Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Endeavor Page– 

BastionOfIntel: okay so during the attack last tuesday, did anyone else notice the rock??? (i’ve linked a video , it shows up at 3:04). it’s super small, and even though there was probably about three tons of other debris also flying at him, i’m pretty sure endeavor dodged it. how did he even see it? i noticed it on the first watch, but it took my mom like four rewatches to spot it. what do we think? did he see it coming or was this just a stroke of luck?

Likes: 5 

heropro_69 : Oh hey it’s you again. I can’t really figure it out, but me and my gf talked about it for like twenty minutes haha. Overall, I wouldn’t be surprised. He’s #1 for a reason 🤷 

Likes: 1 

heropro_69: @endeavor/moderation Answer this guy, I’m curious now (also he’s prone to flooding the page if his questions don’t get answered lol.)

Likes: 1

(MOD)modeavor : Hi @BastionOfIntel! Since last Tuesday we have gotten lots of questions about Endeavor’s fighting style, as he took more of a defensive stance with this fight. We're happy to answer…

(click to expand)

Likes: 12

“Well? Midoriya?” 

Izuku looks up, quickly closing the tab on his computer, exiting out of the hero forum website. The teacher is looking at him expectantly, arms folded and foot tapping comically on the floor as he waits for an answer. 

Izuku realizes, with a quick glance around the room, that class is over. His fellow students are still in the class, but they’ve begun to pack up, migrating to their friends groups of choice.

“Huh?” Izuku asks, sending a ripple of giggles through the class. Fourteen-year-olds will laugh at anything, so he tries not to take it personally. Still, his head ends up ducked down a little lower than normal.

“Stay after class please,” Mr. Hamasaki says, rolling his eyes slightly. 

“Uh…what for?” Izuku asks. He’s never been kept after for being on his computer.

The class is waiting, even if they’re trying very hard to look like they’re not. It’s not often that Izuku is the one who’s being scolded, and they’re probably curious about what he did. Izuku is curious about what he did. 

“Your…” he pauses, rubbing his temples, “We should talk after class.”

“It is after class, sir,” Izuku says. 

“Fine, fine. It’s about…your school of choice.”

Ah . Izuku sits up straighter. “U.A.? What’s wrong with it?” 

There’s another eruption of giggles. There’s also the sound of a chair being pushed back. Izuku glances back, and Bakugou is now standing, looking at him with a snarl. 

“Hey,” Mr. Hamasaki says pointing, “Relax. If I have to report you again, you’re getting suspended.” He chooses to say this instead of answering Izuku's question. 

“That certainly won’t look good on your record,” Izuku says, mostly without thinking. He knows Bakugou also wants nothing more than to get into the gleaming halls of U.A. 

“Even if I had a murder charge on my record, I’d have a better chance than you,” Bakugou snaps. Izuku supposes that’s probably a threat.

“Bakugou,” his teacher warns again, looking tired. But he leaves it at that, seeing as Bakugou did listen, and is now firmly turned away, packing his bag. Izuku hadn’t realized that you could aggressively pack a backpack. The teacher turns his attention back to Izuku, “It’s a hero school.” 

“But- But it’s a really good school,” Izuku says. He’s been preparing for this conversation. He had it with his mom, and checked at least three times to make sure it was viable. He even ran through the possibility with a couple of the forum guys on a page creatively called Hero Schools . “Do…” Izuku prepares for another batch of laughter to be thrown in his direction. “Do you know what the support course is?”

Thankfully, the class has quieted down, more interested in not missing the bus than caring about whatever impossible task one of their classmates is attempting. The teacher shrugs, “It’s some sort of… support course?” 

“I mean yeah? Yeah. It’s the people who will help the heroes from the sideline. Costuming, inventions, first aid, all those things.”

Izuku doesn’t mention the other half of his plan surrounding the support course. Yes, they deal with inventions and costumes and such, but they could be doing so much more. Izuku has spent hours analyzing fights and he understands exactly what the heroing world needs. 

Strategy. Consultants. People who watch fights and tell heroes exactly what they did wrong and exactly how to do better. 

Something Izuku could do in his sleep.

Heroes are supposed to strategize for themselves, and Izuku is seemingly the only person who realizes that it’s something that can and should be outsourced. Heroes should have a team behind them, telling them exactly how to fight. A job that’s nonexistent now, something that Izuku is pretty sure he was born for. 

“I guess you do have some sort of penchant for stuff like that. What, you want to costume someone?” 

“Something like that,” he mutters. Another small peal of laughter, although more and more students have begun to leave. Izuku doesn’t know why he pushed this. He could have waited until after class. 

But he knows why he didn’t. Because at least three different classmates of his, people he’s never talked to, people whose names he barely recalls, are nodding. Or shrugging. The slightest hint of approval. In making his announcement to the class, this plan of his has just become realized. 

“Well…alright then, no meeting required. You seem to know what you’re doing. Good luck,” Hamasaki says, and then he moves on. Just like that. It’s the vaguest of permissions from a teacher that Izuku doesn’t like, and yet the conversation burns within his throat, hope fluttering through his chest. It’s permission to try. 

He remembers it like it was yesterday, seeing that video. It was an older one, and one of the most popular in the circles of different heroes. There had been a collapsed building due to an unfortunate villain attack and infrastructure flaws. Both common enough issues, but combined, it was disastrous. It had been an office building, with hundreds of civilians still inside the rubble and fire. Death from a disaster the likes that hadn’t been seen in years. Izuku could hear the screaming, even from the scratchy video. 

And then there he was. 

The Bastion of Defense, Endeavor. The number one hero. 

The image of his expression, as he brought civilians, one after the other, to safety, is still seared into Izuku’s mind. An expression of determination stronger than anything Izuku had seen. The strongest man Izuku had ever seen. And at that moment, he knew that he’d become a hero. 

And then he never developed a power. It was a one in five chance, and he had been misfortunate enough to win that hellish lottery. The doctors said he was quirkless, and it was the most heart shattering moment of his entire life. His mom had been there the whole time with him, holding him for the results of each test, crying over her son's pain because she had known what he wanted to do with his life. She understood. 

But then again, she could have never truly understood. 

Izuku had cried too. Of course he had, he had been four, and his whole life had already begun to crumble down around him. But whenever the despair got too much, he would just remember that video. That image of Endeavor, stronger than anyone else in the whole world with flawless determination. 

After that, Izuku would obsess over the man's interviews, reading or watching anything he could get his hands on, ignoring his pain and only focusing on his budding obsession. And Endeavor’s passion would shine through the screen, talking of becoming the best hero possible.

At age eight, Endeavor was interviewed by a local talk show, and his mom hadn’t needed much convincing at all, allowing him to visit in person with seats in the third row. 

It had been a grand thing, fans wearing merch, news casters following the man's every move. Izuku had been so starstruck he had to hold his mom’s hand the entire time.

“Push yourself to your limits and beyond. That’s the only way you will accomplish what you want,” Endeavor had said, sitting under those bright lights in a chair that looked much too small for him. The interview had continued as if Izuku’s world hadn’t just changed. He had rewatched the recorded version over and over, even though he had already committed the words to memory. 

And the next day, when his mom had checked in on him, knocking softly, she had found him with a notebook already almost full and the side of his hand stained by blue ink. He had the foundations of his plan to secure his future as a strategic hero. Quirk or not. 

Class is almost empty after the questioning from Mr. Hamasaki, and Izuku finds himself antsy to get home. It’s never safe to stay after upsetting-

“What are you trying to do, Deku?” Bakugou says, slamming his hands on Izuku’s desk. 

That.

 “You think you can rub shoulders with me or something?” 

Izuku waves his hands, probably looking as nervous as he feels “It’s the support course it’s really not-”

“You don’t have a quirk. You’re not going to become a hero,” Bakugou spits. 

Izuku frowns, picking up his backpack. His hands are only slightly shaking. He could give the whole spiel to Bakugou, explain exactly what he’s going to do, and how of course he’s not going to become an actual hero. 

But he can’t bring himself to speak, because Bakugou’s right. Of course Izuku wants to become a hero. A Pro, just like Endeavor. Like maybe someone will see him and take at most, pity on him, letting him ride their coattails or something. And Izuku will show the world that a quirkless kid can fight just as good as the best. 

But he can’t think about that dream, because that’s never going to be true in the current world. He has to embrace his second choice, Izuku the strategist. The only future that doesn’t seem like a world of misery. 

He stands up and moves past Bakugou, hunching his back trying to appear smaller than he actually is, knowing that it’s the best way to get Bakugou to leave him alone. Everytime Bakugou thinks he’s won, it’s better for Izuku. 

He makes it halfway to the door when he feels himself slightly relax. He just has to speed walk to the door, and then he’ll be home free–

“What’s this?” one of Bakugou’s friends (lackeys) says. Izuku immediately goes to his pocket praying he didn’t forget–

“Aww, it’s cute,” the other one laughs. Izuku turns, spotting his little notebook in the hands of the second guy. It’s unmistakably his, small and white, with a couple of hero stickers on it, the biggest one a cartoon drawing of Endeavor. It’s one of his many notebooks, a bunch of basic notes of fighting styles that he can easily reference when watching Pros on the street. 

“Yeah,” Bakugou says, holding a hand out for it, “It is.” 

“Wait-” Izuku says, but he’s too late. The notebook is thrown in the air, and Bakugou catches it with one hand, and explosions erupt between the notebook and his fingers. The smell of burning paper follows.

“Consider this a warning,” Bakugou says, sniffing. He casually tosses the notebook outside an open window, and it falls in a burning heap, “Some people are born gifted, and some aren’t. That’s life.” 

Izuku curls his hands into fists, A sort of determination swirling in his stomach. The class has left by now, the door closed and with no one here, Izuku suddenly feels like a caged animal. He’s never tried to fight back.

“So pray for your next life, I guess.” He says, “Hey, maybe you'll get lucky and get hit by a bus.” Bakugou shrugs, slow and relaxed. Like they’re still friends. They haven’t been anything close to friends for years. “I guess you could jump off the building if you want to try to speed up the process. Be proactive.”  

Both of his friends laugh, even though Bakugou didn’t say it with any hint of humor, staring straight at Izuku, daring him to challenge what he just said. 

Izuku just feels shocked, the fight leaving him in an instant because honestly , who tells someone to kill themselves? The shock overcomes any feeling of sadness or anger he could possibly still harbor, and he takes a step back, feet squeaking against the linoleum. The noise alerts Bakugou, who turns at the movement, immediately taking it as a challenge and not an escape. A firework of explosions alight in his hand. 

“Yeah?” he sneers, “What are you going to do about it?” 

Izuku faintly hears his own voice, reminding him to stay small, stop moving, but it’s barely heard over the static in his head because someone just told him to kill himself. 

Bakugou scoffs again, and before Izuku can take even a single step forward, the three of them leave, passing him with ease, the door slamming behind them. Izuku slumps, his arms wrapping around his knees as he makes his way to the floor, he has to ball his fists to keep them from shaking. Adrenaline, sadness, a bit of anger, all causing tremors to run through his body. 

But above it all, that constant, thrumming, determination. 

★

He finds his notebook, somehow having fallen into a decorative pond, soggy, burnt, and entirely unreadable. The sticker of Endeavor has faded and lifted at the corners. He peels the rest of it off and crushes it in his fist, pocketing the useless piece of paper. 

He drops the notebook back into the pond with a splash. He walks away, taking deep breaths, trying his best not to cry. He hates it when his research goes to waste. This is just like that time he had recorded a Best Jeanist fight but shattered his phone on the ground when he had been hit by a sonic aftershock from the villain's attack. 

Izuku wipes his eyes, before turning around, and fishing the notebook back out. He throws it away in the nearest trash can, under the closest bridge. His mom did not raise someone who litters. 

He sighs again, most of the adrenaline having finally left his system. 

He’ll get into U.A., he’ll do what he can, and he’ll make Endeavor proud. His plan is going to work, and his determination will finally pay off. And everything will be perfectly fine.

Izuku needs to get home, though, so he moves on shaky legs, following the easiest path home, under a dark but clean tunnel. This way he can cry for a little longer without anyone noticing.  

Izuku hears a quiet clattering noise from behind, and assuming it’s a biker, he steps to the side without a second thought, pressing his side to the wall of the tunnel, waiting for whoever it is to pass. 

It’s not a biker. 

Faster than anything Izuku’s seen before, a streak of brown-ish green…something blurs past. 

He freezes. What–

Izuku stumbles back, watching with growing horror as something begins to form. It starts in the shape of dripping liquid, from the top of the tunnel to the cement floor. He moves, as fast as he can, back towards the entrance, trying his best to get out of the passageway–

“Ooh you’re quick,” the thing says, now still, an ever growing pile of sludge and mucus. Dripping from the wall of the tunnel like viscous green blood, “You’re not very strong, but you’re plenty energetic. A fine host, at least until I can find someone better.”

The drooping pile of sludge forms, for a second, something shaped like a man. And then it’s shape grows into something less tangible. It’s fascinating, and Izuku needs to stop trying to get a better look.

It lunges towards him. The mass of the thing is too big for Izuku to do anything but run, and he makes it only two steps before the monster has grasped his wrist. And then his neck, and then he’s engulfed in sludge. It’s immediately like he’s drowning. 

He’s pulling at the monster, but it's everywhere, his mouth, his nose, his eyes. He tries to cough, he tries to scream, but that only causes the panic to increase as his brain is made more and more aware of how little air there is and how much everything tastes like the sewers. The taste is worse than anything else.

“Shh, this will only hurt for a minute or so,” the villain crows, the voice seemingly everywhere around him. It said that the pain would be over, which is funny, because every second is taking an eternity and the pain is unlike anything he’s felt before. It’s the equivalent of saying burning alive ‘hurts’. He’s in complete agony.

He’s still thrashing, but he can’t feel his hands, oxygen depleting at a furious rate. Izuku is pretty sure that he’s dying now. 

He’s not sure how much time has passed. It could be seconds or hours, but his body has started to relax involuntarily, his struggling slowing and his mind following suit. Izuku is definitely dying. He should have taken up the tuba. Maybe then he would have the lung capacity to survive for a little longer. 

At least the villain was right. The pain has stopped, replaced by a numb tingling feeling all throughout his body and the exceeding feeling of dread.

His plan hadn’t accounted for this. All of his filled notebooks and videos of Endeavor watched and hours and hours of research and instead he’s going to die under a tunnel in the most discomfort any person has ever experienced. And he’s going to leave his mom all alone. 

“Hey,” something says. Quiet, quieter than the voice from the monster, like a faraway dream.

Izuku can’t speak, but that voice, that isolated sound fuels him with another round of determination, and he feels himself move just a quarter of an inch in resistance. 

“Huh,” the voice says again, muffled and quiet, “So you did get another one.” 

Then there’s a force of power, not unlike that sonic shock that got him in the Best Jeanist fight, rattling his bones. 

And then the world goes white as his head hits the other side of the tunnel. 

★

When Izuku wakes back up, the sky is above him and his body is resting upon warm cobblestone. He’s been moved from the alleyway. And he’s still alive. 

He sits up, taking the largest breath he can, trying to clear any of the memory out of his brain. Instead, the only accomplishment he gets is a series of lung-deep coughs. The taste is still in his mouth, the stale air of a sewer system. 

He is going to throw up.

“Here,” someone says, and a bottle is rolled to Izuku, hitting his foot. The sloshing red liquid is an anchor from whatever happened in the past couple of minutes. He grabs it, and sits up, feeling the most bizarre aching he’s ever felt. Like someone took his collarbone and shook it around.

He unscrews the bottle—soda apparently, but he doesn’t even notice until he’s already downed half of the drink. The end result is a unique taste in the back of his throat, a mixture of sugary sweet strawberry and sewage. His stomach churns, and he puts his head in his hands as the nausea washes over him. 

“You alright then?” the voice asks again. Izuku’s savior. A man who is currently squatting down and, using another soda bottle and a plastic spoon, scooping up the remnants of the sludge monster that had attacked him. The villain has seemingly mostly gone to liquid at this point, if the stains on Izuku’s uniform indicate anything, but there are still more solidified clumps of the villain, and that’s what the man is focusing on. Izuku distantly wonders how someone can live with a quirk like that. 

The man (the non liquid one) is wearing black clothing, a loose hoodie and sweats, with golden hair that falls down to his chin. He’s scrawny, with a thin face and impossibly dark eyes. His expression is focused, his tongue sticking out as he concentrates on collecting the rest of the demolished villain. 

“I-is that a spoon?” Izuku somehow coughs out. 

The man turns to him, tilting his head a bit, dark eyes reflective under the midday sun, “I don’t want to get my hands all gross.” 

Izuku looks down at his uniform again, hoping that his mom will be okay buying another, because he is absolutely going to burn this one. 

“This should be enough,” the man says, shaking the bottle with the villain inside, “He’ll reform from this sourcepoint.” He pauses again, looking to the bottle, “Probably.” 

Izuku struggles upwards, but there’s a hand quickly helping him up, despite the previous protests of getting dirty. Izuku stands, breathing heavily even from that. It feels like everything has been completely drained from him, like that time he went swimming for seven hours straight when he was six. 

“Hey kid, you need to use my phone?” the man asks, and Izuku pats his jacket. He quickly locates his schoolbag, which apparently he had dropped as he was getting attacked. They’re standing just outside the tunnel, which Izuku realizes he probably can't take as a shortcut home ever again. 

“No,” Izuku says, weakly pointing to the bag, “It’s in there.” 

The guy grabs the bag and tosses it to Izuku. 

“You should call an ambulance,” the man shrugs, beginning to walk away, “You were out for a while. It’s not good.” 

“How long?” Izuku asks. 

“Too long, kid,” the man says, scooping up two reusable grocery bags. He turns his head back and gives Izuku a look, but he doesn’t stop, walking towards the end of the street. He’s leaving the rest up to Izuku. 

Izuku fishes out his phone and types the three numbers for the ambulance. He’s looking down at his phone when there’s a notification for the hero forum website. 

HeroLog.org is one of the oldest hero forum websites in the modern era. It’s a shoddy website, and one of the least popular ways of interacting with other fans. Most people use more fast paced sites to talk about the recent fights, and whichever Pro they find hottest at the moment. But HeroLog.org is one of the most accurate and updated sources of current information about heroes. It’s a collaboration by the public for the public—die hard fans who want to analyze every move, those who have had personal interactions with Pros, even heroes themselves, looking to find information that’s not easily accessible. It’s mostly an archive website with a booming Q&A portion. There’s close ties and many cross references from the major hero Wikis. 

Izuku has been a member since the age of eight, using the home computer and a cushion on his dad’s office chair to reach the keyboard. Ever since he started middle school, he’s been regularly answering questions, but much more commonly, he’s a very frequent asker. He’s also become a moderator on five different pages, all for individual heroes (his proudest achievement is becoming one of the mods for the Best Jeanist page). He most commonly visits the page for Endeavor, but that’s true of basically anyone who uses the site, especially for the die-hards who congregate on this website. 

Endeavor has the most popular page. That’s what the number one deserves, of course. 

The one he gets the notification for is the complete opposite. It’s an image, a shitty meme about blonde people. This fan page has sixteen regulars and four moderators. Izuku doesn’t frequent it enough to become a moderator, but he’s been offered the position two different times due to the theorizing and info gathering he’s done for the page. It'd be a disservice to those sixteen regulars since he’s not on as often as he’d need to be to answer questions, so he’s rejected it both times. 

The page is for an underground hero, a patrol hero–

“Wait,” Izuku mutters, not loud enough to get the man’s attention, who’s still walking away, hands in his pockets, grocery bags on his wrists. 

He doesn’t…look like the couple of grainy photos that Izuku has seen. That shows a hulking figure of a man, powerful and terrifying in every way. Blurred images of him keeping a villain at bay until the actual Pros get there, containing the chaos of a night attack. There are also a couple of him patrolling, all the things that underground heroes are expected to do.

But there had been a proposed theory. The figure of that underground hero is so vast and distinctive, that it must be a disguise of sorts. He’s so recognizable that he must look different in the daytime. Izuku never bought it, but now that he’s here… 

“All Might!” he says, loud and clear through the street, standing up despite the pains from the attack, the ache still bone deep. 

The man freezes. 

The groceries slip from his hands as he slowly turns, tilting his head and frowning. 

“That’s you, right?” Izuku asks, “You’re--”

“Don’t say it again,” All Might cuts in, broken from his frozen stupor, stalking forwards, then back to his forgotten groceries and picking them back up, and then back to Izuku. He’s like a lost duck. 

Izuku moves on weak legs and goes to help him. He takes one of the bags from All Might. He’s never had a conversation with a hero, Pro or otherwise. He wishes he had his notebook still. He’ll have to resort to summing up their conversation on his phone’s notes app later. If he can get a picture as proof, the All Might page is going to flip. 

All Might sighs, scrunching up his face a bit as he thinks, pacing for real now. He hands Izuku the other bag as he does. The sun is shining, the trees are rustling, there are birds in the sky, and Izuku is the most nervous he’s ever been. This is an actual hero, standing in front of him. Izuku is holding his grocery bags. Apparently he really likes udon. 

“I- Hm,” All Might starts, a hand over his mouth, considering. Do underground heroes kill civilians to protect their own identities? Probably not. Eventually he stands straight, looking at Izuku, “You hungry?” 

Huh.

“Oh uh. Sure,” he says, trying to stay as casual as humanly possible. He’s frantically running through his list of potential questions to ask that don’t make him sound like an insane fan. Most of his questions revolve around Pro Heroes, so he’s not sure where to start with the underground type. He didn’t really think he’d ever have this opportunity because they’re…well underground. Secretive for a reason. 

“Great,” he says, “I’m gonna need some more soda anyways.”

Chapter Text

Best Jeanist Page–

Uglyduckling43: Does…teehee…does anyone else think that Best Jeanist is…kinda hot??? 😍 😳

Likes: 52

(MOD)BastionofIntel: Oh my god, how many times do we have to go over this on this page. YES, everyone thinks he’s attractive. This isn’t news, and it’s not something to be embarrassed about. It’s literally just a true fact. 

Likes: 102

The walk over starts uncomfortable and it only gets worse. Anything Izuku tries to say gets caught up in his throat. Is he even allowed to question this man? They’re in public, and All Might hasn’t broached the subject of starting a conversation. So they walk in silence. Izuku has already texted his mom that he’s eating a late lunch with some friends. She’ll probably be delighted. She always is whenever he mentions having friends. One day she’ll figure out that he’s been lying to her. 

About six minutes into the walk, All Might slows so they’re walking side-by-side.

“Don’t call me the…name,” he says under his breath, “Bad things will happen to me.”

“Okay,” Izuku says, slow and a little high-pitched as they round a corner. 

The grocery store is a blast of cold air and colorful displays. 

“Meet here when you’re done,” All Might says, pointing at a rather loud fruit stand displaying a bunch of in season mangoes. And then he’s off for the soda he simultaneously lost to both Izuku and the slime villain. Izuku picks out the cheapest lunch he can because he doesn’t have enough pocket money for much else. Plus he’d probably throw up anything he’d have to choke down right now.

“At least get a drink,” All Might says, looking at the sad food Izuku picked out, so he grabs a water, the farthest he can get from that soda he had earlier. 

All Might pays for his choices, (Izuku thinks about protesting, but the words end up dead in his throat for the second time) and they end up at a nearby picnic bench, kids recently done with school running around on the playground, their exasperated parents watching them with concern. The trees are tall and beautiful, shading the bench just enough so that it’s not too hot. 

All Might hands him his lunch, sits down in a huff, and then stares at him with a sharp gaze for a long, long minute. Izuku feels himself sweating under his collar. He ends up opening his water to make himself busy. The water still doesn’t much help the lingering taste in his mouth, but it’s something to do. He has to force himself to swallow it. 

“How much do you know about underground heroes?” All Might asks, steepling his fingers together and keeping up that intense stare. 

“Well, a little, I guess,” Midoryia mutters, looking down. His water bottle suddenly becomes much more interesting, the plastic crinkling in between his fingers.

“Yeah?” All Might asks, finally averting his gaze, pulling out a foil wrapped cake and small fork. How All Might can eat after all that clean up, Izuku’s not sure, “But you recognized me?” 

“I mean…there are the forums,” Izuku says. He probably shouldn’t lie to this man. Izuku can’t imagine ever lying to a hero. 

“Forums?” All Might asks, unwrapping his treat. 

“There are like these internet pages, I guess,” Izuku squints at All Might. How old is this guy? How much will Izuku have to explain about the modern day webspace? “We gather info on heroes.” 

All Might pauses for a moment, “Well that’s stupid of you.” Izuku cringes at the glare. 

“Underground heroes rely on anonymity to make sure their patrols are effective, so having a whole website on us is–”

“No, no,” Izuku says, “It’s all heroes. Honestly your page is one of the least trafficked I’ve seen.” 

All might takes a second to consider, “I guess it’s inevitable. You must be a pretty big fan of me, then,” he decides after a second, “If you recognized me.”

Izuku scratches his cheek and looks to the side. He still hasn’t eaten anything so the prolonged silence can’t be excused by anything else, “I’m–Not really?”

“Oh?” All Might questions. He seemingly believes him, in fact a bit of humor has snuck into his tone. 

“No, I mean,” Izuku says, trying to back track, “I’m basically a huge fan of the concept of heroes. I researched you for like a week straight.” He got into a five page argument with one of the moderators over whether or not a blonde civilian in the background of an Endeavor fight was All Might. He still frequents that page just to chat with that moderator sometimes and check up on the enthusiastic fans to see what else they’ve unearthed. “But I’ve researched every hero for at least a week. Not just you.” 

“Ah,” All Might tilts his head, “So you’re the exception.” 

Izuku isn’t sure how he feels about being called an exception, but he nods anyways. 

“How’d you recognize me like this?” All Might continues, “I can’t–I don’t fight like this.” 

“Well most of your fights are seen around this area, and you were fast. Most heroes use slow but effective fighting styles, yet with how quick you destroyed that slime monster, you couldn’t really be anyone else,” he doesn’t mention that Endeavor also works fast. Those men couldn’t be farther apart in appearance and power, “I couldn’t have been out for more than a couple of minutes, so I’m pretty sure you got the guy in like one hit. Plus there’s a theory that you’ve got like this second form. A couple other heroes actually also have that sort of thing. For example, there’s a Pro who uses it to almost perfectly protect their own identity. Honestly I wouldn’t be surprised if there were a bunch of underground heroes we just don’t know about because of how well they protect their–”

“Alright, alright, yes,” All Might says, laughing, “Exception was right. Kid, you are enthusiastic .” 

Izuku stops with a deep breath, realizing that he was talking very quickly. He needs to learn to quit the rambling, because even if his mother tolerates it, this is a stranger and a hero .  

“Uh, I–I like heroes,” Izuku says lamely, tucking a tuft of hair behind his ear, trying to stay casual after word vomiting in front of All Might. 

“Yeah I’d say,” All Might says, still smiling, before sighing. He scratches his neck, “But I don’t want you to let it influence what I’m about to say. I’m asking for a favor, unrelated to the fact that I’m a hero,” he takes another bite of cake, and then points the fork and Izuku, face serious, “You can’t let this out, seriously. Don’t go running to your website telling that you got to talk with me. You can’t let anyone know who I am. A lot hinges on it.” 

Izuku sighs, but he nods. He knew this was coming. He understands what underground heroes are, he knows that they value their privacy, sometimes above their own life, and it was stupid to assume he’d--

All Might lays a hand on his shoulder, face stony and fierce all at the same time, “I’m serious kid. This could mean death for a lot of people.” 

Izuku nods, slower this time. He doesn’t remember the risk of Underground Heroes being so dire. But he’s also not an idiot. So he nods again, more sure. He’ll do it.

All Might stares at him for a second longer, and then leans back. He eats the rest of his cake in two big bites, and crinkles the foil in his hand. He tosses it to a trash can, missing. 

“Embarrassing,” he says, standing up to put the trash where it goes. It gives time for Izuku to take another drink of the water and not compartmentalize any of this conversation. All Might returns, scooping up his groceries yet again. 

“Keep that bag,” he motions to the empty grocery bag on the table, weighted under Izuku’s mostly full water bottle “Take your leftovers home,” he says, turning to leave. Before he does, he pauses, looking back again, “You want to go to U.A., yeah?” 

“How’d you know?” Izuku asks. 

“A kid like you, with a head full of information like that,” All Might taps his temple, “it’s not a hard guess. Plus I'm a bit biased.” He pauses, “I went there.”

Izuku files the information away. 

It’s so strange to be able to just sit down and talk to this man, a real life hero. He’s going to try and remember every little detail.

 “Yes, uh, well. I think there’s like this…gap when it comes to strategizing in the hero world. I want…I think I could make a niche for myself as a consultant for a Pro. Like from the sidelines, help them strategies and look at fights. Maybe.” 

All of his conversations, his justification, his planning, all of it feels stupid and small in front of All Might, a real life hero. 

Instead, All Might smiles at him, gleaming and joyous. Genuine. “Don’t sideline yourself kid. You’re Pro material.” 

And suddenly, Izuku’s plan seems like the worst possible future. 

“Thank you,” he has to say, because nothing else can get out through the crushed feeling in his chest. The swirling nothingness in his throat, the pain that reverberates all around his heart, because he’ll never be a Pro Hero. He won’t fit into any of the four hero categories, he has to be sidelined, a worker desperately trying to get the attention of someone doing so much more for society then Izuku could ever even hope to with a thousand lifetimes. 

All Might has walked away, taking his bags with him, and Izuku only realizes then that he’s crying. Tears running down his cheeks from the whole day, the exhausting encounter with Bakugou, the attack, and now this. A real concrete proof, that if he had been born even a bit more lucky, he would be a hero. 

A real, Pro Hero. 

He sits there for a minute, another, just trying to understand what god he slighted, who made this desperate longing within him. Why can’t he just accept that he’ll never be a Pro? It’s a herculean task that he’s pretty sure he’ll die over. His secondary plan is fine. It works. Or it has up until now. 

He sniffs, grabbing one of the napkins that have been left in the bag and wiping his face, grime staining the white paper. He needs to get home and try to forget any of this ever happened. All Might doesn’t need to worry about any information on him getting out, Izuku’s never going to think about this day again. 

He stands, shoving his lunch in the grocery bag and standing up, grabbing the bag. 

And realizes that it’s too heavy to be empty. 

★

Izuku looks up to where All Might has disappeared, and digs into the bag, pulling out whatever he accidentally left behind. He grabs it by the cap, and takes it to the light. It’s got a gritty feeling, warm under his fingers, the liquid inside a sick green color. An eye opens from the middle of the bottle, finding Izuku.

He drops it. 

The rattling is enough to loosen the cap, and the thing immediately begins to ooze out of the bottle. 

Izuku scrambles back, tripping over a tree root. He gets up onto his knees and again, that tight suffocation suddenly returning as the attack comes right back to the forefront of his brain. His talk with All Might, Bakugou, none of it matters right now, because the monster is right in front of him, and soon that suffocation might very well become a reality again. And this time he won’t be saved. 

It creeps towards him, spider-like strands of liquid dragging the thing forward. Izuku stills, terrified. Strangely, the thing slows, before quickly changing direction, heading for a storm drain. Izuku remembers the mass that had made up most of the villain was water, probably from the sewer . He stands, fear turning into something a bit more concrete. He can’t let that thing get back into the public, because no one else should experience what he had to go through.. 

He grabs the bottle, quick as he can, and throws himself down to the sewer grate, trying to scoop up the villain. 

It slips between his fingers, not dazed any longer, quick to escape. Plus, Izuku doesn’t have a spoon. 

He tries one final time to stomp on the thing, but he’s pretty sure that just pushes the thing farther into the grate. 

He kneels down, trying, trying to grasp at something, anything . 

But it’s gone. 

He’s left panting in the middle of a park, next to a storm drain, streaks of tears through the grime on his face, hands on the sides of the storm drain. He probably looks like a sight indeed. 

But he can’t linger, because if that thing is still out there…

He runs out of the park, in the direction that All Might left to. 

The streets are full of the usual after school traffic, kids and teenagers walking home from the different schools of the areas. A man well into his…thirties? Forties? Izuku isn’t sure. But either way, All Might’s old enough to stand out. Plus he apparently likes to dress very casually, which makes him stand out even more against all the uniformed students. 

Izuku, swiftly maneuvers through the crowds. After years of practice getting to the front of them with all the nearby villain fights, it's quite easy. 

Precious minutes pass and he eventually finds him at the edge of a mass of civilians, All Might’s hands are in his pockets, squinting his eyes at the forming crowd. Izuku takes a quick detour to step up onto a fountain as he’s walking, gaining the height to see what’s going on. 

He can’t see much, but what he can see doesn't bode well for his hope that the monster might take a while to regenerate. It’s there, slowly oozing up from a sewer gate, seemingly much larger than before. There’s construction in this area, which means many of the civilians are wearing hardhats with bright yellow vests, waiting nervously for whatever this is to be contained. Izuku vaguely recalls a fight last week between Endeavor and a bank robber that led to a chase down in the sewers, so there’s a chance that they’re repairing that. 

 Izuku runs to where All Might has pulled out his phone. 

“Getting a video?” Izuku asks, out of breath. All Might jumps and swears at his sudden appearance. A lot of people are recording, you can get a lot of views online from a villain attack. 

“I’m notifying a Pro,” All Might says, grabbing his own shoulder hand crossing over his chest, “Someone to deal with this.” 

“And you can’t?” Izuku asks. He remembers the great force of All Might’s power, clearing the monster in a millisecond from Izuku’s system. 

“Not in public, kid,” All Might says, powering down his phone and slipping it into his pocket, “I’m on crowd control now.”

He claps his hands, his persona changing suddenly from a civilian to a trained Pro. He begins to clear people out of the way, stopping people from recording, and checking on one older man who’s already gotten injured in the mass of people. 

The monster has enveloped the manhole cover, rising up like a geyser, eyes scanning the crowd as it does. Izuku remembers the look it had given him from the bottle, analytic and scathing. He remembers the way it grabbed him, the scorned commentary about Izuku’s own physical weakness. It’s trying to find a better host. A stronger host–

”Hey dumbass, you’re blocking the crosswalk,” a too familiar voice says from the edge of the crowd on the opposite side of the clearing. Bakugou steps out with his hand held to his side, lights flaring out from his fingers, something Izuku’s seen a million times. 

“Oh god,” Izuku mumbles, moving forward before he can even stop himself, because this can only end terribly. 

“You seem powerful,” the voice says, almost echoing in Izuku’s head exactly like before. But this time it’s not directed at him, “You’ll do wonderfully.”

Izuku moves through the crowd, weaving around the groups of pedestrians craning their necks for a better look at the spectacle. He finds a spot where he’s able to see through the thinner part of the crowd to watch the scene taking place. Izuku watches in terror as the monster in front of the crowd reaches above the head of Bakugou, who looks up with an incredulous expression. The monster begins to fall, like dripping rain, slow at first, tendrils catching the limbs of Bakugou as he sends a shock of explosions it's way. Some of the arm-like goo successfully bursts apart, but since he’s trying to explode water, and it reforms quickly. The monster grabs both of his hands, encapsulating them both in thick green slime, preventing any usage of his quirk. Izuku watches as Bakugou’s eyes widen, the closest he’s ever seen to fear.

