midoriya is on his feet again, flying towards the portal. He doesn’t care about his arms. He doesn’t care about preserving the secret of One For All. He can’t think about anything besides the fact that Kacchan’s eyes look exactly like they did all those months ago, when the Sludge Villain had seeped down his throat.

His eyes beg for help.

“Don’t come, Deku,” Kacchan chokes out. As the last syllable leaves his lips, the portal closes.

Midoriya lands face-first on the ground. He’s up again before he can blink, turning to stare behind him where the portal had been. All that’s there is the raging blue fire in the trees.

For a moment, everything ceases.

He cannot hear the crackle of the flames, or feel the pain in his arms that had seemed so overwhelming, only moments ago. His mouth is stuck, wide, but he cannot taste the dirt on his lips. He cannot smell the sulfurous lilac smoke that had tainted the air. There is only the blood rushing in his ears; only Kacchan’s name on his tongue.

“Don’t come, Deku.”

“Don’t come, Deku.”

Don’t come.

And he screams.

He doesn’t remember waking up. Nedzu, sitting on the foot of his hospital bed, tells him about the horrific end to the training camp in steady streams of words. Of course, the prinicpal hadn’t been there, but he’d read all of the transcripts from the other students, and the four Heroes who could give testimonies.

“On no less than six different recounts, the end of the attack on the camp can be marked by your voice, Midoriya-kun.” Nedzu’s tone is inflectionless.

Midoriya stares at the wall.

“Detective Tsukauchi-san still needs to speak with you, to gather your own memories,” Nedzu continues, though Midoriya gives no indication that he is listening. “We will be moving forward with a plan of my own invention, to retrieve Bakugou-kun.”

Something swims to the surface of Midoriya’s mind, past all the haze of the painkillers in his system. Kacchan. His lips part, and Nedzu stops speaking like he’d begun to shout. It takes a moment for him to find his vocal chords.

“I guess,” he says, though the words are sandpaper over a block of wood in his sore throat, “Mei-chan was right. And Neito-kun… and Hitoshi-kun…”

Nedzu waits, but when no more words are forthcoming, he asks, “They were right about what, Midoriya-kun?” His glass-bead eyes are still and calm, but the nervous twitch of his ears betrays him.

“I do love Kacchan.”

The first day that Monoma had willingly eaten lunch with them, Midoriya had pointed out Kacchan from across the cafeteria. He can picture the memory with perfect clarity. The sun streaming in from the window behind Kacchan’s table; Kaminari and Ashido leaned in on either side of Kacchan’s shoulders; the way Midoriya had complained about Kacchan’s beat-up combat boots.

“Oh, Midoriya-kun…” Nedzu brushes away tears that Midoriya didn’t realize have started to gush down his cheeks.

He can’t really breathe around the tube in his nose and the soreness of his throat. His tongue feels swollen in his mouth, and he keeps swallowing like that will help him catch his breath. Midoriya guesses that it’s more of a mental thing. Mentally, he’s had the wind knocked out of him.

He starts hiccuping around his sobs. “I—I—I r–really, r–really, didn’t–idn’t know,” he says, staring at his empty hands. “Of, of course.” Another wave of tears flows down his face, hot and salty and stinging his eyes. “I love Kacchan.”

It only took his kidnapping to realize it.

Nedzu crawls forward, wrinkling his clean, pressed suit. He curls up under Midoriya’s chin, in a more vulnerable position than Midoriya has ever seen him in, before. Like this, he truly feels like an animal; a soft, comforting pet.

Somehow, simultaneously, Midoriya feels this like the embrace of the father he’s never had. Nedzu’s silky fur rubs against the scars on his throat when Midoriya’s breathing shudders. His warmth resonates through Midoriya like the weight of his mother’s hugs; it pierces through the drugs, helping him finally escape that filmy dream-like state.

Here, in the real world, the pain of losing Kacchan hits him all over again.

“He’s—he’s g–g–o–one,” Midoriya sobs, pressing his cheek into the top of Nedzu’s head. He’s sure his tears are soaking his sensei ’s head, but the chimera doesn’t move. He uses the unbearably soft pads of his paws to stroke long, soothing lines over Midoriya’s shoulders.

Midoriya would hug him, if he could. Unfortunately, his arms are pinned wide-open, in solid, white casts that are attached to the ceiling to keep him from moving by accident.

“He will not be gone for long, Midoriya-kun,” says Nedzu, his words edged with the barest hint of a purr.

“W–what’s your plan?” he asks dully, shoulders still hitching with his tears.

“We will hold a broadcast this evening. Myself, Aizawa-san, and Kan-san will open the floor to questions. I hope that this will draw the attention of the League of Villains, and thereby distract them from the attack we will be launching. Yaoyorozu Momo-kun and Awase Yosetsu-kun managed to attach a rudimentary tracking device to the back of the Nomu that was present at the training camp. She has traced the location to a building that we will also be approaching. This will be a two-fold attack: one against the building Yaoyorozu-kun has identified, and another against a bar that Detective Tsukauchi-san has been scouting as a possible hideout for a few days.”

Midoriya releases a soft, shuddering sigh.

Nedzu pulls away, and Midoriya can’t help but compare the feeling to removing a bandage from a wound too soon. He’s still raw and bleeding. Nedzu’s soft, cottony fur had been holding his skin together; now he feels as if he might rip apart like a fragile scab, and spill his guts down his front.

Nedzu’s ears press flat, his tail lashing unhappily. “I would stay, if I could, Midoriya-kun. Please, believe me. I was lucky to be able to spend this time with you, and I am truly glad that you are back with me.” His snout twitches, and he says, “I believe your classmates are here to pay you a visit, anyway. I will take my leave, now.” He pats Midoriya’s knee—the one with stitches still in it, actually—and hops down from the hospital bed.

When he opens Midoriya’s door, a half-dozen odd students pour into his room, most of them almost tripping over their principal, and then bowing profusely.

The door shuts again, and they breathe a sigh of relief, exchanging sheepish glances.

It’s an odd mish-mash of students that have come to visit him. Kirishima, Kaminari, Iida, Todoroki, Tokoyami, and Shinsou from class 1-A, with Kendou, Monoma, and, strangely enough, Kodai Yui from 1-B.

Monoma darts over to Midoriya’s side immediately, and then flutters back and forth nervously, as if unsure where to put his hands now that he can’t hold Midoriya’s.

“Izuku,” he breathes, leaning over the railing of Midoriya’s bed. “I’m so glad that you’re awake. The doctors weren’t sure if you were going to come around today.”

Midoriya fights the wobble of his chin. “I guess I’m just pretty stubborn, huh?”

Monoma’s eyes are sad. “I’m glad for it,” he says softly.

Midoriya’s gaze slides past him, to the other students. “How is everyone else doing?” he asks, clearing his throat with a harsh cough.

Iida winces. “A great deal of us were harmed by the smoke produced by the Villain Mustard—who was successfully captured, thanks to Kendou-san, and Tetsutetsu-san.” Kendou blushes at the recognition. “Yaomomo-san received quite a nasty head injury, and has been sleeping off her concussion. Asui-san and Uraraka-san were treated for minor stab wounds, and Aoyama-san had a mild case of Quirk overuse.” Iida counts off on his fingers. “I believe that is everyone, from my class.”

Kendou nods. “1-B took most of the damage from the smoke,” she says, her blue eyes serious. She crosses her arms. “Since we were the ones in the forest, we were the worst-off when it came to reaction time, and getting out of it before succumbing to the fumes.”

Shinsou paces around the room until he’s on Midoriya’s other side, partially hidden by his IV fluids. He leans close, crossing his arms over the railing of the bed, and murmurs, “I feel like total shit for this weekend. I really wish I could take everything I said back.”

Midoriya swallows. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, with a wobbly smile. “I’d already forgotten all about that.”

Shinsou sighs and shakes his head. “I can’t believe I seriously considered that you could be… helping them,” Shinsou says, stepping carefully with his words. He cuts his eyes to Midoriya’s thick, constrictive casts, and says, “I think you’re the bravest guy I know.”

“Ah, um, a–anyone would have done it,” Midoriya denies.

“No way,” Shinsou says, shaking his head.

“Not a chance in hell, for that brat,” says Monoma, a touch of humor coloring his tone.

Kodai cocks her head. “You all know that he killed that man, correct?”

The bottom drops out of Midoriya’s stomach. In his mind’s eye, he can see Muscular’s headless body, slumped inelegantly against the shattered cliff face. He can see the halo of viscera that had surrounded him. Midoriya remembers the bits of skull that were stuck to his knuckles.

He remembers picking them off, and flicking them to the ground.

When he wades back to the present, everyone is arguing. Monoma’s back is to him, and Midoriya can see the knobs of his spine over the top of his T-shirt as he gestures.

“—did what he had to!”

“We are Heroes,” says Kodai, her face unflinchingly cold. It sends a chill down Midoriya’s immoble body. “We do not reserve the right to kill.”

“Would you rather an innocent boy die?” Midoriya asks, his voice rough, but words steady. The room goes quiet immediately, everyone turning to look at him. Kodai barely moves her head.

“Are you referring to yourself? Once the choice to kill has been made—”

“No,” Midoriya interrupts. “I’m referring to Izumi Kota, Mandalay’s six-year-old cousin. The boy that Muscular was going to torture to death.”

Shinsou flinches, his hands curling tensely over the bed rail.

“Midoriya-kun…” Iida says, his voice low. “Are you sure?”

“Well, I’m sure that he nearly beat me to death. I’m sure he told me he’d kill Kota after he got through with me. I’m sure that he killed both of Kota’s parents, and wanted to do the same to Kota because it would be ‘poetic.’” Midoriya stares Kodai down. “But I asked her a question.”

This, Kodai does twitch at.

Beside her, Kendou takes a step away, towards the door. Midoriya pays her no attention. He is single mindedly focused on the girl who thinks that Midoriya is in the wrong. In his mind, he can hear Nedzu urging him onward.

If I can’t convince this one girl that what I did was right, I won’t be able to convince the world. Midoriya grits his teeth. I need to convince her. Right here, right now.

“Would you rather I had let Kota-kun die?”

Kodai’s lips part. “No, but—”

“Then I had to battle Muscular with one hundred percent of my abilities,” Midoriya says, strong as steel cables. “If I hadn’t, he would have killed me first, and gone after Kota-kun.”

“You say he would have killed you, but then, how did you manage to get the better of him? He’d been eviscerated. The forensics team had to call in a specialist to gather all his skull fragments,” Kodai says, centering herself with an obvious flex of her fingers.

“His own prosthetic did that to him,” Midoriya says. The cords in his neck twitch. “I punched him in the cheek, and his prosthetic eye exploded.”

She blinks, thrown. “Really?”

“Yes.” In the most basic sense, Midoriya isn’t lying. Muscular’s eye had exploded when Midoriya had punched him. It just wasn’t the cause of the rest of his skull flying apart into a fine mist.

“Oh,” Kodai says. She blinks. “So, you weren’t using lethal force?”

Midoriya swallows. “How would I have been able to do that?” he asks. “I’m—I’m Quirkless. I couldn’t have killed him unless he’d already been down. Besides,” he says, mouth twisting, “without a Quirk, I just couldn’t have been able to get that… effect.”

“Red mist,” says Kaminari. Everyone turns to look at him, and he shifts uncomfortably. “Uh, that’s what they call it when people are vaporized by bombs. You become red mist.”

Iida nods slowly. “Yes. That definitely cannot be caused by normal, human means.”

“But,” Midoriya says, focusing back on Kodai, “I would have used lethal force, if I could have.” He swallows. “I am a firm believer that everyone deserves a second chance. I think prisons should be rehabilitation centers. But there is a reason that police carry firearms—because, sometimes, it is them or you.” Midoriya looks at his arms, pinned in their casts. “I killed Muscular to save Kota.” His breath shudders. “I would do it again. I didn’t know he was going to die, but I would do it again, knowingly, if it meant that Kota got to survive.” Tears begin to pool in his eyes. “I was willing to die for him. I thought I was going to die for him. That last hit… he’d tried to crush me. Kota distracted him, and I realized that I couldn’t feel my injuries anymore. So I stood up, and I punched him.”

Kendou presses a hand over her mouth. At his sides, Monoma and Shinsou are stock-still with horror.

Midoriya bows his head. “The only thing I regret is that I couldn’t save Kacchan. He was right there… he was in my reach, and I couldn’t—I, I couldn’t,” he gasps, “I couldn’t save him because of my stupid arms!”

“Hey, hey,” soothes Monoma, pressing a worried hand to Midoriya’s head. “You did more than enough.”

“It’s not all on you,” says Shinsou.

Midoriya shudders, a sob ripping out of his throat pitifully. Everyone else looks painfully awkward as he cries, but he can’t seem to stop himself. Kacchan is gone and it’s all his fault.

“No,” says Todoroki, who has been utterly silent until now. Midoriya stares up at him with streaming eyes. “No,” he repeats. “It was my fault.”

Midoriya shakes his head. It doesn’t seem forceful enough to him, so he chokes out, “N–no! Not you!”

“Yes, it was,” Todoroki says. “It was my fault. It was my fault—and your fault. And Shoji’s fault, and Tokoyami’s fault, and Aizawa-sensei ’s fault, and the Pussycats’ fault. We all failed Bakugou last night.”

Kirishima leaps forward, towards Midoriya’s bed. He’s been biting his lip nervously for the past few minutes, staring between Midoriya and Kodai. Now, it seems, it’s his turn to speak. He throws out a hand to Midoriya and says, “We can still make things right! We can still reach him!” Kirishima’s eyes shine with fervent light.

They've never had a single conversation. The most Midoriya knows about the redhead is that Kacchan tolerates his constant poking and prodding—which is high praise, in his eyes. Kirishima seems genuine, if a little wild.

“W–what do you mean?” Midoriya sniffles.

A grin, hard and determined, spreads across Kirishima’s sharp-toothed mouth. “We can save Bakugou ourselves. I know we can! Yaomomo can make us a receiver for that tracker of hers—oh yeah, our class prez made a tracker and knows where the Villains are—and we can follow the signal!”

Iida’s solid arm cuts through the air. “No. No way. I cannot let you attempt such a thing!”

Kirishima’s brows scrunch in frustration. “Dude, you don't understand,” he tells Iida, hand still somewhat extended towards Midoriya. “I couldn't do anything. I was useless when my friend needed me the most.” His voice wavers on the word “friend,” and Midoriya wonders if there's something hiding behind Kirishima’s carmine eyes that he can't see. “Midoriya-kun gets that. And we still have a chance!” He clenches his fist, a strange ripple of texture running over his forearm. “Bakugou needs us now, more than ever, and we have a chance to save him. Shouldn’t we take it?”

Kodai steps up beside Iida. The crown of her black hair only reaches Iida’s shoulder, but her frosty expression more than makes up for the height difference.

“I don’t mean to butt in,” she says, her voice cool, “but this idea of yours is highly illegal.”

“Kodai-san!” says Kendou, flushing red with embarrassment. “Let’s just go—this isn’t our business!”

Kodai flashes her class president a measured look that seems to cow the poor girl immediately. As much as Kendou can go toe-to-toe with loudmouths like Monoma, it seems that her weakness is the stoic, level-headed students like Kodai.

“It became our business as soon as he admitted his plan in front of us. Our duty as Heroes is to uphold the law. Not, ” she says, cutting a glare at Kirishima, “to go racing out into an active hostage situation, thinking we know best.”

“The Pro-Heroes have it handled,” Iida tacks on, crossing his arms sternly. “I am frankly disappointed in you, Kirishima-kun. I expected more from you.”

Shinsou scoffs from beside Midoriya, drawing eyes. “What?” he says, voice hard. “When it’s not you, you get all high and mighty about the rules?”

Todoroki smirks where he leans by the door. “You have broken the law before, Iida,” he points out.

Iida splutters, blindsided. Midoriya blinks. He didn’t realize until right this moment that everyone who’d taken on Stain that day in Hosu City is here, in this room, right now. Minus Native and Eraser Head, of course.

“Yeah!” Kirishima bursts, reinvigorated by the support. He stabs a finger at Iida. “You’ve got no room to be telling me what to do, man! You went out and did what you thought you had to, didn’t you?”

“And look where it got me!” Iida says crossly. He rolls up the sleeve of his collared shirt, exposing the nasty, zig-zagging scar tissue that trails up his left bicep. “The doctors said I nearly suffered permanent nerve damage!” He looks at Midoriya. “Without help, I would have died trying to face my own hubris.” Iida takes a deep, calming breath. “That is why I am trying to stop you, now, before you put yourself into a position you are not ready for.”

“Let the Heroes handle this,” Kodai says.

“No way!” Kaminari bursts. His face is screwed up, his fists tucked under his armpits. “You guys don’t get it. Bakugou… He needs someone in his corner. Those Heroes, what do they really care about? Are they really there for him? Or are they there because it’s their so-called duty to help out?” His face looks pained. “I know it sounds crazy, but Bakugou is a sensitive guy. If he fights the Heroes—”

“Why would he do that?” demands Kodai, her composure cracking. “You class 1-A students are so frustrating! Why would Bakugou-san not try his best to cooperate with the Heroes attempting to rescue him?”

“They’ve been slandering him on the news all day!” Kaminari shouts. “Calling him a Villain in the making—saying he hurt Deku-kun and Uraraka-san during the Sports Festival—saying he doesn’t deserve to be rescued!” His golden eyes look wet. “If you were a Villain, wouldn’t you be playing it all hours of the day, to break his spirit?” Kaminari swipes an angry fist across his eyes. “Bakugou’s greatest strength is his belief in himself. Shake that, and he’ll hesitate. He’ll make mistakes. If he’s confused for even a second—”

“He won’t go to the Heroes,” Midoriya says. He stares at his own arms. “Kacchan’s ego is more fragile than most people realize. He’s never been faced with a challenge that he can’t fight his way out of, some way or another. If the Heroes go to him, he’ll be admitting defeat.” Midoriya looks up at Kirishima from under his furrowed brow. “The Villains will win, even if we get Kacchan back.”

Kodai hesitates.

“Fine,” Iida spits, after a long moment of silence. “We will rescue Bakugou.” Kirishima pumps his fist, and Iida’s hand swings out robotically to cut his celebration short. “But! I will be going with you all, to prevent you from breaking the law. No Quirks,” he says sternly.

Midoriya’s face twitches. “That’s dumb,” he mumbles.

Kodai firms her stance. “If you are all going to throw yourselves to the wolves… all for the sake of one boy…” she swallows. “I will come, too. I will aid Iida-san in making sure that no one breaks any laws. And, I will force you to turn back if things get too dangerous.”

Shinsou winces. “Yeah, um, count me out.” Midoriya blinks at him. Shinsou’s mouth goes flat and hard. “I know the rest of you might survive if you get arrested, or whatever, but I want to make it long enough to actually be a Hero.” His slim hand falls on Midoriya’s shoulder, and he gives a gentle squeeze. “I believe in you, okay?”

Monoma bites his lip. “Are we sure we know where we’re supposed to be going? What are the Heroes planning to do?” He taps his fingers against his arm nervously. “How are we going to avoid being noticed in such a big group?”

Kendou raises her palms anxiously. “Oh, no. I’m not going along with you all. I wish you luck, but I think the Heroes have it handled.”

She and Shinsou beat a hasty retreat.

“Um,” Kaminari says, raising his hand timidly like he’s in class, “I don’t—I probably shouldn’t go.”

Kodai narrows her blue eyes dangerously. “You mean to tell me that you did all that arguing, and you’re not even going to go?”

“I’m kind of a liability without my costume! None of you guys are insulators—from what I can see—so—”

“You’re not supposed to be using your Quirk!” Iida chops the air indignantly.

Kaminari groans. “See? I already forgot!”

“But bro!” cries Kirishima. “Bakugou!”

Kaminari claps him on the shoulder seriously. “Bro. It’s up to you, now, to save our manliest, most batshit crazy friend.” He squeezes Kirishima, who seems like he might start crying. “This is your mission, man. I know you can do it.”

“What the hell?” Monoma mutters to Midoriya.

“No clue,” he whispers back.

But as Kaminari leaves, it dawns on Midoriya that this is it: his crack team of Yuuei Hero students that he’s going to try and save Kacchan with.

Iida, who’s berating Kirishima for not taking things seriously enough; Monoma, whose anxiety is practically palpable; Kodai, looking like she’s smelled something nasty; and Kirishima, who bounds over to Midoriya’s bed side.

He leans exuberantly into Midoriya’s space. “So, man, do you think your arms are gonna be good enough to go?”

“Go?” says a deep, exhausted voice. “Go where?”

In the doorway of Midoriya’s hospital room, Eraser Head stands, his shadow stretching menacingly.

Chapter Text

List of Injured, compiled by Iida Tenya and Itsuka Kendou.

Accessed: June 5, 2232.

Class 1-A:

• Aoyama Yuuga
• Asui Tsuyu
• Uraraka Ochako
• Shoji Mezou
• Tokoyami Fumikage
• Bakugou Katsuki (MIA)
• Yaoyorozu Momo

Class 1-B:

• Awase Yosetsu
• Kaibara Sen
• Kamakiri Togaru
• Kuroiro Shihai
• Komori Kinoko
• Shiozaki Ibara
• Shoda Nirengeki
• Tsunotori Pony
• Tsuburaba Kosei
• Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu
• Tokage Setsuna
• Fukidashi Manga
• Honenuki Juuzo
• Bondo Kojiro
• Yanagi Reiko
• Rin Hiryu

Unaffiliated:

• Ragdoll (MIA)
• Pixie-Bob
• Midoriya Izuku

Villains:

• Moonfish
• Muscular (DOA)
• Mustard

Midoriya’s raw, aching throat gives a startled cough. Eraser Head’s shoulders, which are usually hidden deceptively beneath a slouch and the unflattering fit of his costume, now spread across the entire breadth of the doorway, brushing either side. Monoma stares in shock.

“Where exactly do you think you’re going?” Eraser Head repeats, his dark eyes boring into Midoriya’s.

Kirishima shoots him a worried, pleading look. Kodai ducks her head, hiding behind the curtain of her glossy black hair as she bites her lips and tugs on the hem of her jean skirt. Midoriya is the only one uncowed by Eraser Head’s posturing.

“Eraser Head-sensei!” Midoriya says exuberantly. He rubs his cheek against his shoulder, trying to rid himself of the last of his tears. “How is Kota-kun? Is he alright? Was he hurt? Were the police nice to him? Is he back with Sosaki-san? How is she? And the rest of the Pussycats, are they—”

“Shush,” Eraser Head says. He rolls his eyes, dropping his shoulders and taking a shuffling step further into the room. “I guess I should have expected your first thought to be about the kid.” He glances at the other students, the ease he’s fallen into trickling away as he stares them down. He waits a beat. “Scram.”

They scram.

Midoriya is left by himself, at the mercy of Eraser Head, who relaxes marginally when the door has shut behind him. He slouches over to the end of Midoriya’s bed, and leans against the wall there, staring at him with guardedly curious eyes. Midoriya blinks back.

Eraser Head sighs—forever disappointed that he can’t intimidate Midoriya with his existence. “The brat is fine. A few bumps and bruises, but nothing major. Nothing even needed stitches.” He gives Midoriya a once-over as he heaves a breath of relief. “Unlike you. You, and that Villain. The police wouldn’t have even been able to identify the body, without Izumi’s testimony.” His mouth quirks up on one side. “No teeth left, and his fingerprints were all scraped up.”

Nausea curls in Midoriya’s gut. He allows that sickness to wash over him, the way he hadn’t a few minutes ago when he was arguing with Kodai.

I killed Muscular.

Midoriya doesn’t like it. The fact sits, heavy as a mountain on his psyche. It presses on him, condensing his thoughts through a tiny tube until they come slow as a trickle of water in a clogged pipe. His horrid throat burns, and he fights a gag.

“I know,” he whispers. Midoriya stares at his blanket-covered knees. He misses Nedzu.

“I didn’t care much for the guy,” says Eraser Head carelessly. His voice is as low and measured as always. Midoriya glances up at him, and sees that those cold, calculating eyes that have always torn him apart before are now filled with burning curiosity. “I just want to know how you did it. Those injuries. The damage to the cliff. You know the police are calling it an execution-style death? That’s the only thing they can think of that could cause so much damage so instantaneously.” He pushes off the wall, looming over Midoriya. “So… how did you do it?”

Midoriya stays silent. In his casts, his fingertips twitch, straining to scratch at his neck.

“You, a Quirkless kid who can barely bench a hundred kilos. I trained you, myself.” Midoriya cringes. He’d worked so hard to be able to press that much weight—but he’d always known that Eraser Head could probably use double that for his reps. “The Hero-Killer was one thing. Muscular, the Villain with torture and rape charges, is another. You're a nobody, who wasn’t even supposed to be on this trip.” Eraser Head’s laser focus catches his flinch. “Yes. The only student who ended up with extensive bodily injuries: Midoriya Izuku. As of right now, you're the person I understand the least.”

Midoriya’s eyes brim with tears. “I—” he gives a little gasp.

What can he even say? What would All Might tell him to say?

It’s an impossible question. Since last Friday, when the Hero had given Midoriya One For All, they’ve only spoken once. In total, he and All Might have had maybe around five conversations. How is he supposed to know what to tell Eraser Head, who looks like he might handcuff Midoriya to the bed?

He hangs his head.

Eraser Head’s voice is silken. “Speak now, problem child, or I’ll drag you to the police, myself.”

Midoriya swallows. “So… do you remember when I explained what an idiopathic Quirk is?”

Eraser Head’s eyebrow raises.

“Things are going to get very idiopathic,” Midoriya says.

One For All: the legacy heralded by All Might, Japan’s Number One Hero, which originated in the twin brother of All For One. All For One, whose name still holds weight in Japan’s seedy criminal underbelly, despite a lack of overt moves by the man in the past decade. A Quirk handed down, generation to generation, and kept safe in Midoriya’s bloodstream.

“Impossible,” scoffs Eraser Head.

In response, Midoriya calls One For All to the surface of his skin. At five percent, it stings lightly, but the electric green lightning becomes visible, tracing over his freckles. He very nearly laughs at the look on Eraser Head’s face.

“I accidentally smashed in Muscular’s head,” Midoriya says, his voice quiet and strained. “I told the others that it was his prosthesis that caused the explosion, but Kota-kun saw it. I punched him, and his skull…”

Eraser Head’s eyebrows sit high on his forehead. “You know that this sounds completely insane, correct? Quirks handed down like a family keepsake? Villains’ heads vaporized by a single punch?” He stares at Midoriya’s arms. “You can’t possibly use it again. It’ll kill you.”

“I already figured that part out,” Midoriya says, chagrined. “I just… I had to go one hundred percent against Muscular, because he nearly killed me at a lower amount.” Midoriya bites the inside of his cheek. “He would have killed Kota. I couldn’t let that happen.”

Eraser Head sighs, this one more exhausted than any other so far. (There have been many.) He puts his elbows on the end of Midoriya’s bed, and leans over them so his hair hangs around his unshaven face.

“Don’t tell anyone I said this, but I get it.”

Midoriya’s brow furrows. “You mean, don’t tell anyone that you have empathy?”

Eraser Head gives him a faint, faded smile. It’s a little terrifying. “Exactly. I’m just saying, in your place, I would have done the same. I would have done what I thought I needed to, to keep Muscular from getting back up and hurting me, or anyone else.”

Midoriya’s head pounds. His fingers jerk inside his casts. “Have you ever killed anyone?”

“Twice,” Eraser Head says. “The first time was a long, long time ago. He was a friend, and I’ll never forgive myself. The second was during my first month on the job.” His tired eyes are eons away, lost in the thick, sticky webbing of memories. “I’d caught a perp. She wasn’t in her right mind; a junkie. High off of this shit that was everywhere back then, called popdash. Pop was an epidemic, and it gave you these awful scaly hives on your hands. It was meant as a tranquilizer for mutant-types, but anyone with a Quirk can use it and get something out of it. Back then, it used to be over-the-counter. They sold it in gas stations. Well, she and her friends were mugging some poor son of a gun. I got her, but the other two ran. I left her tied up with my capture weapon. It was just for a minute, I swear. Just to cuff the other two. I radioed the cops, and by the time I’d gotten back to where I tied her up, she was dead.”

Midoriya watches Aizawa’s hands clench the white fabric of his scarf.

“She suffocated. Too out of her mind off of pop to settle down so she wasn’t choking. She was gone, and I had no one to blame but myself.”

Midoriya lets a somber silence fall over the room. “I’m—I’m really sorry. That's terrible.”

“That’s life, kid. That’s Heroism.” A bitter grimace tugs down Aizawa’s mouth, making him look older than he is. “It’s not all shiny medals and TV commercials.” His dark eyes appraise Midoriya. “None of these bright-eyed, bushy-tailed bastards get it. And, what am I supposed to do? Sit ‘em down on the first day of class and say ‘you’ll kill someone, and you probably won’t regret it’?” He catches Midoriya’s confused glance. “I’m an unusual case, kid. Two deaths in fifteen years of Heroics is unheard of. I'm too sensitive to kill. Most of my missions are long con-games. Infiltration; scouting; recon. Ask any Daylight Hero how many people they’ve killed, and the honest answer will probably be more than they can count. Negligence, forgetfulness, speed, and pure strength get people killed every single day.” He sighs. “It’s the Commission’s job to sweep that kind of shit under the rug for us—otherwise, the public would be terrified of every Hero they crossed paths with.”

He puts a solid, warm hand on Midoriya’s ankle.

“I don’t want to be a murderer,” Midoriya whimpers.

“Too late, kid,” Aizawa says. He even sounds a little sad when he says it. “Welcome to the world of Heroism, Deku.”

A tear plops onto the light blue fabric of his hospital gown, and he watches the liquid seep into the cotton. He wishes the last few days could be like that tear: wiped away, dried and forgotten in a moment.

But Kacchan’s absence tugs at his innards like a string has been tied around them, and Kacchan holds the other end. Midoriya can’t forget that he’s been yanked from between Midoriya’s fingers, pulled by the back of the neck like an unruly kitten, into the hands of Shigaraki and his newest allies.

Midoriya, from beneath his lashes, takes in Aizawa. His long, hard-muscled body is curved forward in uncharacteristic sympathy for Midoriya. The taut lines of his face have softened; the solidity of his eyes melting. Midoriya can actually see a slight difference in color between his pupil and his iris, like this. Midoriya sniffles.

He’s got a job. He doesn’t have time to whine and cry about the gore that he can still feel, squishy and warm against the back of his hand. He doesn’t have time to think about that anymore.

Kacchan needs him.

“Aizawa- sensei… why hasn’t Recovery Girl-san healed me?” he asks.

“She has, kid. She’ll be back for round three soon. She’s been visiting every four hours. You weren’t supposed to wake up until tomorrow. Most of my other students are still totally dead to the world.”

“Why am I not tired?” Midoriya stares down at his own body. His brow furrows. “I don’t get it. That last punch I threw, I thought some of the power would have been diluted because my arm had already been broken. I was supposed to stay asleep until tomorrow…”

Aizawa scratches at his five o’clock shadow, his mouth pressed into a contemplative line. “Do you think it’s One For All? That thrice-damned Quirk.”

Midoriya huffs out a helpless sound. “I don’t know! I have so many questions for All Might—this is seriously the weirdest Quirk I’ve ever heard of. Shadow people, DNA passage that somehow relies on will and intent, a dual-power up.” He groans. “It’s so confusing. Nothing acts like it’s supposed to.”

Aizawa pats his ankle again, pulling back and cracking his spine. “Well, ask R-G. I bet she knows; she’s been in the field since All Might was still training at Yuuei. In the meantime, sit tight and don’t break any more bones or people, okay, problem child?” There’s a trace of humor in his voice.

Midoriya sighs. “Yeah, okay.”

When Aizawa leaves, he flops back into his pillows, letting out a soft stream of expletives. He’d barely dodged Aizawa’s questioning, and had let someone else in on the secret of One For All in exchange. He hopes All Might won’t be mad at him. Aizawa seems like he can keep a secret, and he’s an Underground Hero. He’d already known who All For One was, even before Shigaraki had first taken Midoriya hostage.

Kirishima pokes his head back into the room.

“Uh, dude? You didn’t rat on us, right? I wouldn’t blame you if you did. Aizawa-sensei is super scary.” Kirishima’s bottom lip juts out. Beneath his chin, Monoma’s head pops through the gap between the wall and the door.

“You better not have squealed. Aizawa-san is wrapped around Hitoshi-kun’s finger, so we might be able to catch him and convince him not to expel us all—”

“I—I didn’t tell! He doesn’t know anything!” Midoriya stammers.

Their expressions break, relief crashing over them. Kirishima slumps onto Monoma, who shoves him off with a scoff, and the door opens fully, revealing all of their little rescue party.

Iida’s face is creased with anxiety. “Aizawa-sensei truly has no idea of our plans?”

Kodai sniffs haughtily. “If we’d been caught in the first thirty seconds of the plan’s inception, it would have been for the best. I still think you’re all trying to get yourselves and Bakugou-san killed.”

Monoma scowls at her. “Yui-san, if you’re going to be a brat about everything, you can just go home. No one asked you to be here.”

“Fat chance,” she says. She pokes Monoma in the chest. “You fools are going to destroy Yuuei’s reputation, and I don’t trust Revenge-kun over there to keep you in check.” Kodai jams her thumb over her shoulder at Iida.

Iida presses a hand to his chest. He looks wounded by her words. “Me? Am I Revenge-kun?”

“I’m not going to call you Cool-Headed-kun, am I?”

“No,” says Todoroki. “I should be Cool-Headed-kun. Or Half-Cool-Half-Hotheaded-kun. Since we’re making code names, I think Izuku should be Genius-kun.”

“We aren’t!” Iida cries, burying his head in his hands. “I was being insulted.”

This, in Midoriya’s opinion, is going to be a shitshow.

When the sun has set, Midoriya’s arms are finally free of their casts. He joins the other students outside the hospital, their feet pattering along in silence. He doesn’t ask how they’d managed to get the tracker—last he’d heard, Yaoyorozu Momo was still comatose. He’s too busy flexing his fingers and rotating his wrists.

Midoriya’s right bicep fared the worst. There’s a jagged scar, not unlike Iida’s, where the surgeons had pulled the skin back to piece the flecks of his bones together again. Recovery Girl had told him that he’s got a few screws in it, now, to keep it from flying apart at the first sign of stress.

They board a train to Kamino Ward, in Yokohama City. The blinking dot takes them past dingy storefronts and neon-lit clubs that make Midoriya avert his eyes. Here, everything reeks of stale alcohol and sex. It’s the kind of place that reminds him of death; it reminds him that he doesn’t want to die in a stinking alleyway, to be eaten by stray cats and picked at by corvids.

Kodai stops. She tugs on Monoma’s arm—he’d been the one to win the whispered argument on who got to hold the tracker—and she points to one of the open stores. It’s a flashy kind of place that offers too many discounts to not be scammers.

“Whaddya want in there?” Kirishima asks, squinting at the bright lights.

“Disguises,” Kodai says evenly. “You all are far too recognizable.” She says it generally, but her eyes linger on Todoroki and Midoriya.

Midoriya, who has been called plain his entire life, gives a startled squawk. “Me?!”

“I said all,” she grumbles, “but yes, you. You cannot imagine how many times your student ID photo has been on the news, today. A Yuuei student, last seen at the site of a brutal murder during an attack? You’re vying with Bakugou-san for the top spot on every news station in the country. Not to mention that half of them can’t believe you’d be capable, and the other half claim that it was obvious a Quirkless kid would snap eventually.”

Midoriya’s mouth has drifted open.

“Morons,” bites out Monoma.

“Let’s go,” says Iida, shepherding them into the store. They don various outfits—Todoroki and Monoma settle unhappily into the grunge teen look with textbook frowns—and head off towards the unmoving blinking light of the tracker.

Midoriya thinks they look ridiculous and conspicuous no matter what.

“We should just pretend to be drunk,” he mutters.

“Why the fuck would we do that?” Monoma asks. He’s huddled up close to Midoriya, and is trying very hard to pretend like he doesn’t jump every time a door opens or closes. His fingers clench in the oversized university sweatshirt Midoriya is wearing.

“Because we look like idiots!” Midoriya hisses. “Anyone in their right mind is going to notice that we don’t belong here!”

Todoroki, on Midoriya’s other side, says, “Perhaps we should kiss, to deflect suspicion.”

“What?”

Monoma jabs Todoroki in the kidney, which the taller boy doesn’t seem to notice. “Not the time! I mean, good attempt, but seriously, not the time!”

“Who’s kissing Todoroki to deflect suspicion?” Kirishima asks, turning so that he’s walking backwards down the sidewalk.

“No one!” Monoma says. “He was kidding! Just kidding, right, Shouto?”

Todoroki gives a bland blink.

“Will all of you be quiet?” whisper-shouts Kodai, from behind her medical mask. Out of the six of them, she has changed the least. Her dark wash jean skirt and dark purple sweater were already fairly innocuous, and she hadn’t made it past the first round of the Sports Festival, so it’s more than likely that no one would recognize her face, even if they saw it. She’s still taken the precaution of tying up the top half of her hair into a bun.

“I believe we’re here,” says Iida. His dark blue crewneck almost blends in with the color of his ripped, bootcut jeans—which he had to be convinced into buying with much effort. His glasses gleam where he’s folded them over the collar of his sweater.

How he can make that outfit look preppy is a mystery to Midoriya, but he’s not going to question such things right now. They peer down the street at an abandoned house, devoid of any signage that points towards what the building once was used for. Midoriya swallows, nervous. With much whispered arguing, they decide to walk towards it as casually as they can, and buy a pair of panties from the vending machine on the corner.

While Monoma, who’s the least bothered by owning a pair of used women’s underwear out of the lot of them, jams buttons on the machine, the rest of them take furtive glances at the house.

“Hiding a tree in the forest,” Todoroki says lowly. Kodai nods.

“It doesn’t look like it’s been in use in at least a fair few months. Look at the growth covering the front path,” she murmurs.

“There might be a back entrance,” Midoriya says. “Should we take a loop to check it out?”

“That’s going to waste too much time,” Iida whispers harshly. “The Heroes will be starting their attack soon, and I refuse to be in their way.”

“Split up?” Kirishima suggests, leaning in like he wants to inspect the contents of the vending machine. Monoma’s prize pops out, and he slides the entire clear sphere into the pocket of his hoodie without opening it. Kirishima’s nose scrunches in disgust. “So unmanly.”

“Hey!” a loud, male voice calls.

They all startle to attention. Midoriya whirls around, spotting two red-faced businessmen in their undone suits. These are the types that end up sleeping face-down in the gutter after their mid-week binges, surrounded by a puddle of piss.

“Hey, lady! Why don’tcha come have a drink wit’ us,” slurs the man whose shout had alerted them. “I could make it worth yer while.” He leers, exposing a decaying tooth right in the front of his smile.

His friend grapples with him, obviously just as plastered. “C’mon man, leave ‘em alone. She’s got company.” He shoots them a hazy, half-apologetic grimace.

“No, thank you,” Kodai calls back, her tone flat and formal. She slides an arm around Todoroki’s waist—who happens to be the closest one to her—and leans her weight against him.

“Have a good one, gentlemen,” Midoriya says, waving them off.

The men stagger away, and Kodai straightens back up. “Let’s get out of the open. We’re still attracting way too much attention, like this.”

“Splitting up isn’t a bad idea,” says Midoriya, thoughts whirling through his head. “Three can check the back, to see if there’s a door there, and three should try the side fence. It’s narrow, but we’re all skinny enough to squeeze. Besides, I doubt any Pros can fit back there.”

Iida shoots him an agitated look. “I would prefer a less cramped space, but I believe that this is a terrible idea! Dividing our forces is only going to put us at risk in the long-run.”

“We can meet up at the corner,” Midoriya says, ignoring his concerns. “That way, if any of us find something, we can just go back that direction.”

“I call Izuku’s team,” Monoma says, gripping Midoriya’s arm above the elbow.

“Well, he’s the smallest and the skinniest, so he’ll be going between the fences,” says Kodai.

“You’re at least five centimeters shorter than me!” he says, offended.

“I said skinniest, too, numbskull.” She points at her boobs and Iida’s own chest. “One of us has to go with you, so I suppose it’ll be me, since Iida has me beat in width, anyway. The other two will go with him to check out the back.”

Monoma snickers.

“I didn’t ask for your opinion, Pocket-Panties,” says Kodai snappishly.

“No one else was going to volunteer!” Monoma cries.

“Lower your voices!” Iida whispers. His face is flushed across the bridge of his nose, and he hunches his shoulders. “Am I truly that large?”

Kirishima pats his shoulder. “Nah, man. It’s hot! Like a sexy, super-speed tank. You, too, Midoriya-kun. Being short is nothing to be ashamed of! It makes it easier for you to punch bad guys in the dick.”

“Let’s not get distracted,” Midoriya says, trying to ignore everything besides what’ll get them to possibly-Kacchan quicker. “So, Kirishima, Shouto-kun, and Iida are going to circle the block, and come through the backside. Kodai, Neito-kun, and I will take the alley.”

As he’s stepping into the cramped space between the two fences—one brick, one cinder block—he wishes he hadn’t thought about dying in one earlier. It’s all he can picture, now. The irrational fear of the two walls creeping together to crush him slithers into his mind.

Monoma’s damp hand clenches around Midoriya’s. He can just barely turn his head—the narrowness really is excruciating—but he angles so he can see the glimmering silver mirrors of Monoma’s eyes, shining in the darkness. Midoriya has never seen them look so bright.

“One of you boost me up,” whispers Kodai. “I want to get a look over this fence, to see if anyone is even in there. If not, we can all go home, and this foolishness can be over with.”

Monoma and Midoriya crouch, reluctantly allowing Kodai to use their angled knees as a step-stool to see over the edge of the brick fence hiding the compound that Yaoyorozu’s tracker pinged. She squirms, the heels of her sturdy, well-worn leather boots digging into Midoriya’s flesh.

“I’m still not tall enough,” she murmurs. “And it’s so dark, I doubt I’ll be able to see anything, anyway.”

“How long has it been?” Midoriya asks. Monoma, as Kodai climbs down over his head, checks a shiny metal wristwatch that he wears.

“Nearly five minutes,” he says. “I wonder if they’ve had any more luck than us.”

“You guys!” someone’s hissing voice calls. It slithers down the alley to them, from the darker end, rather than the mouth. Kirishima. “We need someone lighter! One of you three will use my night vision goggles to look over the top of the fence!”

“Are there any windows on the backside?” Midoriya asks.

“Not that I could see. Any over here?”

“Yeah! Bring Shouto-kun, since he’s tall. We’ll have to get on his shoulders, or Iida’s, if he can fit through here.”

As it turns out, Iida can fit through the alley. Barely.

Kirishima hands his expensive night vision goggles to Midoriya, who clambers up over Iida’s shoulders and balances precariously atop his flexing trapezius muscles, squinting into the darkness.

“What do you see?” asks Todoroki, from somewhere near Midoriya’s foot.

“I… I’m not sure,” he says. From what he can see, it’s mostly just overturned furniture. He scans every bit for a flash of pale hair, or the movement of a body, or even marks in the thick dust that look like someone has been dragged through recently, but he can’t see any. That is, until he looks towards the very topmost edge of the left side of the room. It’s almost beyond what he can see.

There, neon-glowing vats lay still as a breath through frozen air. Peeking out of the tops of the liquid that shines so incandescently in the night vision, are human brains.

“Nomu,” Midoriya breathes.

Fear tears through him. This isn’t where Kacchan has been held. This is the return-base for the Nomu, which carried the tracker Yaoyorozu had made. The compound they’re spying on is a stronghold of All For One’s, where he stores the unfinished, or yet unmade human cadavers that the Nomu are created from.

Midoriya and Nedzu had visited that very first Nomu, long ago.

Detective Tsukauchi drove them from Yuuei to the Musutafu precinct, where the Nomu was being held in the strongest restraints they could find. No one had been able to get it to respond to even the most basic of questions. In fact, Midoriya and Nedzu watched as the coroner explained that the Nomu could, legally, be classified as deceased. It had no motor reflexes to speak of. It barely had a pulse. The brainwaves that it had on the electroencephalogram were few and far between, recording what should have reflected a person in a vegetative state.

Midoriya and Nedzu had exchanged concerned glances. The Nomu was entirely mindless; a literal slave to Shigaraki’s commands. It breathed only for him to direct it. It would not eat unless he willed it so. It would not even blink unless Shigaraki told it to. The beast was eventually hooked up to an IV, and kept alive intravenously.

His breathing picks up, harsh and loud in the darkness.

“What is it?” Iida asks, shifting beneath Midoriya’s feet.

“They’re… it’s Nomu. The whole place must be full of them,” Midoriya gasps, his knees wobbling.

“You guys!” Kodai shouts, startling them. Midoriya slips, one foot sliding off of Iida’s shoulder so he has to scramble to grasp the top of the wall.

He turns to shush her urgently, when he realizes why she’d shouted. Over their heads, a pickup truck is stuck to the bottom of a purple-clad leg, lifting high, high, higher into the night sky, until it blots out the moon. Midoriya follows the curvature of the foot down the calf, the thigh, all the way to the hips of what is undoubtedly the Mineyama Hero: Mt. Lady.

Her enormous foot whistles deafeningly through the air, slamming down on the Nomu warehouse with enough force to smash it flat. Midoriya would have been flung back, had he not already been clinging to the top of the wall. He ducks his head, squeezing his eyes tight against the explosion of shrapnel and debris.

Heroes flood forward, their voices quiet after the eruption of noise.

Something tugs on Midoriya’s shirt. He lifts his head, eyes streaming, and sees Todoroki’s placid face. He holds his hands out to Midoriya, helping him down from the top of the wall so that they’re all crouched together, on the ground.

“We should leave,” Iida says, pointing to the open mouth of the alley. “The Heroes obviously have things under control.”

Midoriya bites his lip. It tastes like dust and dirt—and, he thinks, a little bit like Shigaraki, because of that. The others start to move, but he hesitates. The voices on the other side of the brick fence rise, and he presses a hand to it, wishing he could hear what they say.

Something bursts. A plume of dust and smoke rises up, and Mt. Lady shrieks, “Jeanist!”

It takes only a moment. Between one breath and the next, everything around them is flattened in the most violent detonation Midoriya has ever seen. He presses himself to the ground out of sheer self-preservation, his nails tearing at the hard-packed earth to keep from being blown away from the force of the gales that whip through the air. Around him, buildings shudder on their foundations. Screaming starts up, from everywhere and nowhere at once.

Car alarms screech; a water-main pops like a rubberband, spewing into the air down the street. A telephone pole tips over, agonizingly slowly, its wires swinging out and snapping with gut-wrenching twang! twang! twang!s.

Something else blows up, much smaller in comparison, but accompanied with the acrid smell of smoke and the crackle of flames.

Every stoplight and streetlight goes out with a muted pop!

They’re thrown into stark darkness. Midoriya’s breaths come hard and fast, his chest pressed to the ground. Grit cakes his eyelashes when he pries them apart.

“Shouto-kun?” he whispers. He can barely hear himself, let alone any response. Midoriya’s aching fingers crawl across the debris-speckled ground, searching, until they bump into something warm. An ankle. He grips it as tightly as his shaking hand can manage.

They drag themselves upright, trembling together in a tense huddle behind what remains of the brick fence. Kodai has a nasty cut on her arm where a piece of rusty rebar slashed her, but everyone else has managed nothing but scrapes.

Quiet, slow applause echoes across the newly-made clearing.

Midoriya freezes.

There’s another tremble in the ground, and a wet-sounding splatter. Midoriya knows they should be running—crawling, even—away from here. This is so far above their pay grade that it’s almost laughable.

But he can’t move a single centimeter.

Someone coughs, choking and sputtering.

“Damn it! What the hell?!”

Midoriya’s heart misses a beat in his chest. In an instant, he’s free. The iron cage his body was locked in dissipates at the sound of Kacchan’s throaty cussing. Midoriya’s palms press against the rough brick behind him, and he throws his head back, straining to hear past the blood rushing in his ears.

“Sorry, Bakugou-kun,” says a deep, metallic voice. There’s a few more splashes, and the sounds of multiple people hacking and coughing.

“What is this?” demands a female voice. Himiko!

“It stinks. It smells great!” says a second male.

Midoriya’s hand shoots out to grip the front of Todoroki’s stupid grunge shirt. Their eyes meet, and he knows Todoroki recognizes the man’s voice, too. Those dual-tones, with their strange, conflicting words can only belong to the zentai -suited man who’d attacked the training camp, yesterday.

“Sensei,” rasps another voice.

Midoriya’s blood feels like magma in his veins.

On the other side of this wall, Midoriya now knows three important facts. First, Kacchan is there. Second, Shigaraki Tomura is there, his voice strained with emotion. Third… Shigaraki’s sensei, All For One, is their attacker.

“You’ve failed again, Tomura,” calls the mechanical voice of All For One. Midoriya’s nails dig into Todoroki’s stomach beneath his shirt. “But do not be discouraged—just try again. I have brought your associates back, as well, and this boy, too. Because you judged him to be an important pawn.” There’s a pause. Midoriya is expecting the man to reprimand Shigaraki, so he's startled by the words that he hears. “Keep trying, as long as you need to. That is what I am here for, remember? It is all for you.”

These words twist something in Midoriya’s chest. There’s a caress in them that he doesn’t like, tingling along his arms and raising the fine hairs there.

Remember why you came! Deku tells himself. Kacchan is right there—just move! He’s right in front of you, you fucking coward, Deku!

All For One must not have noticed them, yet. Otherwise, he never would have spoken to Shigaraki that way in front of them. There’s too much… too much something in his voice for it to be meant for their prying ears. There’s only about six or seven meters between Deku and Kacchan. With One For All, Deku could be there in less than a second.

Will I be able to get away after that? To where? Everything around them has been decimated. It’s not as if All For One will let him waltz away with Kacchan.

What do I do? I need a plan, I need—

No! I just need to fucking move!

Midoriya jolts forward. Before he can even take a step, Iida’s hand catches him in the chest, and clenches in the fabric of his university pullover. His arms tremble, and the look on his face is like nothing Midoriya has ever seen.

It is worse, far worse, than the effect Stain had on the taller boy. Sweat trickles down his jaw, which twitches under Midoriya’s gaze. His eyes are like the panicked pupils of a gazelle being hunted by a cheetah. At his side, Monoma shakes like a leaf in the wind. Kodai’s arm drips a pool of blood onto the ground.

“Ah, you’re here after all.”

Midoriya’s spine goes ramrod straight. We lost our element of surprise!

There’s a strange whistling noise, and then a catastrophic crack. Midoriya’s hands fly up to protect his head, but nothing touches him besides the wind.

“I’ll have you return everything you’ve stolen, All For One!” shouts All Might. His voice is unmistakable.

So they haven't been caught out. All Might has arrived.

“Will you kill me again, All Might?” demands All for One, his voice barely audible over the sound of the ground shattering.

“All Might is here!” gasps Midoriya.

His mind whirls as the Hero and the Villain talk, until he’s pulled back to the present by another violent burst of sound, rending bits of earth and concrete into the air. It tears through the city, far beyond even just the block they stand on.

A building crashes to the ground.

It's one of the most awful things Midoriya has ever seen in real life. Second only to a man’s head popping like a grape beneath his own fist. He's seen videos of buildings falling during earthquakes, and during catastrophic Villain attacks, but watching it happen with his own two eyes is something entirely different.

The high-rise apartments teeter to the side so slowly. Midoriya can hear the snapping of every single pipe, every piece of rebar, every crumble of concrete that tethers the building to the ground. The screaming… he's never heard anything worse in the world. His eyes catch, focusing hazily on an overturned potted plant, spilling its green-leafed vines onto the asphalt. The painted glaze of the terracotta pot wears a child’s handprint in bright yellow.

The pieces lay, shattering the paint into a thousand yellow shards.

“All Might!” cries Kacchan.

Midoriya has never heard him sound so desperate.

“No need to worry,” assures All For One, amusement thick in his voice. “He won’t die from something like that. So, run from here, Tomura. Take the boy with you. Go find that Player Character you’ve been searching for.” There’s a pause, heavy with the tension that ratchets up Midoriya’s spine when he realizes All For One means him. “Kurogiri, get everyone out of here.”

The Villains speak, and Midoriya tries to breathe around the lump in his throat.

Think, think! Before they leave, and Kacchan is gone again! Before he kills anyone else!

“Now, go!” commands All For One.

“What about you, Sensei?” Shigaraki asks. His voice is confused, and nearly child-like.

“Don’t stop thinking, Tomura. You still have so much growing to do, my precious boy. Go out, and earn your reward from me.”

The sweat on Midoriya’s body goes cold. Reward?

Shigaraki’s reward?

For a frozen moment, Midoriya is thrown back to this weekend at the mall. Tomura’s hand on the back of his neck, dry and calloused. The taste of Tomura on his lips.

“Your reward, for taking down that asshole, Stain.”

“You definitely deserved a reward.”

“Once they’re gone, I’ll be able to destroy anything that makes me itch. And then… then, you can be my reward.”

A reward from All For One, for Tomura.

Bile rises in Midoriya’s throat, and he leans to the side to heave quietly. Todoroki grasps his shoulders, his fingers tense and painful. Midoriya tries to be as silent as he can, using the tail of his stupid sweatshirt to wipe his mouth and tongue, and then throwing the horrid thing over the puddle of vomit.

Tomura, who believes that kisses and gentle touches are a reward for good behavior and correct thinking. All For One, the greatest evil anyone can comprehend. It almost makes sense, in a sick way. Midoriya’s stomach roils with the idea that Tomura had turned those behaviors on him, emulating his sensei in the most grotesque manner.

He turns back to peek over the crags in their fence, face pale and sweaty.

All For One is in the way, so All Might can’t save Kacchan like he saved me in the USJ. The League is going to get away with him!

I can't afford to think about Tomura right now. I have to save Kacchan, first. Tomura will survive. Kacchan might not.

As he watches, All Might gets flung into another building. Kacchan dodges and darts around the six League members that reach for him, but he can’t last forever.

There has to be an opening. Even for just a second. It exists, Midoriya knows it does. If they can save Kacchan, All Might won’t have to hold back against All For One.

Paths illuminate in his mind. Midoriya compares and discards them in fractions of seconds, searching. Searching. There’s an avenue that will crack this night open, he knows it. It comes to him in a flash, as Kacchan’s body is silhouetted against the moon for a moment.

The sky!

“I’ve got it!” Midoriya whispers.

Iida’s fingers tug at his undershirt insistently. “You can’t!”

“No, there’s a way,” he says. “There’s a way to get us out of here that doesn’t involve fighting, and we can still save Kacchan!”

“What is it?” demands Todoroki, his eyes intense.

“It depends on Kacchan,” Midoriya murmurs, looking down at his own hand. Around his wrists, his scars shine, silvery in the moonlight. “I… It won’t work, if it’s me. He’ll hesitate, the same way he would with the Heroes.” He turns to Kirishima, who crouches low to the ground, his eyes wide and brows furrowed. “Kirishima, you’re the key.”

“Explain it to me,” Todoroki demands again. His tongue darts out to wet his upper lip, a bead of sweat tracing down his temple. Midoriya is thrown back into the Support studio. He and Todoroki’s first agreement, where Todoroki asked Midoriya to teach him everything they were doing as he and Hatsume utilized the texture of his skin and the tracings of veins beneath it. That same hungry light was in his eyes, then.

“Here’s the plan: first, we’ll propel ourselves using Iida’s Quirk, and Neito-kun’s Copy of it. It should work, since he’s been working on expanding his biology-type abilities. Then, with Kirishima’s hardening, they’ll burst through the wall. Second, I want Shouto-kun to make an ice path, the way he did during the Sports Festival. As high as he possibly can! We’ll cross the battlefield at a distance that they can’t possibly match.”