He’s too late to prevent it, but maybe he can still help. Izuku moves through the crowd, prepared to fight–

What is he doing? 

Izuku stills to a stop, bumped by the occasional passerby. Izuku is a middle school civilian. A quirkless one at that. The only person with any hope of doing anything at all is All Might, who definitely can’t compromise his identity like this. For this. 

Izuku watches as the crowd shrinks back, terrified of the scene unfolding in front of them. Izuku can barely make out Bakugou, drowning in the street as civilians watch with a mixture of horror and an underlying fascination. No one stepping forward, no one with any hope of doing anything but watching. 

He sees someone, All Might, making his round in the crowd again. He clearly spots Izuku and makes his way towards him. All Might lays a hand on Izuku's shoulder, “Hey kid, it’s time for you to get out of here. The Pros are almost here, they’ll handle it.” 

But they’re not here yet, and Izuku can’t wait that long. Bakugou can’t wait that long.

In front of them, Bakugou tears the sludge from his neck and face, trying desperately to do anything to kill the villain. Izuku knows the feeling all too well. Bakugou gets out a singular, ragged scream, angrier than Izuku’s ever heard him. His hands are covered in the green mud, so any explosions are contained by the mass of viscous fluid.

“He’s strong,” A black-haired civilian whistles to the woman he’s with. Izuku remembers hearing something about an exercise regiment, something Bakugou bragged about to his friends. Izuku knows that he occasionally did mock MMA quirk fights, but still, what middle schooler goes the the gym? It clearly doesn’t matter, because after barely a second, the monster envelops his face again, silencing him. 

Izuku shrugs the hand off after another second of watching the fight, his heart racing with horror. He has to act fast, if he wants to be able to help Bakugou while he still has energy. 

“Kid–” All Might starts, sounding exasperated, but Izuku ignores him again, breaking into a sprint.  

The crowd is thin enough in the front to easily navigate, which means Izuku is almost immediately in the space between the monster and the crowd. He understands why the space is where it’s at, and why the crowd is slowly moving backwards. There’s fear, sure, but people also don’t want to get their shoes wet. Water is seeping between the cobblestones and Izuku has no way of stepping over it.

Izuku takes a deep breath, heart slowing as he surveys the scene. He’s lived this just today, it shouldn’t be impossible to figure out something that he could do to help from the outside. All Might said help was coming, but that could be minutes from now, and that might be too late. 

Izuku furrows his eyebrows, thinking of the hero that might show up. Endeavor might, this is the sector of the city he shows up in most, but then again, Best Jeanist has an equal possibility to appear. It’s… going to be hard to help someone who’s actually being actively consumed by the villain, but Endeavor especially has a hard time doing attacks that aren’t just straight-up obliteration. He’s hurt a couple of civilian’s just with the excess heat he uses. 

“Kid!” All Might yells, and Izuku realizes he hasn’t been stuck in his head for too long. Which is good, because he knows what he needs to do. Because the Pro might not show up in time to be able to help anyone, but Izuku knows someone who’s got a pretty good power. 

He puts down his backpack, grabbing something from the front pouch, the heaviest thing he can find at short notice, and putting it into his pants pockets.

He runs forward, eliciting another one of the group gasps, one that he tunes out. His head is filled with static and just a simple forward movement of his plan, he doesn’t have time for the crowd. 

There’s two parts to this plan, and the desperate one begins with a dive, straight into the heart of the fluid monster. Izuku surges forward, digging his arms into the villain’s body, searching with frantic breathing, praying that he can–

There. He feels for just a second, Bakugou’s fingers, moving still under the pressure of the twisting villain. He’s able to grab onto his hand for just a moment, a perfect, planned moment. 

And then the monster wraps an arm around Izuku’s middle, pulling. Izuku holds on for too tight and too long, which means there’s a sick straining feeling from his shoulder. He can’t dislocate his arm now, not after he was so close, so he let’s go. The two are torn apart with dangerous strength, and he’s flung from his goal, landing hard onto the cobblestones.

The green slurry twists around his legs, raising him up as Izuku flails, trying to keep his balance as he’s lifted to whatever this thing considers to be his face. 

“Oh, it’s you again,” the thing sneers, eyes focusing on Izuku, veiny and almost entirely black. Izuku feels a bead of sweat drip down his neck as he subtly slips his hand into his pocket. Bakugou is close enough to see through the haze of the green liquid, and he’s struggling to get his arms free as the thing contorts around him like a python, “Hungry for another taste of death my friend? I’ve found a better replacement, he’s much stronge–”

The second part of the plan is simple. Izuku grabs his phone, hefting it in his hand and throwing it at the thing, as fast as an arrow. And just like an arrow, it strikes true, hitting the villain in its left eye. 

There’s a harrowing scream, similar to a blaring alarm, loud and jarring and terrible. But Izuku can’t linger on the noise, because he only has a few precious seconds as the villain frantically tries to cover its eye in pain. 

Izuku reaches again, straight into the monster, ignoring the panicked feeling in his own chest as the sludge crawls up his torso, aiming to suffocate him again. He can’t think about that if he wants to do anything to help. 

He finds Bakugou’s hands again, and this time grabs his wrist. He pulls, pulls as hard as he can, the slurry now climbing up his arm. He uses his other arm, and begins to clear away the muck. Pulling at it, it comes away like clumps of jelly. 

The villain once again takes his head, water filling his nose and mouth, dragging him back to the darkness of looming unconsciousness for the second time in one day.

But he’s still holding onto Bakugou. 

And Bakugou’s holding on just as tight, so Izuku pulls one more time, struggling to release the only person who’s going to be any good with the current situation. Izuku certainly can’t help, but Bakugou can. 

There’s an explosion, one loud and close, barely muffled by the water in Izuku’s ears. Then there’s another, and another. A myriad of explosions surround the monster, at least from Izuku’s sound-only perspective. Bakugou, with the second of freedom, his hand free for just a second, is trying his damnedest to kill this thing as fast as possible. 

Izuku gets a breath of fresh air as the villain begins to scream, trying to recoup all of its mass as fast as it can while also trying to dodge the explosions. Izuku, still mostly encased, gasps, trying to blink his eyes clear. Instead, he hears a creaking, an ominous sound from below him. Below him? 

The street gives out in a crumbling motion, a sink hole collapsing inwards, created by the mass of the monster, the wild explosions, and the week-old fight.

And so, Bakugou, Izuku, and the villain fall into the sewers below.

Chapter Text

All Might Page-

DentistApprentice123: im jumping for joy at this roblox game so fr fr

Likes: 1

DentistApprentice123: wrong website my bad

Likes: 2

(MOD)Red_Might: Sorry, what was the ‘right’ website?

Likes: 2

DentistApprentice123: roblox :( 

Likes: 4

Toshinori watches the kid struggle, his feet planted in the ground and his insides a torrent of emotions. The kid is fighting for his classmate's life, hands tearing at the villain, completely alone. Toshinori has to help, his heart is racing and his hands won’t stop shaking. But his feet aren’t moving, because he logically understands that he can’t do anything right now, not without compromising everything he’s ever worked for. If he helps now, he’ll never work again as an underground hero, and more importantly, One for All will be seen yet again. People will recognize it. Toshinori will endanger everyone he knows.

But that doesn’t matter anymore, does it? 

The thought isn’t helpful. Toshinori takes a deep breath, shoving his shaking hands in his pockets, and the thought aside, and then stares at the slowly darkening sky, willing the nearest Pro to finally show up. Toshinori doesn’t have a choice when it comes to the alerts he sends on his phone, as an underground hero he just waits and does all he can to contain a scene. 

Without compromising his entire identity. 

There’s the sound of an explosion. Toshinori jumps at the noise, immediately shoving forward, because there are too many civilians here for any explosions.

He catches the tail end of the eruptions, shot off at random locations, because clearly the classmate doesn’t have the eyes to properly aim. How did he even get partially free? There’s smoke rising from the center of the crowds as they all watch with bated breath. It seems that the captured boy isn’t entirely helpless. In fact, his quirk seems pretty impressive for someone at his age.

More important than any of this, of course, is the fissures in the road, crawling fast around the monster and stemming from the newly created construction. 

“Get back!” Toshinori yells, turning to the cluster of civilians nearest to the villain, ushering them back. He gives one look behind him, wincing as the road collapses, the children falling from the road. It’s a disaster.

It’s also an opportunity. Because it’s already taken too long for the Pro to get here, and under the cover of the sewer and the road… 

Toshinori rushes forward, already feeling the swell of power from within. No one tries to stop him, probably more confused than anything as the second civilian rushes the monster, He hops down onto the rubble, the trail of slime glistening on the broken road. He lands in a foot of stagnant water, and cringes at the smell. It’s dark, but not too dark to see, and he sees the green mass ramble around a corner, still determined to find a suitable host.

Toshinori moves quick, finally under the cover of the street and blocked from supervision. He disregards his jacket and takes another rattling breath, the power flowing through his body, reminding him of how it feels to be a hero. How it felt before his injury, and before-

He keeps moving, breathes deeper, and legs much faster. He feels strong. His physical appearance has changed too, so he certainly looks stronger as well.

He rounds the corner, the way only lit by the occasional orange lamp, and spots the monster, practically dragging the two kids with it. He isn’t sure what it wants, but it’s endangering children, which means Toshinori won’t stand for it. 

It doesn’t notice him, so the jump attack is simple. Let the power burn behind his fist and a bit in his calves, and hit as hard as he can, avoiding where the kids are being slowly suffocated, and avoiding any vital spots. He hopes it’s not too late for the loud blonde one. The monster finally notices him when he’s already feet in the air. 

“You again-”

He hits, the power leaving his arm in an explosion of brute force, aiming where he hopes is the equivalent of one of the legs.

And, because he’s All Might, he hits perfectly, a huge blast of power crushing the villain’s head between his fist and the wall of the sewer.

There’s a second of perfect silence. Heavy breathing from Toshinori, because even this is almost too much in his current state. But the children are safe, and hopefully alive. 

A crack runs from the wall, under Toshinori’s fist.

The sewer had already been hit with an avalanche of explosions and the attack last week. 

And now Toshinori has just cemented a real disaster. 

There’s another crack in the wall, another fissure, another collapse inevitable. Toshinori turns, spotting the two kids a couple feet away from the splattered remains of the villain. And he prays that they’re far enough away to be safe.

★

Izuku opens his eyes. 

There’s dust above him, dust below him. Even on his lips, when he licks his dry mouth, it’s all dust. He sits up, slowly, wincing as he tries to find all of his injuries. A deep cut on his arm, a broken toe or two, and a pounding headache. He clears his face as best he can, using the inside out part of his shirt, breathing against the rising bile in his throat. 

He tried to save Bakugou, and he didn’t even try to question why. He stands up, because he’s going to do it again. He stumbles for a second in the dusty dark prison that he now apparently lives in, finding his balance when he spots the form of a person. He finds Bakugou, head slumped against the wall and bleeding from a head wound.

“Kacchan?” Izuku asks, quite, and feels for a pulse. He finds one, and no other obvious injury besides the head, so he stands back up. He’s not touching someone who could have a spinal injury.

The dust is slowly settling, so Izuku catches a view of…something. A pole maybe, a support beam from the building, just a silhouette against the dust. Maybe he can use it to climb to safety. He walks forward through the dead clumps of sludge. There’s something at the bottom of that metal pole, and dread fills Izuku’s stomach in a second.

But he keeps moving until the figure becomes clear through the orange hazy light. 

Izuku falls to his knees before All Might, who’s been stabbed through the abdomen, pinned to the ground and staring at nothing, rapidly blinking. There’s blood pooling below him and seeping from his mouth, staining his teeth. He’s grimacing.

Izuku holds out shaky hands, but he pauses beyond that. All Might is sitting, lying, on a pile of rubble, pole stabbed vertically through him, and it clearly takes effort for him to look at Izuku, a bit of the pain clearing from his eyes as he smiles, small and almost impossible. His hand is resting against his own abdomen, blood seeping in rivulets between the fingers. 

“Kid,” he rasps out, and Izuku shakes his head. His own throat is so clogged that he can’t bring himself to even start to form a sentence. All Might shouldn’t talk, but Izuku can’t tell him to be quiet, “Kid you have to listen to me.” 

Izuku can’t seem to stop shaking, but through it all, he keeps eye contact with him.

All Might raises a hand, slow and sluggish, like he’s losing control of his own limbs, and grabs Izuku’s collar with strength Izuku didn’t expect. 

And then All Might smears his other, bloodied, hand against the bottom of Izuku’s face.

Izuku winces at the sudden taste of iron, blood already seeping into his mouth. He coughs, spitting up what he can from his mouth, trying not to leave All Might's side. He swallows down more bile than blood as he tries to wipe the stain from his mouth.

There’s a sudden storm. He coughs again at the taste of iron, but it’s nothing against the power of the sun that’s suddenly between Izuku’s lungs, “What-”

He coughs in full now, pushing himself away from the dying man, retching at the taste of blood and sewers and somehow, strawberry. There’s a sudden power that’s enveloping everything within Izuku. 

“Kid, you have to keep listening. Is the other one still alive?” All Might says, louder now, and Izuku hears the shifting of rocks. He looks up through tears as All Might tries to move towards Izuku. 

He has to subdue him, so he returns, crawling back impossibly numb legs. He has to ignore the power for now, but his breathing is becoming faster and frantic as it tries to catch up with whatever happened. 

There’s the smallest voice in the back of his head, wondering if this is how Endeavor feels, with the power of fire and light just behind his hands.

“He’s still alive,” Izuku says, the words coming slow out of his mouth through the thick taste of blood.

“If you use what I just gave you, it will tear you apart,” All Might says, “Your entire body will explode, and that is not a metaphor. You don’t have the physical strength to use it right now.” 

Izuku nods. 

“It’s my quirk. It’s not genetic, it’s been passed down for eight generations, and it’s an inheritance,” he coughs again, another spurt of thick blood running from his lips. Izuku barely comprehends the word inheritance, the sudden power swirling, before– "And you’re going to give it to your classmate over there.” 

Izuku feels his world turn a little bit sideways. 

“It enhances the user's original quirk, and he’s got a hell of a one. Plus he’ll be physically strong enough to handle it soon.” All Might laughs then coughs again, “It should be enough.” 

“Enough?” Izuku asks, feeling a hot tear run down his cheek, which he quickly wipes off “Enough of what?” 

“Enough to protect it,” All Might says, “Someone is after that power, and these next hours are crucial to keep it safe. He will hear about my death. Your friend has the raw talent to protect this ability, so you need to go,” he grabs Izuku’s arm, where one of the deeper cuts lacerated his pinky finger. He squeezes out another droplet of blood, “And make him consume your blood. Then you tell him to go to Grand Torino. I’m so sorry.” 

Izuku is frozen. 

He’s seen All Might fight through grainy forum videos. He’s felt the blast of his powers. He knows what this man is capable of. And everything inside of his chest is telling him that he’s just as capable of those things right now. 

Only for right now. 

What sick joke is the universe pulling on him?

“Hey, hey,” All Might says, coughing again, weaker this time, catching Izuku on the arm again, making sure Izuku is looking at him. Izuku sits up straight, “If you…There’s someone else who might start looking for me. If he finds you, tell him I left a note under his bed.”

“What?” Izuku asks. The request is so simple and yet impossibly vague. 

There isn’t a response. 

“All Might?” Izuku asks again, softer. 

The storm is the only thing he feels for the next couple of minutes. Even when Endeavor shows up, blazing and awesome, crushing the final pieces of the villain between his smoking fingers, all Izuku can do is step aside when the man inspects All Might. All Might’s body.  

He even checks on Bakugou again, staring down at his unconscious face. When he checks his pulse for the second time, he leaves behind red. Izuku has bloody hands and a bloodier face. He holds his stained pinky to his face, trying to consider it, an impossible task. He turns to the tunnel. He wipes off his face, mixing the tears and the blood, trying to stop the taste.

He finds the entrance, which means he finds the sky. Cloudy and gray, it’s started to rain, just the occasional patter from the already darkened sky. His mom is probably waiting for him to come home for dinner. 

The civilians have cleared out, and they’re trying to make a way for an ambulance. To cart away the two survivors. He doesn’t feel anything about that. 

He smells burning. When he was little, he accidentally touched a cast iron skillet, and the smell is remarkably similar. The sharpness of it shakes him a bit, the smell of burning flesh, so he stands and returns to the tunnel. Every step he takes feels like an impossibility, but each one also feels enforced by the power inside him. Like he contains worlds inside of him. 

Izuku finds something he couldn’t have even hoped for. 

“Is he- He’s still-”

“Let me work,” Endeavor says, low and quiet, hands pressed against the stomach of All Might, burning where the flesh won’t meld with the pole. 

He’s cauterizing the wound, trying to save All Might.

Which means there’s still a life to try and save. 

★

Izuku finds himself next to Bakugou. The smell had become too much for him after just a couple of minutes, so he retreated and tried not to feel cowardly about the decision. He sits on the rubble, staring up at the blinking orange light and ignoring whatever quirk has been thrust upon him. It’s not his to keep. 

“How injured are you?” Endeavor asks, from where he’s rounded the corner, “Oh god, there’s another one.”

Izuku looks up at Endeavor, who’s staring down at Bakugou. He lowers himself and checks on Bakugou with delicate movements that don’t match his bulky frame. He slowly checks his neck, hand moving down his spine, before nodding, “Just out for a bit I think.” 

“It’s been too long,” Izuku says, blankly, “If it’s longer than a couple of minutes he should go to the hospital.” 

“I think even if he were fully conscious, I’d still take him to the hospital. A sewer collapsed around the two of you, I wouldn’t be surprised if he had some broken ribs.” 

Izuku nods, not really feeling much at all. Endeavor’s been his idol for years, and now that he’s here, Izuku can only feel dread, pain, and numbness. 

“You too,” Endeavor continues, offering a hand, charred and blood flaked, “You need to get out of here too.” 

Izuku can’t take it, “Is he alive?” 

“For now.” 

Izuku scrunches his eyes closed, a couple more tears running free. He takes a shuddering breath, out of relief, or fear, or just everything that’s happened, he’s not sure, and a bit of the feeling returns. He stands with the help of Endeavor, who picks Bakugou up, carrying him like a sleepy little kid. 

“What did he say to you?” Endeavor asks. 

Izuku pauses. He doesn’t want to think about it. 

“He said…Someone’s after his quirk?” he said a lot more, but Izuku isn’t sure how to talk about that yet. Some of it seemed private. 

“Yeah,” Endeavor says, closing his eyes, “Did he give it to you?” 

Somehow Endeavor knows of the transferable power. Izuku’s not sure how, he was under the impression that it was impossible to give away quirks, and Izuku knows basically everything about quirks. But apparently some underground hero knows of it, along with the number one. 

“No,” Izuku lies. He’s not sure why. This is Endeavor, the Number One Pro Hero.

“Alright,” Endeavor says, “That’s not much better.” 

He leans against the wall, clearly thinking. Izuku watches the flames lick Endeavor’s face and wonders why he’s not in constant fire facial hair pain. 

“The news is here, because this was a pretty big collapse. They’re also hoping to get some words from me.” Endeavor is an absolute darling from the newscasters perspectives. Quick, curt and mysterious. Perfect for views and ratings, while not being in any way offensive, “But he’ll see this recording. And if he sees either of you, covered in blood and claiming to be with him for his last moments…”

Whoever is after the power knows for a fact that it’s transferable. That makes three. Well, four now. 

“He’ll come after me,” Izuku says. He looks again to Bakugou, face soft in the orange light, “And him,” he ends up adding.

“If All Might dies, he’ll never stop looking for it. And if he doesn’t die, he’ll scour every hospital until he can find him,” Endeavor says. 

“So he should probably be dead,” Izuku says, and Endeavor looks at him. 

“What?” 

“You’re the number one, you can fake his death. Even if he pulls through, he’s underground anyways, so faking his death will probably help his undercover…ness,” Izuku says. He’s flatter than usual, but he’s still rambling a bit, “It’s better for All Might’s safety. And whatever hospital he ends up at.” 

“But not your safety,” Endeavor says, “I’m not faking his death. Hopefully he’ll focus on the hospitals for now..” 

Izuku squats down, trying to think. The numbness hasn’t fully retreated, but he knows what to do with his thoughts when he can’t do anything else. When he was younger and got more easily overwhelmed, he’d remember the last fight he had seen and thought about what he would do better. 

So he does that now, considering a plan. Some way that protects All Might and Izuku. And protect the lie he told.  

“You tell the news that you were with him when he died,” Izuku says, looking up. Endeavor is raising his eyebrow, but he slowly nods after a second,

“I’ll take the fall. He’ll come after me, assuming that All Might gave me his quirk.” 

He’ll go after Endeavor. Izuku isn’t even sure who ‘he’ is, but with the grimace on Endeavor’s face, ‘he’ can’t be good.

“W-wait, that’s not-I’m so sorry.”

“Hey,” Endeavor asserts, “It’s a good plan. It’s smart.” 

Izuku feels his face flush, and he stands up, “I’ll have to clean off the blood.”

Endeavor nods, digging out a random cloth from his side pocket. Apparently he carries around napkins. It has his face printed in the corner. Izuku almost tucks it away without using it, but his self preservation outweighs his idolization. Barely. He tucks the napkin in his pocket after he uses it anyways. 

He follows Endeavor out of the sewers, finding a fallen collection of rocks that work well enough as a way to get out of the pit and back on the main road. Izuku still feels weak, his knees shaking as he climbs up the hill of rocks. Hell, he’d still struggle even from the first attack. 

The crowd is still there, either with umbrellas or under awnings of nearby buildings, looking with fascination. Endeavor waves over a couple paramedics, but puts Bakugou down and leaves before the pair arrive. He walks over to wear the blue and red lights of the police are lighting up the wet cobblestone. He stops in front of a short haired man with an oversized police rain jacket and begins a conversation. 

“How you feeling?” a woman with white hair in uniform asks, and Izuku has to tear his eyes away from the burning image of the Pro Hero. 

He turns to the woman, “Can I call my mom?”

She smiles, gently leading him away from Bakugou, where the other EMT is checking for external injuries. He wants to stay, but he can’t make his body follow his own instructions, so he follows her gentle touch to the bright white interior of the ambulance. He’s given a silvery blanket and sits on the bench on the side of the ambulance. Another worker begins to check his eyes with a flashlight before nodding. His cuts are checked and cleaned as Bakugou is wheeled in, still looking surprisingly peaceful. They close the door and start the blaring lights and sounds, pulling through the crowd and onto the street.

Izuku watches from the rain coated window as Endeavor makes his way to the news reporters, talking with his head bowed low. Izuku will have to check up on the video later, but for now, he turns back to Bakugou. 

Still sleeping, being checked up on by the EMT workers, bandaged where they can help. They’re quietly discussing his injuries. A concussion for sure, which is probably what caused the whole unconscious thing. Izuku tilts his head back. His hands are still bloody, and his leg is aching from the cut. He can’t feel some of his toes, unless he tries to move them, and then he really feels them. His head still hurts, but less now. 

His pinky is still bleeding. 

He could reach over to Bakugou. He’d get some weird stares, but he’d definitely be able to find a way to get some blood in Bakugou’s mouth. Pretend they’re friends and caress his face or something. Embarrassing, but easy. 

And then All Might’s last request would be fulfilled. 

And the furious surge of power that’s swirling inside of him would be quieted forever. 

Why did he lie to Endeavor? He said he didn’t get the power. That All Might still had it, kept somewhere in the body of a dying man. 

All Might had said it was too dangerous for Izuku to use it. He wasn’t physically strong enough to use it and someone would come after him. 

But now…that someone is going to go after Endeavor. Izuku is safe with it. 

And he can become strong enough to use it. No one has to know that he still has it. Not Endeavor, not Bakugou, and not All Might. 

He curls his hand into a fist, turning away from Bakugou, who’s sleeping peacefully through the concussion. Blood trickles down his arm from his finger. 

What would Endeavor do? 

He wouldn’t let someone like Bakugou get a power this vast. Would he?

Izuku fiddles with the damp sticker in his pocket. It’s become nothing more than a mass of mushy paper. 

Who tells someone to kill themself? Someone who probably shouldn’t be tasked with this kind of power. 

Not yet at least. 

The ambulance rolls to a stop in front of the hospital, and Izuku realizes that he’s come to his conclusion. 

He will fulfill his promise to All Might, and give this power to Bakugou. Just…not yet. Izuku knows that Bakugou has good intentions and a good heart. Deep down, Izuku knows that the reason people strive for heroism is the safety of the population. The money and fame might help, but people only risk their own lives for the safety of others. It’s the same with Bakugou, which means he’s got a good heart. But until Bakugou shows he can be responsible and not tell his peers to kill themselves. Izuku will keep it as safe as he can. 

And in the time being, he trains himself enough to use this swirling power, well then, he’s just being proactive. 

Chapter Text

Hero Costumes Page–

adramaticbitch : Get ready folks this'll be a long one: 

The Commercialization Of Hero Fashion: Extravagant vs. Practicality– an online essay by a former fashion consultant for the Midnight agency. 

word count: 6,088 (stop now if you're not committed. let's be real though, most of you are) 

Heroes, as an implementation of our society, are quite new in the grand scheme of time. There were and still many differences between then and now of course, but one aspect especially caught my eye; Hero Costumes. 

Before, they were made to be as practical as possible, now it's all about glamor and catching attention. As they say in the ‘biz’, flashy suits for flashy heroes. In this essay I strive to bring one topic into question: Could it be that the flashier the suits get, the more dangerous the streets become? 

It has always been a dream of mine…

(click to expand) 

Likes: 139

Dinostan: holy shit why in the HELL is this so long????? good points though, i was sorta intrigued on getting insider information on this sort of stuff, and you delivered pretty well (you could cut down on the life story tho tbh)

Likes: 19

BastionOfIntel: this is so so awesome, great read!

Likes: 4

hiphiphooray: Hey I’m actually writing my thesis on this, can I cite you??

Likes: 9

His mom called a cab, and now they’re both driving home from the hospital. They had let him shower there, but the water was lukewarm and he still feels dirty. Plus the soap makes him smell like a hospital.  Everything feels wrong, only enhanced by whatever power he just inherited. The power he’s borrowing. 

“–so worried,” his mom is saying, waving her hands about, breaking him out of his thoughts. Izuku doesn’t get to be in a car very often, and it smells stale. It’s a short drive, but Izuku is itching to get home anyways.

“I know mom,” Izuku says, smiling despite it all, “But everything was fine in the end.” It wasn’t, and won’t be for a very long time, but his mom doesn’t have to know that. 

“Someone died, Izuku,” his mom frets. Apparently Endeavor was able to convince the press that, yes, All Might did in fact die, “I was so worried when I heard that. And so close to your school too. You didn’t see anything, right?”

“No mom,” Izuku says, not even wincing at the lie. And the memories are too fresh in his mind. They will be forever. The doctors had made sure to give him a number for a crisis counselor that Izuku had thrown away as quickly as he could. He just wants to sleep and forget any of this ever happened. 

He just needs to know if All Might will survive. Izuku might never know at this point. He has no way of reaching out to Endeavor. 

They get home, Izuku’s mom worrying him up the stairs to their apartment and at the door, hugging him until he stops breathing. For the fourth time since she’s gotten him from the hospital. 

He brushes his teeth five times, and showers for over an hour, the water as hot as he possibly can get without burning his skin. He leaves all the lights on, hazy through the curtain. There are thoughts passing through his head as fast and frantic as the water hitting his skull. 

Once he’s dressed, he sits on the bathroom floor, window open to help the steam escape. His phone is broken, but he brought his school bag inside, and despite the rain, his laptop still turns on. He has to know. 

He watches the interview, a group of rain soaked civilians gawking as Endeavor speaks. 

“You got here very fast,” the interviewer, a pretty pink haired woman says, “How is that possible?” 

“I had a bit of help from an outside source. A colleague of mine.” 

“Another hero?”

“Yes,” Endeavor says. He doesn’t elaborate on that point, he doesn’t mention the fact that All Might was an underground hero, “He was killed by the debris.”

There’s a reporter blinks a couple of times before recomposing herself. 

“A hero died tonight?” 

“Yes,” he says, “I was there. I made sure he was comfort–I don’t want to talk about this.” All gruffness, cut off and simple. He won’t talk about what he doesn’t want to talk about. 

“Wow, well, I must say I’m surprised. Do we get the name of this hero, Endeavor?”

“Wait for the reports,” Endeavor says, frowning at the less than sensitive question, “Now if you’ll excuse me.”

He walks towards the camera, and then past it. Interview over. Izuku closes that tab and opens another. 

HeroLog.org is excited tonight, as there was an Endeavor interview and he said more than he usually does. The first thing Izuku sees, despite the black mourning theme that happens every time a hero dies, is an oversaturated edit of Endeavor, under the dark umbrella, with a bunch of hearts drawn on. That’s commonplace, so Izuku scrolls on. He ignores the comments about how brave Endeavor was, about how kind it was to stay next to a man in his dying moments despite the falling sewers around them. Izuku ignores this too, deciding that the Endeavor fans are going to be useless to him, instead going to a page he hasn’t been on for a long time. 

There’s only been one new post since the shitty blonde person meme from earlier today. It’s from the same user that offered Izuku the position of moderator, the same one he got into a five page argument with. Red_Might is an enthusiastic moderator for this page, and someone Izuku might consider an internet acquaintance.

Chapter Text

All Might Page–

(MOD)Red_Might: “...unknown hero killed in the Endeavor vs. Sludge Villain fight, possibly due to the explosions which…”

Article tonight, I’m worried. 

Likes: 302

lattesoup: Just saw the obituary for All Might and ran to this page. He seemed like an incredible man. I’m so sorry. 

Likes: 76

Thegallows: I can’t believe I didn’t know this man existed until today. And now I have to watch his videos knowing that I was too late. 

Likes: 122

AmokTime: </3 </3 </3 

Likes: 33

FencinPro: From love to our page to yours. We’re so sorry for your loss. 

Likes: 296

red_riot: @Red_Might hey lol saw this trending, and idk really what it’s about but username twins!!

Likes: 12

 Ten Months Later 

 Izuku shouldn’t take this test. It doesn’t matter what his mom told him this morning over breakfast (his favorite), or all the reassurances from the people on the U.A. page, Izuku is not, and never will be, able to pass this test. That’s what he’s determined after hours of research. 

 The written test should be easy enough, four sections of fill-in-the-blank questions. Challenging, but not impossible. 

But that’s never been the daunting part of the plan to get into U.A. 

The scariest part is the next phase. For the support course, at least, it requires a full portfolio of his ‘support creations’. Instead, he has a PDF document containing over one hundred fully researched heroes. He has to convince the interviewer to take him in on the pretense of analysis, a situation that, to Izuku’s knowledge, has never happened before. At least he doesn’t have to take the physical test. Even if he has this power, the daunting pit within him, he knows that it’s stupid to try and get into the hero course. It’s not a permanent ability, and he’s not going to waste the opportunity to learn from the support course. 

He’s determined, over these past months, that the power has to be a reserve, a just in case scenario. It’s unfair if he goes to Grand Torino, the hero that All Might tried to recommend Bakugou go to, and it’s unfair if he uses the ability to go into the pro hero course. It would be disrespectful. 

 Izuku is currently staring up at the gleaming buildings of the school, impossibly searching within himself to keep moving. His feet are stuck planted to the ground, his hand in a death grip on his backpack. Why’d he even bring his backpack? No one else brought one. 

 The buildings are beautiful, made of clear glass and surrounded by gardens maintained by someone who probably has a plant specific quirk. It’s winter, but the gardens are still somehow well presented. Dead leaves and branches have never looked better. There are also banners hung up for the applicants, pink and purple, fluttering in the wind. It’s a nice day. Izuku is stalling. 

 He takes a step forward, his nerves still bunched up inside of his throat, the cold air not helping with his discomfort. He forgot to grab a coat.  

He takes another step. And then another, and another, and soon enough, Izuku is walking like a normal person, which is an achievement as its own. There’s a crowd of students, all here to take this test. People are barely talking to each other. There are a couple of students walking in as pairs, or waving to others that they recognize. Most kids will probably recognize someone from their own middle school, so they’re not all strangers, but there’s still a whole nervous energy about the place. 

 And then, for Izuku, the energy gets shattered from nervous to outright panic. Because Bakugou is there, walking towards the building like it’s nothing at all, hands in his pockets and looking ahead. His confidence plummets straight into arrogance, eyes only for U.A. 

And Izuku, when he finally notices him. 

They haven’t spoken since the day that Izuku’s life changed. Izuku didn’t visit him in the hospital, he’s not that hopeless, and he had expected life to go back to relative normalcy vis-a-vis their relationship. Sure, Izuku had saved him, but that shouldn’t matter to someone like Bakugou, someone who's that callous. Everything should have stayed exactly the same. 

But it hadn’t. Bakugou had skipped almost a week of school recovering from the incident, and when he had returned, he hadn’t even looked at Izuku. He had been quieter for a couple of months, but that had worn off. Everything was the same, except whenever Izuku caught Bakugou’s eye, he just scowled. No harassment or bullying, just a glare and the silent treatment. Which was, in the long run, better than the alternative. The final year of middle school hadn’t been as nightmarish as the other two. But it had been incredibly disconcerting. 

Izuku, caught up in his own head, thoughtlessly waves, like they’re still both five.

Bakugou stops in his tracks, staring at him with another one of those glares. He considers for just a second, before stalking across the large cobblestone pathway that leads to the school, ignoring the students that he cuts off and the curses that they throw his way. 

He grabs Izuku by the upper arm with an iron grip. There’s an explosion building underneath that hand, the heat almost painful. 

“I owe you nothing, and you’re not going to pass this test,” he spits, “Deku, I swear that if you don’t stay out of my way, I won’t hesitate to crush you.” 

Izuku raises his hands in a defensive posture, trying to make himself small again, just like how it was. He’d taken this last year for granted, the months of silence. The months of peace. He suddenly remembers how bad this feeling is, all those years in school and the constant presence of Bakugou. The suffocation, the bullying, the–

“Hey, do you know where the test is taking place?” someone asks. Izuku finds a girl a couple paces away. The scene must look casual enough for someone to interrupt. Bakugou lets go of Izuku’s arm with a huff, and leaves without another word. She continues, “I mean, obviously in U.A., but like, which hall?”

There’s a second of silence, the girl staring at him with a smile. She’s got chin length brown hair and her cheeks are flushed red in the cold. 

“O-oh I think they’re holding it in the theater?” 

“Thanks!” she beams, her gaze following Bakugou. She turns back to Izuku with her hand on her cheek, and her head tilted, “But are you alright? ‘Cause who does that, really?”

“I’m fine,” Izuku says, trying not to be too surprised at her concern. She probably didn’t even actually need instructions, “He’s not usually that bad.” 

He doesn’t know why he says it. He’s always that bad, and often, he’s worse. 

“Well he wasn’t very nice to you,” she says, smiling again, before transferring her bag to her other arm and holding out her hand, “So for now, I think I’ll steer clear. Uraraka Ochaco.” 

Izuku shakes her hand, knowing that his palm is too sweaty to be normal in this kind of weather. Or any kind of weather really. Oh god, he’s shaking hands with a girl. 

“Midoriya Izuku,” Izuku says after a second too long. 

“He called you Deku though,” she says, pointing back to where Bakugou stormed off.  

“Yeah,” he says, looking down to his shoes, “It’s a nickname.” The final standing relic of their friendship. Like a treaty that neither of them can break in the middle of a bloody rivalry. 

“I like it,” she smiles, “It makes you sound cool.” 

“Oh, uh, thanks,” Izuku isn’t sure what to say next, so– “You can use it if you'd like?” He inwardly cringes. You’re not supposed to force nicknames, especially on girls you’ve just met. 

“Oh awesome,” she nods, and then motions towards the school, “Come on, we’ll look cool if we pretend we already know each other.”

They walk together towards the school. Uraraka, apparently, knows how to talk about basically anything with a friendly demeanor and enough hand gestures to compensate for the fact that half of the conversation party isn’t contributing because of his inherent fear of girls. 

Izuku learns all about Uraraka finding a pile of kittens in her window flower box and how much time it took to rehome all of them (fourteen hours). He also learns about her favorite food (mochi), the name of her favorite kitten she found (Mochi), and finally, her favorite music genre (Jazz).  

They enter into the main hall, turned into a very big waiting room, tables scattered about everywhere and a water station in the corner with cookies.

There’s a mass of students loitering in the main hall, the test not starting for another twenty minutes. In the warmth of the school, it’s easier to relax, and many of the students have begun to actually communicate with one another. A collection of almost a thousand students (according to the average statistics) all congregating in the school that they all hope to go to, all making light conversation and fogging up the windows. It’s like the sound of a hundred buzzing flies in this central hall.  

The acceptance rate of U.A. is abysmal, but after the first test, it becomes a very real prospect. Which, technically, Izuku is about to enter into the second phase of the test. The first one was a packet of information that he had to gather for the judges, from his grades to his quirk to his social security card. He also had to write a six page essay about why he wants to be a hero, proofread and edited by his mom. 

At the current stage, the acceptance rate is about twenty percent, and Izuku does not have high hopes at all. 

They wait at a small fold-out table, Izuku sitting down and sending his mom a text to let her know that he’s arrived safe and sound. Uraraka hops up on the table and sits cross legged. She pulls out her phone, a pink flip-phone with cloud stickers and holds it out to Izuku. It’s a place to put in his number. He can’t help the heat rising to his face as he grabs her phone. No one’s ever asked for his contact information before. 

In a couple of minutes, and after Uraraka had grabbed four cookies to split between the two of them, there’s the sound of a bell, ringing out through the hallway. It’s a clamoring mess to get through the hall and into the main theater. 

Izuku is impressed that no one gets trampled.

“Someone’s going to get hurt,” someone says from the side, and Izuku can barely make out their face.

“Here” Uraraka says, grabbing his arm to make sure they don’t get separated. They navigate the crowd together, eventually making it to the big wooden doors, propped open with two men navigating people through. As they walk through, there are faculty handing out slips of paper. 

The auditorium is dark, the pathways lit like a theater and the ceiling exposed. He squints, and realizes this is just a theater, orchestra pit included. The stage is wood, and the curtains are heavy and red. God he can’t imagine any of these classes of U.A. performing Shakespeare.

He looks down at his slip of paper. It’s a seat number. Uraraka looks at hers, and then shows him. It’s three rows down, “My guess is so friends don’t sit next to each other,” Izuku says under his breath.

“Aw lame,” Uraraka says, hearing him despite his whispering, blocking her eyes from the bright stage lights, “Here, I’ll walk you to your seat.” 

Izuku has no idea why this girl has been so nice, but he nods. He’s not going to squander his first high school opportunity for friendship. He bitterly thinks about middle school, and the fearful looks whenever he talked to anyone else. Even associating with Izuku made his fellow classmates targets. 

It’s not entirely a disaster once they’re walking through the aisles, much of the crowd forming into lines through the seats. It seems that even if the seats are separate from one another, there’s some kind of organization. Uraraka finds the aisle first, and waves Izuku off, “Good luck!” 

“You too,” he says, nodding at her. He really does hope she gets in, even if they’re probably going to be in different courses. He doesn’t know her power, but she has the confidence of someone who could be a hero. The strength. 

He squeezes past people, who stand for him as he moves past. He pauses as he sees Bakugou, for the second time, lounging in his seat. The seat right next to Izuku’s. Of all the people. 

He sits down, immediately looking down to his lap and ignoring everything else. Instead of the curses and threats he was expecting, Bakugou stands up, shouldering his bag, and walking straight past.

No comments at all. Izuku breathes out a sigh of relief. He watches as he leaves, making sure that he’s not just leaving to get enough distance for a long ranged attack. Instead, he watches as Bakugou finds Uraraka, who’s loitered at the end of the row, trying to find her seat. He holds out his slip of paper and says something quiet and probably kind of mean. Uraraka smiles at him, handing him her paper and taking his. She waves it at Izuku as Bakugou walks past her. They’ve switched seats.

At least that’s one crisis averted. 

★

The curtains begin opening, and the auditorium almost immediately silences. Uraraka pauses her tip tapping on the fold out desk. The past ten minutes have been a silent break from the both of them, too nervous to try and strike up another conversation. Izuku thinks back to the kitten rambling from her earlier, and realizes she might have been nervous this entire time. 

“Ready?” she asks, and Izuku can’t find it within himself to do much other than nod. 

The curtain opens the rest of the way, revealing an inflatable projector screen. The stage is completely empty, waxed to shiny perfection, and Izuku strains his neck to see if there’s anyone on the side of the stage. He knows the teachers, but he’s not sure who’s going to be in charge of the instructions–

A man knee slides onto the stage. He comes from the left, head lowered and microphone raised above his head as he slides across the floor. He squeaks to a slow stop. 

And then the music starts. 

“Oh my god?” Uraraka asks, eyes wide and gleaming. 

Izuku takes a photo, phone already taken out the second he saw the stupidest hairstyle known to man. His mom is going to be so, so jealous. Izuku is the biggest fan of Endeavor in the entire country of Japan, but his mom has been a fan of Present Mic and his stupid hair for years and years. 

When he was just getting into heroes, he had downloaded and printed out pictures of the pros to show to his mom whenever he found one he thought looked cool. She would sometimes laminate the pictures and hang them up in his room. Eventually, that had led her to putting on the hero radio when he got home from kindergarten. Whenever he had asked who her favorite was, she had claimed, ‘the man on the radio’. Izuku had printed out a picture of him and hung him up in one of the cabinets. It had made his mom laugh so hard she had cried.  

“Are we ready…” Present Mic has started to talk—well, no he’s definitely yelling. He’s still on the floor, like it’s an intimate moment in a concert. The music is slowly turned down and he continues, “To take a fill in the blank tesssst?” 

Present Mic stands up with a useless hair toss, a glittering smile, and then throws the microphone back from where he came from. Izuku cringes at the clattering noise. Izuku knows that this man doesn’t need a microphone. He is one. That means the microphone was a prop?

“Oh my god?” Uraraka asks again, and someone shushes her from a row down. Izuku starts to take notes. He does that when he’s nervous. 

“Welcome to U.A.! The test at least.”

The screen behind him lights up from an above head projector.

“Can they not afford a TV?” Izuku mutters, jotting down a bullet point. Uraraka, beside him, bursts into laughter. It wasn’t a joke, but he’s glad she laughed anyway.

“Seriously,” she says. Izuku is going to have to get used to someone overhearing all his little comments. Or maybe everyone has always overheard him. They just didn’t really care. He finds this new experience to be really jarring. Uraraka continues, “Who uses a projector? Don’t they have like… hologram tech?” 

“Maybe they’re going for a more retro feel,” Izuku says, trailing off to focus again on the man on the stage. Present Mic has now gone onto more personal introduction, like how it’s very impressive that they even made it this far and how proud everyone’s parents should be. The underlying comment is: ‘Don’t be too sad when we end up rejecting you.’

Despite the platitudes, the room is full of tension anyways. The pressure is increasing as the man rambles on, walking back and forth across the stage and pointing to the projector when necessary. Izuku feels it too, his nerves tangled all in a pile.

“After the written portion, which is being handed out right now, you will need to mark down which course you’re trying to get into. There are four possibilities.” Present Mic holds out four fingers in front of himself like he’s doing a peace sign.

“Four?” Uraraka asks. 

Almost right on cue, Present Mic continues, “One, marketing. You people will stay here after the test, since this is the largest room in U.A.. Two is the hero course. That group will go to the front and find the five buses after the test. They’ll take you to the appropriate location.” Which sounds to Izuku that the hero course students are certainly going to get murdered in the woods. Present Mic points on the projected map to where they’re going to be shuttled to, so hopefully they'll be alright. “Then is the support course. You will go to the east wing and find classrooms 20-30. Last, general education: just mark the appropriate check after taking the test and go home. Also make sure to only fill out section four of the test.” 

Lucky. Izuku is all tense even after hearing the name of the support course. The terror at that test, the portfolio and short presentation he’ll have to give, it’s giving him a stress headache. He can’t think about the mention of the Hero Course. It hurts too much. 

“Man that’s far,” Uraraka says, squinting at the map that’s now been projected. All three secondary tests are marked, and Izuku has to search for a second before finding where they all are. The farthest one is the hero course, by far. It seems to be taking place in some warehouse. 

“You want to be a Pro?” Izuku asks, turning a little in his seat to look at her. Apparently he’ll have to talk about it anyways.

“That’s what I’m hoping for,” Uraraka sort of shrugs, a bit of the enthusiasm gone. It’s like she’s trying to be nonchalant. 

“What’s your quirk?” Izuku asks, leaning a bit forward. He can help her. If he knows her power, he’ll be able to encourage her, see how far she could get with it, maybe recommend a strategy for the test. “I can try and see how likely you might be to get into U.A.. And if you want, I can try and figure out a good strategy for a test like this. How vague is the power? Surprisingly, the more vague the powers, like speed or something, the less likely people are to get into U.A. because so many people have quirks like that. But if it’s something with a lot of application, like Best Jeanist for example, that’s a higher possibility, as long as you’re good with your ability. But if you’re here, trying to get into U.A., I’ll have to assume–”

She’s staring at him, eyebrows slightly raised and eyes wide. He realizes that he’s gripping the seat rest with one hand and a pen with the other. There’s ink dripping down his arm. Hm, he may have broken it.

“Uh–”

Oh that’s not good. No new friend for Izuku. He puts the pen down and slowly settles back, looking forward, ignoring the fact that he’s most certainly blushing. He has to learn to control his rambling. 

“...and now I must return to the recommendation test. I trust you’ll do your very best,” Present Mic gives a big thumbs up and flashes a bright grin, “Candidates.”

It doesn’t even matter if Izuku can somehow do the impossible and pass this test. It doesn’t matter if he gets perfect grades and becomes the best strategist that the world has to offer. This year is going to be the same as the rest. Sad and friendless–

“Gravity,” Uraraka says. Izuku glances at her. That stare of hers, so overwhelmed just seconds ago, is now determined, “I can control gravity. Is that a quirk that a hero might have? A quirk that they might want in this school?” 

Izuku suddenly can’t help but hope that they’ll both get into this school. He wants someone exactly like her to help with strategies. Someone who’s willing to listen. 

“That sounds absolutely perfect,” he nods, and she breaks out into a grin. And Izuku tries not to feel the pangs of jealousy. She has the power and the gall to get into the Hero Course. 

“Hell yeah!” she says, clapping her hands together once. “Hey, which course are–”

“Have either of you ever taken a standardized test in your lives before?” someone hisses in front of him. He’s shadowy in the dark, but he’s turned to scold them, “It’s not usually done with a partner.”

“Sorry,” Uraraka whispers. 

“Sometimes it is,” Izuku quietly says at the same time.

“Yeah if you want to get expelled before the first test is done, sure, cheat with your neighbor,” he says with a huff, and then turns back forward. Uraraka looks to Izuku and quietly laughs, covering her mouth.

The test is quickly passed out, and the lights are turned on. 

“Oh, ow,” someone says, pained, a couple rows away, and yeah, the sudden lights are blinding. 

It’s a large, pink packet with a place for the date and his name. He knows from a frantic session of research for the past week, that this test will contain four sections: disaster scenarios, first aid, public relations, and finally, general education. All pooled from a bank of questions that are cycled and kept under wraps. A couple questions had been leaked, and Izuku made sure that he would know exactly how to fill those out just in case they show up again. 

But now the test is before him, daunting and also bright pink. Uraraka’s is blue, indicating that the questions are probably ordered differently. 

“Good luck,” Uraraka whispers, just under her breath, and Izuku nods. He doesn’t want to risk talking at this point, not when the test is before him, a hundred and twenty questions, all terribly intimidating and all fill in the blank. Not even a single multiple choice. 

He grabs his backup pen and pencil, scribbles his name on the front, and opens the packet. 

★

Three hours later, after a parade of noises, from the buzzing lights to the occasional cough to all the general education students leaving, Izuku has finished the last section. That last question was a particularly mean one about stoichiometry. His hands are shaking as he sets down the pencil and goes to the final page. The tremors are mostly from frantically writing for three hours. Mostly.

The last page is a selection of survey questions asking how the test went. He fills the questions with minimal commitment, trying to finish this god forsaken test so he can at least stand up and stretch. 

‘How can we improve your test experience?’ the test asks.

Wrist braces. Izuku writes, smearing the ink as he goes. 

And then, it’s the final question. The real exception, because it is a multiple choice question. Hero, support, marketing, or general education. 

Izuku hesitates longer than he should. 

He has a plan. He’s had a plan for years, ever since he learned he was quirkless. That’s an eleven-year-old plan and one of a strategist. But he still hesitates. 

And the storm within him rages at the attention. 

He has a better handle on it, he knows he does. He hasn’t been working out with his mom for the past nine months for nothing. All the training, the hours spent at the gym, and the miles of running. His fastest pace is down to five minutes and thirty seconds. 

 He doesn’t know how he knows that the power is more in his control, but he does. It feels like if he opened the lid on this ability, it (or he) wouldn’t explode. Which is probably good. 

The months of rigorous training had been good. An output. A distraction. Weeks after he… saw what he did, and before he found the number that Endeavor had left on the napkin, he had exercised for hours. Pushing himself to his limit and beyond. Injuring and reinjuring the same tendons. Ignoring the fact that he might have watched a man die.

Eight months ago, the day had been rainy, lonely and underwhelming. Izuku had finally decided to take the napkin out of the wood frame and had turned it over in his hands, and realized that on the inside of the paper, there was a phone number. It had cleared the problems of the day, seeing the blood streaked writing. So he had quickly sent a text, with shaking fingers, to ask if All Might had survived. The response was simple, but the words ‘he’s stable’ was enough to start the tears up again.

Only after he had learned that All Might had survived, through a small text from Endeavor, was when he had relaxed. 

Only after all of that had he even remembered to continue his schoolwork. 

Why did he do all of that?

The hours of exercise, the training, the worrying. Why did he take this power, something that was never rightfully his? Just to go into the support course? 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Uraraka close her work packet. He remembers what All Might said. He had told Izuku to be a Pro with all the confidence in the world. 

The best way to know when Bakugou is good enough for this power, is to follow him, which means...

Izuku, before he can stop himself, crosses off the box that says ‘Hero Course.’ 

And seals his own fate. 

Well, mostly seals his fate as someone, who’s never in a million years is going to pass the next test. 

Chapter Text

Hero Death Page–

linkfromzelda: so… shouldn’t we implement the mourning theme for this??? https://weheroes.com/article/upcoming-hero-forced-into-early-retirment-after-losing-limb-in-attack

Likes: 5

(MOD)FencinPro: I mean, no. She’s not dead. 

Likes: 8

linkfromzelda: but it was a villain attack

Likes: 2

(MOD)FencinPro: So? We don’t implement the theme every time someone retires. 

Likes: 1

linkfromzelda: she was twenty, and won’t ever work again because some monster decided to cut off her arms.

Likes: 3

(MOD)FencinPro: She. Didn’t. Die. Stop trying to mourn people who aren’t dead, she has a whole life ahead of her. 

Likes: 4

HappyDays: the girls are fightingggg

Likes: 5

(MOD)FencinPro : Please refrain from jokes like that on this page. Be respectful to those of which die hero ically in battle. 

Likes: 0

Neito’s mother was worried about this next part. He stands with a small crowd of students, all being herded outside into the warm sunlight. Some of the teachers are here, helping them follow the right directions, making sure they can get to the second phase of the test without a scratch on their little heads. 

There’s a brown field of dead grass that extends past the buildings of U.A., the pathways having been hastily turned into some sort of track. It’s a footrace, but everyone knows that, and everyone’s also prepared for that. It’s not what his mother was fretting about.

“Yaoyorozu Momo?” he asks, locating the girl with sleek black hair and heeled boots that probably cost as much as some people’s rent. Not his though. He doesn’t pay rent. Because he’s fifteen. And he’s also incredibly wealthy. He smiles at her, holding out his hand, “I didn’t realize you’d be here. I could have sworn you were at least a year younger than me.” 

“Funny,” she takes his hand, and an imagined jolt runs up his arm, “I could have sworn that you were the younger one, Monoma Neito.” Yaoyorozu smiles politely.

He is, by over half a year, and they both know it. That doesn’t matter here because they both know what this really is. Posturing and performing, just like all the wealthy hero families. And, luckily for his dear mother and father, he’s an excellent performer. 

“Oh, well, I look forward to our cooperation anyways,” he says, letting go of her hand. One down. 

His mother can worry all she wants, Neito knows how to introduce himself to people. The power of Yaoyorozu’s ability, some sort of replication quirk, swirls around in his mind. He doesn’t know what it is yet, not entirely, but he’ll have it for the next ten minutes. He starts a timer on his electric stopwatch, an expensive gift from his grandfather. He’ll have three laps by the end of this little conversation break. 

Neito finds another student, after a couple of minutes of watching. The ten students here are antsy, even if they have no right to be. This is the recommendation exam, the test for the elite and talented. As long as you’re not completely incompetent, it’s practically a shoe-in to U.A.. 

He scans over the lot of them and adjusts his opinion. Maybe they do have a right to be antsy.   

“Excuse me,” he says, brushing past the one who interested him, a kid built like a mountain with an expression to match. It’s enough, and a second power joins the first. He’s not entirely sure what it is, but that’s half the fun with a quirk like Neito’s. Yaoyorozu was planned because he’s honestly curious of what her power might be. That information is kept under wraps before U.A.. But she was also never the main target here. 

There are a handful of families, families with connections to Pros whether that be through management or relation. The top three families, in order from least influential to most, are the Iidas, the Yaoyororzus, and finally, the Todorokis.

 The Monomas’ are far, far below that. 

His standing is enough for Neito to get into the Recommendation Exam, but not enough to hold much of a shred of power. At least he’s here. 

The galas, the charity events, the grand openings, the hero funerals, the graduations, all of these are grand networking events that he’s been trained in for years and years. Smile here, compliment here, insult here, etc. etc. All the Pro families go to these. All but one. 

Sure, Endeavor occasionally shows up when it pertains to him, but he doesn’t bring his children. The kids have barely seen the light of the day let alone the press. At least those are the rumors. 

“Monoma Neito,” Neito says, holding out a hand to the youngest Todoroki. He’s taller than Neito expected, incredibly pale, and has a scar on his face. His hair is also bizarre, like Santa’s attempt at an emo phase. Todoroki looks at Neito for a second, expression completely and utterly flat. Neito, despite himself, shivers. It’s appropriate. The rumor mill points to his powers being more similar to his mother’s. Some sort of ice manipulation, maybe. Neito wants to know what it is. 

“Hello,” he finally says, taking Neito’s hand and shaking, his face still flat, hand freezing, “Monoma. I don’t know that name.” 

The third power jolts through, up his arm. This should be plenty. 

“You will,” Neito says, letting a bit of that networking come back, smiling as best he can, “I promise. We’re going to be peers, you know. And hey, maybe we’ll even be friends.” 

His eyes are still dead, but now there’s a hint of a smile, “Maybe.”

There’s suddenly a horn, which is incredibly loud. Todoroki turns away with barely a flinch, and Neito looks at the source of noise. There’s a… guy, with an airhorn, much too close for comfort, just outside the building. 

“Aw jeez,” the man, one of the teachers, definitely the infamous Present Mic, says, “My bad. Anyways, hey, hey, hey, little rich kids! That horn just meant that you have one minute until the test.”

Neito internally sighs. He wanted more time to figure out Endeavor’s little heir. The youngest Todoroki child and the first to go to U.A.. 

Neito takes a step back and looks to the race. He removes his jacket and tosses it to the ground with as much flourish as he can muster. The test is going to be six miles, running through the U.A. campus with water stalls to help and an ambulance at the ready. All of this had been sent in the packet to his parents, who had signed it without looking. He’s positive that they would have sold their own rib cages to get him into this school. 

He stretches his legs, just for a second. He doesn’t really need it if Todoroki’s powers are anything like his mother’s. Or his fathers for that matter.

He finds Yaoyorozu’s power first and mentally grasps it, trying to tangle it into something tangible. He watches as she forms a complex sort of leg brace from her own hands, just pushing out and a hazy item forming from the air. It seems simple enough. He tries to be subtle, pushing his hands out, and his head goes cloudy. It feels like he’s swimming in an ocean at night, with no clear direction of where up is. He puts his hands down. Most of the time, he can figure out the quirks fast. Not this one, apparently, so he scowls and moves on. No use dwelling. 

The next power, the one from the stranger, feels like he’s standing just in front of a TV, the static dragging his skin in. The race starts and the stranger runs off, a blast of wind shooting from his hands and propelling him forward.

The wind comes from around Neito, controlled with a flick of his wrist and swirling about him, whipping his clothing and hair. 

Neito tilts his head and can’t help but feel impressed. He’s never seen this kid, he’s definitely not from one of the elite families. Some random civilian was able to obtain an ability like this? The impressed feeling turns sour in seconds. 

Neito shakes his head, clearing away the jealousy, because he can certainly use this ability. He’ll probably end up better at it than some backwater civilian anyways. He has the unfortunate habit of outperformance. 

He lets the wind go, falling around him, and lifts his hands for the finally quirk–

“You’re going to want to push back,” a voice says from next to him. Neito jumps. The race has already begun, who’s–

The Todoroki kid is standing, arms crossed as he watches the other students run into the distance, trailing wind and dust. 

“What?” Neito asks. He has a reason for staying behind. He can’t run without knowing what he’s working with. But the number one’s child?

“My quirk. It’s ice, so if you push back with only your right hand, it’s like…” he pauses, contemplating, perhaps he's second guessing telling Neito about his— “a jet pack.” The youngest Todoroki settles on, holding his pointer finger up to the sky, expression completely straight.

“Oh,” Neito says, grabbing the last power from his head. This one is indescribably… numb. He can’t place the feeling, but it’s familiar. 

He pushes out his hand and a column of ice erupts, further cooling the air around him in a sudden burst. The ice glints against the sun with a deadly sharpness. The rumors are apparently correct, because Todoroki inherited his mother’s quirk with an increase of power.

He’s left with frostbite growing up his fingers, freezing against the winter air. He shakes his hand, but the frost doesn’t stop, crawling up his arm and he has to cease the power entirely. The frost is still there, but he’s able to wipe it off on his shirt. Ow. 

“Good luck,” Todoroki shrugs, and Neito turns back to him. He still hasn’t left. 

Neito opens his mouth to comment, ask how in the world he’s planning to get into U.A. with this strategy, but in the end, he realizes that he really doesn’t care.

Neito won’t follow his example. He takes off in a storm of wind, propelling him forward as he runs. He’s not confident enough to let it carry him through the air like the other kid, but either way, with the wind, he’s much faster.

He avoids the other powers as he catches up to the stragglers, including, surprisingly, Yaoyorozu, who’s running at a good pace but not with anything extraordinary. As he passes her, she conjures up a Gatorade from thin air. Fascinating. He wishes he had more time to study her ability, it would be interesting to use. 

He stagnates after a little, caught behind the runners in the front, and barely outpacing those in the back. He’s only got six more minutes on his watch for each power, so he considers Todoroki’s ability. What’s a little frostbite in comparison to the halls of U.A.? 

He finds that numbness, Todoroki’s power, and pushes his right hand behind him. What a weird ability. He’s shot up into the air, feet above the ground, almost like he’s flying. 

He lands with a flourish of wind, and the illusion is broken. 

The second power cushions his fall. He barely caught himself since it takes precious seconds to switch between the powers. He breathes out and keeps running, wiping the frost from his hand again. He looks back up to the crystal blue sky. He wants to go back there again, feel the swoop in his stomach and the wind against his cheeks. 

So he does, a couple more times, getting higher and higher, more confident.

The feeling is horrible. 

On the next jump, he tries to use ice again, start the jet pack the Todoroki was talking about. He accidentally uses both hands. 

A warmth erupts from his left hand. He stops it as fast as he can, stumbling to the ground. He pauses in the road, considering what he just did, a string of smoke curling up into the air.

He stays still, letting one of the stragglers pass him. He looks to his left hand. A drop of water spills down his right hand, the frost melted from the sudden heat in his left side. 

He starts to laugh, the sound of it echoing off the campus buildings. He finds that he really doesn’t care about the strange looks that the fellow racers give him as they pass.

He turns, grinning. He can see the start of the race, the Todoroki kid has now decided to sit cross legged on the ground, repeatedly pulling dead grass from the dirt and scattering it on his lap. He’s looking at Neito, head tilted like he asked a question. 

This kid has a mixture of both of his parent’s abilities. Most children take on one ability, maybe with slight variations from their other parent. Neito got most of his from his grandmother, and that much of a genetic dissonance is rare. This kid has a mixture of two of the strongest quirk users in the past generation. The Todoroki parents were famous in their schooling years, and the combination of them both has led to one of the most powerful quirks Neito’s ever held in his hands. This kid has the potential to be very, very, strong.

Most of the other contestant’s have passed, leaving Neito well in second to last place. He starts a fire with his left hand, the smallest candle flame on his finger, smoke rising up in wisps. He has to tear his eyes away from the light to look back at Todoroki. He’s still sitting, but he’s entirely still. Until he starts to shake his head, slow, an new expression on his face. Fear.

For some reason, he wants this to be kept a secret. 

Neito is in second to last place, but he can’t help but feel accomplished anyways. Sure he’ll keep Todoroki’s secret. 

For now. 

He turns to win the race. 

★

Oh god, not again.

Izuku immediately looks down, breathing hard, hands on the cement, his vision swimming as he stares at the sidewalk. There’s another explosion just behind, another one of the large robots crumbling to the whims of a student, a blast of wind and dust flooding around him. 

He keeps his focus down. The sidewalk looks like the one outside his mom’s apartment, surprisingly accurate for a city square built specifically for this test, with grass growing between the cracked cement. It’s not winter here. He’s looking down because he can’t look at the scene in front of him. 

It’s too similar, too much like–

Izuku looks back to where he came from, trying to determine if there’s a way he can escape this situation. There’s a building, one that he’s been hunkered down in for the majority of the test so far, small and squat with a robot’s corpse now firmly crushing the ceiling. He had barely escaped that, and now he’s here. He looks forward, checking to see if that’s safe, and he sees it again. 

There’s a body under the rubble, and oh god really, again? He feels delirious, how did this happen twice? He stays for another second on the cement, considering his options. Whoever it is, they’ll probably get rescued after the test, but there’s still six or so minutes left before the end, and anything could happen in that time. 

He stands up, because he knows that he can’t leave whoever, behind. Not again. He can’t leave with someone right there. Maybe he can actually do something this time instead of just waiting for a Pro. He pushes down the panic and fear and runs over to the body. 

Who thought it was a good idea to simulate an entire city block? Why aren’t there heroes working to keep these kids safe? He rounds the rubble, sneakers squeaking on the pavement as he turns, seeing if the person is even alive. 

It’s Uraraka. 

She is alive, thank god, trying to move herself from the rubble, her shirt torn, her hair covered in dust, and her hands frantically scrambling, trying to pull herself out of the ton of rocks. 

The two of them had split up at the beginning of the exam, with a wish of good luck. Working together in this exam isn’t entirely prohibited, but Izuku didn't want a girl to see how incompetent he might be. He didn’t want to drag her down. He’s worked out for almost nine months now, and that storm keeps getting louder, but he hasn’t found an opportunity to use it yet. It’s been far too risky this entire test, since he’d have to dodge students and robots alike, and he doesn’t even know the extent of this power. What if he hurts someone? 

But he might not have a choice anymore, because he can’t see a way to get her out of the rubble.

“Funny running into you,” she smiles, a little weak but still much too cheery for someone whose gushing blood from two cuts on her face. 

“Hi again,” he says, rounding the rubble, trying to find a rock he might be able to lift.

He finds a medium sized one, but when he tries to lift it, she yelps in pain as he ends up digging the rock into her stomach. 

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he says, falling down, making sure she’s still okay. He can’t move the rubble, so he has to make sure she’s not in immediate danger. She doesn’t seem to be too outwardly injured, a couple of scrapes here and there, so he settles down next to her, “How’s it going for you?” 

“I’ve gotten twenty eight points,” she coughs, maneuvering herself so she’s facing upwards, trying to push the rocks off of her from that position. It’s not the question he asked, but if she’s focused on the arbitrary points, it means she’s probably not doing too badly. 

He saw her take down at least one of the robots. She had run straight up to it, and slapped her palms onto the thing. It’s leg had floated for a second before the whole thing had lost balance, crashing to the ground. 

“Have you tried to… uh– gravity lift the rocks?” he asks, motioning to her free hands, trying to articulate what her power is. She grimaces a bit.

“My stomach is killing me,” he doesn’t know what that means, “I can maybe reverse something for a couple of seconds, but then it will just crush me again.” 

“How do you replenish your ability?” Most Pros just have to wait to get back their powers if they expend too much. 

“Any anti-nausea medicine. Which I have in my pocket, but I’ll also need about twenty minutes for it to work. Ginger is faster, but kinda pricey for how much I need.”

He grimaces, because the test will be long over by twenty minutes, and either the Pros will save her or a stray robot will have crushed her. He pulls at another slab of cement, one that’s far enough that he can move it without risking her safety. It’s good that he’s physically stronger, the aerobics doing their job as he heaves the rock up. He’s been working out with his mom and her aerobics class for the past nine months, and he’s gotten very, very good at talking to women in their fifties. He’s also a lot stronger, which is nice. 

The rock shifts, and even feet away, the pile on top of her shifts a bit, and she braces herself. He stops immediately, but nothing else happens.

“I don’t think that’s going to work,” she coughs, laying down, her hair splayed out against the broken rocks. 

She’s right of course. This whole thing, it’s precarious at best, and if he moves it the wrong way it might topple over and fully crush her. 

He pauses, walking away and trying to survey the scene. Ideally, she would be able to get herself out of this situation herself, because even using All Might’s power, Izuku isn’t sure he can figure out a way to delicately extract her. 

There’s another crumble of debris as the city falls down around them. Izuku turns, expecting another one of those robots to be there, imposing and terrifying and ready to crush anything under its feet. Izuku remembers reading about a death from the tests, three years ago. He had dismissed it as an unfortunate accident, a mistake that was easily preventable. 

With the explosions all around him, Izuku isn’t sure that Uraraka won’t be the next victim. Or himself for that matter. He’s surprised that there haven’t been more deaths. 

But instead of a robot, he finds another applicant. Jumping down from the debris of the building Izuku was originally in, causing a small avalanche, his eyes set on the three pointer robot, far enough away that Izuku doesn’t feel worried. 

“Hey!” Izuku yells, standing up as fast as he can and waving both of his hands in the air, “Over here!” 

The kid looks at him, but he doesn’t seem to see Uraraka, so he just waves back, a little hesitantly. And then he continues, running down with the gait of an Olympian about to start a marathon. 

Izuku pauses, frustrated. He tilts his head, because he’s pretty sure that– The kids glasses glint off of the sun, and yeah, that’s him. Izuku nods, because if his quirk is anything like his families, this should work.

“Iida!” Izuku yells, and the kid, Iida Tenya, second son of the Iida family, slows to a stop. He turns with a more than a little concern, probably for being recognized, like his face isn’t publicly posted on at least three different wikis, “We need help!” 

Iida pauses, and Izuku almost gives up hope. But he jogs over, eyes ever sharp as he looks around at the scene. Like maybe it’s some sort of trap. If Izuku was smarter, and a bit crueler, he might have considered taking out the competition. There are rules against it, but Izuku knows that there are always ways to get around those. 

“She’s in danger,” Izuku says, running up and meeting Iida halfway, pointing behind him to Uraraka. Iida’s eyes go wide. He doesn’t have time to waste, this test still has about five minutes left, and that’s plenty of time for a robot to kill Uraraka, “And I need you to go find someone for me.” 

“You’re one of the chatty kids,” Iida says, “From the test.” 

Izuku realizes that Iida was the one who had scolded him and Uraraka right before the exam started.

“Yeah,” Izuku nods, blushing easily with embarrassment, “There was a kid, I saw him in the beginning, he seemed to have some sort of… tape I think? Go find him for me. I also need the one with the shadow quirk. The bird student. And find me someone who can defend this area for the next three minutes.” 

“I can defend you,” Iida says, a little slow, “If you’re worried about that.” 

“I’m more worried about internal bruising,” Izuku says, “We need to get her out fast, and I can keep her safe for at least a little bit.” 

That’s not true in the slightest. For some reason, he’s treating this like a real disaster, and sacrificing the next couple of minutes of safety to permanently get her out. 

“I’ll trust you,” Iida says, “But this is taking away precious time for m–”

“Go, fast. Prioritize getting back here over following my instructions, but bring backup,” Izuku says, using the voice that his aerobics instructor used whenever he made a mistake. Stern but not too cruel. It feels dumb when he tries to use it, but Iida swiftly nods, does a little bow, and runs off with the speed of a jet plane. He’s so fast. 

Izuku jogs back to Uraraka. She looks like she’s in pain, but smiles when he squats down next to her. 

“You doing alright?” he asks her quietly, like the robots can hear him. Maybe they can, they’re new for this year. 

“I’m like,” she says, “really embarrassed, mostly.”

Izuku nods, because yeah, he’d be embarrassed too, and she goes even more pink, covering her eyes. 

“Sorry,” he says. 

“I just– and sorry but I’m going to vent for a sec– I only get twenty-eight points to begin with, and then I go and get injured. This isn’t how a Pro would do it, and it’s definitely not going to get me into U.A..”