“What about the boss?” Kodai asks, her voice weak.

“He’s the one holding All Might back right now, but the reverse is also true,” Midoriya says urgently. “He’ll protect us.” He looks at Kirishima. “Then, it’s all up to you. It’ll be no good if anyone else does it. Not even me. You two have gotten close—I’ve seen it. You’re… friends.” The words pain Midoriya, and it looks like they hurt Kirishima, too. “If you call out to him, he will come.”

“You, me, and Todoroki… We’ll have to make it out on our own,” Kodai realizes. “You’re—you’re going to leave us. You’re going to leave us here!” her voice begins to rise in her panic.

“Kodai, I need you to try something for me. Try it now.” Midoriya’s words are intense. He grips her by the wrist, stilling her frantic hands.

Kodai Yui’s Quirk is called Size, and it grants her the ability to manipulate the size of any object she touches. “Object” is an extremely relative term. He’s about eighty-five percent sure that she can change the size of living things, too.

“Touch your arm, and shrink yourself.”

“Wh–what?” she asks, tremulously.

“Shrink yourself! I know you can do it, and it’s the only way you’re going to get us out of here!”

Kodai’s fingers graze the skin of her arm, and she grinds her teeth so hard that Midoriya can hear it. With a muted pop she disappears. Midoriya looks at the ground, and he can see a tiny, three-centimeter-tall version of Kodai panting with her hands on her knees.

“Good.” Midoriya gives a vicious grin. “Now, do that to me.”

Midoriya’s plan works flawlessly. They soar through the night sky, Kacchan’s hand secure in Kirishima’s. Mt. Lady does her duty as a Heroine and intercepts the Villain, Mister, with her face.

They land, and Kodai manages to unshrink the three of them before she swoons right into Midoriya’s arms.

“Deku?!” Kacchan shouts. “What—I told you! I told you not to fucking come!”

Kirishima flashes him a pained smile. “Did you really think we could have come up with that genius plan to rescue you on our own?” He claps Midoriya on the shoulder. “We shoulda listened and let Todoroki call you Genius-kun, huh?”

They’re in the midst of a huge, humid crowd that stands beneath an oversized TV billboard, playing the news instead of ads.

Kacchan scoffs, his eyes locked on Midoriya. “Listen, chuckle-fuck, I ain’t been ‘rescued’ by nobody. You just happened to be the best route of escape, got it?”

“Great choice,” Kirishima says, with a thumbs up.

“I didn’t wanna get in All Might’s way,” Kacchan mumbles, stuffing his steaming hands into his pockets.

“Kacchan,” Midoriya breathes.

Kodai is a solid weight in his arms, but he wishes he could toss her aside and run his hands over the planes of Kacchan’s stressed, sweaty face. He’s dressed in the same outfit from last night; the same jean shorts and black V-necked T-shirt that shows his prominent collarbones. His wheat-stalk hair is mussed.

“Kacchan,” Midoriya says again, louder. The boy’s exhausted, purple-ringed eyes settle on him. Midoriya’s skin sears. “I’m so glad…” Tears pool in his eyes. “I’m so glad you’re alright.”

Something awful twists in Kacchan’s face. Something like regret.

“Yeah, whatever,” he mumbles. “Shut up and watch All Might fight, Deku.”

He turns his garnet eyes to the screen, and Midoriya reluctantly does the same.

They, along with everyone else in the world, watch as All Might battles with the greatest evil that the world has ever known. Somehow, Midoriya knows that Tomura is watching this. He’s watching as All Might’s muscular form dissipates into thin air, leaving him exposed in his weak, emaciated skin. The memory of All Might’s career-ending injury surfaces in Midoriya’s mind.

Immediately, the crowd around Midoriya begins to shift.

He’s never been partial to large gatherings, but a bolt of terror zings down his spine when he realizes how easily this could turn bad. Midoriya’s bogged down with Kodai’s unconscious body, and their group of seven could all too easily be separated. Dissension begins to spike. A woman’s fearful sobbing rises up, and Midoriya can see the people around him responding to the sound. He swallows.

A hand closes over Midoriya’s stitched-together bicep, grip vice-like. It’s Monoma, his eyes wide. Behind him, Midoriya can feel the bipolar temperatures that Todoroki exudes, and a cool hand presses against his spine. Kirishima shoves Kacchan with his shoulder, who stumbles into Midoriya’s left side. Iida, on Kirishima’s other arm, stands as solid as a spire, his arms crossed tensely.

They’re not going anywhere.

Around them, the terror begins to turn into something else.

“Come on, All Might-sama!” someone shouts.

“That’s still All Might, out there!” another woman says, her fists clenched. A rumble of agreement kicks up. All of a sudden, the mass is cheering, shouting at the screen like All Might will be able to hear their calls of support.

Hot tears spill down Midoriya’s cheeks. His hands clench on Kodai’s upper arms where he grips her.

“Win!” he screams, staring up at All Might.

“Win!” cries Kacchan, the sound tearing from his throat, getting lost in the swell of hundreds of people’s cheering.

They watch as other Heroes join the battle, and All For One blows them all back. The crowd goes quiet again, waiting with bated breath to see what All Might will do. They fight, All Might barely countering a concussive punch from an unsightly arm that All For One has created with his Quirks. He punches All For One, and then reels back again. They watch as his body ripples and expands, his back and arm swelling with muscles.

Midoriya almost expects to watch All For One’s head explode, the way Muscular’s had.

Instead, the video goes to static, and yelps of shock echo around them. When it steadies, the watch All Might lift his arm in triumph.

The scream of joy that rips through Midoriya is so involuntary that it shocks him.

“The Villain is not moving!” says the newscaster. “The winner is All Might! He’s standing in victory!”

Hours later, as the sun is beginning to rise, Iida urges them to take Kacchan to the nearest police station. Walking is their only option, since the train systems are all down, and people have flooded the streets as they fled from the site of the battle.

Midoriya turns back, just for a moment, to stare at his mentor on the screen.

He’s faced with the end of All Might’s pointer finger.

“Next,” says All Might’s weary voice, booming over the sound of the crowd, “it’s your turn.”

Midoriya’s face goes bloodless. A shiver streaks through him, and the implications of All Might’s words slam into his breastbone. It knocks the wind from him, pushing a soundless sob from his mouth. Tears gush down his face, and he wipes them plaintively with his palms.

My turn…

Midoriya chokes on the responsibility.

Chapter Text

Excerpt from the Daily News website, posted June 6, 2232, 05:00.

Accessed: June 6, 2232.

“All Might’s last stand has cemented the man’s place in the heart of Japan. His fifty-four years of service in the Heroics industry as the Symbol of Peace will forever be remembered, as celebrations of the man’s retirement unfold all across the country. We thank All Might for his undying service to our great country. From everyone at the Daily News: we stand with you, All Might. We thank you.”

Captioned clip from Nippon Hōsō Kyōkai’s “General TV” broadcast, aired on June 7, 2232, 19:01.

Accessed: June 7, 2232.

NAKAJIMA: As celebrations kick up, we remind everyone to stay safe, and stay respectful.

SATO: Quite right. The death toll ticks higher for those who were caught in the infamous Kamino Incident where All Might, Japan’s Number One Hero, took his final stand.

NAKAJIMA: Reports say that there are over three hundred deceased, and nearly two thousand others who have been hospitalized. The train systems are still closed for Kamino, as it is still an active Rescue area.

SATO: Plan accordingly when traveling, folks, because it doesn’t look like the rubble will be cleared for at least a few more days. In other news—

Excerpt from Yuuei Heroics High School’s public service announcement to all faculty, staff, and students, emailed June 7, 2232, 05:00.

Accessed: June 7, 2232.

“We understand that this is a sudden change, but Yuuei strives for excellence, and safety is a large part of that excellence. Professors will be making house calls to anyone who does not respond to this email by 20:00, June 7, 2232, to collect your response. Moving forward, if there are any questions, please direct them to Mister Ishiyama Ken, alias Cementoss.

“Our hopes for the future continue to burn bright, and we believe that our students deserve to learn and live in an environment of comfort and security. What better place than our home, Yuuei High School?”

Midoriya has never been inside the Musutafu police station. It’s a little different from the one in Tokyo City, which is the one his mother is more familiar with, and he thinks that it’s making her more nervous than she already is. She clutches Midoriya’s arm tightly in hers, tugging him down at a steep angle so that he has to walk slanted.

“Don’t worry, Midoriya-san,” Detective Tsukauchi says. His voice is warm and smooth, doing what it can to placate Midoriya’s mother before she can truly work herself up. “This is just a formality. A death—” she flinches, and Tsukauchi winces at his own word choice— “requires a certain amount of documentation. We should be in the clear, after today.”

A slither of doubt pierces between Midoriya’s shoulder blades.

“I pulled some strings,” Tsukauchi continues, winding them through the cubicles and past sealed rooms. “We should be alone during our interrogation—that way we won’t cause anyone undue stress. Of course, Principal Nedzu-san requested to be present, as well as Eraser Head-san, and All Might.” Tsukauchi glances at Midoriya over his mother’s head. “They’ll be behind the glass, listening. No one should be interrupting us with any extra questions, this time.” His mouth ticks up humorously.

“‘This time’?” Inko repeats. Her round green eyes pop wider in concern. “What other time was there?”

“A–ah, nothing, Okaasan,” Midoriya is quick to reassure. “Tsukauchi-san is just talking about—”

Midoriya draws a complete blank.

He’s slammed with just how much he’s been keeping from his mother. She doesn’t know about his interactions with Tomura—any of the three. Not the time that Midoriya was taken hostage inside Yuuei during the break-in; not when he’d been held again in the USJ; not those two deadly kisses in the Kiyashi Ward Mall. She’d been called in the aftermath of his first meeting with Toga Himiko, but knows nothing about his standing agreement to provide the girl with his blood. Midoriya Inko knows about the Hero-Killer: Stain, and Midoriya’s revolutionary Quirkless Villain capture—but not the reason that he’d been in Hosu City to begin with.

Midoriya goes breathless with all the weight of those secrets.

“It’s pretty common to be interrupted, Midoriya-san,” Tsukauchi cuts in. “At the hospital yesterday when I was taking Midoriya-kun’s initial statement, no less than eight nurses barged right in!” He gives a hearty chuckle. Midoriya’s mother, not noticing her son’s stilted silence, titters alongside the detective. “You’re a nurse yourself, correct?”

“Yes, that’s right,” says Inko. “And it’s Detective Tsukauchi-san, Izuku.” Her light reprimand sends a ripple of shame through him. “I work at Abenobashi General Hospital. I’ve been a nurse since before Izuku was born!”

Midoriya tries to fight his own anxiety as his mother exchanges pleasantries with Detective Tsukauchi. All too soon, they’re outside the interrogation room. Because he’s being investigated in relation to a homicide, Midoriya gets none of the cushy trappings that usually come with being a minor. He carefully detaches his mother’s hands from around his bicep, and pulls back to look her in the eyes.

“Stay out here, okay Okaasan?” He bites his lip. Those green eyes—their eyes— are far too trusting. “I don’t want you to worry about me. I’ll be out before you know it.”

“Don’t patronize me, honey,” she says, her sweet voice condescending. “I was here last time. I know how it works—don’t worry about me.”

Midoriya bites his tongue before he can say, “You don't know anything.” Now isn’t the time to argue with his mother. He gives her a tight, brief hug, and heads through the door Tsukauchi holds open for him. He settles into a worn plastic chair, hooking his ankles around the legs as he attempts not to vibrate out of his skin.

Tsukauchi’s reassuring hand lands on his shoulder. “Now, I’m sure you know this,” he says, “but everyone involved in this investigation as of right now is aware of One For All.”

Midoriya’s eyes dart to the camera positioned in the corner of the room.

“I’ve disabled the audio on that.” Tsukauchi smiles kindly. “I’ll be doing my usual recordings on my own device—which is completely legal. That way, if there’s a real need for it, we’ll have it, but it won’t be floating around where I can’t keep an eye on it.” He knocks lightly on the two-way mirror—a soft knock echoes back—and says, “Toshinori, Nedzu-san, and Aizawa-san are right on the other side. If you need anything at all, just let me know, and we can pause. This is the time to be entirely truthful. We’ll work out the story for the press, later.”

Midoriya nods.

Tsukauchi sits, flipping open his notepad. “I am legally obligated to tell you that my Quirk, Lie Detector, is always active. When I ask a question, I can determine whether your answer is true or false, so if you don’t want to answer a question, please just say ‘skip’ and we’ll skip it, okay?”

The words are verbatim from their first official interview together. This throws Midoriya for a loop so hard that he stutters. “Y–yeah. Yes, that’s fine.”

“Perfect. Can you state your full name, and the date?”

“My name is Midoriya Izuku. It’s June sixth, two-thousand-two-hundred-and-thirty-two.”

“Alright, Midoriya-kun. Let’s begin with something easy: what did you have for dinner on the night of June fourth, two-thousand-two-hundred-and-thirty-two?”

Midoriya thinks back. Kota had eaten with him, Monoma, Todoroki, and Shinsou. “We made spicy curry, with mochi for dessert. I ate with my friends, and Sosaki-san’s cousin, Kota.”

“And who is Kota-kun to you?” Tsukauchi asks.

“Um, ah… no one, really. We’re not related or anything, and I guess it would be kind of strange to call a six-year-old my friend. Kota is—something like a little brother to me. Maybe more like a son? Ah—not that—I’m not old enough for a son, or anything like that!” Midoriya flushes, and he tucks his hands into his armpits embarrassedly.

Tsukauchi chuckles. “Not to worry, Midoriya-kun. Parental instincts are something anyone can have. Besides, it’s not unheard of for someone your age to be a father.” At the look on Midoriya’s face, he outright laughs. “Let’s not linger too long on that. So, Kota-kun ate with you all. Why is this important?”

“Well, only because he asked me to come visit his hideout with him after dinner.”

“If I may,” Tsukauchi says, holding up his pen to stall Midoriya’s words, “I have a quick question. Can we back up a bit? I feel like I’m missing a bit of context in you and Kota-kun’s relationship. You'd only known this boy for a single day, right? Why did he trust you so quickly?”

Midoriya rubs the back of his neck. “Okay, listen. This isn’t going to sound super great—”

“Remember, now’s the time for honesty. Continue?”

“A–ah, yeah. Well, let me back up to the night of the third. Kota fell off the wall in the hot springs, and I caught him. I banged up my knee, and he passed out while he was falling, so I took him to the Pro-Hero Mandalay. Pro-Hero Tiger sewed up my knee, but I wanted to speak with Mandalay-san about Kota’s behavior. He’d punched my friend Monoma earlier that day, and said something about not liking Heroes.”

“This was strange to you?”

“Very,” Midoriya says grimly. “Nowadays, Heroes are everything to young kids. I can’t imagine liking anything else. So I’d asked Sosaki-san about him, and she told me that his parents were the Water-Hose Duo, who were murdered by the Villain, Muscular. We spoke about how Kota reacted to everyone martyring his parents by rejecting Hero society as a whole. Sosaki-san explained how being a Hero is a lifetime commitment that you make at a really young age that can have consequences you don’t fully understand when you’re choosing it.”

He closes his eyes, leaning his head back. The bright lights of the room shine through the backs of his eyelids, washing the darkness in red.

“I told Sosaki-san that we wouldn’t need Heroes at all, if people were given basic compassion.”

Tsukauchi sucks in a breath. “What do you mean by that?”

Midoriya laces his fingers together, settling them on the surface of the icy steel table. “I mean that if my legislation gets passed, it’ll be the first step to dismantling society as we know it.” His eyes are hard. He’s done shying away from it, after what he’d seen in Kamino Ward last night. The screams of all those helpless people had haunted his nightmares and waking hours, alike. “I am going to fix this world, if it’s the last thing I do. No one is going to be punished for something they can’t control. People shouldn’t be pushed to Villainy, just to survive.” He meets Tsukauchi’s gaze steadily. “I told her that violence begets violence—and Kota heard me.”

“Violence begets violence,” Tsukauchi murmurs. He flips forward in his notepad, squinting down until he finds what he’s searching for. His pen taps the paper when he does. “Huh. Can you explain to me where you first heard that phrase?”

Midoriya swallows. “Tomura—Shigaraki, that is. He said that to me during the attack on the Unforeseen Simulation Joint, at Yuuei High School. It—it stuck with me.”

Tsukauchi makes a noncommittal hum. “Thank you. Now, you were saying that Kota-kun heard your words?”

Midoriya nods. “He’d woken up while Sosaki-san and I were talking without us noticing. He told me that he wants to help me get rid of Heroes, so that no one has to die like his parents did.” Midoriya watches his own fingers fidget and tap. “After that, he was pretty much attached to my hip.”

“I can understand why,” says Tsukauchi. “So, back to June fourth. Proceed?”

“Kota asked me to go with him to his secret hideout. I didn’t have anything better to do, so I went. Oh—I signaled to Aizawa-sensei that I was leaving, first. Kota led me through the woods, and it was night at this point, until we reached the mountainside. There was a trail that he showed me, that took us up to this cave. We sat for a while and talked, and eventually went back to rejoin the others for the Test of Courage.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, what did you and Kota-kun speak about?” Tsukauchi asks.

“Um, a lot of stuff, I guess. The stars, and how Kota technically owns the land we were training on. I, um, I tried to convince Kota-kun that Sosaki-san is really nice. I have a friend in foster care, whose parents gave him up. I told Kota about him, trying to make him understand that he should be grateful for Sosaki-san’s generosity and love—but he didn’t really get it.” Midoriya runs a hand through his hair. “He was angry about Quirks.”

“Is that concerning to you?”

“Yeah,” Midoriya says. “Quirks are a fundamental aspect of our lives. To be so jaded with them at such a young age is awful. We went back and forth for a while about whether Quirks are really to blame, and I think I got him to understand my perspective.”

“Which is?” Tsukauchi prompts.

“Quirks are a part of us, just like our skin color and our hair color. Judging someone based on their Quirk is bigoted, and it only makes the world a worse place to live. Choosing compassion can change the course of someone’s life. Blaming Quirks for the problem that starts with our internal biases is stupid, and I’m pretty sure he understood by the end.”

“Interesting. So, you rejoined the main group. What time was this?”

“Um, probably around twenty-one hundred hours? I didn’t have a phone or watch with me. The sun had been down for a while, and it was probably about thirty minutes after dinner ended. We caught back up, but Kota got bored right away. Sosaki-san told him he should go play, and I said that I’d go get him, later, after the Test of Courage.”

“So, at this point, who is with you?”

Midoriya does his best to list all the students he remembers, including the three Pussycats with them. “But, about a minute after Uraraka and Asui went into the woods, Pixie-Bob-san smelled smoke. Right after that, two Villains appeared. Pixie-Bob got pulled away by a Quirk of some kind, and Tiger and Mandalay tried to make us leave.” Midoriya swallows. “I was the only one who knew where Kota had gone. Even Mandalay didn’t know where his secret hideout was. So, I told her I’d go get him.”

“Understandable,” says Tsukauchi. “So, what happened then?”

“I ran. I ran. ” He swallows. “I—I activated One For All. I could hear voices, and Kota should have been alone.”

Tsukauchi’s eyes pop wide. “You actually used it?!”

Midoriya nods. “At anything more than five percent, it hurts my body. I used probably about eight to get to Kota, to push him out of the way of Muscular. We fell, but I got in a defensive position. I realized that the woods were in flames—that we weren’t going to get any help. No one knew where we were.” He stares at his hands, clenched tightly together on the tabletop. “Kota was already crying. I told him I’d protect him, no matter what.”

“What did Muscular do?”

“He identified me right away,” Midoriya says, grimacing. “He said that the others would be jealous he’d gotten to ‘squash me into a paste.’ He punched me, and broke my left arm.” Midoriya shrugs off his navy blue All Might zip-up, turning so that Tsukauchi can see the thin line of scarring around his left elbow. “Then, he asked where Kacchan was—well, he called him Bakugou, of course—but I didn’t answer. He kicked me in the stomach, and I bounced off the cliff.” He takes a deep, shuddering breath. Midoriya feels the ease in the expansion of his ribcage, stretching the fabric of his cotton T-shirt, and remembers the dreadful terror of not being able to do it. The memory of that pain sings in his skin. “I used One For All to try and punch Muscular, and he teased me about what the reporters would say when they realized I was supposedly lying about being Quirkless. He slapped me, and I went down. I rolled to dodge another punch, but he got me while I was in the air from the backlash of the first one.

“Kota threw a rock. It hit Muscular in the back of the head, and he got distracted. Started monologuing. I dunno. I was trying to stay conscious at that point. He tried to swing at Kota, so I pushed through and used One For All to attack again. He caught my left hand in his muscle fibers, but I punched with a hundred percent, using my right.”

“Okay,” says Tsukauchi, writing quickly. “So, was that the first time you intentionally used a lethal move against Muscular?”

“Well, I didn’t really know it was going to be a lethal move until after,” Midoriya says uncomfortably. “I hadn’t had a chance to practice with it, before that.”

“Alright.” Tsukauchi underlines something. “You were saying?”

“I used a hundred percent, and it busted up the cliff a lot. I had to catch Kota with my teeth and pull him back up, since my hands were both broken.” Midoriya flexes his fingers, which still ache and smart. He’s not sure it’ll ever go away, with the way he broke them. Jagged, horizontal incisions line the back of his right hand, where they’d inserted thin metal scaffolding to guide the bones. He takes a tense breath. “But Muscular told me that I telegraph, so he was able to use his Quirk to defend himself. He was… completely unharmed. I tried to stall, but he told me he was done playing, and attacked. Kota held on to my shoulders, and I jumped over him. The cliff… shattered. I started to panic, but I thought that maybe—” his breath goes shallow. He doesn’t want to say this, not with Nedzu on the other side of the glass.

Deku ducks his head.

“I thought that if Kota ran, I could hold off Muscular long enough for him to make it to camp. That way, Aizawa-sensei could erase his Quirk and beat him.”

Tsukauchi is quiet, and Deku tries not to watch his face as he works this out. “So… you were going to… sacrifice yourself? For Kota-kun?”

“Yes,” Deku whispers. “But he didn’t run. I got crushed, and Kota stayed. He sprayed Muscular with his Quirk—so I got back up. I pushed him away.” Deku’s fingers clench, and they throb where they’d blown apart. “I had to. There wasn’t another option. It was win, or die—and I’d already chosen to die and been thwarted.” His mouth fills with saliva. “So I got up, and I punched him, and I won.”

He looks up at Tsukauchi, whose lips have parted in shock.

“It was that easy?” he asks.

Midoriya gives him a faint smile. “Just about. Editing out all of the super-cool shattering of my bones, of course.”

“Right.” Tsukauchi looks a little woozy. “Well, ah—” he turns around and faces the mirror. He seems to be at a loss for words. “I think… I think I need a break, for a moment.”

It only takes a second, but the three men—well, two men and one chimera—hiding behind the two-way mirror pour into the interrogation room. Midoriya feels like his body is going to overheat from all those concerned eyes. So many adults, all staring at him with various expressions of stress and upset.

“Izuku-kun,” says Nedzu, his voice small. His ears are pressed flat to his skull, his tail whipping beneath his dark suit jacket. “We—we spoke about this. I begged you to understand your worth—”

“I—I know!” Midoriya interrupts, panicked. “Really, I, I promise, I got it! But—”

“My boy,” says All Might, his electric blue eyes filled with heartache. “There are no buts here. Staying alive… How could you even think to sacrifice yourself? To choose death?”

Midoriya’s eyes burn with frustrated tears. “You don’t get it!”

“Kid,” Aizawa drawls, his arms crossed over his chest, “you made the wrong choice. You can only be a Hero if you’re alive.”

He groans, grinding his teeth. Midoriya shoves his chair back, standing and pointing an accusing finger at them. “You’re not listening to me!” Hot tears sting his eyes. “I didn’t have a choice! It was me or Kota, and—and I picked him! He’s a six-year-old child! Was I supposed to leave him?! Run away, and hope that Muscular would find some kindness in his shriveled up heart?!” His chest heaves. “That’s not who I am! That’s not what a Hero does!”

“You are still a child,” says All Might, reaching a hand out towards him. “You shouldn’t have had to make that call. You’re not a Hero, yet.”

The tears finally spill over. “I—I am a H–Hero!”

“No,” says Aizawa, leaning against the door. “You’re not.”

Midoriya’s fists clench at his sides, his nails biting into his palms. He squeezes them, trying to get control of his breathing so he can argue, to spit out the words that are scalding his throat. A flash of searing pain scores through him, and his right hand spasms.

“Gah!” he gasps, clutching it to his chest. Shit, not now!

“You are still a child,” All Might repeats, softer now. His spindly fingers brush along the scar on the back of Midoriya’s hand, and he flinches at the touch. “You’re still learning—still growing. Young Midoriya, we just want to see you live to reach your fullest potential.” Sadness etches creases into the corners of All Might’s mouth. He looks about a hundred years old.

Nedzu clambers up All Might’s body, claws hooking in his baggy pants and too-big shirt. He climbs until he is nose-to-nose with Midoriya. His wet little snout twitches and tweaks.

“Izuku-kun,” he says.

For all Nedzu claimed that he doesn’t have many emotions, those words sure seem to be full of them. Midoriya’s heart twists painfully in his chest. He remembers his apology, as he’d thought he was dying. A sob breaks over his lips.

“I want to trust you,” Nedzu says. His paw settles on Midoriya’s cheek, right over the burst of his freckles. “I tried to tell you. I’m sorry that I have failed you this way.” His ears flatten backwards. “I believe… I am not enough for you, Izuku-kun.”

“No,” sobs Midoriya. “It’s—it’s not you. I swear!” He wipes under his nose, which has started to stream along with his eyes. “It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.”

“That’s not true, Midoriya-kun,” says Tsukauchi, his eyebrows scrunched together.

“It’s our job, my boy, to be there for you. To lift that burden from your shoulders, and protect you from the evils of this world. I’m sorry that we couldn’t. I am sorry, so deeply sorry, that you were put in that position.” All Might steps forward into Midoriya’s space. His long, skeletal arms spread wide.

An invitation.

Midoriya, with a little, embarrassing hiccup, throws himself into All Might’s embrace. The man enfolds him, tucking Midoriya’s head beneath his chin and crossing those bony arms over his back, like he can shield Midoriya from the decisions he’s already made. The thought makes Midoriya cry harder. Even here, he can’t escape what he’s done. He’ll never leave Muscular behind—the stain of his blood will always stick to Midoriya’s skin.

“Izuku-kun,” Nedzu says, and that tone sends a chill down Midoriya’s spine. He pulls back a little to see the chimera. “If you are going to continue in my tutelage… I believe you are going to need psychiatric help.”

Midoriya’s heart sinks.

Dinner that night is painfully awkward. Midoriya and his mother walk from their apartments to the Bakugous’ house in a stifling silence. He’s not sure what Nedzu had told her, but his mother hasn’t looked him in the eye since they left the police station.

Usually they’ll only eat with the Bakugous once a month, when all the parents can finagle a free weekend evening from their stressful, all-consuming jobs. Today, with most of the train systems still shut down from the Kamino Ward Incident, the Bakugous had the day off. Midoriya’s mother quickly traded shifts with a friend, and demanded that Midoriya make himself presentable for dinner.

He’s got a basket of fresh fruit awkwardly tucked under one scarred arm.

When Masaru answers the door, his face twitches into an apologetic half-smile, half-grimace. He hugs Inko tightly, and claps Midoriya on the back.

“Thank you both for coming,” he says. “Suki is in a state. Please, don’t mind the mess.”

The “mess” turns out to be a frantic scatter of shoes in the genkan, and the remnants of what might have once been a tissue—or several tissues—that look to have been shredded and left on the coffee table. Their dog, a silent Hokkaido Inu named Kaito, bumps Midoriya’s leg. He scratches behind the blond dog’s ears, and it pads up the stairs without further ado, satisfied now that it has vetted him.