“I think you’re being really brave.” 

She snorts. 

“No really. This is exactly what a Pro would do,” he says, gesturing to where she had started drawing stars in the dust. 

She laughs, and Izuku realizes that this is a lot better than the first time he comforted a crushed person. Maybe it’s a skill that he can learn. 

Izuku finally registers what she said earlier, “Only?” 

“Huh?” 

“You only have twenty-eight points? That’s what, at least ten robots?”

“Fifteen,” she says, shrugging, “I went for the smaller ones since they’re easier to destroy. I know it’s not much, so no need to point it out.”

“Fifteen robots,” he says, amazed. It’s too late not to embarrass himself in front of this girl, she’s clearly paces and paces ahead of him in every sense, “I haven’t even gotten one.” 

She looks confused, like that doesn’t make sense, which only makes his shame grow more. It was a distant, impossible dream to try and get into this school, and he especially shouldn’t have assumed that he’d be able to keep up a friendship with someone, let alone a pretty girl. 

“Here,” he says, “You keep still, I’ll check to see if help is still–”

There’s another crash, directly behind him. Uraraka looks up, terrified, but from her position there’s not much she can see. Izuku turns, spotting, finally, what he was truly afraid of seeing. 

A robot, larger than a building, built with state of the art technology, gleaming under the winter sun and staring directly down at the two of them. These people throw around so much money just to put children in danger. 

“Not good?” Uraraka coughs, and Izuku shakes his head.

Why hasn’t Iida returned with backup? It’s only been a couple of minutes, but Izuku knows how fast that family is. The robot crushes a small house, glass shattering, cables snapping as the building collapses. Izuku wonders if this is what it’s going to feel like out on the field, him standing between mass disaster and the someone who he’s trying to save. In real life, this robot would already have a death count in the hundreds based on the current destruction. 

He feels the power build beneath his skin, like a suffocating heat, and suddenly he can’t breath. It’s like it’s screaming to get out, to escape him. Is this how All Might felt at all times? It’s exhausting. 

Izuku takes a stabilizing step back, squaring his feet and lifting up his fists. He’s terrified of what this power might do to him, but he can’t let this thing crush him either. He takes a second, looking back to Uraraka, who’s closed her eyes, and Izuku finally notices an large injury, blood dripping down one of the pieces of rubble, originated from her shoulder. She really has been incredibly brave through this whole thing. He knows that he’d be crying. 

He runs forward, power behind each step, although if that’s his new quirk or just the adrenaline, he’s not sure. He’s pretty sure it’s the adrenaline. The robot takes another step over buildings, the glass windows shattering from the shock waves when it steps down. Izuku shields his face as shards of glass fall from the building. A glass piece shoots close to him, but he’s able to easily dodge. 

And then it’s him against the robot. Standing tall and– Izuku could swear– staring down at him. The expression is blank, almost apathetic, but of course it is.  It’s a robot, it will crush him without hesitation. And then it will crush Uraraka. 

The thing moves forward, and Izuku can’t help but flinch. He’s not sure how to use this, nothing could have prepared him for attacking this thing. Even if he takes it down, it’s not actually worth any points, it’s just a distraction, and with so little time left, he knows that he’s not going to get the opportunity to kill any other robots. He spent too much of his time analyzing, fascinated by the myriad of quirks that these candidates have used. He is going to fail the test. 

At least he can still help someone. For the first, and probably only time in his life, he can directly save someone’s life.

He feels the power building, and he tries to direct it forward, focusing on his hands, preparing to hit the thing in the legs. His hands are on fire as he runs forward, the robot swiveling its head to follow him. He gets to the things left foot, bigger than a bus, and pulls his fist back, sweating right before–

There’s an explosion above him. 

A halo of light, fire expanding in a quick burst surrounding the robot’s head. Izuku scrambles back just in time as the robot kicks up, like a drunk man who was just punched in the head, teetering to the side. The explosion clears in a plume of smoke, and Izuku realizes that the head has been targeted, blackened by soot and spinning slightly. The robot crushes a bridged highway with its hand, stabilizing itself. It spins its head, ignoring Izuku, who begins to scramble back.

Standing on a building with his arm raised in front of him and a deadpan expression, is Bakugou.

The robot swings a fist, like Bakugou is some annoying fly, and he expertly dodges, jumping off one building and onto the next. He shoots off another explosion, from a distance, and it lands directly on the thing's chest. He moves to a domed roof.

Izuku has barely ever seen Bakugou use long range explosions, he didn’t know he could aim that well. 

The robot lunges forward with the weight of a mountain, grabbing onto the bank like it’s made of paper mache, crushing the domed roof with its fists. Izuku watches in horror as the dust clears, the power building again, but Bakugou, like some sort of rocket, shoots out from the smoke, rising into the air, using his quirk like a jet pack. 

Izuku pauses his retreat, staring upwards. He’s certainly unfamiliar with the long range explosions, but he’s never seen Bakugou fly.

He shoots forward, landing directly on the thing, and apparently finding some sort of chink in the armor, puts his hand over a seam and shoots off a series of explosions. The robot alights from the inside, a silhouette of the internal craftsmanship of the thing alights as everything is turned to ash and fire. 

Bakugou jumps backwards, landing carefully on a building, steadying himself. 

Then he simply… walks away, out of range of vision.

Izuku stares, dropping his fists to his sides as the power drains like a deflating hot air balloon. 

That robot wasn’t worth anything. It was just a distraction, Destroying it did nothing for Bakugou. 

The robot falls with a ground shaking crash, demolishing another three buildings, and Izuku barely finds it within himself to move completely backwards, sitting down without a thought next to Uraraka. He’s still staring at where Bakugou just was, where he had just been silhouetted against the plexiglass sky.

“Huh,” Uraraka breathes out, seemingly as dumbfounded as Izuku feels, “That was cool .” 

“It always is,” Izuku says. But why did it happen? 

What force in the world would have Bakugou helping a random trapped girl? Helping Izuku? He feels a spike of panic as he considers his own choices. He said he’d return the power if Bakugou ever improved as a person, and this was a perfectly selfless act. An act of a true hero. 

Izuku squeezes his knees, curling up into himself a little bit, considering his next action and the possibility that he might have done all of this work for nothing. He might have to return to a quirkless kid before the day is up. He begins to draw Endeavor in the dirt next to Uraraka’s stars. 

“The flying was so cool. I didn’t even think that was possible with something like that,” Uraraka says, still considering, and Izuku pauses. Because that flying wasn’t a normal part of his fighting strategy. Izuku’s watched him in a couple of semi-pro MMA quirk fights for middle schoolers, and his strategy was always to get in the person's face as quick as possible and then go for the eyes. 

Flying was never a part of it. Even if he was trapped somehow, caged in a corner by another student, he never tried to go upwards. 

A movement catches his eye, and Izuku turns to the side, his head still resting on his knee. Maybe it’s another robot and he’ll have to see Bakugou be heroic again. Instead, he sees a person in the shadows. 

Izuku stops tracing his fingers through the dirt, staring at the kid, tall for his age but certainly still a candidate. He’s wearing rumpled clothes, clean despite the city falling around him. His purple hair looks like he just woke up from the longest nap of his life.

His appearance is haggard, but his expression is relatively neutral when he finds Izuku staring at him. He doesn’t seem to be afraid at all. There’s a second of mutual silence. 

The kid begins to slink away before pausing, surveying the scene in front of him one last time. He almost seems… smug, if that little smile means anything. He makes eye contact again, and then gives a lazy two finger salute.

“Over here!” Iida says, and Izuku finds him with a small group of students, including the ones Izuku asked for. He sighs, relaxing a bit at the oncoming rescue, and putting everything else to the side. Uraraka squeezes his hand once before straining herself so she can see the party coming over. Izuku stands and waves.

There are a couple minutes left for the exam, and Uraraka is going to be fine. That’s all Izuku could have ever hoped for at this point.

★

Tomura hates this street. 

Sure, maybe he lives here, but that doesn’t have to stop him from hating it.

The crowd, the people, his hands cooking in gloves that are so tailored that they’ve become almost like a second, very sweaty, skin. It’s like everyone got together and created a perfect hell for him.

He barely avoids brushing past a businessman who’s chatting loudly on the phone, and considers the death of all humanity. They’re not entirely unrelated. He scratches his neck.

Next is a woman with a young child, who’s talking excitedly, showing her something, which means Tomura has to give them more and more space as the child begins to wave his arms around. Tomura curls his hands into fists, the leather creaking in his coat pockets.

The coat is a nice one, black and sturdy with a comfortable plaid lining. The gloves too, warm in the winter cold, and bought full price at a luxury store. Everything he wears is nice, but it all feels like saran wrap against his body, overly hot and suffocating, tighter with each step that he takes. 

But the walking is important. Apparently.

It helps to clear out his head and give him fresh air. Apparently.

He wishes he was expensed a car. Then the brushes of humanity would only occur through layers and layers of metal and plastic. It would almost be tolerable.

Someone laughs, loud and boisterous; a tourist in the middle of the city square, and Tomura considers killing them in particular.

It wouldn't be productive, even if he thinks that everyone would probably let him get away with it. He would probably be exalted as a hero, considering the subtle glares that the other people are giving the group of college age students.

That would be another reason to end their existence. Finals are coming up, and it would basically be a mercy. He slips between two crowds of people, lucky enough not to brush either. 

He's getting close, the streets becoming less populated, the buildings becoming lower. He hates where he lives, the center of all things, the middle square of this godforsaken city. It's inevitable that he must see people every time he leaves. But finally, he’s escaped the confines of the busy street.

Maybe one day he'll burn the offices to the ground and run into the mountains. That way he'd only have to see squirrels and deer. But without access to the internet, he’d probably end up going insane, which would be an inconvenience. He better stay here for now. 

He finds the dark street, lit by nothing but the light polluted sky and the moon. The road is covered in weeks old trash and debris, crowding into corners and making very cold houses for rats and pigeons. The clean-up crews aren't as diligent about this particular alleyway and there had been an intensive Pro fight just a week ago.

The street is thankfully empty, so Tomura feels himself relax considerably. The bar is just ahead, a written sign on the front offering outrageous prices for drinks. It's been enough to distract most traffic over the past years. Occasionally the very wealthy will find the bar and assume it’s some avant-garde place, and then try to peacock around their credit cards and tips. They never stay for long, because really, the alcohol isn’t very good.  

He walks over a broken window, his shoes crunching in the glass and snow, nearer to the black wooden door that leads to the musty bar.

Tonight he has good news. For once.

He reaches for the door handle, but is forced to pause due to the sharp press of a blade against his back. Apparently the alley wasn’t as empty as Tomura wished.

“Don’t move,” the man growls, confident like it’s his only lifeline, because even as he says it, the knife shakes. Tomura turns his head slightly, and the knife digs deeper. He just wants to see his assailant. An older gentleman, with a scraggly graying beard and a light jacket, says “Give me everything you have.” 

He seems to only be a simple mugger. Which is better than the alternative.

Tomura steps forward, towards the door, the pressure of the knife leaving his back. He opens the door, ignoring the man's sputtering. He doesn’t have time to deal with this tonight, not after the good news–

“I was talking to you,” the man says, harshly grabbing at Tomura’s arm. Even through the coat jacket, even through the layers of leather and plaid and cotton, he can suddenly feel the sickness of human touch. The heat and horror, spreading down his arm like dirty water, running in rivulets. He shivers, full body, the nausea immediately crowding up in his throat. That’s the first time someone touched him in months, and Tomura finds that his thoughts haven’t changed much about the whole experience. He shutters again, trying to find it within himself not to throw up all over himself. 

The man steps back, like Tomura has a bomb he didn’t notice, looking a little afraid at the reaction. Tomura, curled in on himself, throws his left glove to the ground, because really, enough is enough, isn’t it?

“I didn’t–” the mugger says, but Tomura doesn’t even want to give him that. 

He takes the man’s clothed shoulder, halting him where he stands. As he holds onto the man, a pressure spreads up through his hand, because even if it’s better when he initiates physical contact, he can still feel it. So, to get the experience over as fast as possible, he reaches out with his ungloved hand, grabbing the man’s arm, and makes deliberate eye contact. He likes to see this next part. 

It’s like wet paper, disintegrating easily under the grip of Tomura’s crushing hand. The mugger’s wrist dissolves as easily as a clump of ash, and even as begins to scream, Tomura doesn’t let go.

Tomura closes the door behind him, the warmth of the bar quickly overcoming the winter chill that he brought in with him. He hangs up the coat on the black metal rack that was recently installed. It really is a well built bar, more of a lounge than anything, with smooth wood and dark fabrics. It almost completely plays the part of a rich man’s bar, only the poor alcohol gives it away. It’s like something you’d expect to find out in the middle of the busiest streets, but instead it’s here, and Tomura is eternally grateful for that fact. 

“What wine do you have?” Tomura asks, sliding into a seat and resting his elbow on the bar. Kurogiri is staring at him, cleaning a beer stein. Tomura is pretty sure that he’s always cleaning some glass just so he has something to do with his hands.

“Did you kill someone?” Kurogiri asks, putting down the glass and fishing out a bottle and two wine glasses, “I heard someone screaming.” 

Tomura grimaces, looking down to his sleeves. The shirt is gray just in case, but there aren’t any flakes of the man on his shirt. He’s gotten good at avoiding that, “I didn’t kill him. I just needed a… hand.” 

“Shigaraki, was that a pun?”

“Bad?”

“Very.”

Tomura sighs, grabbing the wine glass that Kurogiri slides across the bar. It’s red and cool to the touch, so Tomura gladly gulps it down. 

“Just the hand?” Kurogiri muses, tapping his fingers on the countertop, “Your control is getting better.”

Tomura rolls his eyes and doesn’t dignify that comment with a response. He takes another sip. 

“People scream in this city all the time,” he eventually says, “Why’d you think it was me?” 

“Well, first, it’s you . And second, you look very pleased with yourself,” he says, and Tomura shrugs. He’s let Kurogiri believe whatever he wants over the years. A recklessly violent sadist is close enough to the truth that Tomura doesn’t need to correct him. He’s never been able to shake his little habit of enjoying others’ pain. Honestly the only wrong word in that assumption is the ‘reckless’ part. 

But, he hasn’t been kicked out yet, so he’ll let the man see him as he wants.

“I am pleased,” he smiles against the lip of the cup, the wine sharp on his tongue as he finishes off the glass. 

Kurogiri raises an eyebrow in question, though how Tomura can parse that out, he’s not entirely sure. The man is mostly shadow and only has the suggestion of a face, but the expressions are always there.

“Well, don’t leave me hanging all night. What’s got you smiling like that? Did you get a girl’s number or something?”

Tomura snorts at the joke, laying his hands down onto the smooth top of the bar (gloved yet again, even though he probably couldn’t hurt Kurogiri if he tried), and smiles. “He agreed to the plan.”

There’s a second of silence, and Tomura only briefly glances at Kurogiri. He’s paused entirely, but that quickly turns to a broad smile. 

“I knew he’d cave,” Kurogiri nods, “It’s smart.” 

That’s enough praise from the man that Tomura feels another wave of confidence. 

It’s going to work. The plan is smart, the situation is perfect, everything is falling into place. He finally has the resources and support he’s needed. He can finally, finally, prove that All Might is still alive. 

Chapter Text

Endeavor Page–

heropro_69: Just read an article about the verbal harassment case at Front Fall’s Agency. Do we know if there’s any documented evidence about Endeavor’s treatment of his employees? I don’t want to have my fav canceled again lol.

Likes: 15

lichenlicker: Don’t worry at all. Everyone who’s been asked to comment about it have only had positives for his agency. All of the heroes from it have talked about how professional he is.

Likes: 22

heropro_69: Phew. Thanks 🙏

Likes: 9

ryukyuplsplsplspls: my second cousin worked at his agency as a secretary and said that he was always super nice. he even had a card sent to her when she went on maternity leave!

Likes: 9

lichenlicker: Coming back to comment again because I gotta add something. This was from like…..five years ago, so a lot of people forgot about it, but these posts will probably give you all the proof you need that Endeavor’s chill as hell. Just google ‘The Daily Life of an Endeavor Agency Intern’. You’ll find it in an archived post on here, it’s pretty funny. And I think there was enough evidence to prove that it was real.

Likes: 13

Umbrelladown: tdloaeai????? THE tdloaeai??? you mean the posts that got this site on the map? i’m pretty sure those were as culturally important as like… the big bang, straight up. i still reread those when i’m in a depressive episode.

Likes: 15

Ochaco is more nervous than she has the right to be. She's sitting in a plastic chair, tapping her shoe against the linoleum floors and waiting for the lovely security woman to call her into the office.

It's occupied right now, the office closed with only the faintest sound of voices.

She taps out a text to her dad, letting him know that she'll be a bit late for dinner. It’s  already been twenty minutes later than when her appointment was scheduled, and she doesn’t expect to be allowed entry anytime soon. 

She sighs, leaning down and wincing at the sudden pain in her back. It's been a couple of days since the test and everything is still just so sore. Recovery Girl had explained that it was a common side effect to the rapid healing that she was subject to, but it's still uncomfortable. Sometimes she breathes in too deeply and is reminded of the pressure of all those rocks, the pain localizing under her ribs and her shoulder. She grimaces again as she settles down, breathing rapidly through the remaining bruising.

“Are you alright?” someone asks, and Ochaco looks to the doorway, spotting someone sort of familiar. She recognizes him from the entrance exam, the one with the glasses and the dark hair. He’s wearing clothing a little too formal for a teacher meeting. U.A. is still on a small break, so Ochaco walked through the empty halls wearing overalls and a graphic tee feeling all types of out of place. Maybe this guy had the right idea to dress up. 

“Recovering just fine,” she gives a thumbs up, and pats the seat next to her, “I’m Uraraka Ochaco, and thanks by the way,” understatement of the week, “I didn’t get to talk to you after everything.”

He nods, curt, and sits down, his build making the chair look smaller than it is, “Iida Tenya, and I think you’d better thank that other kid. He convinced me to help.” 

“Already done,” she says. After Deku had saved her (and stayed with her to go meet the nurse), she had hugged him. Plus, they’ve been texting over the past couple of days. Her dad had made fun of her when she had told him that she got a boy’s phone number, but he probably would have made the same kind of jokes if she had gotten a girl’s one. She had to explain to him that having a friend before even starting the school year was the best way to make more friends for the rest of the year.

“What time is your appointment?” Iida says, nervously looking up at the clock. 

“Twenty minutes ago,” she says, sighing, “Yours?”

“Now,” he says, and then after a second– “I have some concerns about how the physical exam went.”

“Me too,” Ochaco sighs, resting her chin in her hand. That’s why she’s here, and why she’s so nervous.

“You know…” he says, “I could–My concerns are about you.”

“I distracted you with my perilous situation?” she jokes, but it's why she’s here. She feels absolutely awful about what happened. 

“No, but depending on your issues, we could go in together. It would probably bolster my case, and save time.” 

Ochaco thinks for a moment. Honestly at this point, the support might help her pounding heart rate. 

“Ochaco,” the secretary calls, and she looks up, watching as the door opens to the offices. Present Mic holds it open for a tall kid, thanking him for coming to see them. Ochaco doesn’t recognize the kid, dressed in equally casual clothes, but he looks entirely calm, with purple hair and straight-forward eyes. He nods to Present Mic and the secretary woman, and then walks to the door. That was the kid who took up her entire appointment? 

“Sorry,” he mutters as he leaves the secretaries office, slamming the door behind him. 

“Apologies, my young listeners,” Listeners? Ochaco, vaguely recalls this man's secondary career as a radio host, and that’s the only thing that makes sense, “I’ll try to be quick with your appointments.”

“We’re going together,” Ochaco smiles, “So don’t worry.” 

She’s belatedly worried about that not being allowed, but he doesn’t even blink, “Works for me.” 

“What was that?” Iida asks, looking back to the door as the two of them stand up. Ochaco brushes her overalls off, still shaking a little bit. 

“Just clearing up something,” Present Mic says, “But no worries, it’s all sorted now.” 

It didn’t seem very sorted, since Ochaco is still rattled about the sound of that door slamming, but she follows Iida as they enter the main office. It’s almost empty, with only a few teachers milling about, drinking tea and chatting; all probably some sort of hero. Ochaco doesn’t have the brain for it, so she only vaguely recognizes a couple of them. She couldn’t place any of their names though. 

“Here,” Present Mic says, leading them to his desk. It’s small and gray, with a few framed photos that Ochaco can’t see and a clear glass statue that’s probably some sort of teaching award. But…she squints at the text:‘Best Radio Setlist,’ which is so vague, and also definitely not for teaching. Does that mean the best setlist of all time? That’s a tall award, but the statue is pretty prestigious looking. 

“So?” he asks, and Ochaco can’t help but notice that the other teachers have quieted down a little, clearly paying attention, “Can I get you guys anything? Water? Tea?” 

“I’m fine, thank you very much,” Iida says, nodding slightly, and Ochaco smiles and shakes her head. Iida continues, “We have some concerns.” 

Present Mic spreads his hands, smiling pleasantly. He’s all ears. Ochaco understands that he apparently teaches English here, and if he’s always this seemingly supportive, it might be nice in a classroom setting—if she gets in. She hunkers down a bit more into her chair. She wishes with all her heart that she was more selfish, because then she wouldn’t have to be here. Risking the greatest accomplishment of her life.

“I got injured,” Ochaco says, pointing to the scratches on her face, and rolling up her sleeve a bit, just enough to show the gnarly bruising and bandages. 

“Are you alright now?” he asks, “I saw the damage, and it wasn’t…” he trails off then continues, “I formally apologize on behalf of the school.”

“I’m fine,” Ochaco says. She had also gotten a fruit basket from the Principal, along with a couple get well cards. She had recovered enough to walk by the end of the day with the help of the nurse, so it only felt like a little bit of an overkill.

“She wouldn’t have been, though,” Iida says. Ochaco realizes that they might be here for different reasons. If this guy wants to complain about the unsafe practices of the U.A. exam, he’s going to the wrong school entirely. This school famously has killed at least a kid every couple of years. There are a lot of contracts involved when you’re registered. Ochaco had to check to make sure that there weren’t any unnecessary fees before entering the exam, which meant she had to read a lot of paperwork. She waits for Iida to continue, to start rambling about the dangers–

“I’d like to exchange some of my points,” Iida says. 

“Sorry?” Present Mic asks.

“Me too,” Ochaco says, jumping in on the conversation, because she thinks they might actually be here for the same reason. 

It’s selfish to leave well enough alone, because Deku did save her life. But potentially ruining her shot at U.A.? 

“This is certainly new,” Present Mic says, “Explain, my dear listeners.”

“I was directed to help save this young lady,” Iida gestures to her, “But halfway through gathering some classmates to help, I had the opportunity to take out a three pointer robot. That attack took me only around seventy seconds, but the time I spent away from her caused Ochaco greater injury. I also forced the student, who had been watching guard and originally alerted me, to stay longer without another opportunity to gather points. It was an unnecessary and dangerous delay that I could have easily avoided. I would like to give two to him, and four to her. For the injury.” 

“Who?” Present Mic asks. 

“Midoriya Izuku,” Ochaco interrupts, softer than she wants, “was the only reason I got saved. Three different robots attacked the place I was injured, and if he hadn’t called over other students, I would have been crushed. The first one was taken out by random chance, but the other two were taken down by students that he gathered, all in a group, all there to protect me,” she takes a deep breath, “and if I hadn’t been hurt, he could have spent time trying to get points. I want you to give twenty of my points to him.” 

Ochaco keeps her gaze steady, and Iida nods. Present Mic is faintly smiling, seemingly a little humored by the whole thing. 

“This is all incredibly heartwarming,” he says, “But I wouldn’t worry about him. The test was filmed, we know his acts of heroics.” 

“He works really well under pressure, and–” Iida looks over to Ochaco, “I almost didn’t help him. He was able to convince me. I feel terrible about the moment of hesitation, but moreover, he directed the rescue. He told me which students to bring to the scene, and he figured out who would do what. It was some brilliant strategy, using that kid with the tape quirk to stabilize everything. That was his suggestion, and I think he’d make a great addition to U.A..”

“Exactly!” Ochaco says a little too enthusiastically. She blushes then continues, “He said he didn’t get any points, but he was the nicest and bravest kid I met that day, and that has to count for something.” 

A couple of the other teachers are laughing at something, and Ochaco hopes it’s not her.

“Listen. I can promise you that this has all been taken into consideration, and you really don’t need to worry.” He mutters something under his breath at the end of the sentence, something like ‘if I have any say.’

There’s a long stretch of silence, as Ochaco considers her parents. She considers the suffocation under that rubble and the bright nervous eyes of Deku, and knows that this school really could use someone like him. 

“Fine,” Iida says, “We’ll trust you.” 

There’s a lingering ‘for now’ that could certainly be considered a threat, but Present Mic just smiles, “So that’s all?” 

Ochaco looks to Iida, and they nod in sync. 

“Get out of here then,” Present Mic says, “Enjoy your break.”

They leave together, and in the hall, Ochaco pauses to say goodbye to the secretary. After she acquires four pieces of candy, she finds Iida waiting outside of the door. As she walks out, she feels a huge weight lifted. She’s not entirely sure, but she thinks that her points are safe and maybe Izuku did better than he said.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you before the test,” Iida bows, and Ochaco waves him off. 

“No worries, we were kind of loud.” She reaches her hand out, and they shake. She gives him two of her pieces of her candy in the handshake. 

“Alright Ochaco,” he smiles, looking up at the clock, pocketing the candy, “I must return home. But I will see you in class.” 

“Maybe,” she reminds him.

“I don’t think there’s any maybe about it,” he says, before jogging off in the other direction. 

Ochaco was right. Making a friend before school starts is a really good gateway to more friends. She can’t help but smile.

Chapter Text

U.A. Page–

(MOD)testingfour: I'd like to give a quick congratulations to everyone who took entrance exams this year! Good luck on future endeavors (lol) and have a good school year!!

Likes: 423

UnderstandTone: And especially to those who didn't make it in, we're still really proud of you guys.

Likes: 49

Pooltoy: @UnderstandTone This thread is clearly about those who tried their best and persevered through all odds. We don’t need to hand out participation trophies. 

Likes: 3

UnderstandTone: Insinuating that it only takes perseverance to get into those schools? Terrible take. Everyone knows how much genetic luck comes into play.

Likes: 6

Pooltoy: Projecting much? Sad you didn't get in to U.A. this year? Boohoo, you should have tried harder.

Likes: 3

UnderstandTone: I'm literally forty.

Likes: 7

★

U.A. Page–

yogurtluver: Hey don’t we usually know the hero study teacher by now? I thought U.A. was usually on top of shit like this. 

Likes: 3

Hellop: Thirty years ago they didn’t have one for the first three weeks of school, I’m not too worried. 

Likes: 1

yogurtluver: Thirty years is a long time dude. 

Likes: 1

Hellop: Yeah maybe. My vote is Present Mic, he has a flair for the dramatics, it’d make sense for his delayed reaction for the theatrics of it or smth. 

Likes: 1

yogurtluver: He’s literally a teacher already. They always do guest Pro Heroes, not washed up podcasters. I think it’s going to be Mirko. 

Likes: 1

Hellop: He’s a radio host, smh. Also, isn’t Mirko out of the country or something? Plus she’s wayyyy too cool for something like this. 

Likes: 1

yogurtluver: She’s so fucking cool. Damn I miss her. Anyways, @U.A/moderation, thoughts??

Likes: 1

(MOD)totaltesting: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

Likes: 0

★

Endeavor Page–

LordHail (banned): there’s really no way to write this without it being killed by the mods, but for REAL, why aren’t we talking about the todoroki shouto rumors? what an arrogant piece of shit. 

Likes: 112

country: wait wht happened? i hvn’t heard anything…? 

Likes: 10

AppyJuice: Apparently, and these really are just rumors, so please take them with the appropriate grain of salt: he got on solely on nepotism. Again, rumors. 

Likes: 56

Lordhail (banned): not rumors at all. he failed every single U.A. entrance test, and still got accepted. his daddy had to come save his ass because he’s incompetent. 

Likes: 122

This thread has been closed.

★

U.A. Page–

Socks: This test was so so sick this year. Did you guys see the fucking robot pics we got???? They looked soooo scary??

Likes: 11

Red_Might: At least three children got injured enough to need immediate medical attention. You shouldn’t be impressed, they’re incredibly dangerous. 

Likes:0

Socks: Hey no need to bring down the mood bud, everything worked out fine.

Likes: 3

Red_Might: Five years ago:

https://herotoday.com/article/fourteen-year-old-girl-killed-in-ua-entrance-exam/

Likes:0

This thread has been closed.

★

U.A. Help Page–

BastionOfIntel: guy holy fucking shit i got into U.A. oh my god. oh my god???????????? guys omg??? okay so apparently there were secret ‘rescue’ points forthis year, which is interesting, because i didn’t see anything about this on ths forum before. so it has to be a new implement. i think it’s really smart, because some students are trying to become rescue heroes, and i think this will encourage that more instead of just wildly attacking robots or whatever else they’ve thrown at the students over this past years. sorry about any typos, my hands are literally shaking. i got in??? 

Likes: 23

(MOD)totaltesting: Fuck yeah dude that’s sick as hell. You’ve got this. 

Likes: 8

Red_Might: Good job and all, but man, you have got to stop doxxing yourself.

Likes: 3

The classroom is entirely empty, and Izuku realizes that getting here thirty minutes early probably wasn’t the best way to make a good impression. The room isn’t much different from the one in his middle school, with clean desks and bright windows, lights lining the ceiling and showing off every corner of the large room. Izuku has already counted twice, and there are twenty student desks. Twenty people in this class. Twenty future heroes. 

Izuku feels his phone buzz, a text from his mom, wishing him luck for the day, along with an almost appropriate gif. He smiles and takes a quick picture of the classroom. She sends back another gif. Izuku is pretty sure that his excitement over the past few days has only been outshined by his own mother. She hadn’t slept at all last night, fretting all about their apartment and making the fanciest lunch for him. Izuku had only slept because he had run six miles that day.

He looks out onto the campus, seeing the bright pathways and dirty snow that shows that yes, it’s still winter, even if the cherry blossoms are a bit early. There are a couple of students milling about, chatting with friends or running off to somewhere. Izuku sighs, pressing his hand against the glass, his breath fogging on it. 

He’s really here. It might be on a stolen ability, but for this millisecond of peace, he can pretend that none of that is true. He’s here, in the hero course, on his own volition. 

Over the past couple of days, he’s avoided the topic of conversation that he did get in on his own volition. He took the test and got in. He didn’t ever use his quirk in the physical exam, which means he would have gotten in with or without this ability.

He curls his fist on the glass, remembering the letter he had gotten. It had been a simple breakdown, showing his score out of two hundred. The baseline score to get into U.A. is, apparently, one hundred and twenty. He had gotten one hundred and twenty two. Izuku had then stared at his score for a solid fifteen seconds. He had missed seven questions in the written exam and had somehow gotten twenty-eight points in the physical exam. 

The breakdown had called them rescue points. 

And then, in order, he had told the Hero Forums, Uraraka, and then his mom. He only told her last because he couldn’t physically move from his seat for thirty minutes after seeing the results. His legs were too weak for him to even think about ever moving.

He had then spent the next day with his mom in the city, buying a uniform and blushing horribly every time she had mentioned the fact that he got into U.A.. She told the teenager working at the cash register when she bought his uniform, the man serving them lunch, the woman who served them dinner, and everyone else who she had even a second of interaction with. Everyone seemed genuinely impressed which had only made the embarrassment worse. Izuku had smiled and blushed and stammered through a thanks. 

But nothing about that day, not the milkshakes, or the brand new uniform, or the katsudon from his favorite restaurant, was anything compared to the text he had received later in the afternoon. 

Congratulations on getting accepted into U.A., that’s no small feat. Watch out for my son, I think he might be in the same class as you. 

The rest of Izuku’s day had been a haze after that. He had been congratulated by Endeavor . They hadn’t chatted since Izuku’s confirmation that All Might was still alive ( resting in a hospital. He’s not well enough for visitors anytime soon. ), and he really hadn’t planned to. Everytime after that, he had stared at the contact information with paralyzed fright. But Endeavor had reached out to him. 

Izuku had thanked him a few hours after the original text. 

That text had got him through the morning, the cold walk to the station and the quiet early hours of the train. The whole text played over and over in his head. 

“Are you waiting for someone?” a voice asks. Izuku jumps about thirteen feet into the air, spinning on his heels. Iida Tenya, is standing with a bag slung over his shoulder, somehow looking older than he is, even in the school uniform. 

Izuku can’t help but feel an immediate spark of relief at the appearance of any class member that isn’t Bakugou. Maybe he got lucky and he’ll be in the other class.

“Just looking,” Izuku says, standing straight and finding a seat near the front and putting down his backpack. It’s a brand new bag, and probably one of the nicest things he owns. 

Iida is suddenly in front of Izuku’s desk, and he jumps again, because yeah this guy is apparently very fast, “Midoriya. We met on the wrong foot I think.” He holds out his hand. 

Izuku shakes it and nods, “I’m,” he considers, biting his tongue for a second, “I’m sorry about how loud we were. During the test I mean.”   

“Apology accepted,” he nods. “And I would like to thank you for convincing me to help Uraraka. You defended her well and rescued her even better, I look forward to working with you this school year.”

Izuku smiles and nods, appreciating the bluntness of the conversation. He’s about to risk the embarrassment and ask about Ingenium when–

The door slams open, and Izuku and Iida both turn to see Bakugou, with a rumpled looking uniform and an expression of pure disgust. He’s apparently decided to be fifteen minutes early. Izuku shrinks back, because Bakugou is staring directly past Iida, straight at him. 

Izuku tries not to let the panic grasp him. The potential of a peaceful school year had lasted five minutes, and Izuku already misses the feeling. Bakugou snarls, opening his mouth to say something, but Izuku can see him struggle with a sentence. Eventually he scoffs, walking to the back, and kicking a desk as he goes. He sits down in a huff and Izuku can hear tiny music almost immediately being played through headphones. Way too loud. 

“He seems…” Iida starts, taking a seat next to Izuku, grabbing a notebook from his backpack. He doesn’t finish the sentence, just trailing off into silence. He grimaces and starts writing down a finely tailored schedule. Should Izuku do that? 

A stream of students start entering the classroom soon distract him, a constant group of classmates. Most of them look just as nervous as Izuku feels. He sees a few of the people that helped him rescue Uraraka (Sero, Tokoyami, and a cheery guy named Kirishima). Sero waves at  Iida and Izuku, Tokoyami nods (why is he wearing a cape? Is that allowed? He looks like Batman), and Kirishima smiles with too sharp of teeth. 

Iida also nods at someone who comes into the classroom, a girl who is tall and very pretty. Izuku recognizes her as the heir to the Yaoyorozu fortune. She’s from a long line of businessmen and Pros, so Izuku isn’t too surprised to see her here. She comes over to start making small talk with Iida, but right after her is Uraraka. 

Izuku feels himself relax when he sees her. He might have to deal with Bakugou again, but at least he’ll have her. She waves, her nails painted with chipped purple polish, and her wrists covered in multicolored bracelets. She quickly moves through the seats, sitting on the other side of Izuku, grinning wildly.

“This is so so cool,” she says, giddy. She splays out her fingers on the desk and leans back, surveying the classroom. Izuku just nods, because what can he even say to that? Everything is brilliant and beautiful, and trying to put it into words would be a disservice.

Yaoyorozu ends her conversation with Iida, and moves to the back to go find herself a seat. Iida turns to look across Izuku, and smiles at Uraraka, “Hello, are you still recovering alright?” 

“Just peachy,” she says, which is a phrase Izuku’s never heard, not ironically, but she’s still smiling, clearly free from any life altering injuries, and also here , so he’ll believe her. Izuku can’t believe that they’re both here. They’ll be here for three years and then become heroes and– 

The power isn’t his. The thought comes crashing in like an ocean. Suddenly he’s finding it hard to breathe. He leans to his backpack, needing to do something with his hands as fast as possible. He grabs a notebook and a couple of his pencils, ignoring his pounding heart. 

He had debated with himself all after the test. Before he had gotten the results, but after the initial panic of the physical exam. The turmoil that occurred after watching Bakugou soar through the sky and take out a robot with ease. The actions of a hero.

He had made a simple plan that afternoon. Well, it was more of a multi-step plan with a couple different branches for varying scenarios. It’s a plan to help him figure out if Bakugou really is, currently, worthy of that ability. 

The first step, before all the branching steps, is simple. Confirm that whoever took down that robot really was Bakugou. The erratic fighting style, the out of character actions, Izuku isn’t entirely convinced.

He also has a sneaking suspicion that the purple-haired kid might have something to do with it. 

“We really didn’t need to worry,” Uraraka is whispering, almost conspiratorial, giving a glance to Izuku. He gives her a curious look, putting down the notebook.

“It would be bizarre if he had lied to us, being a Pro,” Iida says.

“I thought he was a radio host,” Uraraka hums. 

Before Izuku can find the courage to ask the meaning behind any of this conversation,   Iida  looks to the clock and, a bit startled, says, “Didn’t class start three minutes ago?”

“If the teacher’s fifteen minutes late we get to go home,” someone from the back says, and Izuku turns to see that most of the class has filled into their appropriate seats. Some of them have even started making small talk. There are still three empty chairs. Huh.

The guy who talked has blonde hair that looks like it was cut with a pair of very blunt nail clippers. Izuku barely recognizes him from the exam. 

“It’s probably another test,” someone says, and Izuku jumps when he realizes that there are, in fact, only two empty chairs. There’s a water bottle and backpack leaning against one of the desks. And the voice certainly came from that exact area. Izuku wonders how she got into this school with an invisibility quirk. That test does not seem to accommodate for people like her.

The door opens, and the class stills into complete silence. Izuku wonders which hero they’ll be taught by. He’s tried to find the registry of this year, but U.A. is relatively good at keeping things under wraps. The only person Izuku knows for sure that teaches here is Present Mic.

“The train was late.” Someone with dark sweats, dark hair, and a multi patterned quilt walks into the classroom. The blanket is draped over his clothes like a poor mockery of an old Russian woman. Layered under that blanket is a gray scarf, which looks thin enough to be completely useless. He yawns, “I should have thought of that, though. Could have slept another couple hours and then told Nezu that I was testing you.” He yawns again, “Ah well, there’s always next year.”

The classroom is still dead silent. Izuku is staring at their teacher, their homeroom teacher for the next three years of his life. 

And Izuku has no idea who he is. 

The teachers here are supposed to be heroes, that’s a large draw for a lot of the applicants, but he’s never seen or heard of this man in his life. 

“Call me Mr. Aizawa,” their teacher says, leaning against the desk and rearranging his little blanket. He gives everyone a smile that’s about as welcoming as a thunderstorm, “And we will have a seating chart, so don’t get comfortable.”

Izuku can’t discount the possibility that in U.A., there are teachers who are just… well, teachers. Normal people with normal teaching licenses. He tries not to feel too disappointed. 

It takes them a quick five minutes to get through the introduction that Mr. Aizawa allows. In alphabetic order, everyone says their name and quirk. Izuku has a small list by the time that he’s called on, writing down everything he can as fast as possible. He’s cataloging the names and powers of everyone and trying to not feel too creepy about the fact. 

“Kid,” Mr. Aizawa says again, and Izuku slams the notebook shut, “Name and power.”

Izuku pauses for a very long twenty seconds, staring directly ahead at the chalkboard. What does he say? Nothing? That’s objectively not true, he has a power right now. He still has no idea how to quantify it, he barely saw it in use, and he certainly hasn’t tried to use it himself, which means it’s entirely useless right now. Maybe it’ll be useless forever. Maybe All Might secretly had a kind of shitty power. 

Someone in the back giggles, and Izuku realizes he’s taking too long. It’s not Bakugou, he doesn’t giggle , but it still makes the hair on the back of Izuku’s neck raise. It’s too similar to middle school. 

“Midoriya Izuku,” that’s the easy part, but his voice still ends up cracking halfway through speaking, “And- uh…” he considers the next word for only a couple of seconds. “Force?”

Bakugou scoffs from the back.

The answers have varied in their explanation, from simple electricity to Iida’s somewhat winded description that included something about combustion and… unleaded gasoline? Izuku’s, so far, has definitely been the most vague. Mr. Aizawa hasn’t said anything, so Izuku risks a glance his way. He’s yawning, again. 

“Okay. Next,” Mr. Aizawa says, and that’s it. 

Izuku nods, avoiding eye contact again. He’s kicking himself for not doing what he’s good at. If he wasn’t so afraid of his own ability, he might have been able to even slightly figure out what it does. He’s never even seen it in use, only felt the effects.

If his theory is right, and there was something wrong with Bakugou’s show of heroics during the test, he doesn’t know why he hasn’t used it yet. He needs to make the best of this time.  

You’re terrified, he thinks to himself, You’re going to break every bone in your body and that’s very stupid and very painful.

And that’s only if you can figure out how to use it. 

He settles back, sighing. Mr. Aizawa is looking at the students, scratching his cheek for a second and studying them with a blank expression. They’ve reached the end of the instructions and Izuku, without thinking, has filled in the rest of the names and quirks. It’s a random assortment of students, from people from elite families to people like him. 

“Well, I have you people for the rest of the day. So…” he grimaces a bit, “We get to go outside.”

Mr. Aizawa, with a hoard of students behind him, walks through the hallways, not even looking back once. Izuku is pretty sure that half the class could just leave and their teacher wouldn't even notice.

He gives the most bizarre tour of the school, only occasionally pointing to different doors and saying, “bathroom,” or “offices,” or “support class.” That last one is directed at a student who gives them a thumbs up like this is normal.

Izuku is pretty sure that this might be the worst tour he’s ever been on. They only get to see maybe three different hallways, and that’s because they’re on the path to a relatively close courtyard. They're missing out on most of the school, and when Yaoyorozu (matter creation) asks after the cafeteria he has to think for a solid ten seconds before–

“That way,” he hooks a thumb over his shoulder, “Probably. I don’t eat there.” 

They make their way outside, and Izuku’s first thought is that he should have brought a coat. The uniform jacket is well made and tailored by his mom, but the fabric is so breathable that it basically does nothing for him against the sharp coldness. 

Uraraka doesn't even have a jacket, but she's still smiling brightly.

The courtyard area is more of a pathway into one of the sidedoors of the school. There's something that's been set up here, with orange cones and a sand pit, and Izuku recognizes a gym test when he sees one. He inwardly groans. Apparently there’s a point to going outside. The last one he did, for his final year of middle school, was the best he had done by far, with the help of his new old lady aerobics strength. But he had still been far behind the best, and in U.A., physical strength is going to be more common.

“The rules are simple,” Mr. Aizawa says, "In school, quirks aren't allowed unless under specific circumstances."

“But–” Iida starts, and the teacher ignores him completely. 

“U.A., is the specific circumstance. You will be expected to be able to skillfully and respectfully train your ability here with the help of Pros and the like. This is U.A., you all know why you're here. So these tests will let me see what I’m going to be working with.”

“You, sir?” Izuku asks, and realizes that his genuine surprise might very much sound like belittling.

“Yeah I’m not too happy about this either,” he says, shifting from one foot to the other. 

“Isn’t this like… your job?” A girl, Ashido (acid), asks, her hand raised and her lips pursed. She’s also an unnatural pink color, which is probably unrelated to her ability. 

“Nope,” he says. And no one responds to that. 

Izuku is mostly trying to figure out if he’s joking. The silence stretches on, and Mr. Aizawa sighs a little, “I’m your homeroom teacher. I should be grading your participation and making sure none of you kill each other. This quirk surveying stuff shouldn’t be my wheelhouse.”

“Then whose wheelhouse is it?” Uraraka asks, raising her hand and tilting her head.

Izuku realizes that this school year might be more and more disappointing, “U.A. never found a Hero Study teacher,” he says under his breath. Unfortunately for him, it’s silent, so a couple of the students look at him, confused, but Iida slowly nods. He understands. 

U.A. always finds some sort of guest teacher for the year. Some Pro Hero, usually in the top ten, to help teach the most important course for the hero course. The Hero Study classes. They take up half the day and are basically the only reason any of them are here. Defense classes, quirk classes, first aid, everything that’s integral to becoming a hero is taught by the Hero Study teacher. The classes are what turn students into heroes. 

Last year it was Best Jeanist, an impressive get, even for U.A. (and Izuku is definitely not jealous). But apparently, this year, the school has nothing.

“Don’t spread those rumors,” Mr. Aizawa says, pointedly looking at Izuku, “It’s conjecture. You worry about your education, let Nezu worry about the flaky bastard.”

Izuku never, in his entire life, had an adult in an authority position swear at him. Especially not with such casual vocabulary. Izuku can’t believe this man has a teaching license. He doesn’t even look that old. If someone had told him that a civilian worked at U.A., he would have imagined a wizened old teacher with glasses and one million PhDs.

“Now, let’s see what you can do,” he says, nodding out to the physical test. One of the cones blows away in the wind. 

Someone laughs, but it turns into a cough halfway through. 

The closest event looks to be some sort of short race, barely a soccer field in length, and Izuku could probably do it in a perfectly average time with his newfound strength. 

“There are five parts to this test. We start with a foot race.”

“A race, sir?” Iida asks, “And we can use our quirks?” 

Mr. Aizawa nods, sniffing. 

Iida blinks for a second before looking back to the race, his expression relaxing and a small smile appearing. 

“Rules are simple: Don’t kill each other, try to win. Don’t be humble with your quirk, it won’t endear me to you.”

There are a lot of tests. Which means that he’s probably trying to appeal to everyone’s different ability. Like Mr. Aizawa said, he wants to see what he’s working with. Izuku isn’t even sure what he can use his power for, but this would be a good time to try and figure it out. He feels a burst of excitement. He can figure out what this thing does in a relatively controlled environment with a nurse two minutes away. 

And if he explodes violently to death, at least he’ll be surrounded by witnesses. 

He steps up behind the chalk painted line next to his classmates, all stretching, or looking out nervously, or still talking amongst each other. The power feels almost concentrated in his legs, although he’s not sure if that’s placebo or not. He takes a deep breath. 

Uraraka is touching her toes, and Izuku realizes it’s not just stretching. She jumps a little, and floats for a millisecond. She gives him a smile, and he nods, showing that he approves of her strategy. It would probably be better to use in a rescue situation, or some kind of climbing test, but if she can make herself lighter, she’ll go faster. 

Izuku doesn’t even need to look at Iida to know that he’ll see cool confidence. Both of them know exactly who’s winning this race, but if Izuku can figure out his ability in the first couple of seconds of the run, there’s a world where he comes in second.  

“Oh I almost forgot,” Mr. Aizawa says all casual like, his voice cutting through the raging thoughts of Izuku’s strategizing brain, “After these tests, the student that performs the worst will get expel–”

Izuku stumbles from his static position. What did Mr. Aizawa just say? He turns, trying to see if there’s a joke in that expression. Worst student gets expelled? Is that what he was getting at? The panic is running through him again, a floodgate suddenly broken. 

Mr. Aizawa is looking to his side, head tilted as he stares at the newly opened door. And the student that’s standing there. That stops the train of thoughts immediately. 

The kid is standing next to the glass door, wearing—well he’s wearing what everyone else is wearing, ironed and perfect, with nothing out of place. His hair is the second most eye-catching thing about him, red and white. The divide between those two colors is so clean that it’s probably dyed. The most eye-catching thing is the scar, running across his eye and cheek. 

“You’re late,” Mr. Aizawa says, looking at the kid. He doesn’t sound mad. He doesn’t even sound disappointed. He’s maybe just a little curious. 

No one mentions that Mr. Aizawa was also late, instead staring at the interaction with something akin to nerves. Like they’re about to watch a fight. Or maybe the anxiety is from the threat of expulsion that was just said. 

The kid takes a second, glancing towards the teacher. His expression doesn’t change in the slightest, “The train was late. I apologize.”

Mr. Aizawa grimaces in a way that might be misconstrued as a smile, and he waves him towards the rest of the class. 

Izuku takes another shaky breath, trying to relax his own brain after the interruption. He can easily form coherent thoughts while panicked, he wouldn't have passed middle school if he couldn’t. He knows how to deal with stressful situations, also thanks to middle school. He won’t be the student to get expelled. The mantra barely helps. 

Izuku catches Iida staring past him. Leaning forward a bit, looking to the end of the line where the new student stands. Izuku takes another look at the guy, trying to see if he’s missing something. He also notices Yaoyorozu doing the same thing as Iida.

“Did you hear?” someone whispers, close to Izuku, quiet and conspiratorial. Ashido is whispering to one of the boys next to her. He’s the blonde one, Kaminari (lightning).

“Hear what?” Kaminari asks, a little too loud for gossip. 

“The rumors,” she says, and most of the students have started talking nervously to one another, so no one is really paying attention to the two of them. But Iida and Izuku are close enough to hear, “About his dad’s influence–”

“You’re being rude,” Iida says, turning to the neon pair of them, yellow hair and pink everything, “You don’t know him.” This shuts Ashido right up. She smiles, a bit sheepishly, and then turns to silently communicate something at Kaminari that Izuku can’t see.

“Do you?” Izuku asks, and there’s a second of confused silence. “K-know him, I mean?” Although the rumors of a rumor start to itch the back of his brain. He should be able to recognize this guy. He knows it. It seems that Yaoyorozu does.

“I would have, if circumstances were different,” Iida says, thinking, “He’s the richest teenager in Japan. The wealthy tend to congregate together.”

“That makes you what, number two richest then?” Izuku is going for a joke. 

“Third, actually,” Iida says like it’s nothing. Uraraka chokes on the air, “I’m just surprised he’s actually here.”

“Why?” Uraraka asks, quickly recovering, “It’s a good school.”

“His father never brought him to any social events,” Iida says. He looks back to the boy, “I guess I hadn’t expected school to be different,” he trails off again, and Izuku feels like he’s not really paying much attention to the conversation at hand. “He’s smaller than I would have expected. I mean, in comparison to his father at least.” 

His father. Izuku suddenly remembers the second half of that text. The part he mostly ignored when he got it to prioritize not having a mental breakdown. 

He can barely look at pictures of Endeavor without feeling starstruck, and now he has to go to school with his son and pretend that everything is normal. His son, who looks incredibly similar to Endeavor. Same little dip in his top lip, same eye shape, same face. 

He looks at Todoroki Shouto who seems, for all purposes, like a very normal teenager. Watch out for my son, was what the text said. Does that mean wave at him in the hallway? Or make sure that he gets through high school unscathed. 

He’s heard the rumors, he’s been on HeroLog in the past two days, and they’re plastered everywhere. Accusations of Todoroki only getting in through connections and some even saying he failed the test entirely. Izuku doesn’t believe that Endeavor would try to force U.A. to accept his son despite a failed test, but he might believe that U.A. looked away at a less than perfect score. It’s a school, he wouldn’t be surprised if they felt they had to accept the Number One’s son.

Before getting the text from Endeavor, he had never really thought about the youngest Todoroki. In circulation, there are two pictures of the oldest, Touya, but none of Shouto. The two middle children are adults with lives, but they still live with their father, which means there are only about twenty pictures each. 

Endeavor has kept his children so out of the limelight, Izuku is surprised that Todoroki doesn’t have a vitamin deficiency. He’s equally surprised he isn’t going to be participating in some sort of homeschool situation. 

Izuku realizes that there hasn’t been any comment from the authority figure here, so he turns, and suddenly understands why this man is a teacher. He’s leaning against the concrete of the school, staring at the group with a casual boredom. He’s waiting for them to stop talking. 

“Iida,” Uraraka says, because she’s noticed it too.

“Hm?” Iida asks, turning, and then, “Oh, apologies sir. Alright everyone, quite down!”

And Mr. Aizawa stands up from where he was leaning, and waits until everyone is looking at him. 

“Foot race,” he says, like he’s reminding them, “And then the rest of the tests. It should be simple for students as…lively as you,” he says that last thing with another one of those grimaces that’s masquerading as a smile.

“And then…?” Bakugou asks, like he’s goading him on. He probably heard what Mr. Aizawa was about to say before Todoroki showed up.

“The worst student will be expelled,” like this is obvious. 

Izuku turns to look at the reaction. Everyone is suddenly standing much straighter, even Uraraka is fidgeting a bit with her bracelets. He certainly feels the sudden pressure on his skull, the worry permeating through his spine. But he has to ignore that for now to get a look at Bakugou. 

Bakugou, who doesn’t know he actually has a quirk. Bakugou, who’s here through hard work and not a pyramid of lies. 

Bakugou, who, of course, is looking right back at him, eyebrows raised with the closest thing to a smile Izuku’s ever seen. There’s a terrible air of smugness radiating off of him, and he realizes that in Bakugou’s eyes, Izuku’s failing every one of these tests. 

Awesome. 

He looks away first, clenching his hands into fists and then back again. The power is alive and well, making his fingers feel all tingly and his whole body wants to suddenly move. To prove something. 

“Uh, Sir? That’s illegal I think,” Kirishima (really strong skin) says,with a little bit of a challenge. Izuku sees Aishdo nod.

“What did I say about this place being the exception?” Mr. Aizawa asks, “Begin.”

Apparently, the only thing faster than Iida’s legs are his instincts, because after only a millisecond of silence, he’s off like a shot.

The dust is immediately kicked up, the pressure somehow sharpening for just a second as he moves impossibly fast. 

Iida’s already crossed the line by the time the rest of the class finds it within themselves to start moving. He’s looking back with an expression of interest, past the runners. Izuku needs to study that guy's quirk, it’s clearly physically impossible. He barely saw him move at all. 

But he can’t research anyone’s ability before he looks into his own. His legs are burning with adrenaline, and it feels like maybe his lungs might be the first to explode if it comes to that. He feels freezing all over, and he doesn’t think that can all be attributed to the current weather. His whole body is tensing up as he focuses, or does what he thinks is focusing, on his legs, trying to figure out a way to make them faster. 

He has no idea what All Might’s actual ability was, which means he has no idea if this will even work. Every quirk is different, so he doesn’t even know if he’s doing it right. But there is a sort of strength building behind his legs, his lungs, his throat. 

It’s trying to escape from him, like a scared jumble of living beings all crawling up his spine. 

The more he pushes it, the worse the feeling becomes, but he can feel the horizon of the power, and he just has to push a little–

“Stop,” Mr. Aizawa calls. Izuku does, stumbling a bit. He shutters, every single one of his muscles tensing like he’s being electrocuted as he forces everything to cease, “Stop the test.”

Izuku is about half-way through the race, and there are plenty of people ahead of him. He falls to the floor with the sudden lack of output for the power. 

He turns, laying, trying to spot Mr. Aizawa’s problem. It’s an easy problem to see. 

Todoroki is sitting down at the front of the race, looking behind him at Mr. Aizawa like he just noticed he was there. 

A couple of people stumble to the finish line before fully pausing, and Izuku finds that he is in last place. No one seems to be giving him much attention though, staring directly at their teacher. 

“What’d I say? Daddy’s influence,” Ashido stage whispers to Kaminari.

Chapter Text

Hero Hisory –

Uglyduckling43: Guys, why did i JUST find out about the Museum of Historical Hero Events?? I went on a 3-day trip and saw that it was in my area so of COURSE i went. Anything with hero in the name, yep already there. And by Endeavor was it a beautiful experience. News clippings everywhere, hero inspired art and sculptures of their greatest feats, and videos projecting clips from all these amazing heroes. I teared up a little bit, because the heroes have done so much for us (and me) as a society and just seeing it all in one place was overwhelming in the best way possible. I know we joke around on this site, but i just LOVE being a part of a raging fan community because it can bring together something as beautiful as that. luv u guys and my heroes <3

Likes: 26

Red_Might: God, imagine having this bad of a parasocial relationship with the heroes. This is pathetic.

Likes: 1

DARKSHADOW:  HAVE YOU LEARNED HOW TO SHUT THE FUCK UP?? LET PEOPLE HAVE THEIR FUN?? 

Likes: 4

Shota leads Todoroki away from the little quirk test that he spent a whole five minutes setting up, and tries not to feel cheated. But if Todoroki isn’t going to participate, than the threat, and therefore the test, is entirely irrelevant. Endeavor’s son goes willingly, following him without even a comment.

Shota walks them to the door before pausing. He turns to the rest of the new recruits and chews the inside of his cheek. They're fresh-faced middle schoolers, the lot of them, and he's pretty sure if he told them to stay put, most of them would freeze. But those few who wouldn’t, he worries about. 

“Do another race. No quirks this time. And you,” he points to the fast Iida kid, “Referee. Time everyone.”

 Iida nods, pulling out his phone and immediately directing people. Perfect.

He opens the door, letting the warmth wash over him as he leads the kid through the tiled hallways. They walk in complete silence, shoes scuffing against the floor in the empty hall. Most teachers are probably still doing introductions.

He curses the communal office and thanks every high power that Midnight isn't in today. Only Snipe is here, and he gives an easy wave and then goes back to whatever document he's working on.

“My desk,” Shota says, and Todoroki sits down at the extra chair in front of it. He grabs one of Shota’s pens and immediately starts taking it apart.

Shota settles down, straightening the papers and pocketing the little toy that was left on his keyboard. Hizashi  will do that sometimes, leaving small things behind whenever he passes his desk. Stickers, candy, little figurines, anything that he thinks Shota will like. 

Snipe starts to play music from where he's drafting his report to give them a semblance of privacy. 

“Thanks,” Todoroki mutters, laying out the pen parts on his lap and staring down at them. The desk is, arguably, not something to be thanked for. It's rather boring besides the two photos that Shota has. Maybe he’s never sat at a proper desk. He should ask.

“Are you sick?” Shota asks instead, and Todoroki looks up at him. He starts to put the pen back together. He shakes his head, slowly, so Shota continues, “But you didn't run.”

Todoroki shrugs with one shoulder. 

“I know your power, you could have won.” He pauses, remembering the one broad Iida child. He continues, “Well, you could have gotten second.”

Another shrug, smaller this time. The pen is getting deconstructed again.

“You shouldn't be here,” Shota has to start with a different tactic. He has a hard time dealing with people like this. People who are so high on their own pedestal that they can't see anything else. He’s not sure if he expected anything else from the son of Endeavor. “You failed the entrance exam.”

He failed everything to a perfect finality. He refused to participate in the physical exam, and he didn’t fill out any of the test. Apparently he napped the whole time. 

“Then why am I here?” Todoroki asks, looking up at him. He almost seems genuinely curious. Or maybe it's just a very quiet challenge. One of the pieces of the pen falls to the floor, and Todoroki’s fingers clench.

“You're graduating in three years, and nothing any of us can do can stop that. You're not making it easy for yourself by refusing to participate.”

Todoroki doesn't respond, but he doesn't look away either.

“I don't resent you for trying to coast it,” Shota says, “God knows I would be doing the same,” he absolutely wouldn't, “If I had a parent as powerful as yours.”

Nothing.

“But you can't latch onto his success forever. You'll only ever be known as Endeavor's son.”

“You should expel me,” Todoroki says, almost entirely under his breath.

Shota sighs and rubs his eyes. He takes another sigh just for good measure. Just so this kid knows how deeply frustrated he is right now. 

"I don't actually expel students. That would be insane."

Todoroki slightly tilts his head. 

“Threats go a long way, and I haven't been yelled at yet. I want to make sure everyone is trying their best, which is why I threaten expulsion. But clearly that doesn't work if someone doesn't want to be here.”

Shota's seen people like this. Every couple of years he'll get some kid from some rich family that thinks that they should spend their time elsewhere. The last girl thought that it was distasteful that they let the 'poors' into this school. That was an interesting conversation.

Todoroki has put the pen back (sans the piece on the floor) and is now leaning back a little. He keeps glancing at the window.

“Do you want to be here?” Shota ends up asking, “At U.A.?”

“Not really.” Todoroki seems to respond best to direct questions. Shota sighs again.

He stands up suddenly, and Todoroki quickly turns his attention back to him, watching him with those eyes. God, he looks so much like Endeavor, Shota wants to laugh. He vaguely remembers the other children, and they mostly came out as carbon copies of their mother. Not this one.

“Wait here,” he says.

Todoroki grabs another pen as Shota walks away.

Before he can leave the office, Snipe motions him over with a gesture. Shota reads over the email and puts his head on the desk for a second.

“God we're never going to get him,” Shota says, quiet enough so Todoroki won’t hear.

They need a Hero Study teacher. Pros don't like being Hero Study teachers. They like having free time so they can do whatever celebrities do. It creates a problem that Nezu has to wrestle with every single year.

But this year should have, finally, been easy to get one to agree. They have all the leverage in the world. Nezu ignored all protocol to allow in his failed son, so Endeavor should be kissing their shoes. At the very least he should be willing to teach a bunch of little shits for seven hours a day. 

But he's resisted every attempt. But each time, Nezu swears he’s relenting a little bit. Their Principal thinks they’re close enough to keep trying.  

Shota knows that this halfhearted email from one of their teachers won’t actually do anything to convince Endeavor, but after he gives him the go-ahead, Snipe hits send anyways.

Shota gets up, shaking his hair out and trying out an encouraging nod to his coworker, who sighs and waves him off. 

Shota leaves the offices, and waits for a second outside, considering his options. He knows where he needs to go, but god, right now? He'll never hear the end of it.

The classroom is close to the offices, and when he knocks, he hears everything go silent. The teacher sees him through the foggy glass, and casually walks closer.

The door creaks open, and Shota sees the slowly appearing, grinning, face of Hizashi. Horrifying. 

“Welcome,” he says, like an old RPG game, “Traveler.”

“Don't you have class?” Shota says, looking past his shoulder, and yes, there are a hoard of second years. They're probably working on some introduction paper.

“I could say the same to you, you slacker,” Hizashi says, and then turns back to his class, “If I get another noise complaint when I'm not here, I'm going to start suspecting that you people are having all the fun without me.” 

He gets a chorus of 'yes sir,' and he nods. He throws his sunglasses, and they land on his chair. He leaves, looping his arm through Shota's. Shota leads him to the opposite side of the hallway, near the stairs so they can watch for people. God this is just like being fifteen again, where they used to sneak out and chat in the middle of class. 

“I have a bunch of clowns who are pretending to be high schoolers,” Shota starts.

“Jealous. For some reason Nezu keeps giving me,” he leans in to whisper, “Teenagers. And they're rat bastards. The lot of them.”

“Not as rat bastardy as my current issue,” Shota says. He leans against the railing as Hizashi looks to the end of the hallway. Gossiping is not usually good for teachers to do. In public at least.

“Is this a warning or a plea?” Hizashi asks.

“Both,” Shota says, “They're all terrible, first off, so there’s your warning when they get to your class. But more importantly, I got the Todoroki.”

“Oh golly,” Hizashi says, genuinely surprised, “Nezu really did clear that then.”

What else was he supposed to do? Shota just shrugs, frustrated.

“Oh god,” Hizashi says, “Bad?”

“Worse.”

Hizashi gasps, leaning in, and says, “Really bad?”

Shota sighs, “He's pretentious. Certainly Endeavor’s son.”

Hizashi thinks on this for a second. He tilts his head back and forth.

“You could expel him? Do that whole shindig.”

Shota had to expel the entirety of last year’s class. They had been reinstated after forty-five seconds, but those forty-five seconds had made the rest of the year a breeze.

“I have to make him want to be here,” Shota says.

“I've been telling you,” Hizashi says in a melodic tone, “ to have a more interesting school environment.”

Aizawa raises an eyebrow, “I don't think having a disco ball in the classroom is good for learning,” Hizashi opens his mouth, about to protest when Aizawa interrupts, “Wait, I have an idea.”

“The power of the disco.” Hizashi asks.

They walk back together, obviously, At the door, Hizashi pauses, “Pray tell, what is your idea?”

“I hated this place for the first little bit.”

There were the noises, the people who wouldn’t even look at him, and the loneliness that wouldn’t go away. He hated U.A. for a those first few months.

"What changed?" Hizashi asks. He knows the answer.

"I met someone."

"That’s kind," Hizashi smiles softly. 

“Oh, no. You made it much worse. The only reason I didn’t drop out was Oboro.”

Hizashi stares for a very long second, and then bursts into laughter. It’s been long enough that they can laugh about it. 

“You're so mean,” Hizashi says, still laughing. He opens his door, and returns to his students and his dazzling, epileptic inducing classroom.

Shota walks back to the offices, humming as he goes. He feels lighter, as he always does after he talks with Hizashi. 

Plus, he knows what to do.

Clearly, Todoroki doesn't find school to be worthwhile. He doesn't see his peers as, well, peers. He refuses to see these people as potential friends, and Shota knows how to fix that.

★

The two of them, Mr. Aizawa and Todoroki, return within twenty minutes. Izuku is on the floor, his head pounding from that last race that they did. Iida, apparently, missed his real life calling as a professional overachiever. He made them do the run, and then had critiques for everyone, and then did that exact thing four more times. Izuku's pretty sure he's never had a better running form than when Iida was glaring at him.

“Who won?” Mr. Aizawa asks, looking at the students, and Iida points to Bakugou, who's doing some post workout stretches. Izuku watches as he does, mostly just confused why he still has any energy at all. 

Bakugou’s hands are a little shaky. Why his hands? They were running.

“I have a list if you would like to see the runner-ups,” Iida says, and Mr. Aizawa shakes his head.

“Right. No. That didn’t actually matter much, but I appreciate it.”

“Why the hell did we run then?” Asui (frog) asks, her face partially submerged in a pool of water. Which either means the frog quirk let’s her breath in water or she's been actively trying to drown herself for the past thirty seconds.

“He didn't want you wandering off,” Iida says, turning off his phone and walking over to Izuku, helping him up. He goes around, making sure people are alright.

“Correct,” Mr. Aizawa full-teeth grimaces again, and Izuku is starting to suspect that it might just be how he smiles.

Asui flips him off when he’s not looking, but she gets up, shaking from the cold a little more than anyone else, which means she’s probably at least a little coldblooded. 

Izuku looks at Todoroki again, same posture, same expression. He has the same face that Endeavor has during every interview, with a gently neutral expression and curious eyes. 

How Izuku didn't immediately clock him as Todoroki Shouto is beyond him. He'll probably have to retire his name as 'greatest hero analyzer ever'.

“Not yet,” Aizawa says, when Kirishima begins to make his way towards the door. It's still freezing, and Izuku can hear Asui groan, looking back down to the puddle, considering her situation, "We're not done here."

And on that ominous note, their teacher gets his phone and makes a call. Then walks far enough away so none of them can hear him. Izuku pauses, considering sitting down again. His legs still sort of hurt from the run, but not enough to potentially ruin his uniform. Between his ruined middle school uniform and the exuberant fees for U.A., His mom has had to spend more on clothing in the past nine months than any other school year put together. 

Iida has started to talk to Yaoyorozu again, both of them trying not to be too conspicuous about the glances that they keep shooting in Todoroki's direction.

“Think he got in trouble?” Uraraka asks, being very conspicuous about the glances she's shooting Todoroki.

“Probably,” Izuku says. Aizawa had threatened expulsion. He doesn't think that he would allow any exceptions, even considering Endeavor's son.

Izuku considers his class. There are still only nineteen people, and at this point, Izuku is pretty sure that it’s going to stay at this number. Twenty is the common amount of students for a U.A. class, but it's not unheard of for a couple less students. The nineteen people have started to congregate, group with one another a little bit. The two loud ones, Ashido and Kaminari, have started to talk to Kirishima. Ashido reaches up to touch his hair, bright red and sticking up straight, and laughs, delighted.

Tokoyami (shadow), and the aforementioned shadow are talking to absolutely no one, which probably means they're talking to Hagakure (invisibility).

Izuku is sticking with Uraraka, who's started making small talk with Asui, and Iida isn't so far away that he's distanced himself from them.

Everyone else, all nine of the other students, are standing around with nothing and no one to talk to. Izuku wasn't expecting full comradery on the first day, but the silence is still unexpected. These are the presumed greatest heroes of all Japan, they shouldn't be as awkward as they are, standing around and waiting for the teacher to return like they’re all little kids in a mall.

Everyone except for Todoroki. He doesn't look like he's waiting for anyone, sitting down in the grass and pulling out a pen, fiddling with it like it’s the most interesting thing in the whole world.

He stares down at it longer than Izuku would have, long enough that he’s still looking at it when their teacher returns.

“Good news” Aizawa says, looking behind him up at the big glass windows and squinting, “I didn't get yelled at very much.”

Chapter Text

Archived Page–

dyeing_is_inevitable: Third day at the Endeavor Agency, and they haven’t fired me yet, let’s gooooo 

• Woke up late lol
• I need to cut back on sugar so the coffee this morning tasted like absolute dirt shit, and I missed the first train which meant i had to run like a crazy person to the office, and it was raining
• You need context this is important.