“Oh, Ink,” cries Mitsuki. She lunges forward, nearly tackling Midoriya’s mother in her haste to pull the woman into her arms. Mitsuki’s face is raw and red around her nose and eyes. “That stupid brat of mine,” she says, muffled into Inko’s shoulder. “Gavno,” she cusses, pulling back to wipe at her eyes. “My manager is going to kill me. I’m supposed to have a shoot this weekend.”

Inko takes her hands. “I’m sure Wada-san will understand. Let me help you with dinner, hm?”

Mitsuki throws Midoriya a teary smile as she leads his mother to the kitchen, where they can get drunk and cry over the burden of being mothers in peace. Masaru takes the dumb basket of fruit, and sets it on the coffee table like an effigy.

“So,” Midoriya says, fighting the uneasy air, “how are you… holding up?”

Masaru sighs. He scrubs his face roughly under his glasses. “It’s been rough, but we’re doing better, now. Your mother said you’d been hospitalized. Are you alright?”

Midoriya wets his lips nervously. “A–ah, sort of. Do you—do you want to see the scars?”

“Scars?” Masaru finally looks fully at Midoriya.

His knobby knees are out, beneath his cargo shorts, but, despite the fact that the summer heat is truly beaming down outside, he’s still wearing his limited-edition 30th anniversary All Might zip-up (with hair-antennae included). Masaru’s eyes settle on his neck, where the scarring from the Sonic Wave Emitter sits, a pink-silver that probably won’t fade.

Midoriya is a little worried that his tan skin is going to be more scarred than unblemished, soon.

“Let me see,” Masaru says quietly, stepping towards Midoriya.

He’s never done this. They’ve never done this.

Mitsuki and Masaru have been family to him for as long as he’s known, but the type of family that you hope desperately to impress. Family that you hide your problems from, so they won’t know how wide the gap between you has grown.

Midoriya’s mother had taught him this, long ago. She hides their finances from the Bakugous. Inko brushes off questions about extra shifts, or the bags beneath her eyes. Midoriya remembers lies over the years about small birthday gatherings. About his father. About boyfriends that came and went without his knowledge, and without the Bakugous’ stamp of approval. About a hundred little things that widened the chasm spanning between their family names.

So, when Kacchan turned his back on Midoriya, it went without being said.

The minor scrapes and burns and bruises that Midoriya received from him remained unexamined. After all, they were growing, rowdy boys, and some scuffles were to be expected. The teachers never mentioned anything; Midoriya never did, either. He’s used to keeping his mouth shut.

But now Masaru’s warm brown eyes are on him, and he’d offered to show him for some inane reason, so Midoriya pulls his hands from his pockets.

“A–ah, um, this is, is the worst one. I’m s–supposed to do some physical therapy for it.” He lets Masaru examine the thick strike across the back of his right hand. He unzips his jacket and hangs it quickly over his left elbow, hopefully hiding the marks Himiko’s teeth left behind, last time. He rolls up his sleeve, and shows Masaru the scar on his bicep. “I’ve got a bit of metal in my arm, now, too.”

Masaru’s face does a complicated maneuver. “Well, I hope you’re not trying to get through any airports quickly.”

There’s a moment of unbearable silence.

Behind him, someone snorts. “Oh my God, you seriously did not just say that,” Kacchan says. Midoriya whirls around.

Standing halfway up the staircase, in a pair of low-slung black gym shorts and a faded Best Jeanist tank top, is the boy Midoriya Izuku is in love with.

A blush burns across his face. He rolls his sleeve back down quickly, hiding as much of the jagged scar as he can.

“H–hi, Kacchan,” he stammers.

Kacchan shoots him a cool, appraising look. “Hey, old man—” he looks past Midoriya, at his father— “Deku’s gonna hang with me until dinner is ready. So quit your goddamn hovering already.”

“I am?”

“Yeah, dipshit. Let’s go.”

For the first time in eleven years—nearly twelve, since his sixteenth birthday is right around the corner—Midoriya is allowed onto the second floor of the Bakugou home.

It’s not quite what he remembers. It’s been eleven-going-on-twelve years, so he guesses some change is warranted. Doesn’t change the fact that he becomes immediately nostalgic for the house of his memories. There’s no more carpet, only polished hardwood in a honey color. That wall, which used to be All Might-yellow, is a fire-engine red, now. Almost the exact color of Kacchan and Mitsuki’s eyes.

Kacchan’s room makes him freeze in his tracks.

“Oh,” Midoriya says, softly.

It’s a grown-up room. Nothing like Midoriya’s All Might explosion, by half. Kacchan’s sheets are still sort of All Might themed, but the main color seems to be red, rather than navy blue. He’s got a shiny flat-screen mounted on the wall, and those artistic floating shelves holding his gaming systems, with the wires hidden in the walls.

Kacchan falls onto his bed indolently, a whuff of breath leaving him as he bounces.

Midoriya sits, stiff, in the expensive desk chair. He can see where Kacchan’s hot hands have melted the shapes of his fingers into the arms of the chair, and he can’t help but try to match them with his own fingers. His hands are wider than Kacchan’s.

“Hey, asshole,” Kacchan says, and it’s startling for its lack of bite. Midoriya meets his eyes. “I wanna hear you explain somethin’. And don’t bullshit me on it. You know I know when you lie.”

“Y–yes?” Midoriya squeaks. Has he really been caught out this quickly?

“You girlfriend—” oh— “is a little, blonde, blood-sucking weirdo.”

It’s not a question, but Midoriya knows what Kacchan wants. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, and tries to figure out how to frame it so that Kacchan will understand.

“Um. Yeah. But, uh, she’s still not my girlfriend.” He digs his aching fingers into Kacchan’s grooves, his knee bouncing nervously. “She was there. Himiko-chan works with the League now, I guess.”

Kacchan’s eye twitches. Midoriya watches his dangerous hands curl into slow, glowing fists. “You know, it actually makes me sick.”

Midoriya wets his lips. “What does?” he whispers.

Kacchan releases a bitter, hard laugh. “I just can’t fucking get away from you! You, a Quirkless nothing! A fucking pebble on my path!” Another laugh bubbles up, and Kacchan rolls flat on his back, pressing his palms to his eyes. “You followed me to Yuuei; you followed me to the training camp; you followed me to fucking Kamino. I can’t escape you, even when you’re not around. Half of those extras want you in our class, and the other half want a ring on your fucking finger. Even the goddamn Villains want you!” This time, the laugh sounds more like a sob. “I just—I can’t—you’re everywhere. Deku, Deku, Deku, fucking motherfucking Deku! Shigaraki’s sitting there telling his shit-ass lackeys that they should have gone for you, and frothing at the fucking mouth over you killing one of his buds; that psycho bitch is drenching her panties over getting to lick your crusty-ass fucking face—”

Kacchan jolts up, lunging at Midoriya faster than he can flinch back. His Quirk-heated hands snap over Midoriya’s wrists, pinning him in place.

Not that Midoriya would go anywhere. He’s about two centimeters away from Kacchan, and this is closer than they’ve been since the Sports Festival. He can feel Kacchan’s breath fan across his face. Kacchan smells like spices and the caramel of nitroglycerine.

“Why is it you? I don’t get it. You’re nothing.” Midoriya watches his throat bob in an uncharacteristically nervous swallow. “I can’t—” he hesitates. Kacchan’s face inches closer, and Midoriya is forced to lean back so that their noses don’t touch. Kacchan’s knee slides between Midoriya’s, and he knows his face must be bright red.

He wouldn’t move for the world.

“I fucking dream of you,” Kacchan whispers. “I went to sleep thinking about how I destroyed All Might, and I dreamed of you, of some shitty alternate reality where All Might chose you to hang around, instead of someone normal. I woke up thinking of you, you piece of shit.”

Kacchan’s palms are impossibly hot on his wrists. Midoriya chokes back a whimper of oversensitivity—he’s gripping Midoriya right over his scars.

“Why you?” His ruby eyes search Midoriya’s face for answers. “Why was I the one who ended All Might? I had to be—be fucking rescued by your Quirkless ass!” At this, his mouth draws into a grimace so exquisitely pained that Midoriya is worried Kacchan is going to cry. “Why me?!”

Midoriya shoves him.

Startled, Kacchan overbalances and trips backwards. Midoriya catches him by the front of his tank top, and pulls so that he and Kacchan are nose-to-nose again. Anger washes over him. It’s like Sunday night at the dinner table all over again: the insufferable need to win. Midoriya trembles with it.

“Shut up!” Midoriya hisses. “You have everything! All Might himself went to rescue you, and you’re asking why I’m important?!” His chest rises and falls erratically. He can feel Kacchan’s heartbeat against his own.

“They took me because I’m a piece of shit,” Kacchan spits, the quiet words full of venom. His hand closes over Midoriya’s where he holds him aloft. Kacchan’s thumb traces down, past the new scar, to the ones that wrap over his wrist. The ones that Kacchan gave him, during the Sports Festival. “The Villains thought I belonged with them.”

The fight drains out of Midoriya fast enough to give him whiplash.

“But Kacchan is the best,” he says. “He’d never be a Villain.”

Kacchan closes his eyes. He goes limp, letting Midoriya hold all of his weight—trusting that he’s not going to thump to the floor. “Even if I was the best, I’d never get away from you.”

It dawns on Midoriya like the warm trickle of sunlight over the horizon. “I told you that.”

After the second day of school, when Kacchan had first sought him out to confront him about attending Yuuei. The first time Midoriya stood up to Kacchan for his own sake.

“You might be a great Hero—the best Hero—one day, but you’re never going to get away from me. Every time you get stronger, I will too.”

“Kacchan,” Midoriya says, nerves alight with fear and buzzing with excitement, “I have something to tell you.”

All Might hadn’t been angry that Midoriya told Aizawa about One For All. He’d said that the Quirk is his, now, and that means that Midoriya gets to choose who knows the secret. Kacchan, lax in his arms, peels open his eyes.

“What the hell are you two doing?” barks Mitsuki.

Kacchan hits the floor with a thud. “Ow, you fucker!” He kicks Midoriya in the shin.

“Obasan!” yelps Midoriya, clutching his leg. “W–we’re just, just talking!”

Mitsuki narrows her eyes. “Right. Well, dinner is ready, so get downstairs.” She focuses on Kacchan. “Stop clowning around with Izukun—he just got out of the hospital!”

“I’m the one who just got kidnapped, hag!”

They tromp down the stairs, Kaito the dog weaving between Kacchan’s feet and nearly bowling over Midoriya. At the table, the energy is subdued. As he’d thought, his mother’s eyes are red and swollen, and she’s nursing a glass of white wine.

It is a dinner of near-silence, but Midoriya’s chest is full of inescapable bubbles of sunlight, because Kacchan’s ankle keeps knocking into his and neither of them do anything about it.

On Saturday, Midoriya has his first big blow-up with his mother.

He’s tugging the wagon out of the hall closet to take to Dagobah beach, when she blocks the genkan with her body and a toweringly stern expression.

“Where do you think you’re going, young man?” she asks.

Midoriya blinks. He’s in cut-off jean shorts and a Present Mic tank top that he got glittery, hot pink paint on in Support, and sunglasses sit on his head. He gestures to himself. “Dagobah.”

He starts forward, but his mother shifts to intercept him. “No, you’re not.” Her eyebrows furrow. “One, you didn’t even ask me for permission, Izuku. Two, don’t you think it’s too dangerous to be out by yourself? I’m putting my foot down.” She crosses her arms for emphasis. “Find something to do inside, please.”

Midoriya’s mouth falls open. “Are you serious right now?”

“Izuku!”

“Okaasan! It’s down the street!”

“Don’t you remember when you got mugged during that rainstorm, and came back in just your underwear? It’s not safe, Izuku! At least if you’re here, I know where the danger is localized to.” Inko’s lower lip trembles.

“Please don’t cry,” Midoriya sighs. He wishes his mother wouldn’t jump to sobbing so quickly when faced with confrontation. “I promise, I can handle myself.”

“No, you can’t!” Her tears boil over. “You’re Quirkless, Izuku! I know that you’ve been forgetting that, lately, but you can’t handle—”

“Yes, I can,” Midoriya says, his voice low and angry. He jerks his chin down, staring at her nail polish, rather than the hurt on her face. “I can’t believe you’re doing this, right now.”

“When else am I supposed to talk to you? You’re at that school all hours of the day—never home anymore—”

“I got friends! I have a life now!”

“You’re a liability, Izuku!”

He jerks back.

She reaches out a hand to touch him, and he pulls away before she can.

“I can’t believe you,” he says. He hates that his voice trembles with hurt. “Move, please.”

“I—I’m sorry, but we’re not done with this conversation.” Inko draws a breath, pulling herself taller. “I’ve been thinking—”

“I don’t care!” Midoriya howls. His mother flinches, her expression wounded and scared. “I don’t care what you think! You can’t—” he digs his fingers into his hair and groans. “You don’t know me anymore! I can handle myself. I am strong. I have a life; I have friends. I—I’m a Hero.”

Just like that, his mother’s expression changes. She wears a new one, oozing heartbreak and pity and sympathy, and a thousand other things he never wants to see in her face again. “Oh, Izuku…”

“Don’t,” he pleads.

“Honey, you know you’ll never be a Hero.”

His vision swims. She’s saying something about thinking that he’d finally moved on, and something about his scars, but it’s as if her words come from deep under water. Midoriya’s breaths struggle to remain even. In his hair, his fingers twist painfully.

“Get out of my way,” he says, voice tremulous.

“Wh–what?”

He inhales shudderingly through his nose. “Move out of the way, Okaasan.”

“We’re not done talking!”

“I am. I’m done.” As a tear trickles down his cheek, he shoots his mother a wounded, aching look. “I’m so done.”

Then, despite her protests, Midoriya runs from the apartment, his flip-flops slapping the pavement as he flees.

Dagobah is burning hot. The sand under his feet, pale and grainy, feels like it could melt his shoes. There’s almost no trash left, after so many months of effort. Today was supposed to be his last push—the final haul.

Instead, he collapses to the ground and cries into his knees.

He’s almost unsurprised when arms wind around his shoulders. Fluffy hair tickles the back of his neck, and someone’s loving coo blows, humid, over the shell of his ear. Midoriya kind of wants to scream.

“What’s wrong, Izukun?” Himiko asks, her voice lilting. “Who hurt you?”

He sniffles. “Nobody.”

She drapes herself against his back, shielding him from the bright sunlight. “But you’re crying. I only cry when someone hurts me real, real bad.” Her finger drags under his chin, tilting his face until their gazes meet. In the noon sun, her pupils are tiny, contracted slits. She gives a simpering little sigh. “You’re so pretty like this, Izukun.”

“Thank you,” he says, wiping his nose. “I like your shirt.”

Himiko is dressed like a tourist, complete with a fisherman’s hat on her head—hooks and lures included—smooshing down her hair buns. The tops of her thighs are already pinking up under the harsh summer sun. She beams at his compliment. Her Hawiian-print shirt blends in with all the people who have started traveling to Musutafu to enjoy the balmy summertime weather.

“Aw, you’re such a sweetheart!” Himiko grins at him, scooting so that they’re shoulder to shoulder. Then, as if this isn’t enough bodily contact for her, she throws her mostly-bare legs over his lap. “But don’t try to distract me, Izukun. I want to know why you’re crying all alone.”

He gives her a watery little smile. Midoriya makes a valiant effort to sew his emotions back into his body. “It’s nothing, really! Just an argument with my mum. She’s a little on-edge after everything that happened in Kamino.”

Himiko makes an understanding noise. Then, proving that he really can’t trust the status of her sanity, she asks, “Do you want me to get rid of her?”

“My mother?” Midoriya says, startled. “No! No, definitely not. I—I love her. She just wants what’s best for me, and sometimes doesn’t understand that I’m growing up, and I can be responsible for myself now.”

“Oh,” says Himiko. She blinks at him. “I don’t love my mother very much, so I guess I don’t understand. But I think it’s adorable that you’re a momma’s boy, Izukun!”

Midoriya’s brow creases. “So, I guess your parents don’t know where you are—or what you’re doing, right?”

She laughs. “Definitely not. They didn’t want anything to do with me! I thought that boy that we took might be like us, but he didn’t understand at all.”

“Kacchan? No, he’s got great parents.” Midoriya looks at Himiko, wanting to press for answers, but nervous about setting off alarm bells. Thankfully, he doesn’t have to do anything.

“That boy was awful,” Himiko tells him. “Nothing like you at all. And Shiggy-kun was so mad when we told him you were at the training camp.” She giggles, settling her head against Midoriya’s shoulder. “He wanted to see you all bloody—just like me.”

Midoriya absently strokes her back, petting her much like he would a cat. He puts his mother’s words out of his mind, locking the door firmly behind them. Right now, he has information to gather. “I wish I could speak to Tomura… What did you guys do to Kacchan when you had him?”

“A whole lot of nothing. He was so irritating. All he did was shout and yell and tell us we were dumb.” Himiko pouts. “I didn’t even want to take his blood—not when I’ve got you. And he hit Shiggy-kun! I seriously thought he was gonna die.” She giggles.

“He… Kacchan hit Tomura?”

“Yup! Right across the face. Knocked Tousan off, too! If it was me, I would have been done for.”

“Tousan?” Midoriya asks tentatively.

“You know, all those hands he wears!” Himiko wiggles her fingers. “Shiggy-kun says that they’re his family. I think he’s got his mum, his dad, both of his grandparents, and a sister.” She squints as she thinks. “Actually, there might be one more, but I dunno. He never talks about them, anyway.”

Nausea rolls in his stomach. He chokes back a gag.

“I guess he doesn’t wear them around you, huh?” says Himiko. “You probably keep him calm just as much as they do, so he doesn’t need them. How sweet!”

Keep him calm…

“I guess so. But, Himiko-chan,” Midoriya starts, fighting to make his voice steady, “do you know Tomura’s sensei? ”

Himiko wrinkles her nose. “Yeah, duh. He’s… weird. He’s in all the TVs, and sometimes he talks while me and Magne-nee-chan are trying to watch fashion shows. He’s always going on about Heroes and All Might, even though it makes Shiggy-kun itch, and Dabi-san set things on fire. That’s how I lost my best pair of socks.”

“I’m sorry about your socks,” Midoriya consoles. “What does he say about Heroes that makes Dabi-san angry?”

“All kinds of things. How Heroes hurt society; the way they look down on people like us; why we should be working harder to take them down. He’s always giving Shiggy-kun side quests to spy on them.”

“And… and does Sensei—” Midoriya’s having trouble phrasing this. “Have you ever seen him t–touch Tomura?”

She shakes her head. A huge sigh of relief gusts out of Midoriya.

“Sensei doesn’t come around much. He’s got all those tubes and wires poked into him by the doctor, so he can’t go anywhere, usually. That’s why he speaks through the TVs. I think Shiggy-kun talks to him, sometimes, but he’s pretty busy with us, now. Sensei says that we’re his new team, so Shiggy-kun has to train us up.”

“Good, good,” says Midoriya. He yanks a hand through his hair. “I'm just… I'm worried about him.”

Himiko pouts. “Trouble in paradise?” Her thumb tugs at his lower lip. She leans closer to whisper, “You know I'm always here for you, Izukun. I'd do anything for you.”

“I know, Himi-chan,” he says, pulling her hand away and lacing their fingers together. “And I'm not worried about me and Tomura. I'm just worried about him. I think his sensei—” Midoriya bites his lip. “I think Tomura’s sensei hurts him.”

Himiko’s eyes go wide. “Really? But, he seems so nice! He’s always telling Shiggy-kun when he does a good job, and giving him gifts. If any of my sensei had ever acted like he does, I would have stayed in school longer.”

Midoriya swallows. Had he been wrong? He tries to think back on what had unsettled him so much last night that he’d thrown up, but it’s difficult to pinpoint. Is he mistaken? Did All For One’s general aura of menace confuse him, and make him jump to conclusions?

“Though,” Himiko says contemplatively, snuggling into Midoriya, “I guess his gifts are kind of weird.”

Midoriya waits with bated breath. “Weird how?”

“Well, like food!” She presses a finger to her cheek, dimpling the skin. “When Shiggy-kun does good on a side-quest, Kurogiri-san makes him a bi-i-i-g meal.” She stretches the word out for emphasis. “Or, or like, when he trains real, real hard! When Shiggy-kun trains real hard, he can shower. None of the rest of us are allowed to—ever—but he can, sometimes. And sometimes he gets a new game. I've only seen him get one once, but he talked all week about it, afterwards.”

There's a pit in the bottom of Midoriya’s stomach. “D–do you… when do you shower? Or bathe? The rest of the League, I mean.”

“Well, if we can put our sticky fingers to good use, we can use the public bathhouses,” she says. She laughs, “That's where I get most of my clothes from, ya’ know? I stay with Shiggy-kun, but not all of us do. Twice-san has an apartment, I think, so he gets to shower whenever he pays the bills. Mister Compress-san does, too. Or, maybe he has a house! I've never asked. But the rest of us—Dabi-san, me, Magne- nee- chan, Spinner-kun, and Mustard-chan—we all lived in the bar.” Her hand clenches against Midoriya’s. “But, well… not anymore.”

“Not anymore,” murmurs Midoriya, his mind in a thousand different places.

He needs to do more research. The kind of relationship that All For One and Shigaraki Tomura share sounds like the worst kind of complicated, but he’s not familiar enough to be able to label it outright. Besides, with Himiko’s limited information, Midoriya’s picture is incomplete. He wants to believe that All For One cares for Tomura the way a father, or a particularly heartwarming teacher might, but he can’t shake that feeling of unease.

Midoriya is Tomura’s reward. Tomura told him, himself, that he hopes to one day earn something more from Midoriya.

The thought sends a wicked shudder of desire through him, but he pushes it away. He’d done enough research on their positions to put their relationship firmly in the “unbalanced” category. Until he can fix it so that they’re on equal footing, all those lingering thoughts of the taste of Tomura’s tongue and how his body might feel under Midoriya’s hands have to be squashed into a shadowy corner of his mind. Midoriya isn’t interested in being someone’s pet.

He just hopes that Tomura understands that he might be on the end of All For One’s leash.

Himiko’s lips are soft on the line of Midoriya’s jaw. He twitches away, face burning rose petal red.

“Himi-chan!” he protests, angling his face away from hers.

“Sorry,” she giggles. “You’re just so cute when you get lost in thought like that!” Her eyelids lower, a blush rising in her cheeks. “You smell so good, you know? You make my mouth water, Izukun.” Her tongue darts out, laving over his carotid artery. “My tummy is rumbling,” she whispers.

“I’m sorry, Himi-chan!” Midoriya gasps. “I totally forgot that you must be super hungry. The last time you came was so long ago—have you been—”

“I never cheated!” Himiko’s eyes flash dangerously. “Izukun is my one and only. Even though he’s Shiggy-kun’s, and doesn’t want me back, I’m always faithful to my Izukun. Everyone else’s blood tastes like ash when you’re here.” She pouts. “Even that cute girl from your training camp tasted like dirt—and I really liked her.”

“Do you mean Uraraka-san?” Midoriya asks.

“The one with that pretty brown hair, and the blushy cheeks! Oh, she was…” Himiko sighs, lovestruck. “But she was so afraid.” Her nose wrinkles in disgust. “Nothing like you, Izukun. Even when you were scared of me, you were so smart and strong, and you talked to me. She just wanted to fight, like all the other Heroes.”

Midoriya hesitates. “That doesn’t really sound like her, to me. I think Uraraka-san is really nice. I’m sorry that you didn’t get to meet her in better circumstances—but I don’t think you can blame her for being a little on-edge.” He angles his left arm in front of Himiko’s face. “Here, why don’t you drink, and then we can talk some more.”

There’s only a handful of people dappling Dagobah’s sandy shores. Most of them are elderly fishermen, sitting in folding chairs on the end of the rickety, half-rotted pier. A couple walks arm-in-arm on the far end, towards the little sashimi restaurant that leads the line of businesses stretching on towards the city.

A sound catches in the back of Himiko’s throat: a whimper, Midoriya thinks.

He watches her pupils expand, round as a coin, as she gazes up at him. It makes him want to cry, that expression.

When Toga Himiko’s teeth break his skin, she looks like a drowning woman coming up for air.

Fat tears of bliss fall down her pink cheeks. They catch on his freckled skin, hot and salty as the ocean. He watches her gulp and gasp and cry from relief until his vision starts to swim.

“H–Himiko,” he chokes out.

She hiccups a broken little moan. “Just a little more!” she begs, her teeth pulling from where they’ve been plunged into the tender meat of his elbow. A rivulet of blood dribbles down her chin, and Midoriya reaches up to wipe it with his thumb.

He’s uncoordinated; he just smears the bright liquid across her skin.

“D–Don’t kill me,” he whispers.

“Never,” Himiko promises.

He can’t stifle the pained noise that escapes him when she bites down again. This time, it’s higher on his arm, leaving four dripping puncture wounds in the crease of his elbow. Her hands grip him bruisingly.

Midoriya is getting light-headed. He can feel each heavy thump of his heart, ringing like a gong through his head. Something groggily occurs to him.

Wait… can she accidentally take One For All from me like this?

There’s a wet sucking sound, like the flesh of a mango giving way beneath the pressure of a jaw, and a hot stab of pain shoots through Midoriya. He hisses in a breath.

Don’t give it to her, he begs his body. Keep it! Keep it in!

Then he blacks out.

Himiko pats him awake. His head pounds, and his mouth is so dry that his lips crack immediately when he opens it to speak.

“I’m so sorry Izukun!” she cries, her big eyes full of anguish. “I didn’t mean to take that much—I was just so hungry!”

His brain feels full of fluff. He blinks, and it takes too much effort to open his eyes again. “It’s… okay. ‘M fine.”

When he’s looking up again, he can see her panicked face. She pats at his cheek with a heavy palm, possibly trying to keep him from falling asleep again, but it’s just making his headache flair.

“Izukun, I’m scared,” she whispers, her eyebrows pulled together on her forehead. “I don’t know what to do!”

“Juice…” Midoriya tries to say, but it takes so long that he’s sure he’s lost half of the word by the time he gets to the end of it. He tries again. “Juice… oranges…”

He thinks Himiko may be on the phone with someone. He can vaguely hear her voice, over the nausea starting to curdle his guts.

“Now he’s saying something about fruit! Oh, Shiggy, what if I killed him?!”

As that starts to register, the searingly hot sun finally takes effect on his anemic body, and he passes out again.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” someone says.

“I already know that!” snaps a girl, quite close to Midoriya.

Himiko, he thinks, and he must make a sound, because the ambient chatter that had filled the space cuts off.

“Izukun, baby?” her soft voice calls. Something touches his face. Fingers card through his fringe, which sticks to his forehead unpleasantly. “Izukun, can you hear me?”

He groans, harsh in his throat. Peeling open his eyes takes monumental effort—and the confusion that greets him almost isn’t worth it.

Wherever he is, it’s nearly too dark to see anything. What he can see makes him want to roll over and go back to sleep. Himiko dominates most of his field of view, kneeling at his right side. On his left, in a distant ring, are the other members of the League of Villains.

Front and center is Shigaraki Tomura.

Fuck, thinks Midoriya. Okaasan was right.

Chapter Text

Captioned clip from “KAMINO AFTERMATH” by user EekoKeepsUpWithTheNews, published June 7, 2232, 02:18.

Accessed: June 7, 2232.

“The dust is settling. We all know what this means—if you’re not a fuckin’ idiot. Sorry. I don’t mean to curse. But, seriously. With the guy that All Might fought going away, and all the cops coming out to talk about what a big deal he was, there’s one thing we can expect to see: violence. All For One—the supposedly legendary criminal mastermind who’s been working his whole life to topple Hero society—all of a sudden just ups and leaves? Gotta have a power vacuum. I know if I was some small-fry piece of shit, I’d be out there right now, trying to make my name.”

Excerpt from “10 Reasons Why Your Relationship is Unhealthy” from www.teengirl.jp.go, published August 1, 2210.

Accessed: June 7, 2232.

“First of all, if you’re looking this up, that’s probably a good indication that something is wrong in your relationship. However, there’s a big difference between something being wrong in your relationship, and the relationship being abusive. Please, if you need help, dial the hotline linked below. These signs are meant to help identify patterns your relationship may have, not professionally assign a name to what you may be experiencing.

1) Lack of Support

In a healthy relationship, two partners should lift each other up and support each other’s accomplishments, while soothing each other when they stumble or fall short of a goal. A good indicator of a toxic relationship is a constant sense of competition, or a sense that only one partner’s needs matter.

2) Bad Communication

Do you ever find that your conversations with your partner are filled with contempt, or constant arguing? Kindness and mutual respect drive healthy relationships. If you find yourself mocking them behind their back for things they’ve said, or ashamed to repeat them to loved ones, your communication might not be healthy.

3) The Green-Eyed Monster (Jealousy)

It’s fine to experience occasional jealousy, but if you constantly find yourself envious of your partner—whether that be in skill, job, friends, or looks—you can be headed down a road of mistrust and suspicion.

4) Controlling Behaviors

If you and your partner can’t engage in a healthy distance, such as going out alone, or with friends that the two of you don’t share, you might be developing some codependency. However, the true issue comes when you or your partner begin to overstep your boundaries, and restrict the other person. Not letting them live their life the way they want, or correcting them for behavior and clothing choice are common signs of a controlling partner.

5) Resentment

Do you or your partner ever hold on to grudges and let them fester? This can destroy a relationship’s intimacy at the root…

Excerpt from “Who Are the League of Villains? All Might’s Downfall Explored” by Yami Misaki, published June 7, 2232.

Accessed: June 7, 2232.

“The Yokohama Chief of Police is extremely reluctant to give out any concrete identities of the accomplices we saw alongside notorious S-Class supervillain All For One in Kamino Ward. from what our team has discovered, the same attackers of the Yuuei Heroics High School first year class trip were seen. Many reports have come in from another location in Kamino, where they faced an attack earlier in the night similar to that of the one in Hosu City from last month. Is this simply coincidence? We think not.

“The Hero-Killer: Stain was reportedly working alongside the League of Villains when he made his final attack in Hosu City. The beasts that killed several Pro-Heroes, and injured nearly two hundred civilians, were spotted at the site of the first attack in Kamino earlier this week. Almost immediately after, several blocks away, All Might began his last battle against All For One. It is possible to see, when reviewing surveillance footage of the fight before the news helicopters arrived, that there were many other participants in this battle, who left via a portal.

“Are these people the famed League of Villains?”

The building Midoriya awakens in is, in a word, disgusting. He’s never been in one like it in any of the near-sixteen years that he’s been alive, and he wishes he could leave immediately. Unfortunately, he is somewhat familiar with the symptoms of blood loss, which are hitting him on the head like a comically oversized mallet.

Keeping from falling asleep is a challenge, only compounded by the fact that Midoriya wants nothing more than to not be where he is right now. It stinks.

A brusque click of a tongue has his eyes sliding open, searching for the source of the noise. Dabi, the Villain with stark black hair and wintery-pale skin (stapled to warped and melted patches) glares down at him. The man—though Midoriya isn’t sure if this is the right word for him, as he seems young enough that he might even be a teenager, like himself—wears too many layers. Midoriya’s breaths are heavy and labored in the humid air of the grubby building, but Dabi doesn’t seem fazed. His leather trench coat brushes Midoriya’s hand, twitching against the sticky carpet.

“You’re not gonna die on us, are you?” Dabi asks. He raises an indolent eyebrow, which isn’t the same color as his hair, but does match the dirty, dusty color of the ceiling.

Midoriya’s parched throat works for a moment before he can respond. “… nah.”

With a worried whine, Himiko brushes his hair out of his eyes. “Oh, but you’re so pale!” she cries. She cradles his face in her hand. “And you’re all cold, even though you’re sweaty.”

“That’s because you tried to kill him,” snips Tomura, who is pretending very hard like he doesn’t want to be anywhere near Midoriya. His tightly crossed arms and agitated glowering give him away. “I told you, he’s mine.”

“Yes, boss,” says Dabi, dry as a desert. “Everyone under the sun is your personal property. We fucking got it.”

“Ha!” shouts the zentai-suit man, who isn’t in his suit currently. “That wasn’t funny at all.” The man wears a paper bag over his head, with eye-holes ripped into it. His white wife-beater is stained yellow around the armpits and collar, where his sweat must have soaked in and resisted coming out.

Midoriya wants to speak. His weakened body struggles to accommodate him. “—suh,” he manages.

“What?” Himiko leans in, petting him almost frantically. “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry. Speak up!”

“Get away from him,” snarls Tomura, standing up from the slouching, threadbare sofa that inhabits the majority of the space in the room.

“Juh,” says Midoriya. “Juice.”

Himiko sighs fretfully. “I told you. He started asking for fruit, and then he passed out,” she says to the room at large. Then, to Midoriya, “Don’t pass out again, okay? It’s not good for you!”

“You know what’s not good for him? Sucking all his blood out like he’s a goddamn boba,” snipes Dabi. The toe of his worn boot nudges Midoriya in the ribs.

“Juice!” says Spinner. The other members of the League of Villains turn to stare at him like he’s grown a second head. He shrinks a little, but points at Midoriya. “I’m pretty sure juice is supposed to be good for people who just gave blood. It helps get their blood sugar back up, or something. Stain-san chose to save him, so I think we should, too.”

Mister Compress, lounging on the sill of the room’s only window, makes a thoughtful noise. “True. Our little troupe might be able to provide some assistance to Stain-san’s chosen Hero-to-be—even if he doesn't respect the bodily autonomy of others. I suppose that it’s possible that fruit could help him recover.”

“The only foods I know that are high in iron are beans,” says Magne, the largest Villain in the room.

“Isn’t kale supposedly high in iron? No way! That’s broccoli! Shut up,” the zentai-man says, hitting himself in the side of the head with the flat of his palm. Midoriya thinks a better descriptor for him might be “the schizophrenic man.”

“Well, we ain’t got any of that shit, so who cares,” says Dabi. He nudges Midoriya again, who groans softly.

“Ooh, we should do a mission!” Himiko rocks back onto her heels, looking away from Midoriya, to Tomura.

Tomura glares at her darkly, his teeth bared. “No. No way.”

“Come on,” Himiko whines, pleading, “we really need supplies, anyway! This can be two birds with one stone, right?”

“Shoulda left the kid where you found him,” advises Dabi. “I ain’t stealing for some Hero.” He spits the word like an insult.

Tomura kneads his forehead. “This sucks. This is… fuck.” His fingers curl into claws, digging them into the flesh of his neck. “Fuck! Everything is all wrong now. Sensei would know what to do.”

Midoriya makes a noise. He tries to roll onto his side, but he’s bracketed by both Himiko and Dabi, which stops him from gaining any momentum. Using all of his strength, he clenches his abs and struggles upright.

“Izukun!”

He swallows dryly. “S–stop,” Midoriya rasps.

Tomura freezes, staring at him. His cheek twitches, his red irises burning with a seething anger.

It's then that Midoriya comes to a realization. Deep in his ribcage, something catches and tugs when he looks at Tomura. Tomura, in his dirty jeans and his grungy hoodie. Tomura, with murder in those bright, manic eyes of his. It's the same pull-yank-drag that Midoriya associates with Broadcast’s Quirk hooking him.

As his stomach erupts with tickle-winged butterflies, it dawns on Midoriya that Broadcast had never been using his Quirk at all.

“You were in Kamino,” Tomura says.

It’s like they’re the only two people in the room. Midoriya’s heart picks up speed, pumping his too-thin blood through his body even faster, sending dizzy spots across his vision. He and Tomura stare at each other, and Midoriya wonders how much Tomura can read in his open-book face. Does he know that Midoriya would be blushing, if he could? Can he see the threads of One For All, woven into the fabric of his DNA? Is he running those deadly fingers down the files of information stored in Midoriya’s head?

Midoriya nods, not trusting his voice.

“You’re a PC; you have all those INT points. Tell me,” says Tomura, prowling forward. His claw-like hand drops to his side. “Tell me why it went wrong. Was it you? Did you make those filthy Heroes ambush us?”

“N–no,” Midoriya says, his sandpaper tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

Tomura’s eyes flair wider. Around his face, his hair lays lank and silvery. “But you knew. That brat we tried to recruit… he was something to you, wasn’t he? My little spy told me.” Tomura’s hand darts out, a cobra strike, and latches around his neck. One finger strokes the air.

Adrenaline jolts strength back into Midoriya’s lethargic body. He’s got a split-second to make this decision, to figure out how to keep Tomura from Decaying him on the spot, and an idea zings through his head. He nearly trembles with it.

So many things could go wrong—but, with four of those rough fingers around the column of his throat, how much risk is he really taking? He’s already on the end of the noose. Either this jump will be his escape, or his hanging.

Midoriya tilts his head back, and brushes his lips against the edge of Tomura’s chin. His mouth grazes Tomura’s beauty mark. It’s tender, and soft, and he can smell that dusty-book scent that wafts off of Tomura’s skin, swirling down his throat and lingering in his lungs like smoke in sunlight. It’s heady enough to flutter Midoriya’s eyes shut.

“What the fuck,” says Dabi. Himiko lets out a sigh, half-loving, half-jealous.

Midoriya’s heart pounds.

As long as he thinks he’s manipulating me, Midoriya thinks, staring at Tomura’s shocked face, I can manipulate him back.

Midoriya has nothing. He has no weapons; no allies. He has himself, and his new Quirk that destroys his body. But One For All cannot save him, right now. The only thing he can rely on is what has been saving him his entire life: his brain.

So Midoriya says, rasping, “I’m going to destroy Hero society.”

After that, they give him a water bottle so he can speak clearly.

He doesn’t tell anyone. When he comes back home after dark, deposited in Musutafu by the over-apologetic Himiko, he just goes home. He doesn’t call Nedzu. He doesn’t call All Might. He doesn’t call his mother. He's weaker than he's ever been, his legs shaking like a newborn foal’s, and bright pops of light dance in and out of his vision. Making it up the stairs to his apartment is hellish, but he succeeds.

Midoriya goes home, and crawls into his bed. He sleeps until noon the next day. Then, he wakes up in his empty apartment, and makes himself a feast of the fruits and vegetables that are available. He gorges himself until he feels sick. After he’s finished, he puts his head on the table and stares at the wall.

How is he supposed to keep doing this?

He feels like he’s being yanked in two different directions, and neither of them are nice ones. On one hand are the Heroes, pulling Midoriya into their toxic mix of falsities and fatalities, while urging him to turn his back on those that really need his help. On the other hand are the Villains, who hate him on principle for the values he preaches and the codes he follows, but demand that he change the world to benefit them.

Why does no one seem to understand that all Midoriya wants is to help people?

Midoriya’s brain feels like a hurricane of faces and ideals, conflicting and slamming into each other at a hundred kilometers per hour. Nedzu, who wants to shape him into a weapon of intelligence; Himiko begging to be saved from her own Quirk; Kacchan’s pain-filled eyes because he’d needed rescuing; All Might’s melancholic smile when talking about One For All; each and every one of his friends tugging and pulling and shoving into his space, never backing away for even a second from the unevolved freak.

A jittering cry breaks through the barrier of his teeth.

His mother, telling him he’ll never be a Hero. All Might reminding Deku that he isn’t one. Nedzu informing Deku that he’s failed to protect his student.

Dabi sneering the word “Hero”; Kota sobbing against his leg; the users in the Quirkless forum celebrating the Hero: Deku; “Next, it’s your turn.”

“What am I supposed to do?” he sobs.

By the time his mother is back from her shift, Midoriya has managed to pull himself together. He’d cried himself out after a while, lamenting over his stupid love life after getting tired of thinking in circles about Heroes and Villains. Now, he lays on the couch watching All Might documentaries that have dominated the airwaves since the Kamino battle.

His mother sets her purse down and says, “Your teacher is supposed to visit us soon.”

Midoriya sits up. His hair is mussed, teeth unbrushed, wearing only his pajamas. “What?”

“A representative is coming to speak with us,” his mother repeats. There are lilac smudges beneath her eyes. A barb of guilt digs into Midoriya’s chest. Had he stressed her out? Did she have a difficult day at work, compounded with the complication of an unexpected house guest?

“O–oh,” Midoriya says. “I… I would have cleaned up, if I’d known.” His eyes flicker to the discarded banana peels on the coffee table. His mother sighs, rubbing her face, and he lurches into action.

Midoriya’s yanking a comb through his curls when there’s a knock at the door.

He darts around the corner as his mother pulls open the door, and they both jolt to a halt. Towering in their entryway is All Might, his arm tucked into a sling, a plaster over one sharp cheekbone. On his shoulder, the white-furred principal of Yuuei waves cheerfully.

“Good evening, Midoriya-san, Midoriya-kun!” Nedzu chirps. “May we speak for a moment?”

They sit in the dining room, because it’s the only place with enough seats for everyone. Nedzu stands on the cushion of his chair to see over the edge of the table.

“Now, we’ve already sent along all the information about the new dorm system that we’re switching to, but I heard that you have some concerns, Midoriya-san?” Nedzu asks.

All Might’s eyes have been bouncing between the Midoriyas the entire time he’s been in the apartment, like he can’t decide which of them to focus his gaze on. Midoriya wants to ask about his recovery—and a dozen other things that he can’t speak about with his mother in the room.

“Right,” his mother says, taking a breath. Her fingers twitch nervously where they’re pressed against her maroon sweater. “I—I’m against the dorms.”

“What?!” Midoriya gasps, aghast. His mother doesn’t turn to look at him. Her eyes are focused, hard as gems, on his sensei.

“I’ve been thinking,” she says, her voice trembling, “and I don’t want it.” Inko looks at All Might, lifting her round chin sternly. “Izuku has always admired you, All Might-san, and wanted to follow in your footsteps. But, ever since he’s gotten into Yuuei—” her gaze slides to Nedzu— “he’s been getting hurt worse and worse. Izuku’s arms—do either of you know?” Her lower lip wobbles. “They said that if he injures them again, he could be risking permanent damage. He already has to have physical therapy for his hand, after that awful business with Muscular.” She swallows. “I saw your fight on the television, All Might-san. As a citizen, I’m grateful to you. But as a parent, I was terrified. My baby admires you. If Izuku’s future is filled with blood like that, I—I—I,” she stutters.

Her shoulders collapse forward. Midoriya’s breath catches, an uneasy feeling pooling in his stomach. His hand aches.

“To stay out of Yuuei and admire Quirks from afar… I can’t help but feel like that would have kept him safer.”

A violent shock bolts through Midoriya. His chair knocks back, and he’s standing, staring down at his mother with wide, horrified eyes.

“Okaasan!”

“I said I would support you, Izuku,” she hiccups. “But that doesn’t mean that I want to see you hurt. You want to stay at Yuuei, right? But… I’m sorry, Izuku.” Tears brim in her eyes.

He’s transported back, years in the past. Sitting at his computer after his fifth birthday. Those same words on his mother’s lips, condemning him to ten years of solitude and misery and self-hatred.

“I’ll say it clearly: as a parent, I’m not comfortable entrusting Yuuei with Izuku’s safety. It doesn’t matter how wonderful of a Hero you are. Villains attacked a school training camp, and a student was kidnapped. Students were seriously injured, including my Quirkless son. I don’t want him attending a school like that any longer.”

“Midoriya-san—” All Might starts, standing.

“No,” Midoriya says, low and thick in his throat. He's on the brink of tears already. He brandishes a shaking finger at her. “This is because of yesterday, isn’t it? I'm sorry that I talked back—p–please!” It feels like his heart is shattering in his chest.

“No, Izuku,” she says, her big green eyes full of wetness. “I—I’ve been thinking about this for days, already.”

He shakes his head, misery warring with anger. “It’s not Yuuei that you don’t trust—it’s me. I’ve never been strong enough for you.” From the corner of his eye, he can see Nedzu stiffen, and All Might draw back worriedly.

His mother wants to start this in front of his sensei? Fine. They’ll do this in front of his sensei.

“I’m not some—some invalid because I’m Quirkless!” Midoriya says, his voice straining against his leash of willpower. “I’m just as capable as everyone else. You’re not safer than me, just because you have some arbitrary genetic sequence!”

His mother stands. “Izuku,” she says, her voice hard, “you do not speak to me like that. We have company—and you're misunderstanding me.”

“You didn’t even bother to talk to me about this,” he says, fists clenching angrily. “I’m not a kid! You can’t make my decisions for me anymore!”

“I am your mother!” She straightens her spine against his words. “I decide what is best for you.”

“You don’t know me!” Midoriya shouts. His chest heaves. He wants to tear something apart. His teeth clench, grinding harshly against each other in his mouth. “You don’t know anything about me!”

“I know everything about you, Izuku,” Inko says softly. “I raised you.”

“I have a Quirk!” he screams.

Everything goes still.

He buries his face in his hands.

“W–what?” his mother asks, voice faint. “What do you mean?”

Midoriya drops into his chair, even though it’s a few feet away from the table where he’d pushed it. His head pounds from yelling, and his heart hurts. He wants so badly to be understood, to be respected. But, he guesses Quirkless people don’t have the right to basic human respect. His mother doesn't care what he thinks about staying at Yuuei, obviously. She hadn't even bothered to talk to him before telling his teachers that she doesn't want him at Yuuei anymore.

Nedzu and All Might explain One For All to Midoriya’s trembling mother.

“Izuku,” she says, turning to look at him with glossy eyes and a red nose, “is this true? Have you… have you been keeping things from me?”

He closes his eyes. Defeat is a lead weight tied to his limbs.

Here he is again. Stuck. Pulled a thousand different ways by a thousand different people. Midoriya can think of nothing he wants less than to explain to his mother all of the things he’s hiding from her. He doesn’t want to see the disappointment in Nedzu and All Might’s eyes when he explains where he was, yesterday.

Under his sleeve, his unhealed arm burns.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” he whispers miserably, staring at the floor.

All Might takes over. “Please, let’s just focus back on Yuuei. I believe that we are equipped to protect your son in ways that no other school can be, and with Midoriya-kun being the holder of One For All, receiving training from the very few people who know of its existence is vital.”

His mother makes a discontented sound in the back of her throat. “I know I may seem like one of those monster parents—I don’t want to destroy Izuku’s dream. But I will do what it takes to keep him safe. If that’s removing him from Yuuei, that’s what will happen.”

Midoriya stands, and leaves.

Mitsuki opens the door to him, a smirky little smile on her mouth.

“Hey, sprout! Kat’s up in his room. Want me to get him for you?”

Midoriya nods. He doesn’t trust himself to speak.

Kacchan’s footsteps pound down the stairs a minute later, and he stares at Deku like he’s never seen him before. Kaito the dog sniffs his hands.

“Well?” Kacchan demands. “Quit standing in the doorway like an idiot.”

He follows Kacchan up the stairs, keeping his eyes on the honey-colored floors, rather than the photographs on the walls. He doesn’t want to see all the years where he’d been so weak.

Kacchan falls into his desk chair, so Deku sits on the floor at the foot of his bed. He curls over his knees, mouth pressed to them so that vitriol won’t spill out of his lips. He’s never felt so…

“What happened to you?” Kacchan asks. His eyes haven’t moved from Deku once, yet.

In answer, Deku rolls up his sleeve. The mottled skin of his left arm looks particularly disgusting in Kacchan’s clean, organized room. In his own room, among the clash of riotous colors, it had been hard to see how bad it was. He’d slapped a bandage over it, and tugged a long sleeve shirt on.

The two sets of teeth marks are glaring.

“Damn,” Kacchan says, “she fucked you up. Vampy do that for getting me out of there?”

“It was an accident,” Deku croaks. His throat is tight with too many emotions.

Kacchan clicks his tongue dismissively. “Hell of an accident.”

They sit in silence for a moment.

“My mom is trying to take me out of Yuuei,” Deku mumbles. Kacchan blinks.

“Is she stupid?”

Deku gives a dry laugh that he cuts off when it’s halfway out of his mouth. He smacks a hand over his lips, and Kacchan eyes him strangely. They both know he shouldn’t have found that funny—and he didn’t, not really. It’s just that he’s so mad at her. He doesn’t think he’s been this angry in his entire life.

“How do you do it?” Deku asks. He’s thinking of Kacchan, and Tomura, who walk around with rivers of flame and rage in place of their blood. “How do you live, feeling like this all the time?” His fingers clench on the hem of his cargo shorts. “I just want to—” he makes a vague, violent gesture.

Kacchan tilts his head to the side. “You learn to embrace it. You’ve just got fifteen years of shit stored up in you, waiting to explode out. I’d probably kill my folks if they tried to take me out of Yuuei—but they’re not dumb enough to try that shit.”

But now Midoriya is thinking about the people he’d left in the apartment, and the mess he’d left them with. He takes a breath.

“I meant to tell you something last time,” he says. Anxiety thrums through him, pushing down the last of the anger.

“Spit it out.”

“I—” another breath— “I have a Quirk.”

Kacchan stares at him. “You’re fucking with me.”

“It’s… It’s not really mine. I got it. It was given to me, I mean.” At the blank look on Kacchan’s face, he says, “That’s how I killed Muscular.”

“How you what?”

Midoriya gives a short huff. He closes his eyes, trying to order his thoughts. Out of everyone, Kacchan knows the most about Midoriya’s fractured life. He knows about Himiko, and his meetings with Tomura. He’s never once told Midoriya that he should go to the Heroes, or even the cops. He just scoffs and calls Midoriya an idiot, which is strangely comforting.

“Do you remember Izumi Kota?”

“Mandalay’s brat,” says Kacchan. He leans back indolently in his chair, picking up a pencil from his desk and twisting it between his fingers.

“Her second cousin,” Midoriya corrects. “He was attacked at the training camp by Muscular—do you remember him?”

“Do you think I’m a fucking idiot? Don’t answer that if you value your life. Of course, I remember that shithead. The one who squashed the Water-Hoses, right? Sexually assaulted some girls, too, or something.” Kacchan’s face twists. “Fuckin’ whack-job. Wish I could put my fist into all of those sick bastards’ faces.”

Midoriya nods. “I killed him with—with my Quirk.” He has to stop himself from saying One For All. Is it too much information to tell Kacchan the history of All Might’s legendary Quirk? Will it put him in danger to know? All For One is in Tartarus, but does that mean that he’s not a threat?

“You killed him,” Kacchan says flatly. The pencil spins. “Just like that?”

“N–no! I didn’t mean to kill him. It just happened!”

“I gotta be honest, Deku,” says Kacchan, his mouth unimpressed, “I’ve got a fuckin’ powerful Quirk, and I ain’t never ‘happened’ to killed someone.” His pale eyebrow cocks.

Midoriya bites his lip. “It’s… difficult to control,” he says haltingly.

Kacchan sighs, insolent and impatient and so, so attractive. Midoriya looks away from the long, pale line of his throat, the image warring with the sickness churning in his gut at the memory of Muscular. Reconciling the fear and desolation of that night, to now, feels impossible.

Midoriya is safe. Kota is safe. Kacchan is safe.

“I was afraid. I almost died—only, Kota was still there. I had to save him. My Quirk… it was what broke my arms. It’s too much for my body to handle.” He grimaces. “If I want to move, I can only use about five percent of the power.” Midoriya swallows, meeting Kacchan’s eyes. “I used a hundred percent against Muscular—which is why he d–died.”

“Show me.”

“What?” Midoriya blinks in shock.

Kacchan sits forward, pointing directly at Midoriya with the lead-end of the pencil. “Show me this so-called Quirk of yours. What’d you do, anyway, get it out of a gacha machine?” He narrows his eyes. “Quirks don’t just grow on fuckin’ trees.”

Midoriya mumbles into the collar of his shirt. “I dunno if I’m supposed to use it. I think I’m technically still healing.”

“Were you supposed to give Bloodsucker a meal?” Kacchan asks, sarcasm dripping from his words. At the guilty look on Midoriya’s face, he smirks. “Didn’t think so. Now: show.”

Midoriya uncurls himself, bracing against the bed with his good arm to stand. “Um, don’t touch me, okay? I don’t want to hurt you,” he says nervously. Kacchan scoffs, but rolls his chair back a bit with his socked feet, his eyes intent on Midoriya’s tense body.

His hand is already twinging, so Midoriya tries not to clench it when he calls up One For All from beneath the surface of his skin. He starts light, at one percent, and increases until it feels like his teeth are jittering in his skull, and a hive of bees have moved into his ribcage. Marginally less harmful than before—though he can’t truly discern why. It might be a combination of practice and rest, or just that he’s subconsciously using a lower percentage to prevent pain.

Either way, lines criss-cross over his tanned skin. Tongues of neon electricity leap and dance into the air, supercharged and smelling of ozone and something tangy, like limes.

Kacchan wets his lips. “Like licking a battery,” he says, voice a low murmur. He stands, warily approaching Midoriya. “I can’t believe you have a fucking Quirk.” His hands clench and release rhythmically at his sides. “After all this time—all the shit I gave you…”

Midoriya turns automatically, following Kacchan’s prowling movements. He feels a bit like he’s being circled by a shark.

“I—I don’t want it,” Midoriya says. Kacchan’s steps stutter to a halt. “I—I want to give it back. Or, or give it away. It’s not really mine. It—it hurts me, and it killed Muscular.” His eyebrows press together. “I was finally learning to live with myself—people were starting to respect me as a Hero—and—”

“Are you fucking dumb?” Kacchan asks, harsh. He jolts forward like he wants to shove Midoriya, but thinks better of it when the lightning flares up around him. “You want to give up the only thing that’s gonna let you be normal? You could—” his eyes go wide. “You could be an actual Hero, with a Quirk like this.”

“I am an actual Hero, with or without the Quirk,” Midoriya says forcefully. “I didn’t need it to take down Stain.”

“No, but you would have died without it against that freak, Muscular. Wouldn’t you?” Kacchan points out.

Midoriya grits his teeth. With One For All active, the action is painful, and he powers down. The hair on his arms settles, laying flat again.

“I don’t want it,” he repeats. “I never did. I just thought…” he sighs, pushing a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I guess I couldn’t say no. I thought it would help me—do something. Make me stronger.” He stares at his hands. “All it’s done is give me problems.”

“Whatever,” scoffs Kacchan. “If you get rid of it, you’re a bigger idiot than I thought you were. Being Quirkless is one thing, but choosing to be Quirkless? It’s like you like being punched in the face.”

“Being Quirkless shouldn’t mean being punched in the face,” Midoriya says softly. “Twenty percent of the people on the planet are Quirkless.”

“Oh, come on. That shit’s outdated, and you know it. Face it, Deku,” Kacchan says, sitting back in his chair, “you’ll never be a Hero without a Quirk.”

“That doesn’t mean you get to treat me like—like—like I’m some dog! I’m a person! I live, and breathe, and I have thoughts and feelings, just like you!”

“If you get rid of that Quirk, you’re gonna be nothing, just like you always have been. Playing high and mighty, looking down on everyone else from the bottom.” Kacchan’s face is drawn and serious.

“I was never nothing,” Midoriya says. He advances on Kacchan. “I don’t know why you think I ever looked down on you, because all I ever wanted was to be your friend. I wanted to stand next to you—equals!”

“You’re not my equal,” Kacchan spits. “You’re a Quirkless nobody, who can’t help but crawl back into the hole you’ve been living in your entire life. You finally get a chance to be normal, like everyone else, and you want to throw it away with both hands. Don’t get mad at me for kicking dirt on you. You like being a pebble.” He pokes Midoriya in the chest. “You like it, because it’s where people like you belong.”

“This pebble saved your ass three days ago,” Midoriya says dangerously. “And I didn’t need a Quirk to do it.”

Kacchan’s face twists, turning ugly and monstrous. “Fuck you.”

“No, fuck you,” Midoriya says. He slaps Kacchan’s hand aside. “I finally thought you were gonna understand me. No one else has a problem with me being Quirkless and a Hero—”

“You’re delusional! Open your goddamn eyes. Half the world wants to egg you on, just to watch you fail! If you want to go out and be a fucking laughingstock, and die, be my guest. I want you to live.”