• I lied, you don’t actually really need the context, I just want your pity 

• But you also understand the mood I was in all morning. Dirt shit, just like that coffee. The boss must have picked up on the mood cause she ended up avoiding me like I came down with the fucking plague

• Side note: People keep asking who ‘the boss’ is, and i’m here to tell you that………………….you don’t actually get to know who she is. The fact that you even know that she’s a woman is probably enough of a privacy breach that if anyone from the agency finds this I’m absolute dead meat

• Anyways, the boss kept me out of the office for most of the day, running errands and picking up packages and stuff

• At this point in my hero internship I’m like an overqualified mailman

• So I’m frazzled and my hair is destroyed by the rain and the wind and my boss isn’t giving me any real work and my breath still smells like shitty coffee–

• And then she asks me to bring a broken office chair to the dump outside which is such a mundane job. I’m here at a hero agency interning under a real, living hero, and she’s telling me to take out her trash

• So I take out the chair

• And while I’m outside (luckily the rain has at least slowed down), I’m staring at this broken chair and I just don’t feel much at all 

• And so I decide to burn it to the ground

• The chair, not the office

• I have a lighter that I got as a gift a while ago, so I just start burning the fabric parts of the chair and when it really starts going, I sit in front of it like it’s a campfire. The chair isn’t plastic, just wood and the oldest fabric you’ve ever seen in your entire life

• It’s almost nice, watching the way the flames dance around. I’ve always liked fire, not just because of my love of Endeavor. It’s just… nice

• Anyways, apparently Endeavor takes his smoke breaks near the back trashcans 

• That’s right folks. First time I’ve seen Endeavor at his own agency. And he’s watching me burn one of his office chairs in a desperate fit of arson

• We stare at each other for what's probably five minutes

• I’m split in half trying to figure out how to justify my actions or escape the country

• Instead

• My traitorous mouth

• “Trying out some new decoration ideas. What do we think”

• And honest to god, Endeavor snorts

• He talks to me for the next five minutes while he takes his smoke break. Mostly he figures out why I burnt one of his chairs and in the end, promises to talk to the boss to get me some real work

• Pretty good third day, I think

Likes: 233

Umbrelladown: god I miss these.

Likes: 29

The campus is large enough that they have to shuttle to the new location. The buses are nice, just like everything else in U.A. is, no scuffs on the bright metal and soft seats that feel brand new. Izuku tries to make himself comfortable on the seats while also simultaneously getting as close to the window as he can.

The campus passes in a blur, the buildings wide and imposing. Izuku always forgets how much money is put behind this school. He's pretty sure most of it comes out of the pocket of Principal Nezu and generous donations from some of the elite families. At least those are the commonly accepted theories. It’s not like the government is funding all of this. 

Once outside the buses, and back into the cold air, they make their way to a large building, domed and made out of opaque glass. It's as big as the central building, and Izuku has to squint against the sun reflecting off of the dome.

Someone is waving at the door. Her silhouette is distinctive enough that Izuku recognizes her immediately.

She's a hero who's rarely seen outside of her bulky costume, white and gray, almost like an astronaut. Unlike some Underground heroes, she's not trying to protect her identity, she's trying to make herself recognizable out in public. It’s a common goal of a Rescue Hero. Izuku wouldn't be surprised if she wore that outfit even on her off days, just to make sure that people know there's a friendly face around.

Aizawa waves at her, and then, hissing under his breath, "Be on your best behavior."

“Hello 1-A!” Thirteen says, and Izuku knows that she's smiling under that helmet. She tosses a keycard attached to a lanyard at Aizawa, who easily catches it, and then directs her next comment at him, “If you hurt my toy I will tell Nezu that you broke the last coffee machine.”

“It made shit coffee,” Aizawa says, “Plus, didn’t you build this to break?”

“Break within reason,” She says, “And don’t touch the Downpour Zone, it isn’t ready yet.”

“Yessir,” Aizawa says, clicking the card into place on his lanyard, “Class, thank Ms. Thirteen.”

The class thanks Thirteen. She just shakes her head at Aizawa, “At least they’re polite this year.”

He coughs, for a little longer than necessary, and then waves her off. He then grimaces at the class. Izuku is more and more convinced that that’s his sign of an actual smile.

“Ready?”

The class is not. There’s a general mummer, and Iida is the first to comment, “Sir, what…what are we doing?”

“A get-to-know-you activity.”

Before they actually get to the main part of the building, there’s a side hall with two small changing rooms. Apparently their gym clothing was brought over in the time it took them to get on the shuttle and get over. Izuku is honestly impressed with whatever intern was forced to do that job. The gym clothing is comfortable and sleek, colored like the school. Mainly blue, with red lines on the sleeves and white letters going down the middle forming a vertical U.A..

Izuku almost got his size entirely right, but always overestimates his own height, so he has to roll up the pant legs. He struggles for a second too long.

“I know how to sew;” Kirishima says, and Izuku looks up, “If you want me to hem that for you.”

“You know how to sew?” Kaminari smiles, and Izuku can see there’s a bit of mocking there, like he’s not yet sure how rude he can be. They’re pretty bold words coming from a guy whose arms are stuck in his shirt. 

“Essential skills are important as shit,” Kirishima says, folding his arms. 

Every time he’s ever had to change in a gym, his focus has been entirely on changing as fast as humanly possible so he doesn’t have to make eye contact with anyone at all. Now it almost seems like he’s been roped up into an actual conversation. 

“Or the school will probably fix that for you,” Iida says, with a hand raise like he’s still in class.

“Uh, maybe?” Izuku says, muttering, “I’ll get back to you.”

He leaves first, in a rush. He was so confident while saving Uraraka, yet can’t even begin to start a normal conversation with anyone. Especially people who are most likely being genuinely nice to him. And double especially with a group of borderline strangers. Outside the changing room, he’s confronted with no one. Which is unfortunate, because the no one is breathing.

“Hi,” Hagakure says, and he swears that he can hear something jangly, like a dangling necklace. For someone who’s invisible, she certainly isn’t very stealthy.

“Hello,” he says, still a little muttery. He feels the questions bubble up within him, like a million hornets. She has an invisibility quirk. Despite the fact that those are rare, they’re also commonly very useless. Quirks can be dangerous, sure, the presence of villains can attest to that, but often quirks can just be incredibly annoying.

Hers seems almost entirely useless. She can probably turn her clothing invisible and maybe things that are close to her. But she clearly can’t go visible, so the real question remains: How did she pass the entrance exam?

“Do I have something on my face?” she asks, and then laughs at her own invisibility joke for about ten seconds, “Sorry, sorry,” she finally continues, “But really, I’m not that weird, am I?”

“Did…” he says, “Did you get rescue points?”

“Huh?” she asks, before clicking her tongue in realization, “Oh, yeah. Like twenty or so. You?”

“Twenty-eight” he says, and she whistles, impressed.

“You probably won't get expelled then,” she says, and Izuku realizes that he's entirely forgotten about that. The threat that's looming over every one of them. Just because the situation's changed doesn't mean that the threat still isn't there. And he realizes that despite all of it, he's probably not in the worst position. Even if he can't use his quirk, he's still strong and can clearly save a couple of people. This girl clearly got in exclusively through the test. If she only got twenty rescue points, she had to get almost a perfect score in the exam. Depending on what Aizawa is going to make them do, she might be the first one to go home. But she still got almost a perfect score.

“You're too smart to leave,” he says, a bit without thinking, “You'll figure it out.”

“Thanks man,” Hagakure laughs. Izuku realizes she probably wasn't actually looking for any sort of pitiable concern, so he blushes and turns away.

Soon, everyone is ready, flaunting their new outfits with a bit of pride. The standard uniforms are fine, they're well made, but they look like every other school uniform. These look almost cool.

After dressing, and after enough people have left the changing room, there's a general consensus to leave for the main arena. 

Aizawa is at the end of a long concrete pathway, standing in front of the biggest room that Izuku has ever seen. It suddenly feels like they’re in the world’s largest snow globe.

Or, at least, that's the easiest way to quantify it. It's a conglomeration of biomes, from an urban setting to a forest fire. They're each at least the size of a football field, and there's six of them, all under the same glass dome.

“The rules are simple,” Aizawa says after everyone's settled down, the gawking finished after a couple of minutes. Izuku stealthily takes a picture for archival sake. He won't threaten the security of U.A. yet, but he knows that much of this gets switched around and eventually he might write a HeroLog report on it.

“We're keeping to the Mountain Zone, so don't take a step outside of it. No attacking your fellow classmates, and if you get accidentally injured, tell me . If any of these rules are broken, your team will be disqualified.”

“Team?” Bakugou asks, a little disdainfully, because of course. 

“It's a get-to-know-you activity. We're going to bond and make friends. And that means we're doing this in groups.” He says all of this through gritted teeth, like it’s the most important thing in the world and they’re all idiots for not being best friends already.

“Denki, Kirishima-” Ashido says, before getting interrupted. 

“I will decide the teams, so don't get too excited yet,” Aizawa says. Ashido stops her impromptu team building with a little sigh.

Aizawa looks at the class for a second, considering.

And then, very similarly to Ashido, he starts to wave over students and delegate people to certain corners of the cement entrance. There's four groups, and he starts with group leaders: Iida, Ashido, Tokoyami, and Shouji (arms).

He begins to swiftly delegate, and Izuku slowly realizes that it is very much not random. Everyone that Ashido was pointing to gets organized into her group, Kirishima, Kamanari, but also a couple stragglers, like Bakugou and Asui. 

Iida's group seems deliberate too. Yaoyororzu is chosen first, then Uraraka. And apparently Izuku is right behind her.

He's grouping them by students who have already started forming some sort of connection. Izuku finds it a bit antithetical to his apparent goal.

“Todoroki, group one,” Aizawa says, and Todoroki joins them in their corner of the walkway.

Todoroki certainly isn’t friends with any of their group, and Bakugou isn't friends with anyone. Aizawa is probably grouping people who are already bonding and then slowly adding students who don’t have anyone. Or at least that’s Izuku’s working theory.

Izuku is focusing on whatever Aizawa is doing, to divert his attention from Todoroki, who's standing, looking out at nothing. Izuku could make everything much more embarrassing if he starts talking to Todoroki. So he decides to focus on anything else.

Everyone else has been sorted into groups that probably make sense to Aizawa, with the final group consisting of four people instead of the five that the rest of them have. Aizawa takes a long look at all of them, before nodding to himself.

“Right,” Aizawa says, gesturing for his students to start following him. They move in the direction of the Mountain Zone. 

“Todoroki, I'm Yaoyorozu,” she says, swooping in right next to Todoroki. Her hair has been pulled back in a clean bun. She has a charming smile, not like a politician's smile, but something a little softer. Like a politician's fifteen-year-old daughters smile.

“Hello,” he says, glancing at her as they walk. He doesn't say much after that, but it's broken him out of his trance. He turns to look at all of them in turn, like he's trying to study them. Uraraka waves, and so he raises a hand back, but his expression still doesn’t change. Again, Izuku has about one million questions. He wishes he had a brand new notebook and time to sit down with this guy.  

There’s an Endeavor-shaped elephant in the room and instead of asking after any of that, Iida tactfully says: “I’m glad you’re on our team.”

Todoroki raises his eyebrows, and then a little dryly, says, “Yeah?”

“With all of us here, I think we have a good chance of winning,” Iida smiles, and then claps his hands, “But first, we need a strategy.” 

It takes a second for Izuku to realize that he’s being pointed at. Uraraka nods in his direction, and he feels himself go hot in the face again. He needs to get his expressions under control if he ever wants to work in a professional setting. 

“Well,” he swallows, “At this point, we should probably figure out what we’re supposed to be doing. It’s a team event, and even if we can’t hurt each other, there's a chance we’ll be going up against one another,” everyone is looking at him, “And if that’s the case, don’t go after Ashido’s group. And don’t let them come after us.”

He knows the abilities of a couple of the people here, but the only one that truly scares him right now is Bakugou’s. He nods to himself, and then turns his head to Aizawa. He can't really strategize until he knows what he's working with. He also has to consider the expulsion threat. Is Aizawa going to expel an entire group? Or will he take the worst student from the worst group? Izuku suddenly feels much less prepared. He's pretty sure that he's on the lowest rung of the ladder out of everyone here.

Which just means that they can't fail.

★

They’ve made it to the Mountain Zone. If Izuku ignores the blue glass ceiling and the suffocating smell of an internal room, it really feels like he’s about to go on a nice hike with his mom. There are forests trailing around the mountains, and somehow, snow at the very peak.

“What are we actually doing?” Kirishima asks, raising his hand, “Sir?”

Aizawa turns from where he’s staring up at the mountain, “We’re playing a game,” he says, digging his hands into his pockets, straining for something. He brings out a wallet. It’s brown leather and looks well made. 

“Are we going to…mug you?” Asui says, “That's a weird bonding activity.”

Aizawa grabs something from inside his wallet and holds it up. It seems to be a very shiny, very colorful little card, like a gift card of some kind. 

“So we’re only stealing your credit card then,” Asui says.

“This is the prize” he says, shaking it like it's a particularly entertaining baby toy, “Whoever wins, shares it with their group.”

There's a heavy silence for a second, before Ashido whistles, “We're emptying his bank account, boys.”

She says this quietly enough that it's almost unheard, but Aizawa shakes the card a little harder, like he’s pouring all his frustrations into it, “It's a gift card to an ice cream parlor.”

“Damn,” Kaminari says, shaking his head, and Izuku really can't believe that this is the class of the most promising heroes.

“We get a reward?” Izukus turns his head to the voice. Tokoyami stands there with closed eyes and what Izuku can only describe as the most solemn expression he's ever seen on a bird before. Tokoyami opens his eyes, “Is this in place of the expulsion, or must we worry about that too?” 

“Those plans,” and Aizawa looks to Izuku's group, “Have been dashed. Consider yourselves safe for today.”

“Oh, thank god,” Uraraka says, hand on her chest, “I totally thought I was a goner.”

“Uraraka,” Iida says, chopping his hand in the air, “I don't appreciate the negative talk towards my team.”

She goes pinker in the cheeks, and nods. He, too, nods right back before turning to the rest of his team. Izuku isn’t sure when the two of them started having some resemblance of friendship, but he isn’t very surprised. 

“We can't have negative talk, because we are getting that ice cream,” Iida continues, eyes sharp and impossibly serious, and Izuku feels the strangest determination. Because yeah, they're going to get that ice cream.

“I like chocolate,” is what he ends up saying.

“So then what's the point?” Bakugou loudly says from across the pavement, glaring up at Aizawa. 

“Well, I guess if you don't like desserts, then the point is for me to be able to see what I'm working with. Not unlike what that outside physical test was supposed to be,” Aizawa looks back at Izuku's group, “I'll look back on the footage to see if any of you manage to do anything impressive during this little game of keep-away.” He tilts the card again, letting everyone see that, yes, it's got a little cartoon picture of an ice cream man.

“Keep-away?” Izuku asks, more to himself than anyone else. Despite the last couple of days of too many people overhearing his mutterings, he's quiet enough that no one looks at him.

So, he's allowed to stew in his own thoughts. Keep-away? They may be a bunch of fifteen-year-old optimistics, but this is one man. A teacher at that. One who clearly doesn’t sleep enough. 

“Whoever has this after forty five minutes,” Aizawa says, “Gets to keep it.”

And that's enough for Bakugou. 

He immediately shoots his arm backwards and propels himself forward, running at an undeniably fast speed. Kirishima yells something about team spirit, and Izuku can’t tell if it’s positive or negative. But either way, it goes ignored. 

Aizawa is quick enough to dodge that arc of explosions just in time for him to get intercepted by Sero (tape), who's also already set off. He side steps him with a bit too much ease, and Sero stumbles.

Surprisingly, the third person to move is Ashido. She slides on the ground like the floor has been covered in oil.

Aizawa moves backwards again, just in time for Ashido to try and take him down, a full-bodied tackle. He sidesteps her, and comes face to face with Bakugou, who's arms are extended like he knows exactly what’s going to happen. Izuku turns away for the inevitable explosion. Maybe they’ll be the first 1-A class to kill a teacher on the first day. 

But instead… nothing. 

He looks back, and instead of finding their teacher standing in a smoking heap, he finds Bakugou staring down at his hands, and Aizawa looking at him. And then, he walks backwards.

“Forty-five minutes!” he says, occasionally glancing between the three who attacked him first. And then he’s gone into the darkness of the forest.

There’s a silence that spreads around the class, only interrupted by Bakugou’s wordless, frustrated yell. He runs after him, his hands alight once again. Izuku has no idea why he hesitated in the first place.

“Let’s go!” Ashido yells at her group from where she’s on the ground, “Denki, Kirishima, we need to go kick his ass!”

It also, unfortunately, gets the rest of the class moving, propelled into motion into the forested mountain.

From what he can see, most teams stick together in their descent into the forest. 

Izuku and the rest of his group form a small area, and Iida leads them behind the rest of their class. Everyone else seems to have rushed forward, compelled to act with precision and speed. Not Todoroki though, who keeps looking around at the group of them, like he's surprised that they're still here. 

The forest is beautiful, tall trees with green moss and colorful bugs. Everywhere Izuku looks, he's surprised to find more and more detail. Fungi on logs, a bed of leaves on the ground, and a bird that flies past them in a whir. The synthetic light from above speckles through the trees and alights his hand when he holds it out.

He wishes he could appreciate any of it. It's only been maybe a minute of walking (he can still hear Ashido's group), but the anxiety in his chest is like a second heart, and all he can think is, ' Why aren't we moving faster? '’

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see it in the face of Yaoyorozu too. She keeps craning her head, trying to find something, her smile has been replaced by a very small frown, and she keeps activating her quirk. It's a fascinating ability, from what Izuku can see. He remembers her summary of it in class, as she forms a small flower petal, not unlike the cherry tree blossoms that are blooming right now. Every so often, she'll shred the petal with her nails. When Iida looks at her, she smiles.

“If we're walking, we should strategize,” she says. Iida stops to help them all cross a stream. He contemplates for a second, gently helping Uraraka across, “Can any of us do anything?”

Izuku considers. He has a theory that's forming in his head, but he's not confident enough yet to voice it. If it's true, then it was pivotal to try and take down their teacher before he escaped. If it’s true, they’ve already failed. 

All of their quirks would be good for a fight, or a rescue situation. He's not sure any of them in this group can hunt someone down.

Izuku passes the stream and catches up until he's right behind Uraraka. Iida speed-walks to the front of the group again. 

“I can jump pretty high,” Uraraka thinks, tapping her finger against her chin. She's still wearing those sparkly jelly bracelets, and they shine under the light, “Maybe try to get some leverage?”

“And I could make binoculars,” Yaoyororzu says, “With some time. And patience.”

The group breaks off into chatter, a small plan to try and find their teacher, mostly involving Uraraka’s floating ability. But Izuku knows that trying to find him from the sky won't be any easier than scouring the forest from the ground. 

He brings out his notebook, and flips to the page of all the students. He trails his finger down the list of names, looking at each ability.

“Jirou,” Izuku says, “What group was she in?”

Jirou (sound wave manipulation). She had introduced herself and her ability with a dull voice and a flick of her fingers. She's vital right now, if Izuku is right about the assumption of her ability. She had kept it vague, but that usually indicated specifics. Izuku, right now, needs those specifics.

“The one with that bird kid,” Uraraka says, tapping her chin, thinking back, “And the sparkly guy.”

Izuku nods. That group went west. “We find them, then,” Iida says.

★

They walk in the woods, never going above a pace that a seventy-year-old woman would go. And Izuku knows, he's been on plenty of walks with old women. But, very similarly to the group walks that he'll go on with his mom, there's also plenty of conversation.

Izuku had watched the motivation leave Yaoyororzu's expression when she realized that they weren't actually ever going to go fast, and now she's making light small talk with Uraraka and Iida.

Todoroki is the main reason for their snail-like pace. Every time they get to a portion of the terrain that's flat and easily crossable, they'll pick up the pace. And every time, Todoroki won't move any faster, just continuing like it's a relaxing afternoon. And the group apparently isn't willing to leave him behind.

Izuku certainly can't blame him. The stakes of this project are lower than a coffin, and the entire group knows it. If they don't get the card, then what, they lose an opportunity for ice cream? Izuku has pocket money, he can just buy that.

 Iida makes a deadly serious comment about the sanctity of clean public restrooms that has Uraraka in stitches.

“Pfft, You sound like a Pro, but like...one specifically for bathrooms.”

“It'd be an honor,” Iida says, fist to his chest, and Izuku thinks(?) he's joking. Yaoyororzu laughs a little at this too, and Izuku suddenly feels like he's one hundred feet away from them, and not five.

He's sure that if he'd step up next to them, there wouldn't be a single comment about it. In fact, Uraraka keeps looking back to him whenever one of them makes a particularly funny joke. He always smiles at her, but he can't bring himself to join them.

If he did, he'd be expected to talk, and he doesn't know how to do that correctly yet. Every time he tries, he just remembers middle school, and the pitying expressions that his classmates would give him. It was like pity given to prey in an animal documentary. A liability and a disposable target. A target everyone wanted to avoid.

Every time he tries to muster up the courage to join the group conversation, he remembers the smell of smoke.

He's much better at one on one conversations, and that's not saying much at all.

“Did you go to the same middle school?” Todoroki asks. Izuku jumps slightly. He had forgotten that he was there. Todoroki is right next to him, looking at the group ahead of them, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

Izuku looks to where his gaze is, at Uraraka and her bracelets.

“What?” Izuku asks. The notion is so absurd that he doesn't process it until Todoroki specifies:

“The short girl,” Todoroki says, “You seem to be friends.”

Izuku frowns, “Well, she’s nice, but no I don’t think so,” he kicks a rock.

“Did you go to a big school then?” Todoroki asks.

“Huh?” 

“You said you don't think so.” 

Izuku blushes at the realization, “Sorry, no we didn't go to the same school. Uh I thought you meant–” Izuku clears his throat awkwardly, “We're pretending to be friends so that we’re cooler to everyone else.” He inwardly cringes. 

Todoroki raises his eyebrows at this, but eventually shrugs.

Maybe it wasn't smart to lay out their plan like that to the first stranger that asked, but this is Endeavor's son. He's not a stranger.

They walk in stagnant silence, the voices of their classmates are clear as they move from conversation to conversation. To Izuku, it seems like they're running through basic small talk topics, where they’re from, what they like to do, etc. But with the electric movement of Iida, the skillful smooth talking of Yaoyorozu, and the delighted laughter of Uraraka, it seems like the most enticing conversation Izuku's ever heard. He'd do almost anything to have the skill to join that conversation.

“I don’t know your name,” Todoroki says, and Izuku looks at him again. He's still staring ahead, still not looking at Izuku, “Sorry.”

“Midoriya Izuku,” he says, “It's okay.”

It really is. Izuku's known this boy's name for years, he has a relatively unfair advantage.

“Okay,” Todoroki says. He's still playing with the hem of his shirt, and if Izuku didn't know this man's father, he would assume that he's...nervous.

The silence returns.

“I don't really know anyone's name,” he says after a long minute.

Izuku forgot that he missed the class introductions. He wouldn’t know how to ask for that kind of information either. So, he brings out his notebook. He takes a picture with his phone, and then rips a page from the spine. The tearing noise reminds him too much of lost research, but it's inconsequential in the face of Endeavor's son.

“That should help,” Izuku says, “If you see what quirks people have, you can match them to the names. But that's Iida, Uraraka, and Yaoyororzu.”

He points to the appropriate students when he says their names. Todoroki nods, and folds the paper with surprising delicacy, putting it into his pocket.

He doesn't say anything else, but he looks like he wants to.

He's running through the list of conversation topics that he could bring up. Most of them seem either invasive or boring. He doesn't have the charisma of Uraraka to make every conversation feel like a story. He falls back on what he knows.

“What's your quirk?” Izuku asks. Todoroki had missed the introductions, and most elite families keep their children’s abilities under wraps for as long as they can, so Izuku is genuinely curious. 

Todoroki's hand clenches and unclenches. He's looking at the ground when he says, “Ice creation.”

“Like your mom?” Izuku asks, and then cringes when he realizes that even if it is public knowledge, it might be better to pretend that it's not.

But Todoroki just nods, still looking at the ground. Izuku assumes that he didn't just commit a terrible social taboo. So he continues, the burning questions still a presence in his skull.

“I don't know much about your mom,” Izuku says, “But if your skill with your quirk is anything like your dads, you'll be an awesome Pro.”

Todoroki doesn't respond.

After a long moment, Izuku looks at him. He's staring, like all of the sudden, he's focusing more on Uraraka's conversation than this one.

”I mean, like he's got a good—”

“Are you one of his fans?” Todoroki asks. He says it like he doesn’t care. Like it's a conversation he's only half paying attention to. Maybe they’re in the small talk part of the conversation.

“Well, yeah he's the Number One. He's awesome.” That’s certainly an underestimated statement. Those questions bubble up again. Maybe he could start asking them now that Todoroki has seemingly relaxed a little bit.

Instead, Todoroki just walks away. Speeding up, the first that Izuku's seen it.

He's joining the other group, Izuku is sure of it. He knows how to join a group conversation and make friends and be normal about talking with others and he’s gotten bored of the conversation that Izuku was stumbling through. 

But instead of even joining them, Todoroki walks right past, despite the polite greeting from Iida.

He settles into a decent pace ahead of them, like he's been impatient about their speed this entire time.

Izuku is suddenly standing still. He can't tell if he should chalk the quick dispatch to a genuine cruelty, or if Todoroki just doesn't know how to end a conversation.

Either way, it leaves Izuku alone yet again.

Chapter Text

Hero Fanzines Page–

bestjeanist_fanzine4: Just posting real quick on this site: You might have heard on a bigger social media site that pre-orders are almost open for our fourth Best Jeanist zine! We are so excited to show our dedication to the #2 hero as well as the fan community surrounding him! The first 100 people to pre-order will receive a patchwork jean dust jacket and a free sticker! 

*Pre-orders will be officially open tomorrow at 2pm JST*

Likes: 30

Uglyduckling43: O.M.G 

I am quite literally shaking with excitement!! also I really appreciate u posting on herolog too!! I rarely see any zine posts thx! 😍

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About twenty minutes into the walk, Urarak puts her fingers together and begins to float.

She jumps up into the air, floating on nothing, her hair a halo around her head as she rises into the sky. She's done it a couple of times, just to check to see if there are any other students around.

He doesn't know how they've gone this far not finding people, apparently football fields are bigger than he originally thought.

She lands with a plume of dirt, stumbling to the side and clutching her stomach. She pats her pockets and grimaces.

“Ginger, right?” Izuku asks, and she nods, shutting her eyes, hard. 

“Or any anti-nausea medicine,” she says, kneeling on the floor, “I forgot it in my backpack.”

He grabs some of the hard candy he had prepared for this occasion from his pocket and hands it to her. 

She looks at him, eyes wide, and Izuku is suddenly worried that he’s overstepped. She can certainly handle herself. But she gives him a small smile and takes the candy, almost like how Todoroki took the list.

“Thank you,” she says. Yaoyororzu hands her a full unlabeled plastic bottle of pills.

She laughs, pocketing that as well.

Izuku had only seen Yaoyororzu out of the corner of his eye, summoning a little bottle in a flash of light while consulting a large chemistry looking book. At this point, she kind of looks like some sort of gym uniformed wizard.

“I don’t have anything for you,” Iida says, like he’s genuinely upset.

“You’ve got your charming personality,” Uraraka says, around the piece of candy. She takes the hand offered to her by Yaoyorozu and stands up, “And anyways, I saw something.”

★

They make their way through the forest, following behind Uraraka. They stay quite now, slinking through the forest with careful steps. And despite everything pointing in that direction, Todoroki isn't doing anything to try and sabotage their stealth mission, carefully walking behind them with slow movements.

All of this means that they get very, very close to Aoyama (French) (also stomach lasers).

He's walking in a straight line, looking around him like he's searching for something. Probably their teacher. 

It seems that group three decided to split up.

Iida motions for the group to stop. They do, and begin to wait. Izuku realizes after a minute that Iida is looking at him for some sort of direction.

He surveys the scene again.

It's just Aoyama, who looks unhappy with his current situation. He keeps shuffling his feet and sighing. 

Aizawa said not to injure fellow students, and Aoyama is going to notice them at any moment anyways, so Izuku redirects Iida's attention, instead nodding at Uraraka.

“You should go say hi,” he says, “Ask after Jirou.”

She nods, creeping forward a little bit, before standing. If anyone can get the information out of him, it’s going to be Uraraka.  

“Oh hey!” she says, walking forward like she just happened to run here. Aoyama turns to her, and hesitantly waves.

“Madame,” he says, bristling at her approach, “Bonjour.”

His accent is light, but it's definitely noticeable.

“Aoyama, right? Uraraka,” she smiles and points to herself. “I think I got lost, do you think you could help me?”

“Ah no no, see I am also lost.” He emphasizes this last bit with a dismissive wave of his fingers, but the rest of his body is still rigid, “We are in the same grave I think.”

“Why is he so tense?” Iida mutters, turning to Yaoyorozu.

“He’s French, they’re all tense,” Yaoyorozu says.

“Better we stick together then?” Uraraka says. He smiles back, but it’s barely there and mostly teeth anyways. He makes another gesture with his hands, but it’s almost like this time, he’s more insistent. 

“Oh,” Izuku says, realizing that it might be a signal of some kind-- 

“What are we whispering about?” Someone asks, and Izuku jumps so hard he probably sprains something. Iida is suddenly fifteen feet away, and Yaoyorozu has a taser now, two… strange ways of dealing with surprise. Todoroki has closed his eyes, but Izuku didn't see much of his initial reaction.  

Izuku had forgotten that Hagakure was on Aoyama's team.

Yaoyorozu discards the taser, and is forming something else with her hands. Izuku looks at Hagakure. Or at least, where he thinks she is.

“We're trying to find Mr. Aizawa,” Izuku says, “Just like you.”

“We’re competitors,” she says, “You do know that, right?” 

Yaoyorozu blows on the pile in her hands. A plume of dust quickly encompasses the space where Hagakure is. Or was, since it does nothing, and settles into the ground.

“You're trying to get me with flour?” Hagakure asks, a hint of amusement in her laugh. She's a couple feet from where she just was, “I'd just make it invisible too. Sero?” 

Suddenly, Sero’s there with his sharp smile, and honestly kind of hard to look at elbows. He gets Iida first, probably assuming him to be the quickest getaway. Which, yeah.

But Yayorozu’s fast too. With a sudden burst of light, she has a folded tarp. She flares it out like a blanket, and Sero aims. 

Izuku, from the side, tackles him to the floor. Some of the tape gets on his arm, and when he tears it off without thinking, it burns, peeling off some of his skin as he moves away. Sero, momentarily confused, is suddenly covered by the tarp like he’s some sort of semi-rabid dog. 

In the chaos, some of the tape has gotten on the tarp, which means he has to try and wrangle it away. As he’s fighting, Izuku runs over to Iida, who’s tearing, without much effort, at the tape. He’s been constricted to a tree, and his glasses are eskew. 

“It’s too strong,” Izuku says, stopping Iida from peeling a piece of tape off of his upper arm, “Hurts like a bitch.”

Yaoyorozu yells something incomprehensible, and Izuku turns. There’s nothing there. And that aforementioned ‘nothing’ smells a lot like the ozone. 

The taser. 

“We’re not supposed to injure each other,” Izuku frantically says, holding out his arms as Yaoyorozu struggles to get up from the ground, her forearms shaking. 

“It’s a taser,” Hagakure says, “It’s not like I shot her.”

“You tased me,” Yaoyorozu says frustrated, then winces.

Sero is trailing the tarp, some of his tape is still stuck, but he looks directly towards Izuku.

He looks over to see Todoroki, who is staring with disinterest, enough in the woods that there’s a chance they haven’t seen him yet. Stealth operation maybe. 

But that doesn’t matter, because it’s two against one. 

So, Izuku runs. 

He’s pretty sure he catches them by surprise. He feigned and everything, holding his hands in fists to confuse them into assuming he’d attack. It’s the only reason he’s able to slip by Hagakure, and jump out of the way of the final, semi-lackluster strand of tape. They both came from the same direction, which means that there’s a chance that the rest of their team is that direction. Which means he can’t go there right now. 

He runs, tearing through the forest, directly where he last saw Uraraka. 

He finds her, and Aoyama, who suddenly tenses up.

“Hagakure,” Izuku pants, “She’s–Uraraka, we need to–”

“Ah, I see,” Aoyama interrupts, “They convinced me that being bait was a worthy use of my time, but alas, I believe they would have had an easier time if I was helping them. Oui?”

“You’re stalling,” Uraraka says, and Aoyama smiles sheepishly. Uraraka, touches her fingers together, and then taps him on the upper arm. He starts to float in the air, and begins to scramble for a second, glaring at her in a distinctly French way. Probably. 

“We gotta–” Izuku starts.

“Yep yep yep, let’s go,” Uraraka says, and they run off. 

★

It’s easy to find Jirou. Well, easy might be the wrong word. It’s easy because Uraraka is there.

 Once they get far enough away, panting and exhausted, hoping against hope that Hagakure isn’t secretly right behind the two of them, Uraraka swallows back two more of those ginger candies and stands on shaky legs.

“I think I heard something earlier,” Uraraka says, “And I don't think it was Aoyama.”

It makes sense, there are plenty of people in the mountains right now. Their group most likely just ran into Aoyama by accident. He was bait, after all. 

“Lead the way,” Izuku says. Any direction is better than what he just ran from. He wishes he still had that list of names, he could add notes to each of his classmates. Instead he just mentally catalogs the fact that Sero has a versatile quirk and is more dangerous than he looks. 

And that Hagakure can be very stealthy when she wants to.

He remembers talking to her outside the changing rooms and the amount of just…noise that she made. The loud breathing, the heavy footfalls, her jewelry, and Izuku wonders if all of that was some sort of act. She hadn’t made a single noise when approaching their group. 

He probably couldn’t hear her even if he had known she was approaching, because walking through the woods is just as bizarre as it was five minutes ago. Noisy and cluttered, it’s all too realistic. He's pretty sure he can see a silhouetted deer between the trees.

He's going to send an email to Thirteen to figure out how she did all of this.

He's also pleased with the solitude, because that means that this time he can actually hold a discussion. Even though Izuku knows that Uraraka could get a conversation out of a corpse, he still feels warmth at the fact that she's talking to him, right now.

“Have you ever heard of him?” Uraraka asks, a little out of the blue after a string of back and forth about their favorite tv shows. They at least have favorite tv shows in common. 

“Hm?” Izuku asks, looking back to Uraraka.

“Mr. Aizawa,” she clarifies, “You just seem to know a lot about heroes and stuff, and aren't most teachers supposed to be pros or something?”

Izuku isn't sure about that last fact. He knows that U.A. just takes in the best teachers that they can get their hands on.

“I think he's a civilian,” Izuku considers, “I don't even know his quirk. Or if he has one.”

Uraraka hums for a second, tapping her chin as she thinks, “Some kind of stopping ability. Or like, slowing. The students who attacked him didn't get a single hit on him. It was almost like they couldn’t.”

Izuku considers responding about how rare those types of quirks are, but he stops, holding up a hand to Uraraka. She pauses, and they wait for a second.

“How close are we?” Izuku whispers, suddenly realizing something he shouldn't have forgotten.

“I'm not sure,” Uraraka says, going to touch her hands together to keep floating up, but Izuku puts a hand on her shoulder.

“We're trying to sneak up on someone who might have some kind of sound ability,” Izuku says, “We need to be quieter from now on I think.”

Uraraka wrinkles her nose, “Why didn't I think of that.”

She takes a step away from Izuku and slowly floats up into the air. It almost looks like she's in water, suspended in an ocean. She also looks very nauseous.