The anger from earlier surges in Midoriya. All he’s heard the past few days is can’t, can’t, can’t. He can, and he will.

“You think I need a Quirk to live? How far did that Quirk of yours get you with the League of Villains, huh?” Midoriya says. “Did you and Tomura become best buds, and talk about how you love having Quirks so much? Did you bond over how much better you are than the rest of us Quirkless plebs? How did it feel to be around people just as powerful as you?”

He stands. “Get out,” Kacchan says.

“Did you like it? Did you feel big and powerful and strong, Kacchan? Because I walked out of their hideout of my own free will last night—and I didn’t need a Quirk to do it.”

His hand cracks across Midoriya’s face.

Midoriya cradles his stinging cheek in his palm. Kacchan is shaking.

“I—I didn’t mean to do that,” Kacchan whispers.

As Midoriya watches, slack-jawed, Kacchan’s eyes fill with tears.

Has the world gone loony? It’s the only explanation that Midoriya can think of. Why is he the angry one, goading Kacchan into a fight, while Kacchan cries? What twisted dimension have they entered, where Midoriya has a Quirk, and Kacchan isn’t the strongest?

Kacchan hiccups around a sob, grasping at his own shirt like his chest hurts. Like he’s trying to dig the pain out.

“I’m supposed to be the best,” he says, and his voice is strangled. “You’re supposed to be a pebble—a nobody—but you’re the one saving me. I ended All Might,” Kacchan sobs. “The hell kind of Hero am I?” He buries his face into his trembling hands. “I–I’m not strong enough to call myself a Hero. Heroes win. Heroes don’t need rescuing. Heroes don’t destroy All Might because they’re too weak to make it out alone.”

Oh, God. Kacchan is having a certifiable meltdown.

Midoriya is thrown out of his anger as if he’s been riding a bucking horse. His eyes blow wide, hands outstretched ineffectively. Faced with Kacchan’s pain—which he’d caused!— Midoriya feels lost and scared.

Kacchan is indomitable. He is a force of nature. To see him like this, with rounded shoulders and voice cracking, is an impossibility.

“I, I shouldn’t have said that,” Midoriya says. “I’m s–sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

Kacchan bats at him with a sweaty hand. “What is it about you? Why do you succeed when I fail?” He pulls Midoriya forward by the collar of his shirt. “You shouldn’t be keeping up with me! You don’t even want that shitty Quirk of yours—I haven’t even seen you use it. I got kidnapped, and you had to fucking rescue me!” A tear drips down his cheek. “Why? Why?”

Kacchan stumbles back, and falls into his chair.

“Are you okay?” Midoriya gasps, reaching out a hand.

Kacchan smacks it away, a spark of flame bursting between them.

“Stop looking down on me,” he says, but it’s a plaintive cry.

Right now, Midoriya thinks, staring at Kacchan, I’m the only one who can accept Kacchan’s feelings. All of them: the hurt, the anger, the sadness. I can take it.

“Kacchan,” Midoriya says, his voice strong, “you’re amazing.” He doesn’t stop to catalog Kacchan’s expression. He squeezes his eyes shut, and speaks. “You’re not a piece of shit. You’ll never become a Villain—no matter how much they think you act like them. You love to win; it’s in your blood.” Midoriya swallows. “But even when you don’t… you’re smart. You learn from your mistakes. Every time I see you, you’re stronger than before, or smarter, or more powerful. I promised you that I would keep up. I promised you that you would never get away from me—that’s what keeps me going. I want to be a Hero with you. Because of you.” He gulps. “I want to win, and surpass you. You're the reason that I know I can be a Hero without a Quirk—because, as long as I can keep up with you, I know I can save someone else.”

Kacchan stares up at him, tears plopping down his cheeks like rain. “But—I lost. I was too weak to do anything, and I got captured. If I was stronger—”

Midoriya bares his teeth in a ferocious grin. “We’re still learning, Kacchan. Do you think you’ll be the best in a day? Everyone has to lose, sometimes. Even All Might.”

Kacchan closes his eyes. Then, he surges forward. Midoriya lets his body go limp, and Kacchan shoves him backwards, until his knees hit the edge of the bed. Midoriya falls back, bouncing, but Kacchan is there already, pinning his shoulders down to the blankets. He leans over Midoriya. A tear falls off his chin, onto Midoriya’s cheek, hot and wet.

“I can’t stand you,” Kacchan whispers brokenly.

Then, he presses his lips to Midoriya’s.

Midoriya’s eyes fly open, wide as saucers, as Kacchan’s soft, pliant mouth moves over his. He chokes on a gasp, and Kacchan pulls back.

“My whole life, you’ve been so fucking good, Deku. Even without a Quirk. Even with a Quirk, you still let that shithead girl tear you up, just to protect the rest of the world from her.” Kacchan’s hand glides down his shoulder, to rest tenderly over his bruises. “All you do is try to save people, even when they hate you for it.” Kacchan swallows. “All I do is hurt you, over and over again.”

The kiss must have scrambled his brain. This feels like a hazy dream—Kacchan pressed so close; his achingly miserable words.

Midoriya shakes his head, trying to clear it. “It’s what you’ve been taught your whole life. Everyone thinks I’m weak—nobody believes that I can be a Hero.”

Kacchan stares deep into his eyes. “You believe. You believed you could do it. You got your Quirkless ass to Yuuei—under the principal—and proved me the fuck wrong. You captured Stain, when no one else could. You saved me.” His breath shudders, and Midoriya can feel the uneven rise of Kacchan’s chest against his own. “I hate that I was wrong. I hate that I want you. I hate that I feel like you’re so much less than me, when you’re so much better than I’ll ever be.” Kacchan’s forehead thumps against Midoriya’s.

“We’re learning,” Midoriya repeats, his lips brushing against Kacchan’s as he speaks. It sends hot shocks of fire through his body. “You can be the best. I believe in me, and I believe in you. You just have to keep learning.”

Kacchan shudders against him. “I don’t want to lose like that ever again.”

Tentatively, Midoriya reaches up to touch him. Kacchan twitches, but doesn’t move when Midoriya’s hand lands in his hair. He begins to pet the dandelion-soft strands. His heart beats as fast as a hummingbird’s in his chest.

“You won’t,” Midoriya assures, fighting to keep his voice steady, “because I’ll be there, right beside you. I can do the saving part, and you can do the winning. We can watch each other’s backs.”

Kacchan doesn’t say anything, but his tears drip onto Midoriya’s face.

When he comes back to the apartment, All Might is gone. His mother and Principal Nedzu sit on the sofa, drinking tea out of the teacups that Midoriya’s grandmother (on his mother’s side) had passed down to them when she died. He stares at the pattern of leaves on the rims of the cups, and tries to imagine what he’s supposed to say in this scenario.

“Sorry,” seems like a good start. He bows his head to his mother, and then to his sensei. “I… I didn’t mean to lose my temper,” Midoriya says, mortification creeping over him. “I know you both want what’s best for me.” He takes a breath. “If that’s leaving Yuuei—then, then I’ll do it.” He straightens up, looking at them both with serious, intent eyes. “I love Yuuei, and I love learning under Nedzu-sensei . I want to keep growing with him, and with my friends.” He swallows. “But, Yuuei doesn’t make me a Hero. I do. And I’ll take that with me, no matter where I am.”

His mother sniffles. “Oh, honey.” She sets her teacup down, and engulfs him in a hug. Midoriya’s arms wind around her shoulders, letting her warmth seep into him.

He remembers how badly he’d wanted this comfort in the hospital, when Kacchan was missing. He loves his mother—even if she can’t always be there when he needs her. She wants to keep him safe, the same way he wants to protect her from everything he’s already been through. He buries his face in her hair, and inhales the smell of her perfume.

“Fret not, Midoriya-kun,” Nedzu says quietly. “Your mother has agreed that it is in your best interest that you continue attending Yuuei.”

Midoriya sags against her, relief making him boneless.

“This weekend, you’ll be moving into a dorm of your choice—as three of them will have space for you. You may choose between the dorms of 1-C, the General Education course, 1-H, the Support course, or 1-I, the Management course. However, do choose carefully, because your room will not be switched after you pick. Move-in will be chaotic, and as much as I would like to promise all of our students the opportunity to pick their own placements at will, I believe structure will be best at this time.” His dark eyes study Midoriya unblinkingly. “Is there a dorm you would prefer?”

“1-H,” Midoriya says without hesitation. “I—I mean, 1-C or 1-I would be fine, too, it’s just that, um… Mei-chan… I’d like to be close to her, if I can.”

His mother pulls back. “Izuku, is there something we need to talk about?” She blinks at him. “It’s perfectly fine to have a female friend, but to live with her—”

“Okaasan,” he squeaks, going red, “it’s not like that! Mei-chan is my best friend. We really get each other. Or, she gets me.” He waves his hands. “Either way, she’s my best friend, and I like everyone else in 1-H, too. They’ve been really nice to me.”

Nedzu gives an approving hum. “Perfect. Then, I’ll mark you down for the Support dorms.”

“Are they not all going to be grouped together?” Midoriya asks.

Nedzu holds up a paw. “Before we discuss the specifics of the dorm system, I would like to remind you what we spoke about during your interrogation.” Midoriya’s mouth dries up. “I understand that you’re wary of psychological counseling, but I assure you, it will be to your benefit. If we are to continue working together, Midoriya-kun, you must seek help.”

His mother nods. “I agree with Principal Nedzu-sama,” she says. She grips Midoriya’s hand in hers, rubbing her thumbs soothingly over his scars. “I think it would be best if you could speak to someone about everything that’s happened to you.” Her eyes get misty. “You’ve been through a lot this year, Izuku, and I—I know I’m not around all that often. I suppose you’re growing up, and that means that I don’t know as much about you as I want to.” Inko steadies herself with a breath. “But I want you to be happy and healthy. If that means you speak to someone else—someone who can really be there for you, all the time—then, please, please do it. For me?”

Midoriya swallows sharply. “I… I guess.” He looks at Principal Nedzu.

“Excellent news, Midoriya-kun. I am glad to hear it. I will send you the information of a few trusted psychiatrists that have worked with Yuuei students in the past, and you may choose who you believe suits you best. It is common to try out a few different doctors before you find the one that fits you, so do not be afraid to speak up and ask to change, if you do not feel comfortable after your session.” Nedzu folds his paws into his lap. “We are here for you, Midoriya-kun, in any way you want or need us.”

His mother cups his cheek in her hand, and he’s startled by how similar it is to the way Himiko held him yesterday when he was sick.

“I love you, honey. I want you to be safe and happy.” Her eyes sparkle with tears, but she smiles up at him.

Midoriya’s lip wobbles.

Happy? It feels like it’s been so long that he’s been truly, purely happy, without the threat of something looming over his shoulder. This year has been one stress after another, with hardly a break to breathe between them. He’d thought he might be happy, when he first started Yuuei, but Tomura and Himiko and his studies had changed that.

“Me, too,” Midoriya whispers. He grips her hand, ignoring the ache in his own. “I’ll try, okay?”

The move in is the most insane thing Midoriya has ever been a part of, and that’s including the Kamino Incident and taking down Stain. He’s probably never seen this many people in one place in his life. Moving trucks, vans, cars, and even scooters and wagons wheel through any space wide enough to fit them. Students carry couches on their backs; they tote lamps; most haul boxes labeled with things like “Shoes” or “Food” or “DO NOT TOUCH.”

Midoriya and his own trusty red wagon drag their way to the 1-H dorms. In accordance with the layout of Yuuei itself, each course’s dorms are near their tower of the main H-shaped building. That means that Midoriya’s is the furthest from the gates. Streams of shouting people rush around him, all sweating in the blazing summer heat.

Along the way, he bumps into someone he recognizes. It’s Tokoyami-kun, and Dark Shadow-chan, with their parents.

Midoriya waves with his whole arm, trying to get their attention. “Hello!” He jogs over, weaving between people, and bows to Tokoyami’s parents. “It’s nice to meet you, Tokoyami-san, Tokoyami-san. How are you feeling, Tokoyami-kun?”

“I’m alright,” Tokoyami says. The sleeves of his black death-metal band hoodie are pushed up, exposing his pale, glistening skin to the sunlight. Where hairs would normally be on his arms, tiny black feathers sprout instead. “I have recovered from the training camp, and am feeling the effects of death from further away, now.”

Dark Shadow darts from underneath Tokoyami’s hoodie. “Friend!” she shouts, nuzzling up to Midoriya.

He laughs. “Sorry, Dark Shadow-chan, I’m pretty sweaty. It’s good to see you, too.” Though she is a little subdued and withered in the sunlight.

“You should take off your jacket then!” she says. “I told Fumi-chan to wear a T-shirt, but he said no, and now look at him! Sweaty, sweaty, sweaty.” She pulls at the sleeves of Midoriya’s red zip-up, but he chuckles nervously and draws back.

“I’ll be fine—I should really get unpacked, though. I don’t mean to be a bother. It was nice seeing you all!” Midoriya waves again, and takes off, dragging his wagon behind him.

That was a close call. He tugs his sleeve back down, looking over his shoulder. He hates lying, even by omission, but explaining the awful wounds on his arm just isn’t going to happen any time soon. No one will understand Himiko, and he’s already forgiven her. How can he blame her for accidentally hurting him, when she was just trying to satiate her thirst?

So, sweating in the heavy summer heat it is.

Midoriya crunches over the trimmed grass until he gets to the new dorms. He’d walked past the others on the way here, and the names are interesting. The Heroics classes get to live in Heights Alliance. The Gen Ed. students are in Zenith Concordat. He hasn’t seen Management, yet, so he doesn’t know what that one is, but the Support course lives in Prominence Unity. Prominence Unity is on the edge of the woods, with Ground Gamma to the north.

Midoriya wheels his wagon into the dorm. He’d checked and double-checked the room number, already. He’s on the second floor of five. Each floor has two halls, with four rooms to a hall. He’d thought they might be separated by gender, but that isn’t the case. Each hall is, sort of, but there are some, like the fifth floor, that are co-ed. His floor and the fifth floor also have open spaces, since there’s only twenty students, but thirty-six available rooms.

Power Loader is in the common area when Midoriya walks up.

“Good to see you, Midoriya-kun,” he says, his costume helmet making his voice tinny. “Let me know if you need any help with getting set up. I’m sure the rest of your classmates will already be flexing those inventing muscles, and trashing their rooms, but don’t feel obligated to do anything big to stand out, alright?”

Midoriya gives him a faint smile. “Thanks, Power Loader-sensei. I think I’ll be okay.”

Chapter Text

Captioned audio clip from Shukan Jitsuwa Jikko Iinkai’ s “LGBT Opinions” aired on June 9, 2232, 15:13.

Accessed: June 9, 2232.

TSUKI: Many people forget what an impact that the development of the Hero system has meant for the underrepresented—the minorities in our country. For some of us, we have been pulled into the spotlight. We have seen reflections of ourselves in Heroism that we have never been able to see before in polite society.

BOLT: I like to think that I am responsible for some of that. As the first lesbian Pro-Hero, having my marriage acknowledged, even in the… circumstances… that it was, was still groundbreaking for Japanese Heroics.

TSUKI: The Lightning Hero: Bolt, and her wife, Anzai Hisako, were taken captive by Infidelity, the S-ranked Villain with a mind control Quirk that only worked on married couples.

BOLT: As I said, while the situation was less than ideal, the Hero Public Safety Commission was gracious enough to nationally recognize our relationship.

TSUKI: Yes. Bolt-san helped pave the way for a wave of new-age Heroes to feel comfortable with coming out professionally. But, in turn, these Heroes have led the push for same-sex marriage legalization and normalization.

Excerpt from “Nightly News with Neji” published June 9, 2232, 20:00.

Accessed: June 9, 2232.

“A string of minor Quirk-aided robberies have been unfolding across the eastern edge of Osaka, in conjunction with rising sightings of Trigger, the Quirk enhancing street drug with a mortality rate of thirty percent. In the past week, four gas stations within a three hundred meter radius have been robbed at Quirk-point. The threats have been varied. Reports of a fire Quirk, a knife Quirk, and a reptilian mutation Quirk have been made.

“Any information on this group of robbers should be given to the police as soon as possible. There is reason to believe that they are aiding in the spread and development of Trigger in these areas. Please be on the lookout for a teenage female, four adult males, two dark haired, two light haired, and a reptilian mutant.”

Excerpt from “ILLEGAL SUBSTANCE 4509: TRIGGER” case file, written by the Nighteye Agency, housed in the Hero Public Safety Commission database.

Accessed: June 9, 2232.

“TRIGGER (aliases: bang-bang, boost, firework, power-up, pow) is the unauthorized version of the Pharmaceuticals and Medical Devices Agency (PMDA) unapproved test substance, Pekodin. Pekodin was denied approval for usage and sale to humans due to its high mortality rate when used on Quirked animals during trials. While the Quirk factor was accelerated for a short period of time, the dual use of magnesium and sodium azide caused the cells of the subjects to cease production of ATP, and quickly die. TRIGGER mimics the effects of Pekodin. Of the eighty cases reported as of June 8, 2232, only one user has survived.

“Forensics has identified that sodium azide was not present in the surviving user’s bloodstream. Trace amounts of magnesium remained, as well as chemicals consistent with those found in illegal substance 2897, POPDASH. User’s criminal intake information was conflicting. Two blood types were found in the sample pulled during arrest—contamination was suspected. A second sample was taken. A saliva swab showed the presence of foreign cells. A second swab was taken later…

“Out of the eighty users, only seventy-four had blood samples taken. Each of the blood samples obtained after December of 2230 have been contaminated when TRIGGER is active in the bloodstream.”

Midoriya’s dorm room is strange. It smells like sawdust and fresh paint, and vaguely of home, what with all the boxes full of his things. It’s an eclectic clashing of what he thinks of as “old-Midoriya” and “new-Midoriya.”

The room comes equipped with a bed, desk, and a set of shelves. The sheets on his bed are old-Midoriya—they’re All Might, and he’s had them for so long that they’d probably be worth some serious money, if he’d kept them in their packaging. The weights in the corner, and his rolled-up yoga mat are new-Midoriya. The bookshelf of notebooks is old-Midoriya, but the top shelf being full of textbooks is new-Midoriya. Old-Midoriya never really used to study, in middle school.

His mother hadn’t let him bring all his posters. She didn’t want him to feel bereft when he visits home on the weekends, in an empty room, so he’d split his collection down the middle. Midoriya tried to bring forth Heroes that he pays less attention to, to balance out the somewhat embarrassing All Might obsession.

He likes the balcony best. He hadn’t known that he was going to have one, so he’s got nothing to put on it, but he likes it, anyway. The wrought-iron railing overlooks the woods, and it reminds him of the Pussycats’ training camp a bit. Maybe that should scare him, but it doesn’t. He hopes he can see the stars at night, like he could with Kota.

Midoriya sighs. He’s thirsty after all the heavy-lifting that comes with arranging a room, and he supposes that greeting his classmates has to happen at some point.

He steps into the hall, and nearly slams into a warm, squishy body.

“Mei-chan!”

“Izuku!” she says. It’s startling to hear his name from her mouth. Her yellow eyes go wide, and she grabs his wrists tightly. “Oh my God—don’t you ever, ever, ever do that to me again!” She shakes him.

“Do what?” he asks, letting her tug him back and forth like a ragdoll.

A brief flash of hurt flickers across her face. “Super Nerd, the camp you went to was attacked by Villains, and you couldn’t even bother to send me a text to tell me that you’d survived. I had to find out from Purple-kun!” She grabs his cheeks, and squishes them, pulling his head down so that his eyes are level with hers. Hatsume’s face goes flat and serious. She’s making a whole lot of very intense eye contact. “After last weekend, I thought that you were the one they’d kidnapped.” Her pink eyebrows press upward. Hatsume releases his face, only to pull him into her muscular arms. “I’m so, so glad you’re okay, Super Nerd.”

Midoriya rests his forehead in the warm cradle of Hatsume’s neck. The tension and stress that he’s been feeling for the last few days melts away, squeezed out of him like water from a sponge.

“Me, too,” he says. “I’m sorry that I couldn't talk to you—I lost my phone at the training camp. I missed you a lot.”

He finds that this is hopelessly true. Through the turmoil of kissing Tomura at the mall, the mess of the training camp, Kamino, and the immense wave of emotions that came after it, Midoriya had desperately missed his friends. His phone is lost to the wind, somewhere in the Pussycats’ cabin. He’ll have to buy a new one.

Hatsume disentangles from him after what is probably too long. She grins at him—a true, patented, manic Hatume-brand smile—and says, “Wanna see my room?”

It turns out that Hatsume’s room is on the second floor, too, in the other hall. He waves to Nishida, the class president, who gives them the stink-eye.

“I know we haven’t talked about rules yet, but no funny business, you two,” Nishida says. It’s strange to see them without their customary black lipstick, but perhaps the summer heat has negated the need for dark looks. Midoriya’s pretty sure he’s heard of summer goths before.

“Nothing funny,” Midoriya promises. Hatsume rolls her eyes and yanks him into her room, leaving the door open behind them.

He blinks, stunned at the difference between his room and hers. Hatsume’s bed is a mess of boxes, still, but the rest seems to be mostly unpacked. Her standard-issue desk has a metal railing built around it, hooked with about fifteen tools that Midoriya can barely name. Her shelf, rather than books, is full of craft supplies and wires. She’s got a cool, gray-and-purple hand-woven rug on the floor, and it looks like she’s attached rocket boosters to her desk chair.

Midoriya points at the chair. “Is that safe?”

Hatsume’s grin widens. “I dunno. Wanna test it out? I put enough juice in it that you might even get liftoff if I roll you towards the balcony.”

“Um, no,” says Midoriya. Hatsume laughs.

She gives him a conspiratorial smirk. “I found something in here that’s way more interesting than my babies.”

Midoriya blinks. “What could be more interesting than that?”

Hatsume takes him by the shoulders, steering him towards her tiny ensuite half-bathroom. She pushes him down until they’re both crouching at the base of the sink. He stares and stares at the porcelain, until she runs a sooty fingernail over a near-invisible design carved into the china.

“Oh my God,” he breathes. It’s the Yuuei logo, and as Hatsume’s thumb presses down, a pneumatic hiss echoes through the bathroom.

“I know, right?” she says. “I never would have found it without my Quirk. Zoom is great for stuff like that.”

The tiles beneath their feet begin to sink.

“We’re on the second floor!” Midoriya says. “How did Sensei manage to fit tunnels here?”

“Are you doubting the intellect of the Great and Powerful Nedzu-sama?” Hatsume teases. On the other side of the wall, bracketed by the sink’s pipes, is a ladder. Beneath where Midoriya and Hatsume crouch, a dimly-lit concrete slide stretches out past their line of sight. Hatsume turns to look at him. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” she asks.

“Not remotely,” says Midoriya. “I’m thinking about what would happen if there was a fire in the dorms, and the Tunnels possibly being used as an emergency exit.”

“Oh.” Hatsume contemplates this for about half a second, and then says, “My idea was cooler. I was thinking that I have wheels and wood, and we could totally make skateboards and ride them down and have the most awesome hidden skate ramp ever.”

Midoriya grins. “You’re right: your idea is way cooler.”

“Or—or—!” she starts.

“We could make a giant skateboard,” Midoriya finishes. “Yeah, that’s better. We could steer it like a toboggan.”

“We should tell Purple-kun and Thief-kun, and have a race,” Hatsume says.

Midoriya pouts. “The Tunnels are a secret. Nedzu- sensei would never allow it. It could compromise the security.”

Hatsume throws her head back and groans. “I never get to do anything fun. ”

Midoriya gasps. “Wait a minute. Mei-chan, are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

They blink at each other. “The desk chair!” They scramble out of the divot, yelping and crashing into things in their haste to haul Hatsume’s rocket-powered rolling chair into the Tunnels.

Two hours later, they make their escape from the Tunnels near Heights Alliance.

“How’d we get all the way over here?” Midoriya asks, staring wonderingly at the courtyard of the Hero students’ dorms. It’s only different from theirs in terms of the plants growing in the stone planter-boxes. Instead of hardy things like bamboo and hakone grass, the Hero students get blue hydrangeas and delicate irises. Among the greenery sits a girl.

Midoriya squeaks, trying to duck back down. Hatsume shoves him out of the hole with an uncaring “Upsy-daisy,” poking the Yuuei seal and closing the Tunnels behind them. The girl gapes.

“Sh–Shiozaki-san, right?” Midoriya calls.

Sitting in the planter box, Shiozaki Ibara almost blends in. Her pale skin is burned and peeling over the bridge of her nose and the tops of her cheeks, but there are bright flowers blooming amongst the vines of her hair that stretch towards the sun like hungry mouths. When she stands, Midoriya can see that her long, airy skirt is scuffed and stained with soil.

“Where did you come from?” Shiozaki asks, picking up a knitted shawl from the ground and slinging it over her bare shoulders. Her eyes flick between Hatsume and Midoriya, then to the ground that has re-sealed itself like it had never opened.

“None of your business,” says Hatsume with a grin.

“I–it’s a Support course thing!” Midoriya adds hastily. “Just a maintenance tunnel!”

She frowns, suspicious.

“Are, are you gardening? I—I noticed that you guys have different plants than Prominence Unity,” Midoriya says, trying to change the subject.

Shiozaki gives him one last squinty-eyed look, before turning back to the soil she’d been sitting in. “I am gardening, yes. I’m not sure what other plants may be on campus, as I have only been here in Heights Alliance, today. Is Prominence Unity the Support course dormitory?”

“Yup!” says Hatsume. She latches onto Midoriya’s arm and pulls with all her might, but he resists. “Hey,” she complains, “what gives?”

“Give me a second,” Midoriya tells her. He focuses back on Shiozaki. “I—I know we didn’t speak much during the training camp, but I hope that you—and everyone in 1-B—has recovered from the attack.”

Shiozaki angles her head curiously. “We have, in fact. Everyone appears well enough, now, thanks to the blessings of God. I thank you for your concern. I had heard that you, yourself, experienced some rather disturbing things.” Her gaze lingers on his arms. “I’m glad to see that you have healed.”

Midoriya’s right hand flexes under Shiozaki’s inspection. “Yeah. I’m… I’m feeling much better.”

From a nearby building, a door slams open. Shoda Nirengeki, the class vice-president, sticks his silvery head out and shouts, “Shiozaki-san! It’s tea time!” Then, he spots Midoriya and Hatsume standing in his courtyard. “Oh—Midoriya-kun, hello! I hope you’re settling in alright. Those injuries seemed pretty nasty. And, hello, Support-san.” Shoda steps outside, closing the door behind himself. He bows shortly to Hatsume, who isn't paying attention.

“Yeah, I’m doing fine,” Midoriya says, an embarrassed smile working across his face. “We didn’t mean to bother, or interrupt anything. Mei-chan and I were on our way back to Prominence Unity—”

“Oh, nonsense!” says Shoda, waving aside Midoriya’s words. “Which dorms are Prominence Unity? I heard that you’re in multiple courses—so how does that work?” Shoda grins up at him, and then over at Hatsume. “This is silly of me. You two should join 1-B for some tea and biscuits! I’d love to get a chance to talk to two Support geniuses such as yourselves.”

Hatsume’s eyes gleam. It seems that she's finally registered that they're not leaving, and decided to tune into the conversation. “Have you ever visited the Support studio?”

“I can’t say that I have,” Shoda tells her, leading the three students into the back door of the 1-B dorm. They come into the kitchen, where a few 1-B members are milling around, gathering plates and food from the oven.

“I have a baby that would be perfect for you,” Hatsume says. She’s got her swindling-smile on that tells Midoriya she’s just hoping to get Shoda to test out her more volatile inventions that Midoriya refuses to touch.

“She means invention,” Midoriya says absently.

“Ah,” says Shoda. “You have one you think would suit me, Hatsume-san?”

Kuroiro, the boy with the black skin and silver hair, mumbles, “I thought this was supposed to be the 1-B dorm.” He slinks out of the kitchen, plate in hand.

“Midoriya-kun!” says Kodai, who stands in front of the large sink. Her empty cup clatters to the countertop, and she rushes forward to grasp his arms. He hides a wince. “I’m so glad to see you!”

“You, too, Kodai-san,” Midoriya says with an easy smile.

The students behind Kodai gape.

“I’ve never seen Yui-chan willingly touch someone,” says the tiny, brown-haired Komori. “Someone pinch me. Ouch! Not so hard, Setsuna-chan!”

Tokage Setsuna chuckles. Her wavy green hair is swept up into a ponytail, and she wears a flattering indigo tank top with her jean shorts. Tokage cocks her hip, leaning against the island where all the biscuits are stacked up. “Looks like our Yui has gone over to the dark side,” she says. “Fraternizing with 1-A.”

“1-A?!” someone shouts from further into the dorm.

A chorus of groans erupts.

“Tokage-san, did you have to mention them?” Shoda asks with a sigh. “Midoriya-kun isn’t even a member of their class!”

“I am not ‘going over to the darkside,’” Kodai says frostily. “I was just—checking on Midoriya-kun’s injuries.”

“Tokage’s released the beast,” jokes Kaibara Sen. He shoves a biscuit into his mouth, narrowly avoiding being smacked by Fukidashi Manga, whose face reads “SLAP!”

Fukidashi wears a stained apron, along with Yanagi Reiko, which Midoriya takes to mean that they’d hand-made the heavenly-smelling biscuits piled on the baking sheets on the counter. The other students linger hungrily around the kitchen, more appearing from the direction of the stairwell.

Monoma bursts into the kitchen, shoving Kaibara aside, panting. “I heard someone invoke the name of those righteous bastards—Izuku!” Monoma blinks. “And Mei? What are you two doing here?”

“Exploring,” says Midoriya.

“Testing the durability of rocket-powered chairs,” says Hatsume.

“What?” Shiozaki asks. “I thought you said that it was a maintenance tunnel.”

“It is!” Midoriya says hurriedly. “We were just… seeing how quickly we could get from one end to the other.” He cringes at the suspicious looks on 1-B’s faces. Lying up-front has never been his strong suit.

“Via rocket boosters?” Shoda asks, raising a pale eyebrow.

Hatsume cackles, and punches Midoriya in the shoulder. “Support course, baby! If it doesn't have rocket boosters, we’re doing it wrong!” She beams up at him, her tanned skin crinkling at the corners of her eyes.

Midoriya cracks a smile.

“Who said 1-A?” Monoma demands. He pushes aside his classmates to get to the Support students, and plasters himself against Midoriya like a friendly cat, rubbing his cheek on Midoriya’s shoulder. Monoma’s fingers curl into Midoriya’s zip-up, gluing them together.

“That would be me,” sighs Tokage. “I was just saying that Yui’s got more friends than I gave her credit for.” The green-haired girl nods at Midoriya. “I didn’t even know she knew Midoriya-kun.”

“What’s he got to do with 1-A?” Monoma asks.

Tokage cocks her head curiously. “Aren’t they all buddies? He went after that 1-A kid during the training camp, right? And when Stain got taken down, all those 1-A guys were involved, too.”

Monoma scoffs. “That doesn’t make him 1-A’s property. He’s Principal Nedzu-sama’s, and no one else’s. If anyone gets to claim him, he’d be mine.”

Hatsume grins. “I found Super Nerd first, you know! First person to talk to him at Yuuei! And he’s my partner—our babies need his huge brain to work.”

“She means inventions,” Midoriya tells the room at large. Then, he turns and says sternly, “I’m a person, not an object. I belong to myself.” And maybe Tomura, according to him, he doesn’t add.

“Yeah, whatever,” says Monoma dismissively. The smirk on his face hitches into something softer—a little nicer, a little more conspiratorial—and Midoriya knows that he’s only joking.

“So, wait,” says Komori, putting a finger to her chin and blinking quizzically, “was all that stuff that 1-C kid said about you during the Sports Festival true? I thought it was just a rumor that you were Principal Nedzu-sama’s student.”

Midoriya rubs the back of his neck. “Ah, um, yes. It's true that I have personal lessons with Nedzu-sensei. And I'm in a few other classes, too—but I chose to dorm with 1-H, to be closer to Mei-chan.”

Monoma puts a hand to his chest and gasps dramatically. “You chose her over me?”

Midoriya rolls his eyes. “I wasn't invited to dorm with the Hero course, thank you very much. Actually, you're the only course that I don't have an official class with. Just my after school training with Aizawa-sensei… ”

Fukidashi’s face changes to read “?!”

Kodai pulls back a bit to take in Midoriya from head to foot. Her dark blue eyes analyze him like a specimen under a microscope. “I was under the impression that you were a Support student.”

“I thought he was Gen. Ed.!” says Komori. Her brown bob of hair fluffs in agitation, making her look more mushroom-like than ever.

“Time out,” Tokage says, making a T-shape with her hands. She points at Midoriya. “Are you telling me that you've got classes with everyone but the Heroes? What's up with that? Too good for us, or something?”

Midoriya flushes. “W–well, it's just that, um, I'm Quirkless. I can't exactly be a Daylight Battle Hero without a Quirk, right? The only class that the Hero course students have that differs from anyone else’s is Hero Training. I’ve seen the lesson plans; it’s all geared towards how to properly engage in Quirked combat, and how to utilize your Quirks in both battle and rescue situations. While I might benefit from watching lessons like that, participating wouldn’t help me at all. Instead, I train my body with Aizawa- sensei and Hitoshi-kun, so that I can be strong and capable enough to use Support items to make up for my lack of a Quirk. If I wanted to be a Daylight hero, I might benefit from you guys’ type of Hero training, but, since I’m not planning on being on the front-lines any time soon, research and analytics practice are much more important for me.”

A general sound of realization rises up in the kitchen.

“You’ve thought a lot about this, haven’t you, Midoriya-kun?” says Shoda.

He bleats a sheepish, nervous laugh. “Um, a bit, yeah.”

“Man, I'd seriously forgotten that you don't have a Quirk!” Tokage says. She mimes punching something with rapid jabs of her fists, her sharp teeth pulled into a grin. “You worked out crazy hard with Tiger-san at the training camp, just like anybody else!”

“I do suppose that your lack of a Quirk explains why you were so injured during the attack,” says Shoda consideringly. “I hadn't thought about that, at all.”

“No, that’s because he fought an S-ranked Villain alone,” Monoma says impatiently. “Now, are we having tea time or not?” Monoma demands, peering around Midoriya to look at Shoda.

“Of course,” Shoda says, affronted. “Fukidashi-kun and Yanagi-san worked very hard to prepare biscuits for everyone in the name of class bonding, and Bondo-kun and Rin-kun offered to share their favorite tea blends. I simply happened upon Midoriya-kun and Hatsume-san speaking with Shiozaki-san in the courtyard, and invited them along.”

Midoriya lifts his hands. “We don’t want to intrude! We were just stopping by to say hello, and check that everyone has recovered. Kendou-san said that a lot of you all were affected by the gas at the training camp, and I didn’t have a chance to visit anyone in the hospital.”

“Yeah, that was super weird,” says Tokage. She picks up a lotus-printed biscuit from the pile, and bites into it as she speaks. “I totally thought you’d be in there longer than anyone else, Midoriya-kun! Your arms were a wreck . When they were loading us up in the ambulances, your team went right by me. I swear, I nearly passed out again just from looking at you!”

Kodai, who has been hovering unobtrusively near Midoriya, gives a little indignant huff. “Well, he did have surgery. When I saw him, both his arms were in casts. Recovery Girl had to come and heal him, herself.” Her eyes slide to Midoriya. “But, he was alright, later.”

“Yeesh,” says Tokage. “I’m glad you’re good now, man.”

“Thanks,” says Midoriya.

He desperately wants to ask Kodai if she’s feeling better after her Quirk exhaustion, but with so many people around, it’d be impossible. The only ones that know they went to Kamino are the police, who’d stopped them for their statements when they’d dropped Kacchan off at the station, and the Heroes that had seen their flight.

Kodai shoots him a faint, grateful smile. “Either way, I still learned a lot from the camp,” she says. “I had something of a Quirk breakthrough.”

“Same!” chimes Awase Yosetsu, his head poking into the kitchen. “Is this where the party is? Hey, Midoriya-kun.”

Monoma grins wickedly. “I’ve heard that we’re going to have some kind of competition with 1-A soon, and we’re going to crush them into tiny little loser shards. After the camp, 1-B is stronger than ever.”

“I dunno, man,” says Awase contemplatively. He leans his elbows onto the counter. “I kind of like that Yaoyorozu chick. She was a badass during the attack. Made a whole bunch of gas masks for everyone, and a tracker that I stuck onto that Nomu-thing.”

Midoriya sighs longingly. “She’s so cool. I want to talk to her about her Quirk so badly.”

Monoma rolls his eyes. “Don’t nerd out about 1-A while I’m making war declarations.”

“Wait,” says Hatsume. “Someone made a tracker? And gas masks?” Her eyes focus on Midoriya. She’s been mostly tuned-out of the conversation, far away in her head where all her inventions are born. It seems that the talk of making things has roused her, again. “What’s the Quirk?”

“Yaoyorozu Momo, class 1-A recommendation student. Quirk: Creation. Supposedly she converts the lipids in her body into other elements, and can produce anything, as long as she knows the chemical formula for it.” Midoriya and Hatsume stare into each other's eyes.

“And she’s… not in Support?” Hatsume asks, confusion written across her face.

Midoriya shakes his head. “But, just imagine—”

“Is it instantaneous? What’s her maximum? How would you even quantify the maximum of a Quirk like that? Volume? Meters? Can she really make anything? Could she make a whole mecha-suit, if she memorized it? Could she—”

“—virtually no limitations to what she can make! Even the rarest materials in the world are literally at her fingertips, and the possibilities are only stopped by her ability to recall information. Just picture experimenting with a Quirk like that. She could be used to test so many theories about nuclear decay—”

“—long-range diamond-bullet sniper rifle—”

“—weaponize radioactivity and change the field of chemistry as we know it—”

“—and I’ve got to talk to her!” they both shout.

The 1-B students balk, faces a myriad of shock, concern, and amazement.

“Lord, have mercy on our souls,” Shiozaki says, one hundred percent serious. She kisses the cross hanging around her neck, and then pours herself a cup of tea.

Monoma groans. “You’re evil. Evil, evil creatures. You don’t deserve our specially-made 1-B biscuits. Go forth, betrayers, and steal the heiress from 1-A.” He lightly pushes Midoriya towards the door, and laughs. “I’ll see you at lunch tomorrow, okay?”

“Don’t be a stranger!” Tokage calls.

Kodai sends Midoriya another lingering, grateful look, and he and Hatsume are back in the courtyard again. It’s still late afternoon, and the heat is unbearable. Midoriya shades his face with his hand, squinting across the courtyard.

“Which one of these is 1-A, do you think?”

“There’s only six, so we can try them all if we need to,” Hatsume says with a mischievous smile.

“We shouldn’t bother our senpai unless we really need something,” Midoriya says, cutting that train of thought off before it can build a rail station in Hatsume’s head. “Though it would be nice to see Togata-senpai… No.” He shakes his head. “We shouldn’t bother them, today. Actually, we shouldn’t bother 1-A, either.”

“Aw, come on,” Hatsume whines. “I want to talk to the human factory!”

Midoriya grimaces. “Yeah, definitely don’t call Yaoyorozu-san that to her face,” he says, steering them back towards Prominence Unity. “Besides, I need more time to organize my thoughts on her Quirk. I have too many questions that I want to ask. They’ll all get jumbled up.”

Hatsume complains the majority of the walk to Prominence Unity, but regains her bounce when she realizes that they’ll be having dinner, soon.

“Everything is always better with food,” Hatsume hums from her perch atop Midoriya’s shoulders, where he’s piggy-backing her. “I need food to fuel my giant inventor brain.”

“How do you think we’re going to do it?” Midoriya asks. Hatsume leans dangerously far forward, hanging so her dreads dangle in front of his face, and he has to grip her ankles tightly so that they don’t overbalance.

“Nishida was saying something about everyone cooking together.” Hatsume swings her upper body back and forth like a pendulum.

Midoriya stumbles from side to side. “I wonder how that will work…”

As it turns out, cooking together as a class is impossible. Prominence Unity may be equipped with a restaurant-sized industrial kitchen, but it’s still not large enough to hold twenty rambunctious engineers-in-training. Nishida and Ino, who are apparently friends outside of school, decisively take over dinner for the class.

The rest of 1-H crowds into the common room, draping themselves over couches and armchairs, and splaying across rugs. One enterprising boy perches on the countertop beside Hatsume. (She scares him away a moment later, when she turns to look over her shoulder at him—not particularly meanly, but with Hatsume Mei intensity that frightens the average man—and sends him skittering away.) Midoriya sits on a spinny barstool, about level with her knees.

“So…” drawls Umiko, the dark-skinned girl, who has switched out her orderly cornrows for chin-length box braids. Her brown eyes flicker over the faces of her classmates, a smirk hooking into one side of her mouth and tugging it up. “Who’s going to lay down the house rules?”

A few students titter. Ino, with his long, copper—both the metal and the color—hair swept behind his freckled ears, says flatly, “Me.” He stirs a pan of sizzling vegetables with a bored look on his face. His downturned eyes survey the class with a slow fervor that suggests that he’s looking for someone to be sauteed and roasted. “I’m going to say the rules. You will hold your questions and complaints until the end. Nishida will answer and explain. Got it?” He glares severely.

“Got it,” Midoriya chimes with the rest of the class.

As Ino and Nishida dominate the cookware, Ino uses his clipped, harsh words to explain the rules of Prominence Unity, which Midoriya finds are relatively normal. There is quite an extensive portion that is spent on what kind of inventing constitutes “dangerous,” which is definitely not allowed in Prominence Unity. Nishida has to intervene and field rapid-fire questions about pH levels, and structural support, and whether crimes against fashion count as a harmful creation.

“Hey,” Midoriya complains, hearing this one. “I’m getting better, I promise!”

This startles a laugh out of several people, including Umiko, who he’d been sure still disliked him for capturing Stain. When they sit down to eat together, it’s almost cozy. Midoriya hadn’t realized how tense the class had been, until the air had eased and lightened around him. He’s stopped feeling the prickle of eyes on his scars.

While they’re eating, Nishida says, “It’s going to be a bumpy road, but we’re in it for the long haul.” This, for some reason, strikes Midoriya like a blow to the chest.

He is in it for the long haul. Rain or shine, good or bad, Midoriya has chosen Yuuei to be his support system. Outside of these protective walls that he’d helped create, the world is a scary, messed-up place. Even inside, prejudice hounds him, and the Heroes that he’s been taught to trust for his entire life have proved to fall short of his expectations. Still. This is what he’s trying to save. These people, and this opportunity for growth and togetherness is what Midoriya wants to give to everyone.

The stir-fry sits heavy in his stomach. He wonders where the League of Villains are now. Are they eating dinner tonight? Or are they, like so many others in the world, going hungry? Will they have to steal again to feed themselves? Midoriya’s chopsticks tremble against his plate in his weak grip, and he’s struck by how much he wishes he could change. He wants them to be fed. He wants to not have to be the one to hunt them down. He wishes that they’d never found themselves feeling so desperately out of place in the world that they’d been forced into Villainy, in the first place.

“What are you thinking?” Hatsume whispers. The clattering of cutlery and dishes is loud, and she leans close to his ear to speak quietly.

“I’m thinking… a lot of things,” Midoriya says. It’s hard to quantify the guilt that has solidified in his lungs over the course of the meal. “Do you want to see my room?” he says, instead of any of the treasonous words on the tip of his tongue.

They bus their dishes, and bid the rest of the class goodnight. Midoriya opens the door to his new room with a half-hearted, “Ta-da,” that makes Hatsume snicker. She flops down onto his bedspread like she’s been there a thousand times. His fingertips tingle, just a little bit, with the knowledge that he’s having a friend over to his room for the first time in nearly eleven years. (He doesn’t really count the time that Kacchan came to interrogate him after he met Himiko. He’d been very out of sorts, then.)

“Do you—do you like it?” he asks nervously. He shuts the door behind them, even though the second rule Ino had told them was that no two students should be alone in a closed room together.

Hatsume hums consideringly. “It’s very nerdy,” she says. “But that just means that it’s perfect for you, since you’re very nerdy.” She sits up, then, and spears him with a focused gaze. “I know we haven’t talked about a lot of things, Izuku, but I just want you to know…” her hands come up from her lap, gesturing vaguely. “I don’t know how to say it. Wavelength,” she says, pointing between them.

“I get it. You’re here for me. You won’t… turn your back on me?” he says, a question in his words. When she nods, relief cracks over his head like an egg. He licks his lips. “That’s—that’s really good. I’ve wanted to talk to you for a while, but I’ve just been so busy.”

“No kidding,” Hatsume says. She pats the bed beside her, and Midoriya pads across the room to sit gingerly. “Why don’t you start with last weekend? In that detective’s car, your face had all these words written on it, but I couldn’t read them.” Frustration lances through Hatsume’s voice. “I just wanted to grab you and squeeze them out, but I figured that it could wait.”

“Thank you. For waiting, I mean, and for being there. For supporting me, when Hitoshi-kun was scared.” Midoriya stares down at his hands. “It’s hard to know where to start with everything. The mall feels like so long ago…”

“Well, let’s start with this: how did kissing Shigaraki Tomura feel?”

That shocks a laugh into bubbling past Midoriya’s lips. He looks at Hatsume, and for the first time since he’s met her, he sees a teenage girl, eager to gossip about her friend’s love life with them. Not a semi-deranged Support genius—just a normal best friend, with curious eyes and an excited grin.

“That’s a complicated question,” he says. “In physical terms? Surprisingly good. I kind of wanted more. It was my first kiss, did you know? Tomura seemed to know what he was doing, and it was… it was nice to feel wanted, that way. He was rewarding me for doing good, and that felt good.” Midoriya flops back onto his bed, head hitting his pillow. “But, at the same time, he’s a bad guy. He hurt Midnight-san, and he threatened to hurt me, and a bunch of other people. It’s—it’s hard, you know? He talked about how his minions killed a bunch of Pro-Heroes during the Stain thing, and then put his mouth on mine. So, I guess that felt kind of gross. It’s not like I want to think that he’s hot.”

“He seemed pretty gross, to me,” Hatsume offers. “Very… flaky.”

“Flaky is a good word for it. I think he has a skin condition. He always talks about itching, and he scratches his neck up really badly. But, even through all that, there’s something about him. His intensity, I guess. Or maybe his intelligence? It’s hard to describe. Sometimes he acts like a little kid, and he uses all these video game metaphors to understand the world, but he has such sophisticated ideals.” Midoriya laces his fingers together, holding them out for Hatsume’s inspection. “Those two things shouldn’t mesh, but in him, they do. He’s one of the only people I’ve ever talked to who explained why he wants to hurt people.”

Hatsume blinks at him. “Well—why?”

Midoriya takes a breath, and holds it. How can he condense the contents of four adrenaline-filled conversations into something that Hatsume will understand? He bites his lip.

“Tomura told me that Heroes don’t deserve to have so much power over everyone else, and that getting rid of them will help people like him get to live their lives. He wants to destroy anything that makes him itch—and Heroes make him itch worse than anything.”

Hatsume hums indefinably. “Do you agree?” she asks. There’s not an ounce of judgment in her gaze, as if she doesn’t really care what his answer will be. Hatsume will remain unmoved, no matter what Midoriya gives her.

“No,” Midoriya says. Then, he sighs. “Yes, a little bit.”

Hatsume laughs at his frustrated groan. “You know, Super Nerd, it’s okay to not know.” She rolls onto her stomach, kicking her legs behind her. “You’re still the smartest person I know—even if you have a crush on a Villain and wanna smash your faces together, sometimes.” A small smile lands on her mouth. “I don’t really get people, or emotions, or any of that gooey stuff. You know that. But you can always talk to me—and I’ll always be here for you. I don’t care if you end up married to him, as long as you keep making babies with me.”

Midoriya’s heart squeezes. “Thanks, Mei-chan.” Then, “I don’t want to marry him! We’re only fifteen!”

“Actually,” she says, “I’m sixteen.”

“What?” Midoriya demands, jolting upright. “When was your birthday?”

“April eighteenth,” Hatsume says. Midoriya begins to count on his fingers, and Hatsume says, “Don’t worry, Super Nerd. I never told you, and we’d only known each other for a couple of weeks, by then. Besides, my family isn’t big on birthdays.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Midoriya cries. “I would have bought your lunch, at least.” He stares mournfully at Hatsume. “I’ve never really had friends before. I want to do everything with you, Mei-chan. You deserve the best birthday in the entire world.”

Hatsume grins. “Thanks. I’ve never had friends before, either. We’ll just have to do a joint best friend birthday bash—and it’ll be the biggest, most massive party ever!”

Midoriya considers this. “I guess we will,” he decides. “My birthday is July fifteenth, so we’ve got a little over a month to plan it.” He gasps. “Wait—do you think we missed Neito-kun and Hitoshi-kun and Shouto-kun’s birthdays?” Distress streaks through him.

“If we did,” Hatsume says, wicked grin flashing like a warning sign, “then we’d just have to combine their birthdays with ours, too.”

For the rest of the night, Midoriya doesn't think about how his arm aches. He doesn't contemplate the dark heat in Tomura’s eyes, or the tears that had spilled off of Kacchan’s cheeks and onto his own. Instead, he plans the biggest, most massive party ever with Hatsume Mei.

Living on campus is surreal. When Midoriya wakes on Monday morning at four, like he usually does, he realizes with a shock that he might actually be able to get some rest. He dresses quickly and jogs to Heights Alliance. His shoes hitting the pavement is the only sound; he’s beaten the sun to rising, once again. A faint mist surrounds 1-A’s building, which is marked by the front door—which he and Hatsume hadn't been able to see, yesterday.

He hesitates, his fist hovering in the air.

“Are you perhaps searching for someone?” a high, clear voice asks. Midoriya startles, his hand swinging around and nearly slamming into the shoulder of a slim blond boy.

It's Aoyama Yuuga, with the Naval Laser Quirk that Midoriya and Hatsume had copied onto a Support device. He yips, his shiny blue eyes popping wide. A guttural word falls from his lips, which Midoriya thinks might be Spanish or French, as Aoyama hops back.

“Sorry! Sorry,” Midoriya blurts, yanking his hand into his chest.

Aoyama’s lips contort into a wobbly smile. “It's quite alright, monsieur. I did not mean to startle you. The hour is early, and I simply wished to prevent you from waking my classmates.”

Midoriya offers up a hesitant smile of his own. “Y–yeah, good idea. I, I was looking for Hitoshi-kun—Shinsou, that is.”

“Ahh,” says Aoyama. A more genuine curl of humor settles onto his face, and his eyes sparkle with mischief. “That one, he is tough. Like bread, you know? With a crunch.”

“Toast?” Midoriya asks.

“Exactly. Or a baguette. Hard on the outside, but break the crust open, and he is soft and fragrant. Good with cheese, as well.”

Midoriya thinks this simile has gotten away from Aoyama, and by the dreamy look in his eye, Aoyama's picturing breakfast rather than Shinsou.

“Hitoshi-kun and I run together in the mornings,” Midoriya says, trying to steer the conversation back on track. “What are you doing up so early?”

Aoyama isn't dressed for a work-out: he's wearing soft blue leggings with black shorts pulled over them, and a shimmering, metallic purple tank top. He could have been doing yoga, Midoriya supposes. The boy’s white trainers are stained with dew-wet grass. Had he been in the woods?

“Ah, I was simply taking an early morning stroll. It is nice before the sun rises, no?” Aoyama says. Something about his face closes off, and Midoriya immediately gets a flash of embarrassment.

Obviously, prying into other people's habits is rude and judgmental. Maybe Aoyama was homesick, and couldn't sleep. Midoriya tries to give Aoyama an awkward, apologetic tilt of his head, but Aoyama is already moving on. He gently nudges Midoriya out of the way, and says, “I will bring Shinsou-san to you.” Then, he disappears into the darkness of 1-A’s dorms.

Midoriya putters around on the porch for a few minutes until Shinsou comes out, dressed and ready to go.

Shinsou reaches down, down, down, to touch his toes, and says, “So. I take it the rescue mission was a success, since you're still here, not expelled, and all.”

Midoriya begins stretching his quads. He takes a quick, surreptitious glance around, checking that no one is near enough to hear their words. “Yeah, it went fine. It was” —terrifying; awful— “nerve-wracking, but I'm glad we were there. If we hadn't gotten Kacchan out, I don't know what would have happened.”

“Good. I'm glad everyone got something out of the experience.”

“What do you mean?” Midoriya asks, taking in the smirk that Shinsou wears.

“You got to save your psychotic little boyfriend—”

“Kacchan is not my boyfriend!”

“—Kirishima got to think that Bakugou actually appreciates him; Iida got to break the law again. Oh, and Neito got panties. Yum, yum, vending machine underwear. Who doesn't love the smell of a stranger's pussy?”

“Hitoshi!” Midoriya yelps, smacking Shinsou’s bicep. “Don't be gross—it was for the mission! How do you know about that, anyway?”

“I have a phone; he has a phone. There's this awesome new invention—it’s called “calling your friends,” ever heard of it? You take your phone, and poke these little buttons—”

“Hitoshi-kun,” Midoriya complains, rolling his eyes. “I lost my phone at the training camp. And besides, I didn't know you guys talked.”

“Neito and I talk and do our nails together like pretty little princesses.”

“Really?”

“No, you dork. We talk about Hero training crap, and how our classmates get on our nerves.” Shinsou shoots Midoriya a look—much like his don’t ask, don’t tell look—that says, if you ever tell anyone I told you this, you’ll find yourself strung up by your ankles. “We can't all be saints. Sometimes, I need to shit-talk the rest of the world to get it off my chest. Otherwise it would seep into my bloodstream and I'd end up poisoning someone’s miso, or something. Neito gets that.”

“Oh,” says Midoriya. He stretches his arm behind his head. He takes a moment to think about how to phrase what he wants to say. “You know, you’re allowed to be mean around me. I’m not going to think that you’re a terrible person, just because you’re rude sometimes. I—sometimes, I feel that way, too.”

Shinsou steps off the porch, and begins jogging. Midoriya quickly catches up to him. They spend a few strides in silence, their breaths mixing with the humid morning air.

“I know,” Shinsou says, finally. They round a corner, and Midoriya doesn’t ask where they’re going. He trusts Shinsou to lead him. “You…” a few breaths pass. “I don’t like being that way, around you.” Their feet match rhythms. “You make me want to be a nicer person, Izuku.”

Midoriya focuses on his breathing, so that it won’t catch the way it wants to. His throat goes thick.

“You make me want to be stronger,” Midoriya says, once he’s sure that he won’t choke on the words. “You’re so brave, and tough. Nothing bothers you. Life—life gave you a shit hand, and you’re putting all your chips down, anyway.” He and Shinsou stare forward, at the rising sun that kisses the edge of the sky. “I’m so proud that I get to be here to watch the Persuasive Hero: Temptation succeed. I wanna be with you, every step of the way.”

Midoriya can hear when Shinsou sniffles.

“Good. You’re not getting away from me just because I switched courses. I still need you to give me all the insider information, Nedzu-in-Training-san.”

As the sunlight streams over their sweaty bodies, Midoriya and Shinsou laugh together.

When they’ve circled the length of Yuuei’s grounds, Shinsou grabs Midoriya by the back of the shirt before he can head off to Prominence Unity.

“Hrrk,” says Midoriya, as he’s yanked towards the 1-A dorm.

“You’re not going all the way back there right now,” says Shinsou. He slackens his grip a little so that Midoriya can get his feet back under himself, but doesn’t let go, and Midoriya is forced to follow him inside.