Izuku ends up standing underneath her, guessing that if he has to break her fall, it'll be better than the dirt.

After a second, she falls fast, before reengaging her quirk just above Izuku. She grabs his outstretched wrist, and he pulls her down, where she can safely land with a huff.

“Thanks,” she whispers, “He's right there.”

“Who?”

“The bird,” she says in a low voice, “I saw him last time too, but I swear he’s moved.”

“How have you avoided being seen twice ?” he asks.

“I think he's looking for people on the ground,” she smiles, splaying her hands out. Which means that they might have a hard time getting to him once they’re closer.

Izuku nods anyways, and they creep through the forest at a slow pace, staying under the branches of trees and avoiding any open space. Eventually, Uraraka grabs the final ginger candy, and unwraps it. This alone takes almost a minute, her fingernails carefully creasing the paper as gently as she can so as not to make much noise. She also swallows one of the anti-nausea medicines from Momo. Then she touches her fingers together and pats Izuku on the shoulder. He doesn't float up like Aoyama did, instead he just feels lighter. She does it to herself too, even if she looks a little green.

They walk much gentler after that, steps light as air as they stalk through the woods.

Eventually, Uraraka points up to the tree that Tokoyami is sitting at, staring out like he's a mournful poet. Or he's just really bored. His quirk is wrapped around the branch he's on like a ribbon of darkness.

But that's not the most important thing, because Jirou is standing near the bottom of the trunk. She knocks on the wood, and Tokoyami looks down to her. She motions with her hand, and so he climbs to the next tree, assisted by his quirk.

They walk in a specific direction, mirroring the motions of Uraraka and Izuku. They’re acting like hunters. 

Izuku waves his hand forward, “Follow,” he mouths. Uraraka nods.

They continue on like this for a couple more rounds. Jirou, putting her ear jacks to the ground, and waiting for about a minute or so. 

“It's working?” the quirk asks, voice slightly raspy and surprisingly…feminine? Izuku wonders if quirks can have gender. Some are semi-sentient, but Izuku would have guessed that a concept of gender would have been foreign to them. He'll have to ask.

“It's working,” Jirou confirms. Izuku worries that she might never elaborate but she then says, “I've isolated most other noises away and I think we're close. And if I'm right, he has the slowest human heartbeat here.”

Izuku was right about her chasing after their teacher. It also seems that she’s isolated so much noise that they’re prime for a stealth attack from an outside party. It now makes sense why Tokoyami has to keep watch. 

“What?” Tokoyami asks.

“He's hiding, alone, and has been for the past twenty minutes. I'm pretty sure he's taking a nap. His heartbeat is loud and very, very slow. Human and asleep.”

The quirk cackles out a laugh.

They keep moving, slower and slower, and eventually, when the quirk tries to say something, Jirou silences it with a glare.

Uraraka and Izuku follow them a bit closer, before Jirou, finally, motions for Tokoyami.

She's looking in front of her.

Izuku hadn't realized how far they've all gone up the mountain, but now they're in one of the steepest parts, with spanning cliffs, and above them all, is a pile of rocks, naturally sitting like they were pushed there by a long-ago landslide.

Izuku checks his phone. Ten minutes remaining. 

“That one,” Jirou says, pointing at a place where two rocks join to make a sort of cave.

Tokoyami holds out his hand and his quirk flares out suddenly, enveloping the shadows and somehow making them darker, spreading forward like spilled water. Tokoyami runs with it, spreading the shadow along the divets of the rock, the darkness their sanctuary.

But the second that Jirou pointed, locating their prize, Izuku noticed a third person trailing Jirou and Tokoyami.

The distinctive sounds of popping explosions are a reminder that Izuku isn't the only one who realized that Jirou would be the best bet for winning this event. 

Bakugou, light and heat detonating from his hands, races out of the forest, blaring past the rest of them and flies forward.

Jirou curses as he passes her, covering her ears.

Uraraka, not one to be left behind, starts to run. The anti-gravity helps, but by the time they get to the rocks, Bakugou has already found the cave, and exploded the rocks apart, splitting them down the middle and to the side. Aizawa blearily sits up, staring at all of them like they're the ones at fault here, and then mutters something under his breath. He actually does look like he was taking a nap, which Izuku doesn’t have time to marvel at. The gall of this man.

Aizawa stands up, and stares at Bakugou, the closest student to him. Tokoyami, for some reason, has decided to hide behind a rock.

Uraraka and Izuku run forwards, but they're not nearly fast enough for Aizawa, who's still just…looking at Bakugou. 

Izuku doesn’t know how Aizawa is still looking at him, he knows that he’d be flinching back. Bakugou’s shaking, full body and clearly enraged.

“Stop,” Bakugou growls, and Aizawa starts smiling a bit, which only succeeds in making him charge forwards.

He keeps throwing his hands backwards, trying to propel himself forward, but every time he tries, he curses, and hesitates. Aizawa won't stop looking at him.

He's begun to jog backwards, and eventually, further down the mountain and is out of sight, yet again.

Bakugou spends too long just letting an explosion fizzle out in his hand, before chasing forward.

Izuku and Uraraka quickly climb up the rest of the way, and find Bakugou searching the wreckage of the other side of the landslide, exposing rocks as fast as he can tear through them.

“I'm going to be super sick if I use my power much more,” Uraraka says, clasping her hands together. The weight comes back, and Izuku staggers to the ground.

“Good call,” Izuku says, “Save it if you can.”

Izuku stares out over the rest of the rocks, and in front of him is a relatively simple scene. It's a huge cliff, starting to the side of him, and bending in a horseshoe shape, all around a large waterfall that drops between the two cliffs into a river far, far, below. There's a small pathway climbing around the cliffs and through the waterfall and around the other side. It's the only way to cross, and would probably take a couple of minutes due to its precarious position.

Unfortunately, Izuku knows how heroes work. Especially the type of hero that Izuku suspects Aizawa to be.

After they're caught, they keep moving. Aizawa wouldn't hide in the rocks again.

As he watches, he spots a flash of light gray, most likely from the man’s scarf. 

“Uraraka,” he says, quietly as he can, and gestures forward. It'll take too long to get across the pathway, and by that point, they’ll definitely have lost Aizawa, but they'll be ahead of the class, and that should count for something. “He’s across that gorge.” 

If there was a way to cross between the cliffs, maybe they could catch him, but Izuku worries about Aizawa's ability. 

He's pretty sure it's a quirk stopper. 

Rarer than rare, Aizawa would be an asset to the heroes. It all makes sense now.

There are only about five or so minutes left of the forty, and Izuku is starting to suspect that this was an impossible assignment from the get-go. 

Because how can they hunt down an Underground Hero ?

He sighs, and begins to move down the rubble, content at least with being able to try his best. They won’t catch up to their teacher but at least they can–

Uraraka flies past him.

Izuku hadn't even seen her walk backwards, but as she rockets past, he knows that she must have. She needs a running start for a jump like that.

Her hands are steepled together, and her hair is flying out behind her, soaring through the sky, aiming to cross the cliffs.

“Wait!” Izuku yells, trying to reach for her, but she's far too gone, speeding through the sky at a steadily slowing pace, yet already crossing the gorge. Without interference, she’ll be across in no time.

The smell of smoke alerts Izuku, and he turns, just as Bakugou follows her. Izuku is reminded of that time during the test, him speeding through the air, trailing explosions as he goes, almost too bright to see. When did Bakugou learn how to fly in earnest? 

Izuku runs.

He can't watch to see if Aizawa decides to stop her quirk and plummet Uraraka into the river below. She'd catch herself, right?

She already seemed so nauseous.

He quickly rounds the waterfall, feeling it spray on his face, and is finally able to see the scene again. 

Aizawa is standing in the midst of rubble, apparently having decided to confront the two of them head on instead of hiding away again. It’s perfect for Izuku. 

Both are still in the air, and Uraraka has just about crossed the river.

He whips his scarf off in a flourish that, for some reason, reminds Izuku of Present Mic.

Their teacher is still smiling—grinning actually—as he uses the scarf similarly to how Sero used his tape. He entangles Bakugou in a split second, and before he can explode the whole thing, Aizawa flings his scarf, and the cursing person inside of it, straight towards Uraraka.

She instinctively holds out her arms and catches Bakugou, but in doing so is tangled into the rope. They're not necessarily yanked to the ground, more gently pulled, but they're both obviously frustrated. 

The hesitation of Aizawa gives Izuku ample time to make his way to the scene. 

Aizawa pulls his scarf in a long fluid motion, wrapping it back delicately around his neck. He doesn't even seem to notice Izuku, instead staring at the other two students and walking backwards.

Bakugou, gritting his teeth, his fists curled, runs for their teacher, with a quirk or not.

Izuku, in turn, runs to Uraraka. She’s violently throwing up on the ground, her hand clutching her stomach and the other bracing her on the rocks.

Nothing gross has bothered him since the slime monster incident, so he doesn’t need to look away. Instead, he stands, hesitating over what to do. He's seen girls pull their hair out of their face at drinking fountains, and throwing up is… basically the same thing (besides the fact that drinking water is quite literally the opposite of vomiting). None of that matters though because he's frozen with the thought of touching a girl's hair. She finally shudders, wiping her mouth and staring down. She looks positively awful, ashen and shaky.

She gives him a single gesture. Pointing to where Bakugou had just run off to.

“Deku, I want that goddamn ice cream,” she whispers, hoarse from the stomach acid, and Izuku finds himself nodding. 

So he goes, running off where he last saw Bakugou.

Chapter Text

HeroLog Chat-

red_riot: hey man i saw your post about crimson riot? was wondering what you meant by he was a ‘bit too reckless’. 

AppyJuice: Oh hello. I honestly don’t remember, that was four years ago. Apologies if I offended. 

red_riot: you are forgiven. sorry i looked up crimson riot on this website and now i’m going through every post. 

AppyJuice: Alright. Can I ask why?

red_riot: bored

AppyJuice: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Attention_deficit_hyperactivity_disorder

red_riot reacted to a message: >:0

At this point, it's easy. He follows the sounds and smells of explosions. He goes into the mountain alone, where the forests have been replaced with cliffs and the occasional pathway of snow. 

He sees Bakugou, running across from him, quickly dashing after Aizawa. Luckily, neither of them see him and at this point they’re so high on the mountain that it’s flat land again. So he runs as fast as his legs can take him.

It’s a testament to the exercise he’s done over the past year that, despite running so hard and so long due to Iida’s tyrannical dictatorship of a morning run, it feels like he's flying across the stone. Eventually Aizawa clearly gets tired of the game of cat and mouse that Bakugou is forcing him to play, so he takes off the scarf again. And in seconds, despite the clear resistance, Bakugou is left wrapped in the scarf, and Aizawa staring at him like he doesn't know what to do. He’s probably just stalling at this point. They’re almost done with the forty five minutes. 

Izuku runs out from the pile of rocks that he was hiding in. They've made their way up the mountain, now at the peak, the jagged rocks all pointing outwards, towards the various cliffs and slopes downwards. There are towers of twisting rock, and it’s genuinely beautiful, despite being a geologic impossibility. There’s also a layer of snow here, and it crunches under Izuku's feet.

At the sound of this, Aizawa finally notices him. He suddenly looks up and stares at Izuku. It’s probably instinct that he stops Izuku’s quirk, since he hasn't even seen it in action. 

Izuku hadn't realized that his eyes were red.

The storm suddenly quiets in his blood, and Izuku understands why Bakugou has been so hesitant throughout this whole fight.

It's horrible.

The quirk stopping, it's like being suddenly blinded, or suddenly losing a limb. He stumbles in the snow, and waits for the power to return, not knowing what else to do with the sudden gaping hole in the middle of his being.

He hadn't realized how used to it he had gotten.

It doesn't make sense. He hasn't even used it. But the absence of it makes him want to vomit. 

Bakugou sends explosions towards the scarf in a sudden desperate move, and that gives Izuku enough time to get over himself. He stands up, and ignores the flooding power returning to him, like a sudden injection of caffeine and electricity.

Aizawa is staring down Bakugou, who's snarling at him. Izuku walks a little closer.

There can’t be more than a couple minutes left of the exercise, so Aizawa holds a hand out to help Bakugou up, but that just makes him more upset, and he throws himself at their teacher, plenty dangerous even without his quirk, going straight for the eyes like he’s always done. 

Izuku moves in even closer, as Aizawa tries to tighten his grip on his scarf. Their teacher has to dodge with precision, and he’s not focused on anything but his student in front of him. 

And not the student who's made his way towards the fight. 

So Izuku trips him.

He just kicks out, right behind the knees. Their teacher falls with little grace and no noise. He just… face-plants into the snow.

The silence stretches on as Izuku realizes that he just attacked their teacher. And that the tactic he used wasn’t dissimilar to how a very determined toddler would fight back. 

“What the- ow,” Aizawa mutters in the snow, and that breaks Izuku out of it. So he scoops up his card, which has skidded out from Aizawa’s pocket. His wallet has also fallen, but Izuku isn’t actually trying to mug his teacher, so he leaves that. 

He needs to return to Uraraka, make sure she's okay, scold her on her rash jump across the river, and then eat ice cream with his team.

It will happen if he can finish up this impulsive plan, and just run.

Luckily for him, he knows how to escape. 

He gets four steps away before gravity stops working for him, a tightness around his ankle, as he falls straight forward.

He hadn't planned on Aizawa wrapping his leg with his scarf and pulling him to the ground. The smooth fabric of the scarf, almost wrapping itself around his ankle and tripping him like some sort of revenge for what he did to Aizawa. 

He also hadn't planned on the explosions, the mass of red and orange suddenly erupting where his head had just been. He looks up, the light flickering off of the glass ceiling and realizes how close he was to…

There had been no hesitation.

Bakugou is staring at Izuku, his hand smoking, his snarl now directed entirely at him. Involuntarily, Izuku begins to breathe faster, shallow and not doing much to help him at all.  

Aizawa is staring at Bakugou like he’s a particularly petulant second grader. 

“Give it to me,” Bakugou says. 

Izuku gets up on his knees, shaking, and still not able to get a full lungful of air. Bakugou is looking at him, his eyes as cold as the ice all around them. Izuku instinctively holds the little pink gift card to his chest. He surprises himself with that. With the resilience. 

Bakugou raises his hand forward, and he’s not asking this time. But nothing happens. Aizawa stands, looking at Bakugou, and unravels the scarf. Izuku knows that if Aizawa wasn’t staring him down, Bakugou wouldn’t have even waited for a second before igniting the explosions again, directed entirely at Izuku. 

Bakugou is still glaring at him, not even sparing a glance for Aizawa.

Aizawa had said that whoever had the card at the end of the forty minutes would win. Izuku just has to keep hold of it. 

He can’t fathom why his thoughts are only focused on this little pink card. 

Izuku starts to run. Tripping himself up as he passes through the jagged rocks and snow piles, glinting like silver. He hears Bakugou curse something foul and the footsteps immediately start behind him.

He can't watch, only run as fast as his legs can possibly take him.

That lasts until the explosion hits him in the back.

Most of the immediate pain comes from the force of the blow, and for a second he assumes that he’s been punched by a man in a full suit of armor. He finds himself laying chest first in the snow, next to a spire of rocks. 

He takes three deep breath, trying to scramble his way to his knees, before realizing with a sinking disappointment that the card has been flung out over onto a ledge at least twenty feet in front of him. It's now carefully balanced on one of the precarious cliffs, a dizzying height above the ground. 

He’s not getting that back. It's too far and he doesn't think he can stand. 

The pain in his back is distracting, and he's sure that his uniform is ruined, but he can't think about that right now. Bakugou walks forward, suddenly startling casual, and Aizawa leans down to Izuku, resting a hand on one of the rock spires.

Apparently their teacher has already decided who's winning this round. 

“Are you--”

Izuku’s thoughts won’t leave the card. Nothing matters right now, only the reward of ice cream. And, if Izuku can’t have it, then why does he get it? He doesn't know why, but the rush of determination is as strong as it was when they were both four, racing in the park to determine who was faster. 

It's the sudden, unexplainable exhilaration of competition.

It’s petty, and it’s intoxicating. 

And the feeling certainly translates to the rushing of All Might’s power. The power that's laid dormant for so long, is suddenly everywhere.

It's a pounding in his ears, a thrumming in his wrists, as he stares at Bakugou, who's about to step onto the outcropping lip of the rock. He had just tried to hurt him. Actually, he succeeded in that. There’s a sharp aching in his back and sunbursts of explosions whenever he closes his eyes, and that’s thanks to him.

He's not going to give this power to Bakugou anytime soon. Not to this thoughtless, dangerous delinquent. Giving it to him now would be the actions of someone impulsive and stupid, and Izuku prides himself on being neither of those. This power, right now, is his. And he has to make the most of it. 

He pushes aside the sinking stone of guilt in his stomach and looks at the scene in front of him. He can see it all perfectly, the arrangement of rocks, exactly how they’ll fall. He pretends that he’s consulting for Endeavor, telling him exactly where to hit to be the most effective. And if Izuku hits this spire right next to him, his plan will fall perfectly into place. 

He curls his hand into a fist and feels his joints creak. He doesn’t take his eyes off of Bakugou, because if he gets this wrong, it’ll mean his death. But he’s not going to get it wrong. 

Izuku struggles to his knees again and rests his fist against the rock like he’s taking a break. Maybe he is, resting for a second just before--

Before he pulls back his arm and hits the spire of rocks with all the force he can muster. 

The pain explodes in his wrist. 

He hits it at an angle, and the cracks in the rock immediately appear, breaking apart the rock as the whole thing goes down. The colossal impossible geologic tower falls forward with a growing shadow and a whistling sound. Bakugou immediately stops, just from the sound, and that second of hesitation is enough for the entire spire to crash into the ground, snow plumbing out and a roaring sound. It’s at least ten feet away from Bakugou. Izuku sits back with the confidence of someone who just made a gamble and won. He breathes out, barely getting it out through the sudden lack of oxygen in his lungs. 

The pain is so stark that he doesn’t think he can breathe. 

Aizawa uses his scarf to pull Bakugou away from the suddenly crumbling spire.

Izuku just breathes through the sudden pain, horrible and, just as his toes had felt after the attack in the sewers, sharp and electric.

His wrist is broken, he doesn’t need to look to know that much. The pain is a clear enough indication. 

He does look, eventually, and despite the earlier assumption that nothing gross could phase him, he still feels bile rise in his throat. There’s no blood, which is his first observation, just immediate purpleing bruises and his--

His hand is bent sideways, and the disconnect is immediate. That can’t possibly be his hand, that’s something else entirely. Someone else has those broken fingers and splintered nails. 

At this point he looks away, tucking his wrist under his ragged shirt, ignoring the shooting pain in his upper arm. The rest of his body feels almost numb. 

He ignores it for now, to the extent that someone can ignore something as horrible as that, and staggers over to Bakugou. Despite knowing that the spire wouldn’t crush Bakugou, he’s still feeling the latent anxiety at the fact that he attacked him. 

There are still tremors in the ground, slow and rumbling, but Izuku ignores them as he stares at Bakugou, who's being let out of the scarf. Aizawa is gently wrapping it back around his wrist, and is pulling out his phone, which is somehow unscathed in this entire incident. 

There’s another second as Bakugou stumbles to his knees.

He’s positioned like how Uraraka was when she was retching. He's not, of course, just staring down at the snow like it personally wronged him. His arms are violently shaking, and all Izuku wants to do is put out a hand and ask him if he's alright.

He doesn't. He looks at Aizawa, who’s facing away from him. 

“Yeah, yeah the competition is over. I need you to get the nurse. I think I-” and he whispers this part, “Fucked up a bit.”

Izuku can hear laughter that sounds like Present Mic from the tinny speaker of the phone. Aizawa continues his conversation, walking away from them and out of earshot, giving Izuku a look that probably means stay put. 

Izuku couldn’t do anything else if he tried. He lays down. It's involuntary, the way that he folds in on himself, and then he's suddenly on top of the snow, curled inwards, cradling his broken wrist in the freezing cold of the mountain, the individual ice crystals digging into his side to form a pain of heat and cold.

He squeezes his eyes shut. 

He stays like that for at least a couple minutes, letting the pain wash over him in waves of agony, wondering what in the world he’s going to tell his mom. He’ll just lie and say he got hit by a bus or something. 

After enough time, the pain has lessened to a deep ache, so he finally can find the energy to survey the scene. Bakugou is standing above him, apparently recovered enough to stand. He looks terrible, pale and staring down at him, his expression almost... blank. Izuku's never seen him look like that. 

He’s silhouetted against the bright blue faux sky, and Izuku remembers the exam, watching as Bakugou saved his life.

“Stand up,” Bakugou says. It's the most neutral thing he's ever said to Izuku, devoid of all emotions.   

Izuku tries. 

Maybe it’s the fear, and maybe it’s the petty act of competition, but he tries. He really does. It’s almost impossible to muster up the strength to get his arms to support himself. He’s just suddenly so tired. But he makes his way to his knees, breathing hard. He’s more exhausted than he thought. He ends up moving wrong, resting his wrist on his hip, and even the slight movement of it ends with bright spots of pain erupting behind his eyes. He shutters, breathing hard as his wrist bleeds and melting ice burns its way down his back. A tear falls down his cheek, mingling in with the snow.

He wipes his eyes. He can’t stand up, he can barely breathe, and he certainly isn’t about to make eye contact with Bakugou.

Who is now crouched in front of him. Izuku won’t look at him directly, but it’s impossible to miss his movements. 

“You’re pathetic,” he quietly says. 

Izuku nods, and from the continuous pain, a weak sob wracks his throat. 

Bakugou nods back like he’s trying to comfort him. He’s not.

“Right now, I could kill you,” he says, matter of fact. 

Izuku looks at him now. 

Another sob is caught in his throat, and his fear must show because Bakugou smiles. Thin lipped and humorless. Izuku hasn't seen him smile in years. 

He snaps his fingers, and a small bang of an explosion appears above his hand, pale against the sky. There's a second of silence, as it fizzles out into smoke, “You know I’m not at my a-game right now,” he says, “But it’d still be easy. I'd just…” he shuffles closer, “Here.”

He digs two fingers into the side of Izuku’s neck, harsh and painful, betraying the calm expression he has. Izuku tries to swallow, but he can’t move. 

“And then,” Bakugou continues, still smiling, still quiet, “Boom.”

He can feel his heartbeat around Bakugou's fingers.

After the longest second of Izuku’s life, and after he’s still alive past that second, he raises his uninjured hand and grabs Bakugou’s wrist, pulling him away, shaking.

“You wouldn't,” Izuku barely gets it out. It sounds like a lie.

“But I could,” Bakugou says, “Which means I win. Doesn't matter if you got the prize. If you break yourself to win, then you’re still going to die.”

And then he stands up and walks away.

Izuku is left, shaking softly in the freezing cold of the mountain.

Chapter Text

Endeavor Page-

5859484151: God did we ever figure out what happened to that one monster?

Likes: 2

UnderstandTone: ???

Likes: 0

5859484151: What does ‘???’ mean? Bitch.

Likes: 0

5859484151: I just reread my first comment omg I’m an idiot I didn’t clarify literally anything, I was so drunk. No that one monster in the attack under the sewers. With that one underground hero who died. What happened to it?

Likes: 1

UnderstandTone: This made me laugh so you’re forgiven. Uhhhh I just read the article and I think it died?

Likes: 1

5859484151: Well who killed it? I’m curious now. Weren’t there students there attacking it or smth?

Likes: 1

UnderstandTone: Yeah sorry no idea.

Likes: 1

Shota doesn't believe in coincidences.

He's an underground hero, and the tasks involved with that (spy work and patrol mostly) don't leave a lot of room for things like coincidences.

His entire life has been based on intuition and a lot, a lot of planning, so he’s not one to lean on something that’s a synonym for luck. He’s better than that. 

But, as he notices the kid's wrist, splintered and hanging down at an unnatural angle, he can't help but think of coincidences.

He can't help but think of a year ago.

All Might, Yagi, had called him after school one day. A rare enough occasion, and so Shota had responded immediately, despite the pile of ungraded reports on his desk.

They made pleasantries, but those only lasted for so long. Yagi had never called without a purpose, and he wasn’t starting now.

“Eraser,” he had said, after a particularly bad joke that had fallen flat, “Can I ask a favor?”

“Hm?” Shota had asked. Yagi had a habit of asking for the impossible when it came to these ‘favors’.

“I'm getting older,” he had said, a sigh in his voice.

“Yeah,” Shota had said, marking down an answer, only half listening to the conversation. 

“I think it's time,” he quietly said.

“I'm not putting you in a home,” Shota immediately said, “Ask Nezu.” 

“Jesus. I'm in my fifties.”

“So the plan is to be the youngest, hippest guy in the assisted living program. Weird path for you to take but–”

“Eraser, I need a successor.”

This had gotten him to pause. At least ten thoughts had run through his head, until the final one had shocked him more awake than he’d been in weeks. 

“I'm not taking your quirk you senile old man.”

“Not you,” he had laughed, and thank goodness for that, “Just... keep an eye open for a student that you'd think would do good.”

More children flung into responsibility that they can’t handle. Shota thinks of Oboro and sighs.

“Just drop by my office. Are you on patrol today?”

“I should be.”

He’s taking the day off. Which means…

“Is that what brought this all on?”

“I'm fine,” he immediately responded. 

“I didn’t ask that,” Shota sighed, “Is it getting worse?”

“It's…”

The pause had lasted longer than necessary, but Shota was used to those forlorn expressions that Yagi liked. 

“Yes. It’s getting worse.” 

“You’re an idiot,” Shota had said. 

Shota had only seen it once, when he and Yagi had been on a mission together. A simple scout out of a suspected Yakuza base. It wasn't supposed to have gotten violent, but of course it had. Yagi eventually took down a power line as a distraction, and in the chaos he had been hit by a truck. Apparently this had 'disturbed' the injury. When Shota had taken him to U.A. for Recovery Girl's assistance, he had gotten a glimpse of his torso. 

It was like someone had ripped his skin apart, and then had hastily shoved it back together. The edges of the skin where the stitches overlapped had been ragged, like torn paper.

Apparently, according to Recovery Girl, some of his internal organs had been...affected.

She had said it like that. Pausing before the word and emphasizing it like it was the monster in a campfire tale.

Apparently any use of his larger form would increase the danger to himself through the further degradation of his organs. All medical terms dumbed down for Shota until he could understand the long lasting effect of this injury.

“Want me to look out for anything in particular?” Aizawa had asked, putting the essays in order. 

“Older. Third-year, preferably, I don't want to put a fifteen year old in that much danger,“ he said, and Shota found himself humming in agreement, “And... sturdy. My power is potentially life-threatening at first. Broke my leg the first time I used it.”

And that had been it.

Shota looks over the kid's injury, twisted all this way at and that, even as Midoriya tries to hide it, curled up in on himself and staring off into the distance.

He had seen how Midoriya had taken down that rock spire, not dissimilar to how Yagi had taken down that power line.

The only pause is that this kid is fifteen. Looks even younger, with tears smeared on his face.

Shota walks to him, helping him up. He unwraps his scarf and starts to put Midoriya’s arm in a sling. He's not really sure he wants to set the kids wrist, but he can at least make sure it won't jostle. Through the process of this, Shota ignores the sniffling and tears. Fourteen for sure.  

“Where's the other one?” he asks as he ties off his scarf, “Present Mic is sending over the nurse and we need to be off the mountain.”

“Other–Kacchan?”

Shota shrugs. Midoriya points to where he’s been staring off to. If Shota squints, he can see the kid repeatedly kicking a rock. Jesus.

“He’s just…he needs to cool off,” Midoriya says, noting the expression and shrugging.

“I'd say,” Shota says, “Wasn’t he just talking to you?”

Midoriya stays silent for a very long time. Long enough that Shota thinks that maybe he didn’t hear him, but he eventually makes eye contact and says, “He was checking on me.”

“Good. Are you okay?” he asks. 

“Fine,” he quickly responds, “Is my uniform salvageable?”

Shota makes an expression that probably portrays what he wants to say: definitely not. The back of his shirt is torn and ragged, blackened from the explosions. Shota will have to talk to the other kid. Checking in afterwards or not, he’'s a bit too enthusiastic about exploding his fellow classmates.

“I'll pay for a new one,” he says. And he probably will. Nezu is going to yell at him for a while this afternoon for letting the kids practice with quirks without even informing the nurse.

But, well, he has learned a lot about his students.

And maybe Midoriya is some sort of fluke. A quirk just uncannily similar to All Might’s.

But maybe not.

★

“Deku!” Uraraka yells, once they've gotten to the end of the Mountain Zone. She runs up, and then pauses when she sees him. She waves her hands in unsure motions, and then settles on patting Izuku on the shoulder.

Aizawa leaves after a second, walking up to a little old woman who's absolutely a world famous rescue hero, who walks over to join him. Aizawa explains with gestures and a stormy expression. 

Izuku takes the time to stare at Recovery Girl as she listens to Aizawa with her eyebrows raised. She looks just like her photos. 

“Midoriya,” another person calls, and Izuku looks up to see Iida. Yaoyorozu is close behind, looking with concern at his arm.

“Hi,” Izuku says, the exhaustion hitting him again and again. Yaoyorozu shoves a water bottle in his hands and he drops it twice before even opening it. Even his unbroken arm feels like complete dead weight, shaking a bit as he brings the water to his mouth.

“That was incredibly reckless,” Iida says, his expression stern.

Izuku nods, the water trailing down his chin for how fast he's drinking it. He knows that he was stupid.

Using the power for the first time, on the top of a mountain.

For ice cream.

He knows that’s why his wrist is broken. It’s the only thing that makes sense. He didn’t even hit the rock too hard. Honestly, he’s not sure he even physically touched it. The force and the knockback ended up being the thing to break his wrist.

He really thought he had been strong enough.  

“So next time, bring me,” Iida says, “Uraraka, this goes for you as well. It's unfair if you both do all the brave things all the time. I was stuck in tape for twenty minutes.”

Izuku hadn't even done anything particularly brave. Uraraka, on the other hand…

“‘Don't depend on the mercy of the villain’,” he says, quoting something that Endeavor had said in an interview, “Aizawa could have killed you, you were already so weak.”

She just looks at him like he said the dumbest thing in the whole world.

“He's our teacher,” she emphasizes.

“But out on the field, you’ll meet with real, dangerous villains.”

“But we’re not out on the field,” she explains, like he’s the weird one. 

Izuku could sit her down and explain how in U.A., it's supposed to be dangerous. But he's too tired to consider it at this point. The water helped with the headache, but that only emphasized the rest of his aches and pains.

“Alright,” the nurse walks up, “Mr. Aizawa, you set the wrist?”

“Not really,” he says, standing behind her and looking down at their group. He keeps looking down at Izuku with something like…suspicion maybe?

“We'll have to wait on the bone,” she frowns, “Let me see your back.”

Iida gasps when he turns, and he's sure that it's something bad, because Uraraka curses and Yaoyorozu mutters something under her breath.

“Oh that's not too bad,” the nurse says, “Is there any shrapnel?”

Izuku shakes his head.

“Good,” she says and Izuku feels her lean in and gently gives him a pat on the back. Or something like that. 

And suddenly, unnaturally, the pain is gone. Then the exhaustion hits him like a ton of bricks. He almost falls over because of the weight of the feeling.

“Oh,” Iida says, and Izuku is suddenly being supported by him, trying to slink to the floor. He yawns, and some of the exhaustion leaves for a bit, but only a bit. He straightens, trying to stand. Iida wraps an arm under his armpit so he can stay standing.  

“If you want to be out for the rest of the day,” the nurse says, “I'll heal your wrist. Otherwise, I'll do it after your classes.”

She really emphasizes the last bit, glaring at Aizawa, who shrugs, unconcerned. 

“I’ll wait,” Izuku says, and the nurse nods and shakes out a couple of pills from a container, probably pain medication. 

She pulls out an oversized med kit, expertly rewrapping his arm. Instead of constant pain, now it’s just a sharp pressure all up and down his arm. 

“Okay” she says, directing this at Aizawa, “Let me see the other one.”

Other one? Izuku watches as they walk back to Bakugou, who's sulking on the floor, his arms to his side as he stares up into the sky. He scowls at the old woman, but eventually shows her his arms. It seems like he's struggling to even lift them. Apparently he had gotten injured. Izuku is surprised he hadn’t seen it. 

“What did you do?” Yaoyorozu asks, handing him a canned coffee. She keeps just creating things, and it’s fascinating. Izuku drinks the whole thing, and Iida takes the can. He can’t help but feel a strange tightness in his throat at the way they keep letting him lean on the three of them.

“Used my quirk,” he coughs out.

That leads to a myriad of questions, Uraraka looking at him with excitement the entire time as he describes what happened. He keeps most of the stuff with Bakugou as vague as he can, from the targeted head attack to the conversation at the end. He does mention the back injury and how it happened, which makes Iida scowl.

Once he's done recapping the events, they move onto topics about what the other students were doing (apparently instead of participating, and after they realized Bakugou would be doing most of the heavy lifting, the rest of Ashido’s group went swimming). Only after they move from the hall to making their way back to the changing rooms, parting from the girls with a wave, Izuku realizes that he held a conversation.

A full conversation, with multiple people.

He has to sit down at the revelation, halfway through struggling out of his shirt.

No one comments about his lack of skill when it comes to one arm changing, but Kirishima does ask about the wrist injury and Denki asks about the back injury. Izuku still can't hold a conversation with strangers, and he stammers through a response as he gently extracts his wrist from his shirt. But it's still something. And he can be comfortable in the fact that maybe, just maybe, he can talk to Uraraka and Iida and Yaoyorozu. Even if his life has to be a little bit threatened first. 

The rest of the first day goes by in a blur. They change and go back to their homeroom. Apparently, they won't start real classes until tomorrow, and so Aizawa makes them all sit down and switches between introduction games and explaining the syllabus of the class.

During lunch, Izuku sits with Uraraka and Iida. Momo (who insists on the first name) joins them, and Jirou joins her, staying on the outskirts and messing around on her phone, not participating in the slightest. She's sporting a new pair of shiny red sound canceling headphones. Iida explains to him that Momo made them after the sounds of the explosions happened right next to Jirou. 

Izuku nods along when appropriate, and even makes the occasional comment. No one seems too concerned if he stumbles over the words or trails off half-way through. 

It's still not perfect, but they are able to hold a group conversation for lunch, which is really all he could ask for. It wasn't just a fluke.

Izuku actually has fun, despite the sharp pressure, the headache-inducing exhaustion, and the fact that he can’t seem to hold chopsticks without pain shooting through either arm. 

The rest of the day is an actual tour. It’s a group tour, both Hero Course classes joining into one imposing crowd. It should be the greatest tour that Izuku’s ever been on, (and given by a 1-Bs teacher, Kan Sekijiro a well respected Rescue Hero) but Izuku can barely pay attention to it because of the exhaustion seeping into his brain.