The 1-A dorm is identical to 1-H’s, with the exception of the shoes in the genkan. Rather than twenty pairs of ratty flip-flops and beat-up trainers, there are twenty pairs of mixed athletic shoes. Midoriya’s eyes are assaulted by the racing stripes and funky designs printed on the outsides of the high-impact shoes. In the common room, there’s a body thrown across the longest couch, burrito-ed in a silky indigo blanket. A groan rises from within the burrito.

“Still no luck?” Shinsou calls to the groaning mass.

“Not even close.” The blanket wiggles around until it’s upright, and then falls, pooling around shoulders, and exposing the inky purple hair of Jirou. “Morning, Midoriya-kun,” she says, blinking bleary, exhausted eyes at him.

“Good morning, Jirou-san. Are you alright?”

She groans again, and flops back over. Shinsou gives a cruel little chuckle, and nudges Midoriya’s shoulder with his own so that he’ll follow towards the kitchen.

“Jirou is having a hard time living in a non-sound-proofed home,” Shinsou says. He turns on lights as he walks, illuminating the empty kitchen. “She said the sound of nineteen other people breathing and moving gave her a migraine. Too much sound equals no sleep for the echo-chamber.”

From behind them, Jirou makes a grumbly, unhappy noise of complaint at the nickname.

“That’s awful.” Midoriya frowns. “I wonder if there’s some way to stop that. Maybe… I might be able to change the frequency of 1-A’s dorm, and make it so that her Quirk doesn’t work here, if the problem is really that bad. Though it might interfere with other people’s Quirks, like Uraraka-san and Kaminari-kun. Maybe just her bedroom? I haven’t looked at the WiFi routers for the dorms at all—I should get on that right away. I wonder if Sensei had them all automatically connected to the Microwave Emitter…”

Shinsou pushes Midoriya down into a chair. He blinks out of his stupor. “Wait, what am I doing here?”

“I’m going to make us breakfast—and maybe Jirou, if she can roll her way over. Then I’m going to take a shower, and you’re going to go back to wherever it is that you came from.”

“You’re making breakfast?” Midoriya asks.

“Oh, thank God,” says Jirou from the common room.

“They stock these kitchens pretty well. I make food at the—at home,” Shinsou says, stumbling over his foster-status. The bags under his eyes haven’t abated, and Midoriya wonders if he’d gotten as little sleep as Jirou. “There's more stuff to work with than I'm used to, and I want to take advantage. I figured you wouldn't mind.” Shinsou opens the fridge, pulling out a carton of eggs. He glances over his shoulder at Midoriya. “If you want to help, feel free.”

Midoriya jumps to his feet, opening cabinets in search of the rice cooker. He rinses the rice in the sink while Shinsou whisks eggs in a mixing bowl, watching Jirou stagger her way into the kitchen, leaving her blanket behind on the couch. She’s wearing grungy sweatpants and an oversized band T-shirt. Midoriya blushes when she scratches her stomach, revealing the hard planes of her pale abdominal muscles.

They make a simple breakfast—just eggs and rice—but it’s the first one that Midoriya has made with another person in a very long time. When he was younger, he and his mother used to cook together. Then, when he turned ten, Midoriya’s mother took more shifts at the hospital, and left the cooking up to him, or took it upon herself to make meals before he was awake.

Jirou, who lays her forehead on the table with her eyes shut the entire time, groggily scoops bits of rice and egg into her mouth.

“There are thirteen people awake right now,” she tells him around a jaw-cracking yawn. “Four people have showered. Uraraka is coming down the stairs. Do you know that Kirishima’s hair gel makes a horrible noise when he scoops it?” Her eyes slit open. “I might seriously need you to do something about this, Midoriya-kun.”

His brows crease in concern. “What do you normally do during class? What’s causing the oversensitivity?”

“Lack of sleep,” she says grimly. “It’s always this loud during class—it’s just that, usually, when I go home, I can get a reprieve. My whole house is soundproofed. I can relax, there. Here… not so much.” Jirou grimaces. “My hearing is sharp enough that I can tell the difference between heartbeats. When I’m trying to sleep, it’s similar to when I’m concentrating on hearing, because I block everything else out. Even when everyone’s being quiet, it’s unbearable.”

Midoriya bites his lip. “Well, soundproofing your own room can be a short-term solution. I might be able to make a sort of hotspot Microwave Emitter for you to keep just in your room, if you’re alright with not being able to use your Quirk while you sleep.” He rubs his chin. “It wouldn’t take me more than thirty minutes. I can have it done by the end of the day.”

Something squeaks. Everyone at the table turns to look, and is treated to Uraraka’s sleepy, beheaded visage. She’s wearing a Pro-Hero Thirteen pajama set.

“M–M–Midoriya-kun!” she says, and it’s immediately apparent that she’d been the squeaker. Her face is bright red.

“Hi, Uraraka-san,” he replies. “I like your pajamas.”

Jirou and Shinsou laugh like two crows. Uraraka gives another stepped-on sound, and flees, leaving Midoriya blinking in her wake.

Jirou mimes wiping a tear from her eye. “Oh, that’s too funny. Teenage girls are adorable.”

“You’re a teenage girl,” says Midoriya, confusedly.

She and Shinsou exchange a knowing glance.

“Not the same way,” Shinsou says, shaking his head. He grins scarily. “Eat your eggs and get out of here, interloper. Don’t want your precious little boyfriend raising hell too early, now do we?”

Midoriya shovels food into his mouth.

Classes are a relief. It’s a breath of fresh air in a dust cloud—Midoriya finally feels like he’s not drowning.

It’s like this, sometimes. This used to happen to him, in middle school, when he’d become overwhelmed by the lack of friends, or the bullying, of just being so goddamn alone all the time. He’d get in his head, and spiral. Eventually, something would come along and jostle him back into the flow of real life. This time, it’s Yuuei’s wave of coursework.

Power Loader has them working down to the last minute in 1-H, drawing up designs for a Support company that Yuuei has taken on. The ideas are basic, but allow enough freedom for creativity that Hatsume and Midoriya take immediate advantage of. After All Might’s battle in Kamino, a surge of Heroes have begged their companies for midsection body armor. It’s the Support department’s job to fill those orders, and Power Loader thought that it was a great way for the first year course to flex their inventing muscles in a Hero-oriented direction.

Broadcast-sensei accidentally gives Midoriya the worst heartburn of his life by letting his silky white hair out of his ponytail. (Midoriya zones out for a solid five minutes, remembering that smokey feeling of breathing in the scent of Tomura’s skin.) But, besides that, they begin the sewing portion of their class. Midoriya pricks his finger about eight dozen times. He honestly didn’t do too badly; one of his classmates accidentally ran the foot of her sewing machine over her own hand and had to be taken to Recovery Girl. At the end of it, Midoriya has a palm-sized pillow, embroidered with the kanji for “Plus Ultra.”

His Gen. Ed. classes go similarly, and homework piles up by the forkful at the end of every period, so he knows he’s in for a long evening by the time lunch rolls around. He hauls his backpack to the lunch table, and exclaims, “Shouto-kun!”

Todoroki, who has already gotten his food, stares up at him with sad, sad eyes. “Hello, Izuku.”

Midoriya’s pep dies in his throat. Something is wrong—though he can’t tell what—that’s sending up warning flags like a beach with high winds. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” Todoroki stands. “I’ll come with you, while you get your food.”

He hovers by Midoriya’s side, their arms nearly brushing, as Midoriya waits in line for the steak and eggs that are on the menu. Midoriya turns to nudge him, to point at Lunch Rush, but Todoroki makes a bitten-off sound of pain.

“Shouto?” Midoriya’s face pinches in concern. His hand wavers in the air above Todoroki’s uniform blazer, where he’d elbowed him. It was too gentle of a nudge to be painful—unless there was something already there. A wound, like the one Midoriya is hiding. “Are—are you hurt?”

Todoroki’s face closes off. Midoriya hadn’t realized it was open, raw with emotion lingering in the tightness around his eyes and mouth, until it’s gone. He’s a blank slate.

“I’m fine.” These words are less of a reassurance; Midoriya doesn’t believe them, anymore.

Midoriya’s resolve hardens. He steps out of line, carefully tugging on Todoroki’s gray sleeve until he follows, a shadow behind his movements. They pass Hatsume, who bounces off of Midoriya’s chest in her inattention.

“Whoa, hey! What’s up, Super Nerd?”

Midoriya catches her flighty gaze. “I need to talk with Shouto-kun. We’ll be back, okay? Tell Neito-kun and Hitoshi-kun not to worry.”

She doesn’t catch the serious air around the pair—not that Midoriya expected her to—so she beams and gives him a double thumbs-up in approval.

“Got it! See you in a few.”

“I’m fine,” Todoroki says for the third time. He doesn’t pull away, though. He trails behind Midoriya. The hallway they enter is silent, and sun-filled. Once upon a time, Midoriya stood here the first time All Might decided to tell him about One For All.

He moistens his lips. “Do you promise not to tell, if I show you something?” he asks. He looks into Todoroki’s eyes, and their color difference has never been more stark. In this light, his left eye is the cap of a cresting wave, and his right eye is like warm steel.

“Of course.” Not a second of hesitation on Todoroki’s behalf. Midoriya adores him.

He swallows, and shrugs out of his uniform blazer. Underneath it, he wears the summer uniform shirt, with its short sleeves that cut off at his biceps. It means that everything he’s trying to hide—the scars, the wounds, the persistent tremor in his right arm—is bared.

Todoroki’s gaze fastens on Midoriya’s left elbow crease. It drifts higher, to the second bite mark that Himiko had left him with.

“What is this?” Todoroki asks. He steps forward, further into Midoriya’s space. Midoriya has to tilt his head back to see his face.

Midoriya hesitates. “There’s a lot… There are a lot of things that you don’t know about me, Shouto-kun.” He swallows. “I—I haven’t trusted you with very many of my secrets, but I do trust you. I trust you with my life; I trust you to make the right decision, and to help me. You’re a Hero, Shouto-kun, and I’m so grateful to have worked with you.” Midoriya’s voice goes stone-solid. “But I need you to trust me, and tell me why you’re hurt. I can help you. I promise to help you, no matter what it is.”

For a moment, Todoroki is utterly still. His eyes close, and a flicker of something splashes over his face. Just a twitch, and then it’s gone.

“Izuku,” he breathes. “You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

Todoroki unbuttons his blazer. His fingers are quick and deft on the pearlescent buttons of his uniform shirt, and his nails are pink against the fabric of his white undershirt. This close, Midoriya can feel the two-toned temperature of Todoroki’s body, one half fever-warm, the other corpse-cold.

On his right flank, an ugly bruise is blooming.

Midoriya follows the patterns with his eyes. Like strangling vines, purple, blue, green, and heinous red trails across Todoroki’s skin. Midoriya can see the fight. The fists, the knuckles. He could pantomime the blows that have left Todoroki with those devastating marks—but he knows his rendition will never be perfect. Midoriya’s body cannot match up with the one that left these on Todoroki.

Midoriya’s knee could never hit Todoroki where Endeavor’s has.

“Oh, Shouto,” Midoriya whispers. His heart breaks for Todoroki.

“You can’t really help with this,” Todoroki says. He lets his undershirt drop back down, covering the memories his father left him with. Midoriya reaches out, and carefully helps Todoroki redo the buttons. One by one, they slip into their rightful places. He smooths Todoroki’s collar, remembering his mother doing the same for him on his first day of school.

“I can,” Midoriya says. The second he says it, he knows it’s true. He meets Todoroki’s eyes and repeats, “I can. I can help you.” There’s a fire beginning to rise up in his chest, licking at him with tongues that sear with anger.

He’d asked Kacchan how he did it—how does he walk around like this, holding all the rage of the world within himself? 

“You learn to embrace it,” Kacchan said.

“Shouto-kun,” Midoriya starts, staring deep into Todoroki’s wounded eyes, “can I take down Endeavor for you?”

Time to embrace the hatred. Scratch the itch.

Chapter Text

Excerpt from “Trigger: The New Drug Sweeping the Streets” by Maekawa Yori, published June 10, 2232, 09:53.

Accessed: June 10, 2232.

“Trigger, also known as pow, is the newest, most fatal drug to hit the streets in the past fifty years. Popdash, the last Japanese drug epidemic, killed nearly four thousand people before police were able to effectively end the production. In the past six months, a surge of Villains using what has come to be known as Trigger—a catalyst for monstrous Quirk awakenings. Out of the forty-six cases that have been connected to Trigger, only one perpetrator has survived longer than two days after ingesting the illegal substance. It is not confirmed whether Trigger has any neurological effects on the user, but the evidence is clear: using Trigger will kill you. Please, do not seek out this substance.”

Captioned audio clip from “Endeavor’s Rise to Fame” by user OkuboSpeaksFacts, posted June 10, 2232, 12:37.

Accessed: June 10, 2232.

“Take a look at the cold hard facts, people. Endeavor has been in the Heroics field for thirty-five years, and spent thirty-three of them chasing All Might’s shadow. He did a lot of good for this country, even with his less-than-stellar personality. See this graph? This is how many of his side-kicks, the Flaming Sidekickers, quit or transferred out of Endeavor Agency over the course of six months of work. Their reasons for leaving the Agency were not made public, but I think it can speak for itself.

“We all have our fair share of stories about Endeavor’s brutality, whether we saw it ourselves, or someone we know experienced it. But if you look here, these are the statistics from the HPSC database. They show that Endeavor has had a constant upward drive in solved cases as the years have gone on. He has the most resolved cases in history—beating All Might by a whopping six hundred take-downs. But, then again… here is the line that shows the number of reported injuries from his cases. That little blue line below it? That’s All Might’s injury report. Yeah.”

Excerpt from “Unevolved Buddies ;)))” June 11, 2232.

tentenluvsdakobeni: Hello, all. This is Iwai Aimi. I am Tenten’s mother. I know she was very active in this group. She took her life last week, and I would like to have her number removed from this group. Do not contact this device again.

miyaisabigboy: wait are you fucking serious

udon4breakfast: No way

udon4breakfast: I can’t deal with this

miyaisabigboy: this has to be a joke right

anonymous-user: @tentenluvsdakobeni I’m devastated. Tenten was a source of positivity for us. I pray for her happiness in the next world. To remove her number from this chat, you may want to contact OTS.

blueminkcoat: fuck.

Nedzu isn’t pleased.

“Midoriya-kun—”

“I know, I know, we’re supposed to be focusing on my mental health, or whatever, but if you’d just listen for a second, you’d understand that I have to do this!”

Nedzu’s ears flatten. He gives Midoriya an unimpressed look—which isn’t easy for a chimera such as he—pressing the pads of his front paws together. “Please, explain how ruining the Number One Hero: Endeavor’s career is something that you, personally, must do.”

Midoriya’s hands are clammy. He stares into his lap, where they rest on the slick, non-absorbent fabric of his uniform slacks, trying not to show on his face how tense he is. He's been taking for granted Nedzu’s undying, unrelenting support, and now that he doesn't have it, he flounders.

“I—I just thought that—um.” He takes a calming breath. “Shouto-kun needs help.” Midoriya steels his nerves, and makes eye contact with Nedzu. “He won't ask for it from you, or anyone who can actually do it. His father is Endeavor. And I—I know things. Things that I probably should have told someone a long time ago.” His fingers twitch, resisting his urge to grip his pants. “Endeavor is not a good man. He’s hurt Shouto-kun. He—he is hurting Shouto.” Midoriya closes his eyes. Nedzu’s unflinching countenance makes it hard to play the pathos card, but that is all he has, right now. “I promised to help him, and the only way I know to help him is to remove Endeavor’s source of power: Heroism.”

There's a brief moment of silence. It's broken when Nedzu sighs.

“Midoriya-kun, please look at me. I want to be transparent with you, in an effort to gain your understanding.” Nedzu’s glass-bead eyes are trained on him—stock-still, like prey. “I assured you, once, that I would support you, no matter your choices. Last week, you told Detective Tsukauchi-san that you wish to dismantle Hero society.” Midoriya holds his breath. Nedzu pauses, seeming to search for words. “I support you, Midoriya-kun. I have always thought that I understand you better than most—and you, me. We resonate, because our circumstances are unique in this world. Society despises us. It would see us dead, before extending a helping hand to either you or me.” His wet, dark nose quivers. “I would love nothing more than to destroy it all, brick by brick, with my own four paws. I have spent the last fifteen years of my life learning how to win this game; it is now time to throw out the deck. I am elated beyond words that you have come to the same conclusion as I, by your own means.” Nedzu taps a claw on the surface of his desk. “However, Midoriya-kun, you do not possess the same foresight that I do. Your skills are not yet fully developed.” He begins to nod to himself. “Yes, this is a teaching moment. Most certainly.” Nedzu’s throat rumbles a little. “Tell me, Midoriya-kun: what will happen if the Number One Hero is arrested on child abuse charges?”

Midoriya startles. Hearing the words, so bold and blatant, is like a slap in the face. The dizzying colors of Todoroki’s bruises flash behind his eyelids. He balks—but then he begins to think.

“If the Number One Hero was arrested on child abuse charges…” Midoriya cringes. “There would be an uproar. Riots, maybe. In-fighting. Heroes would take sides—not to mention the Hero Public Safety Commission. People would lose faith in the system, or doubt the validity of the claims.”

“Right,” says Nedzu. “So, you see my dilemma. In this puzzle, there is no clear solution. Endeavor does, indeed, derive most of his strength and power from his position in the public rankings. To remove those from him could have potentially catastrophic results. Does he hurt his family because of his station, or in spite of it? Would he seek revenge? Would legal charges even hold up under close scrutiny? These are questions that must be addressed and explored before anything can even remotely begin to happen. And, this is only considering the aspect that would affect our dear Todoroki-kun, without accounting for the teetering stilts that Hero society currently rests on.”

Midoriya swallows. From what Todoroki has said, Endeavor’s entire life revolves around his position as a Hero, and his position in the rankings, specifically. He’d fathered Todoroki and his siblings for the sole purpose of defeating All Might—to succeed where Endeavor had failed for so many years.

Now that he’s finally achieved his life’s goal, what will he do?

Midoriya’s stomach turns. Those bruises on Todoroki… had they been caused by the ranking shift? Had Endeavor used Todoroki to vent his feelings about All Might’s final battle?

“Please,” he whispers, “let me help. I can’t just do nothing. Shouto-kun doesn’t deserve that.”

“As I said, Midoriya-kun, exposing Endeavor could be catastrophic.” Nedzu’s eyes gleam manically, and Midoriya’s breath catches in his throat. “That does not mean that I will not do it. It simply means that we will have to work well in advance to be sure that we can use the outcome to further our own goals. Now, I am assuming that one of your goals is protecting Todoroki-kun from the backlash and fallout?”

“Of course,” Midoriya says. His head spins with threads of possibilities. “We can use this—can’t we? We can use this to push our bill forward. We might even be able to corner the HPSC into eliminating the rankings!”

“Very good, Midoriya-kun. But, first, I would like you to choose your therapist. Before we begin making choices that we cannot take back, I want to be sure that you are thinking of yourself, in the long run.” Nedzu reaches forward, sliding an innocuous manila folder towards him across the desk. “It is okay to be selfish. We are going to remake the world—you must create a place for yourself, within it.”

The whiplash of the conversation stuns Midoriya for a moment. He peeks into the file. There are four doctors’ information in the folder. Midoriya reads their profiles, their credentials, and their mission statements. He swallows, and nudges one out.

“H–her. I’ll go to her.”

Nedzu makes no noises of acceptance, nor any of disapproval. “I wish you the best of luck with Doctor Ryota-san, Midoriya-kun. If it does not work out, please let me know, and we will search for another psychiatrist for you.” He taps away at his computer for a short moment. “Now, let us get back to our previous discussion. Tell me everything you know about the Todoroki family, so that we can begin preliminary planning.”

Midoriya’s determination flares like a lighthouse in a storm.

“Hai, Sensei.”

The first thing Aizawa does when he sees Midoriya is sigh, which is never a great sign for how the rest of the day will go.

“Hi, Aizawa-sensei, ” Midoriya greets.

They’re outside today, deep in the bowels of Ground Alpha, the mock-city training area. The asphalt beneath his feet sears through the bottoms of his shoes in the sweltering summer sun.

“Problem child,” says Aizawa. His eyes are bloodshot, and he’s got his long, scraggly hair swept off his neck in an uncharacteristic bun. Even his capture weapon rests on his forearms, rather than around his shoulders, in deference to the heat. “I—”

“Do you not have a summer costume?” Midoriya asks. Aizawa blinks slowly. “I—I just wondered, because long sleeves and pants in the heat can cause heat stroke, even if you only patrol at night, and, well, you’ve been a Hero for a really long time, but I’ve never seen any alternate Eraser Head costumes. I guess your costume might be more breathable than it looks, but I doubt it. There’s not many materials that your jumpsuit could be made of that are both breathable and protective, and I doubt that Aizawa-sensei would choose breathability over body armor. Maybe it could be swapped out for elbow and knee pads? Though that does leave a lot of exposed skin… I wonder how Broadcast- sensei would approach making a costume open while still protecting the vitals on someone whose Quirk doesn’t need skin contact.”

“Midoriya,” Aizawa barks. He jolts. “I don’t need another costume. I’m a grown man, who can handle a little heat.” He sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Before we start today, I have to… apologize.”

Midoriya’s mouth falls open. “Wh–what?”

Aizawa glares over Midoriya’s shoulder, his mouth pressing into a frown. “I realize that the other day, during your interrogation, some of the things I said were… uncalled for. My husband—”

“Your what?! ” Midoriya yelps.

“My husband, Mic,” Aizawa says. He fixes Midoriya with a flat look. “I thought that with all that time you spend with your nose stuck up Heroes’ asses, you might have picked up on it. Guess your investigative skills aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.”

“Present Mic-san is your husband?” Midoriya is stupefied.

“We don’t do that whole western ring crap. Bad publicity. Besides, gay marriage is still iffy, and with Mic being a Daylighter, keeping personal business personal is important. But, yes.” Aizawa rolls his eyes begrudgingly. “Six years, come August.”

“Congratulations,” Midoriya says distantly.

Immediately, his worldview shifts to accommodate the new information. Present Mic and Aizawa are married! Aizawa has a foster license—which is rare enough on its own. Adoption in Japan isn’t common, nor is it borne out of goodwill, in most cases. The average age of children in foster care is twelve, and most children aren’t eligible to be adopted after the age of six. Shinsou, who is at least fifteen, doesn’t stand a chance of being adopted. Not, at least, until he’s older.

The only other case of adoption that is somewhat frequent in Japan is that of the men and women who are raised to inherit businesses of childless moguls. Usually, they are adopted later in life, once they’re of working age, and have graduated university. Midoriya knows that Ojisan Masaru had this happen to him, which is how he became such a prominent designer at Uniqlo. The Bakugou fortune is both earned and inherited.

However, there are cases when fostering outside of the group home system is necessary. Usually in cases of extremely unruly Quirks, or extremely rare ones, a Hero can be called upon to remove the child from foster care, and raise them, themselves. Aizawa- sensei is one such Hero, with the license to prove it.

(Midoriya knows this because he took full advantage of his Yellow clearance level, and stalked through the Hero Public Safety Commission database with a fine-toothed comb. He supposes that Heroes don’t have to disclose their marital status to the HPSC—especially when their marriage is an under-the-table gay one.)

He’d been mostly joking when he’d hinted to Kota that Aizawa might adopt Shinsou, but this new revelation changes things. It’s a legal requirement for the adopters to be married. Before, Midoriya was sure that Aizawa would only adopt a child in an emergent case, on a short-term basis. Like if, for instance, a child couldn’t control their Quirk on their own, and needed help turning it off. Erasure would be great for that. But, now, Midoriya knows that he could foster on a much more permanent basis. It’s highly frowned upon for gay couples to foster children, but Aizawa is so no-nonsense that Midoriya doubts that anyone would say no to him.

Besides, who could be better foster parents than two Pro-Heroes?

“Hey,” Aizawa says. His fingers snap in front of Midoriya’s face. “Quit mumbling.”

“Sorry,” Midoriya says dazedly. “You said… Present Mic-san told you something?”

Aizawa looks sweaty and irritated. Midoriya tries to pay closer attention to him.

“You are making apologizing very annoying,” the man says, impatience lacing his tone. “Mic told me that you need a lighter touch. He also said that I’m bigoted, but whatever,” Aizawa grumbles. He’s making a lot of eye contact now. “I shouldn’t have said that you’re not a Hero. It directly contradicted what I’d told you before Bakugou-kun’s rescue. I dislike being wrong—but I dislike illogicality more. So, I’m apologizing. Got it? I know that going from Quirkless to Quirked can’t be easy, and All Might is a damn idiot, so he probably wasn’t any help at all.”

Midoriya stifles a smile. It’s one of the worst apologies he’s ever gotten, but who cares? Aizawa felt bad about making him feel bad, and that’s something that most adults in Midoriya’s life don’t have the capacity to recognize.

 “Thank you,” Midoriya says diplomatically.

Aizawa grunts. “I just want to clarify—this doesn’t mean that you get free rein to call yourself a Hero. You have to earn that right, like the rest of us. But I was wrong to say that you aren’t one. Putting away Stain at your age, with no Quirk, is nothing to sweep under the rug. Neither is the way you handled Muscular. Getting out alive, and getting Izumi-kun out, too, is something to celebrate.” He sighs, long and drawn-out.

Aizawa’s large palm settles atop Midoriya’s frizzy curls. He gives Midoriya a tentative pat, scrubbing lightly, before he sticks his hand back into his pocket. Midoriya gapes at him.

“Quit it, Problem Child. This doesn’t mean I’ll be going easy on you,” Aizawa says. “Drop and give me twenty. We’re going to figure out what the hell is going on with that crazy Quirk you’ve got, and make it work for you. No Hero is a one-trick pony, and breaking your arms is a pretty crap trick.”

Midoriya laughs, breathless. He falls to the searing blacktop, and begins his pushups.

He goes back to Heights Alliance, still dripping sweat from every pore. Keeping on his sweatshirt is an exercise in restraint, and Midoriya is seriously wishing for clouds when he arrives at 1-A’s stoop for the second time on Monday.

“Woah, man! Rough day?” Kaminari asks. He’s in a sleeveless black tanktop with a band logo that Midoriya doesn’t recognize scrawled on the front. Kaminari’s jean shorts have frayed edges that are going to leave him with funky tan lines, though Midoriya refrains from saying it.

“No, actually.” Midoriya smiles, exhausted. “I enjoy working out. Aizawa-sensei just drinks my misery for a balanced meal, so I have to provide,” he jokes.

Kaminari laughs, and, at his side, Kirishima does, too. He slings an arm over the white-painted railing of the front porch, his bright red hair drooping in the warmth.

“It’s good to see you, Midoriya,” Kirishima says. His grin is broad. “What are you doing all the way on our side of town?”

“I’m looking for Jirou-san, actually,” he says. “I have a—a sort of gift, I guess.”

Kaminari cocks his head curiously, his blond hair sticking to his damp skin. “I didn’t know you guys were friends.” His golden eyes take on a dangerous glint. “Are you into her?”

Midoriya’s face goes bright red. “A–ah! Um, n–no! That is, um, no, I’m not. She’s very pretty, and really cool, and I think her Quirk is super versatile, but, ah—”

There’s a hissing pop that Midoriya is intimately familiar with. The hair on his arms stands up at the sound of Explosion.

“What are you chuckle-fucks talking about?” Kacchan bites. He slams the front door behind himself. An ugly orange gym bag is slung over his shoulder, and his feet are halfway in his horrid combat boots, heels denting the soft leather where they haven’t slipped in fully.

“Kacchan!”

“We’re asking Midoriya-kun about his crush on Jirou!” Kirishima reports happily.

Kacchan swings around to glare at Midoriya so violently that he’s afraid he may explode from the force alone.

“I don’t have a crush on her!” Midoriya squeaks.

“He doesn’t have a crush on her!” Kaminari snaps simultaneously. Midoriya blinks at him, puzzled by the harshness of his tone. Kaminari lowers his eyes to the banister that he’s leaning against, avoiding eye contact. At his fingertips, a crackle of electricity flickers to life, charring the white paint faintly.