 Class 1-B is as eccentric as 1-A, with distinctive appearances and loud personalities. Izuku doesn’t recognize any of them, and it takes him too long to remember that there had been three entrance exams. Two normal tests so that the groups wouldn’t get overcrowded, and then a recommendation exam. This group is mostly from the second (non recommendation) entrance exam that Izuku didn’t go to. 

A red-headed girl is able to partially corral the group which means that things don’t get too out of hand. Izuku finds it impressive that she’s able to do it at all. 

“Ah, Mr. Iida,” a voice says, sliding up to stand next to Izuku. He reaches across him as they walk, offering a hand to Iida, and not even looking at Izuku. 

He’s exhausted, but for some reason, he can still find it within himself to be a little offended. He takes a step back anyways, letting the two have a one-on-one conversation. 

The guy is…unassuming. Only slightly taller than Izuku, and average looking. His hair is blonde and his eyes are blue. They almost look artificially blue, which wouldn't be strange for a world filled with quirks, but Izuku swears that it looks like he's wearing contacts.

“I didn’t see you at the recommendation exam,” the newcomer says, almost a sneer. 

Uraraka has slowed down too, and is next to Izuku.

“No,” Iida says, hesitating, “My brother took the normal exam, and I thought I’d continue the tradition.” 

“Hm, how noble. Risking it all just to debase yourself to the level of…” he looks around him, “Them.”

Uraraka snorts out a surprised laugh, and Izuku has to agree with her sentiment. 

“He should have just called us poor,” Izuku says. 

“Is the recommendation exam for…well, not poor people?” Uraraka asks. 

“It’s not supposed to be, but yeah that’s where most of the rich kids go,” he says, now ignoring the conversation that Iida is having with the stranger, talking to Uraraka about the tests. 

Eventually the aforementioned stranger grows bored of the terse responses that Iida is giving, and walks off to the red-headed girl. Izuku takes his spot back, and can't stop himself from huffing.

“Sorry about him,” Iida mumbles under his breath, “He's...”

“Rich?” Izuku asks, letting his exhausted brain do the talking. Uraraka laughs, quickly trying to cough to cover it up. But their rich kid nods in agreement. 

“I've known his family for a while. I'm surprised he got in, if I'm being perfectly honest,” Iida hums, “His quirk is good, but he’s not very…” he doesn’t finish the sentence.  

“He seems persistent,” Uraraka supplies in lieu of anything else.

“Some would say to a fault,” Iida grimaces. 

Izuku is going to avoid him. Honestly, he’ll probably avoid most of 1-B anyways. It will be a miracle if he can even find the courage to introduce himself to anyone else in class 1-A. 

At least he knows one thing: If he never talks to that boy again, he won’t be too upset.              

Chapter Text

Best Jeanist Page–

numberone’snumberone: Hey guys! I know I usually just make short posts for hero sightings but this one is…a bit more personal? If that makes sense haha. 

Image.jpeg

Best Jeanist came to my wedding! I blurred out me and my partner’s faces but I wanted to share because this is very exciting! Best Jeanist is a really important figure in my life, and has been for quite a while. On a more sappy note, I've been doing these posts for seven years now and I just really appreciate all of you guys interacting and supporting me. Thank you!! 

Edit: This looks like a goodbye post but it's not, haha. I'll be spotting heroes and telling people about it until I die. (And no, for those asking, we didn't pay him to be there. My partner invited him as a joke, so you can imagine how shocked we were when he showed up lol.) 

Likes: 96

(MOD)BastionOfIntel: For all the people saying this is a fake image, I promise you it is not. We have to stop doubting fellow fans and I don't think someone who's been a central part of the HeroLog fandom would lie like this. They specifically deal with photos in their posts, I don't think they'd fake any of them. Please be reasonable and stop sending so much hate, we should be a community that supports fans, not bring them down. Congrats on getting married, and we are so grateful for your contributions on the pages! 

Likes: 40

thegallows: I really appreciate your pictures, they always brighten my day, congratulations! 

Likes: 10

AmokTime: </3 <3

Likes: 5

Izuku falls asleep during the walking tour which is enough of a bad sign to get permission to go to the nurse's office thirty minutes before school lets out. 

The nurse looks frazzled as she leads him to the back, to a room with partitioned beds, and lets him lay down.

He calls his mom as she begins the process of inserting an I.V.. He’s sure his mom can hear the wobble in his voice as he explains that he got injured and might be a little bit late getting home. 

She freaks out, which is entirely reasonable . The first day hasn't even let out yet, and his wrist is flopping all over the place. Well it's not that bad. 

Izuku hands the nurse his phone and she’s able to calm her down, with calming tones and reasonable responses to everything. 

After giving back the phone, she scans over his arm. 

“Aizawa let this happen?” she asks with a hint of bitterness. She  gently runs her hand around his wrist and then raises his shirt sleeve and feels at his upper arm, “And on the first day?”

“It’s not his fault,” Izuku says, looking up at the ceiling. Apparently it was necessary for him to lay down in a full bed for this. The I.V. drip is cold and his eyes keep unfocusing without his permission.  

“Uh-huh,” the nurse says, “If a student breaks twelve bones, how is that not the teachers fault?” 

“Twelve?” Izuku whispers. There’s a sharp crunching sound next to him as she sets something. The I.V. is clearly working because he can’t feel a thing. It’s also clearly working because none of this is really that concerning to him. 

“Eight for the hand, two for the wrist, and two fractures in the rest of the arm,” she says, grabbing a temporary shift for one of his fingers. And then after a second, “I can’t stand to see so many of you here.”

A wave of exhaustion washes over him and he’s asleep before he can respond, a mixture of her healing quirk and the medication. 

The first dream is only static.

He still feels groggy when he wakes up, eyelids heavy and mouth feeling full of cotton. When he groggily checks, it's dark outside. Everything feels sort of hazy, and the panic only partially clears that. His phone is dead, and the clock says that it's almost six o'clock. He stumbles out of bed, feeling his head, glad that the I.V. is already removed. 

“Better?” The nurse asks from where she’s sitting on the chair, knitting. He looks to her, and then back to his arm. Luckily, it’s his arm again, not some broken piece of flesh that’s tangentially connected to him. 

It’s all the same shade of freckled tan skin, not violet and bruised. He makes a circle with his wrist and a fist with his fingers, and the bones only click a little bit. He smiles. 

He can't help but ask, “What’s it like having a healing quirk?”

 Izuku looks around for any pens and a scrap of paper. Something that he can use to jot down things and copy later in his notebook. He can't really see anything that would be useful so he continues, “They’re rare enough to be sought after by almost every major hospital and most of those still only work with pain relief or small scale injuries. Yours seems to speed up the healing time, right?”

“And how’d you suppose that?” she asks, a smile growing on her lips. 

He splays out his fingers, “There’s a scar on my pinky right here, one that definitely matches with how badly it was broken.”

She just nods, “I speed up healing time, so don’t try to get stabbed through the heart and expect me to be able fix you. I’m not a surgeon and I’ll just speed up how fast your heart kills you.” 

“Woah,” Izuku says, making a fist with his hand again.

She stands up from her chair, “Now get home. You haven’t slept for nearly enough time to recover all the energy, and you need to eat a couple thousand extra calories over the next three days. Doctor’s orders.”

Izuku nods, hoping to muster up enough strength to make it home on the train. 

Healing quirks are the rarest of them all, and apparently U.A. has one of the best in the world

Before he can get up to leave, she grabs him a bottle of water—which he chugs in what has to be a record time. The water makes it clear how hungry the recovery made him. There isn’t any food that’s going to be offered to him, so he needs to get home before he throws up from nausua. 

He grabs his bag, the straps slipping from his fingers and back to the floor. He glares at it, before trying again, hoisting it on his back, and standing on sort of shaky legs, he moves towards the door.

There are three doors, all almost identical, and he's not sure which one he came in from, he was so tired. One is probably an office, and one will allow him to go home.

He only realizes now that he never got his ice cream.

That just gives him more determination, and he tries one of the doors. It's locked, but the door has a little glass window, so he peaks in just to verify that it's not leading to the outside.

The glass is fogged, and the bed is covered with a curtain, but even then, Izuku can see the blinking lights of the machinery. It seems to be some sort of private room. 

Why couldn’t have he gotten that? He broke his wrist. 

“Other one, darling,” the nurse says from where she’s begun to make his bed. 

He moves on to the next door, and it swings open, leading out into the hallway.

And suddenly, just like that, he's done with his first day of school.

He doesn’t remember the train ride, probably because he was so focused on not passing out before he could eat something. Izuku’s not even sure if he saw his mom.

He sleeps for eleven hours, which still doesn’t feel like nearly enough. 

When he wakes up, he hugs his mom and shows that he is still very much alive and perfectly fine, and not still some sleep deprived zombie son. He says that he didn't hurt much. He's been lying to his mother for years, because he's fifteen and that's what teenagers do, but it still stings.

He eats three breakfasts in one and speed runs through his first day of school, sugarcoating every terrible thing that happened to him in his recap to his mom. He doesn’t mention Bakugou. She reacts appropriately and smiles slyly when he mentions Uraraka, which he ignores. 

“I'm proud of you,” she says, as he walks out the door in his new uniform that was delivered to him this morning. Izuku turns to her. She's said it a million times, for seemingly no reason most of the time, over the smallest things.

But this time, he smiles at her, and really tries to believe her.

If she knew the full truth, she probably wouldn't be as proud. From the lying and the stealing, there’s nothing much to be proud of. But still, it feels nice. 

★

He gets to class with ease. He takes it slower this time, deciding not to be thirty minutes early to his class, stopping for mochi and coffee at a gas station, somehow hungry again. He’s on track to be perfectly not late by the time he gets on the train. Turns out, he and Kirishima have the same commute.

He enters the train car, and the spiky haired guy is right there, tapping his foot and concentrating hard on a mobile game on his phone. 

Izuku debates for too long, trying to figure out if he should wave at him, or just keep moving. The train starts with a lurch, and he has to sit down as fast as possible, the seat across from his classmate.

Izuku stares down at the floor, willing Kirishima not to notice him. 

“Yo! Deku?” Kirishima loudly whispers, kicking his shoe with his. Izuku looks up, and Kirishima is grinning at him, waving. Izuku hesitantly waves back. Kirishima takes this as an invitation and moves his backpack to sit next to him.

When they get out of the train, that’s when he starts up a conversation.

“I was worried I'd be bored on the train to school,” Kirishima says, kicking a rock just to see how far it'll go. Or maybe he's aiming to hit that bright red sports car, “But now your here so hell yeah.”

“Guess so,” Izuku says, and Kirishima kicks another rock, smiling. He's definitely trying to hit that car. He misses by quite a few feet. 

“Damn,” he mutters to himself. 

Izuku takes a deep breath, letting the chill morning air through his lungs. 

“Hit with the side of your foot,” Izuku decides on saying, demonstrating for a second with a smaller rock and aiming for graffiti on the nearest brick wall, “You have more control.”

Kirishima grins at him, and then goes for it, putting all the power he can behind this next kick. He hits the side of the car, denting the door and immediately starting up a blaring alarm. 

“Okay,” Izuku says, “Now we leave.”

They walk a little quicker, Izuku grips onto the straps of his backpack, trying to act nonchalant. At the end of the road, Kirishima punches his arm, which hurts.

“You're punk rock,” he says, “No wonder Bakugou knows your name.”

Of course he’d come up. 

“What'd he say?” Izuku says, trying to stay as casual as possible. He hadn't seen Kirishima talk with Bakugou, but he couldn't be sure. If, yesterday after all the fighting and healing, half of the students had died, Izuku probably wouldn’t have noticed.

Plus, Kirishima had called him Deku. Not a particularly good sign.

“I don't really know,” Kirishima says, “But he muttered your name. When I asked him about it he flipped me off.”

“Yeah,” Izuku says, and Kirishima looks at him, “That’s him.” 

And he must sound bitter, because Kirishima asks, “You're not friends?”

Izuku shrugs. He can't really form the words in his mouth for some reason, but Kirishima is waiting, and probably won’t take silence as an answer.

“Middle school,” he eventually chokes out, and Kirishima doesn't seem to notice the hesitation, since he nods, seemingly satisfied. 

For the rest of the walk, they continue in polite conversation. Izuku learns that Kirishima isn't as good at small talk as Uraraka, but once Izuku mentions Pro Heroes, he starts talking a million miles a minute about Crimson Riot, and Izuku can easily keep up with that conversation.

“He was such a champ,” Kirishima sighs, head tilted back towards the sky.

“He was incredible,” Izuku says. He leaves out his critiques of the dead man. He was the only Rescue Hero who made his way to the number one spot, which had been an impressive feat, but despite that, he had still been tasked with the impossible: Pick up the broken pieces of society following the horrific death of Shimura, and there was no way to win in a position like that. He had saved thousands, but because he was strictly a Rescue Hero, and because of the…manner of Shimura’s death, crime rates had sky-rocketed.

Izuku will take the Bastion of Defense any day. 

“– and he mentored some of the greatest modern day rescue heroes. He was so cool,” Kirishima says in a final breath.

“He may have only done it occasionally,” Izuku says, “But his fighting style is incredible to analyze.” 

Kirishima gasps, grabbing for his phone. Izuku watches, paused in the street under the phone lines and bright sun. Kirishima takes a second, but soon he’s pulled up what he needs.

“Someone wrote a whole essay on it,” Kirishima says, “Here. Give me your number and I’ll send the link.” 

Izuku does, still standing in the middle of the street. 

“It’s on a kinda old website, but–”

“HeroLog?” Izuku asks, when the essay comes through. He’s read that essay. At least three times, “It’s a great site.” 

Kirishima grins, and they keep walking, “What’s your account? You don’t have to, but I post sometimes, so we could follow each other.” he kicks another rock, this time aimlessly, “If you want.” 

“I’m BastionOfIntel.” 

He barely even hesitates giving out the name. It’s a separate part of his life, the internet, but for some reason, it doesn’t bother him this time. Sharing this semi-private part of him is just a way to make friends, and he thinks that he might value those friends more than the privacy.

“Red_riot,” Kirishima says, “Is mine. All lowercase.” 

Izuku smiles at him, and then the two follow each other on the site.

Chapter Text

HeroLog Chat-

red_riot: heyyyy random question but how many years have you been on this site? 

BastionOfIntel: Why are we texting?

red_riot: huh?

BastionOfIntel: We’re a foot away from eachother.

red_riot: but bro think of the novelty.

BastionOfIntel: Alright… Eight years.

red_riot: woah! that's a long time. I think I've only been here since elementary, so three years lol. not as impressive :/

BastionOfIntel: I don't really know anyone else from real life who’s on this site so that's impressive to me.

red_riot: thanks man :) wait why were you on the site so young then if u don't know anybody??

BastionOfIntel: I’ve always been a super fan of heroes, so it was only a matter of time, really.

red_riot: oh! that makes sense!

red_riot: omg i realize i never asked who you’re fav is.

BastionOfIntel: Endeavor, y'know the Bastion of Defense. I'm still really proud I snagged this username haha

red_riot: OHHH! I should of figured xp. you have a really cool username btw

BastionOfIntel reacted to a message: :D

They enter class together, and Izuku doesn't feel as drained as he thought he might, probably due to the fact that they didn’t stop talking about heroes for the entire walk. Kirishima sits down. Izuku flounders for a second, trying to figure out if he should sit next to him, but Kirishima starts talking to Jirou, so with a wave, he joins Uraraka and Iida at their usual spot. They're whispering about something conspiratorial, but break apart when they see him. Uraraka concernedly looks over his arm before giving a thumbs up to Iida, and then they both nod.

“There should be an olympic sport for synchronized nodding,” he mutters, sitting down, “You two would win forever.”

“Midoriya,” Iida  says, very calmly, and Izuku looks up at him. He’s perfectly still, which Izuku realizes is an indicator of seriousness. Iida makes him and Uraraka lean in until they're huddling together.

“...yeah?” he whispers, because it feels right.

“My family is very influential,” he starts slowly. 

Izuku vaguely knows that, even outside of Ingenium and a history of Pros, the Iida’s are in all the right circles to be very politically influential. If he remembers correctly, they’ve been wealthy for generations. 

“Bakugou's…isn't,” Uraraka says to continue Iida’s previous statement. 

Izuku doesn't know what to say to that, so he just lets the conversation continue.

“I could probably figure out a way to get him…well,” Iida makes a vague hand gesture. 

“If he's going to be a problem,” Uraraka whispers, “Iida could get him really, truly expelled.”

Izuku immediately widens his eyes and leans back, breaking from the circle. He doesn't want any part of this conversation, not now and not ever. He’s not going to help in a conspiracy  that would try to illegally get someone kicked out from a school, Bakugou or not. But he still finds that he's smiling.

And then he stops smiling, and considers. He hasn't thought much about the confrontation on the top of the mountain. The… conversation . Even with the slight details that he gave these two, they're already considering tampering. “I disagree with the whole thing,” Iida says, and Uraraka nods, “But we've decided that it's up to you.”

“We're still exploring options,” Uraraka says, “But U.A. shouldn't have bullies.”

Which is a bold statement. Izuku loves this school more than anything, but it’s still a school. There are going to always be bullies. 

“Don't do anything,” he finds himself saying, “I can handle it.”

Because he has to. He can’t just get Bakugou kicked from school, that would go against everything All Might wanted. Because Izuku can’t see a world where Bakugou suddenly becomes a better person after getting expelled and severing all of his dreams. 

Plus he has to stick by his side, in that near future where Bakugou is an actual hero, someone that others can look up to. None of this reasoning helps the sickness in his stomach. 

“Okay,” Uraraka nods slowly, and then that's it. She moves on to an entirely unrelated conversation, nothing about yesterday and nothing about Bakugou.

Aizawa comes in on time today, and after casual morning greetings and him pouring an energy drink into a coffee cup, he addresses the class.

“Nezu hates me, which means that homeroom is not nearly long enough for what we need to get through today,” There's a silence where Aizawa swirls his cup around and takes a long sip, “First, you all owe me a three page essay on our exercise yesterday.”

The class groans. Well, not the whole class. Izuku finds that idea perfectly delightful.

“It was the only stipulation for us to use the gym early,” Aizawa says, “Thirteen wants feedback.”

The class grumbles, but Izuku is happier than he's ever been in his entire life. He gets to give feedback to a real life pro, and for the first time in his life, it’s asked for. 

“Three pages. No less, no more,” He emphasizes this, looking over the class with a glare,  “Second bit of business is with the election. We–Iida?”

Iida lowers his hand, “Sir, are we going to discuss the winning of yesterday's event? I don't believe Midoriya received the gift card.”

There's a second of silence as Izuku tries to hide in his chair.

“Well, Midoriya here decided to drop the gift card off of a cliff so I don’t feel much responsibility to replace it.”

There's another second of silence before it's interrupted by a small bit of an uproar, calls of broken promises. Most of them come from Kaminari, which is strange because his group, outside of Bakugou, swam in a forest lake.  

Aizawa takes a long enough drink from his cup that it gives time for the class to settle down. He puts the mug down with a sense of finality. 

“Fine,” he says, smiling with teeth, “Let's consider. Who remembers the rules I set out?”

Iida cautiously raises his hand again, and Aizawa, again, nods to his direction 

“Get the card,” Iida says, “don't leave the Mountain Zone, and don't hurt each other.”

“And if you hurt yourself ,” Aizawa says, plummeting any hopes, “ tell me . It was a rule to keep you people safe. Midoriya broke some bones, which disqualifies that team. Bakugou strained his muscles to an unsafe degree, which disqualified his team, Jirou hurt her ears, and I'm pretty sure that Koda got bit by a wolf.”

“Ah, but Jirou sat out for the rest of it,” Aoyama asks, raising his hand, “She might have been injured, but she was much safer than anyone else. Oui?”  

Aizawa considers for a second, but before he can say anything, Momo raises her hand, and slightly unprompted says, “Hagakure tased me. She was part of Jirou’s group.”

Aizawa's eyes go wide, and then turns his chair away from the class, and takes about thirty seconds to probably just breathe.

“Disqualified, every one of you,” he says once he stands up, “Hagakure see me after class.”

“Yes sir,” she says quickly, and then, barely even under her breath, “Narc.”

“So none of you win,” he says, “And the card is irrelevant.”

No one brings up any further complaints.

“But I wasn’t too dissatisfied with your efforts as a class,” he says, muttering into his drink, “So. Keep it up.”

A compliment from a suspected underground hero. Izuku is pretty sure that’s better than any ice cream. 

“Okay. Second item of business. Class responsibility. Apparently 1-B already chose both their president and their vice, which means I'm behind. Because I forgot. Write down a name on a piece of paper, and the winner will be president and second will be vice, etc. etc.”

He sits down, and when they don't do anything, he dumps out his cup of pens on his desk.

“If you forgot,” he says, “I have extras.”

Izuku rips off a piece of paper from one of his notebooks and considers. He covers his answer and considers the two people next to him. He would rather have someone who’s already demonstrated leadership abilities. Uraraka leaped across that chasm without a second thought, and that’s a good skill to have, but not for someone who might be in charge of the whole class. Izuku feels a poke in his shoulder, and he realizes that the rest of the class is passing up a stack of papers, and he might the last one to vote. He scratches down Iida with a slight waver. 

They pass all the papers to the front and wait as Aizawa leafs through each one, scratching little lines in a notebook.

“You know, I bet we could still find the ice cream card,” Uraraka sighs, “If we look.”

“Break into the U.S.J.?“ Iida asks.

“Oh, Thirteen wouldn't let you get away with that,” Aizawa says as he sorts through the papers, apparently listening. 

Thirteen. Izuku is itching to start his report. He does have concerns about the U.S.J., especially the Mountain Zone.

“Iida Tenya,” Aizawa says after another second. 

“Sir?” he asks, looking behind him like he’s in the way of something.  

“Congratulations, Mr. President.”

“Oh,” he says. Uraraka laughs at his expression, because he's blushing a little.

The class claps politely. Izuku wondered who ran about four miles yesterday morning and decided to make him president. Well, besides himself.

“And second place is Midoriya Izuku. Congrats you two.”

“Men always have the power,” Ashido shakes her head softly, but she's smiling, so she’s probably not bitter. Izuku doesn't want to move from his seat.

“Hell yeah,” Uraraka says, grinning, “About the win, not the fact that men have more power.” 

“It’s only natural, of course,” Kaminari says, and then squeaks when Ashido throws a pen at him, “Joking, joking.”

“No, uh, I’m okay,” Izuku mutters. He can't actually be expected to…help run the class? Not when he's certainly going to be expelled after it's revealed that he's an imposter. Plus going up there and standing in front of the class seems like the worst thing in the whole world right now, “But thank you.” 

“Alright,” Aizawa says, “Then Yaoyorozu, you were third, so you're vice.”

Uraraka looks a little concerned, maybe disappointed at Izuku's short tenure, but she plasters on a smile as fast as she can.

★

“You okay?” Uraraka gently asks, at the end of the class period, poking him in the arm with her book, “Worried about abusing power or something?” 

“I can't talk very well in front of an audience,” he says, shaking his head “And I worry too much about minute details to have that much responsibility. I think I’d go insane.”

“It'll go straight to your head,” she nods in agreement, and then pokes him again with the book, “You're quick under pressure and you're also, more importantly, considerate under pressure. Next year I'm voting for you again and you better take the position.”

He smiles at her, even if it feels strained. 

“I’ve emailed you the chart,” Aizawa says, “So next class you people better be in your right seats.”

Outside the classroom, Momo is standing at the door, with a notebook. Everyone is writing down their names and numbers.

“Group chat,” she says when Uraraka asks, “For assignments and emergencies. Plus, I think I'm going to host a party on Friday, and I want everyone there,” she pauses a second before a slightly crooked smile appears on her face, “I think I’ll serve ice cream. Enough to drown in. If we want.” 

Izuku smiles at her and her little rebellion to their teacher and writes down his name and number. She takes the pen and notebook back when he's done and looks down at him for a second.

“You would have done great,” she whispers, and he sort of shrugs.

The rest of the day is vastly different from the first day. Now they get to go to all their other classes, sitting with new teachers, new sights, new homework. He gets to see Present Mic as a real teacher, which isn't much different from him being a hero. Or a radio host for that matter. They start with their new seating chart, and he’s trying his very best not to think about the fact that Bakugou is sitting directly in front of him. Neither of them comment on the fact, but Izuku still isn’t pleased about the fact that he’ll be looking at the back of his head for the next three years. 

Uraraka is sitting behind Iida, which means that Izuku gets to be happy for them. It also means that there’s a pit of sorrow when they burst into laughter over something before Present Mic’s class. Momo is behind him at least, which is nice, but she’s not the type of person that Izuku thinks he can easily make small talk with before a class.

The general education classes are fine, they’re taught by heroes, which means that the course material is being outshone by whichever insanely costumed person is teaching them. Izuku gets a tentative plan written down by the end of the class period, trying to figure out which teachers are going to care the most about his quality of work and therefore which class he’ll have to put the most work in. 

Surprisingly, it’s probably going to be Ms. Midnight’s class. She teaches humanities, a class focused on both art and history.

Izuku can’t really pay attention to either of those things, focusing mostly on Midnight. He hadn’t recognized her until she had said her name and, more importantly, her hero name. This is the Pro, Midnight, with her flashy smiles and less than…traditional costumes. Instead of any of that, she’s in a classroom with a sweater that was probably made over a hundred years ago and glasses chains. She looks like a librarian, and she has a PowerPoint that looks like it was made by a fourteen-year-old, shitty memes included. But she seems enthusiastic, which means that Izuku will have to put more effort than he wants to in this strange history/art class.

There are only four general education courses, which means some of the subjects are squished together. Present Mic teaches literature and linguistics, Thirteen teaches general sciences (Izuku turns in his report, completed in English, and Thirteen looks surprised), Ectoplasm teaches mathematics, and Midnight teaches humanities. It’s a fine spread, and most of them seem enthusiastic in their own right, but they also know that they’re not the reason that any of the Hero Course students are here.

No, that’s the class that happens after lunch. It takes up the remaining three hours of the day, the Foundational Hero Studies class. It’s supposed to be the basis of the rest of their careers. An education in combat, first aid, rescue scenarios, and anything else that they might need to become a real hero. Best Jeanist taught it last year, and apparently out of the students, nine were selected for internships, one of the highest rates ever achieved.

Instead of any of that, Aizawa lectures them for three hours straight.

They leave the classroom exactly once, when Aizawa, halfway through his lecture gives them a two minute break for the bathroom. The second he announces this, Ashido lets out the longest sigh, putting her head in her hands. Kaminari yells in frustration the second he leaves the classroom, the sound not muted by the walls in the slightest. 

Izuku walks down the hall once, and then returns to the class, his legs properly stretched out.

And so they continue their lecture on the 'History of Self Preservation, and the Heroes Who Died Because They Were Idiots'. That's the title of the presentation, and the whole thing feels a little targeted at Izuku's corner of the room.

But class continues, with Uraraka staring out the window, Iida trying and failing to ask relevant questions, and Todoroki softly snoring. Despite the drowning voice of their teacher, Izuku finds the time is easy to pass while taking notes and doodling pictures of a hero costume. They're supposed to get those soon enough, but Izuku still isn't entirely satisfied with his design. He feels like maybe he'll never be happy with it. It's not practical enough, and any sort of embellishments he considers just seem too flashy. He puts away the design at the end of the class period.

He walks to and from classes with Iida and Uraraka, and leaves the school with Kirishima as well. It's... surprisingly easy. Every time that he walks anywhere, he doesn't feel that all encompassing fear of middle school, like there's someone just around the corner ready to kick the shit out of him. Not that Bakugou ever went that far, but other people saw his bullying and took it as a clear invitation.

But now he's surrounded by three people, two who are bigger than him and one who is a girl. And no one's going to try and beat up someone who's next to a girl. That's just not very classy.

Plus, the anxiety of middle school clears more and more away every time that Uraraka laughs at one of his jokes, or Iida nods in his polite way at some observation that Izuku made.

And once they split up, Kirishima follows him and they continue to talk about any drama that's happened on HeroLog and that helps too.

It's how it works for the rest of the week. The morning classes are all fascinating, with enthusiastic teachers and enough homework to keep Izuku focused on school for most of the evening. In the afternoon they do their Hero Foundation course, which is boring. It's lectures and videos and essays that are too long with very little substance. Aizawa teaches them all like it's the worst punishment he's ever been given. Which is strange, because during homeroom, he seems almost…engaged, in his own way. At least he doesn't seem as frustrated as he does during the afternoon. 

Kirishima is the first one to crack, Friday afternoon, twenty or so minutes before school is let out and during a presentation on first aid with real life example attached. Aizawa’s voice is droning and doesn't leave much time at all for questions or conversation, but Kirishima forces the matter by not raising his hand. 

“Sir, are we going to get to do an activity? Any activity?” he asks, and this makes Aizawa stop, “At this point, I'd break and then splint my own arm.”

Aizawa pauses from where he's pointing up to a degloving incident, and stares down at Kirishima for a second. Kirishima grimaces, but doesn't back down.

He thinks for a second, before sitting down at his desk chair. and sighing a way that rivals most of his students, because at least three of them have taken this period to sleep, and two of those students snore.

“I clearly don't have the skill to teach you people without you killing yourselves,” again, glaring at Izuku’s corner of the room, “And I'm not getting paid any extra to do this, so you people get to deal with this.”

Kirishima frowns.

“But hey,” Aizawa sort of smiles, “If enough of you complain to the Principal, maybe we'll finally get that Hero Studies teacher. Or maybe I'll just get fired.”

“Where is the teacher?” Ashido asks, huffing, “This feels irresponsible.” 

“Yeah,” Aizawa says, “It is. Give it another week and Nezu will get someone. Maybe.” 

And that's the end of that. Izuku knows that there needs to be another teacher, so he's just not sure why U.A. hasn't just hired the first hero they find off the street. Maybe they’re planning something big. 

Probably not. 

★

Only after he's home from class does Izuku remember the party. On Tuesday, later in the day, Momo had delivered on her promise and had sent out a PDF invitation, with curly letters and floral patterns for a formal invitation.

There had been an address and dress instructions, and bizarrely, the time read '5:00 P.M. - ???' all in that same cursive font.

It means that he has to change as fast as possible into the nicest jeans that he owns and a graphic tee that he thinks looks nice.

The invitation also instructs to bring a swimsuit, so he shoves one in a bag, along with whatever he needs to stay the night just in case the three question marks actually extend into eternity. He's not sure how rich people do parties.

“Oh dear,” his mom says, “Finally running away from home?”

Izuku looks up from where he's tying his sneakers, and sees his mom, sitting at the kitchen counter, scrolling on her phone and smiling at her own joke.

“Ha ha,” he dryly says, standing up and shouldering his bag, “Someone is throwing a party.”

He opens the door, and when there's no comment, he looks back to his mom. She's smiling at him, and he realizes that this might be the first party he's been to in years. Since Bakugou's early birthdays, probably.

“Love you,” he quickly says, closing the door.

“Have fun!” he can hear her say from behind the door.

First big party of his life. He can do this.

Chapter Text

Archived Page-

dyeing_is_inevitable: (Archived) Day thirty-two of working at Endeavor's Agencyyyy 

• Finally not late to work whoops

• Anyways, I've recently noticed that coffee does some weird ass shit to my body, shortness of breath, headaches, etc

• So no more breakfast for me lmao 

• Oh, Miss Boss gave me less paperwork to fill out today, she seems to be warming up to me lately

• I think it's a sign I'll finally be put on the team of sidekicks, and I could be just feeling hopeful, but I know that villain fight I helped with last week definitely solidified something 

• I finished filling the papers out and started kind of just wandering around. The place is pretty spacious, lot of room to breathe

• Wandering around some more…….nobody really talks very much while at their desks and it's boringggg

• I waved to this lady in the halls and started up a conversation with her

• She jokingly called me ‘naive’ 

• Like die I guess loll

• No it's fine

• The highlight of my day was when I ate lunch by the big windows. Endeavor was right outside his own agency, fighting villains

• Which was so cool

• It was almost like I could feel the heat radiating off of his flame attacks through the glass 

• Something was up with the lunch they served that day though, which kinda ruined the moment

• I threw it all up in the bathroom boooo 

• Avocado- Just another thing to add to my allergy list

Likes: 165

EndeavorsEyelash: kys

Likes: 9

lichenlicker: Girl this is an archived post what are you doing here. Why are there so many likes. Where am I? What’s happening?

Likes: 10

The late sun is low in the sky, casting gradient shadows across the cinder block wall. The cold March air is a shock as Tenya leaves his family's car, stepping out onto the characteristically smooth sidewalk with the characteristically clean streets. This town is nice. Tenya would know, he’s been going to this house for years, political preening and whatnot. 

The large gate is imposing and shut, blocking out a good chunk of the view of the home. Only the top of the roof and the large forested canopy that surrounds the grounds is visible. Tenya is glad to see the security for the property, it lessens the hum of stress that comes when dealing with a group of teenagers outside of a school setting. Parties are fine, they’re inevitable. But god, why does he have to deal with it? What if someone gets bullied? What if someone brings alcohol? What if Bakugou shows up? He’d have to experience an ego death before figuring out what to do in that situation.

He really wishes he could have convinced Midoriya to consent to their plan. Him and Uraraka had spent at least twenty minutes trying to formulate a perfect plan to get the delinquent expelled, which they then had to discard entirely. 

The only thing that’s helped is that, the day he had been elected as president, Tenya had stayed after class to talk to Aizawa. He voiced concerns regarding Bakugou targeting Midoriya. Aizawa had nodded and listened, and at the end of the conversation (that had somehow turned into a one sided rant), had told Tenya to give it at least another week. And when Tenya pushed, Aizawa had simply told him that there were things that could be done if it became clear that there was targeting. 

He’s the president now, and that means he has to strive for what’s best for each student, and if Midoriya thinks he can handle it, Tenya will have to trust him. 

The president of a whole class. He wouldn't be sure how to articulate his excitement to his friends without sounding like a dictator, but the position has brightened his entire week. The power feels right in his hands. 

But with the baseline excitement that is low level responsibility, comes the ever present sense of awareness. The awareness of everyone in his class and how they’re all doing. Personally, physically, academically, all of that is relevant to him now. Everything that they do is something that reflects on him . 

And it might give him an aneurysm before he’s thirty, but he will use his power with nothing but the utmost respect. And aneurysm aside, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t excited. 

Despite the fact that this party might be a disaster, it’s his responsibility to be here. 

And maybe he’ll get to spend more than an hour-long lunch with his friends. He’s never…felt this way about people. When he made friends in middle school it was mostly people from the study groups that his parents sent him to, all like minded kids with a prioritization for school work. He had been friends with them, gladly, and ended up making some actual connections. But they hadn’t lasted into high school. He doesn’t resent them for it, a friendship is a two person attempt, and he never much tried to reach out. 

But now there's Uraraka with her sunshine-like approach to everything and Izuku with his dry humor and their collective brilliance. What’s new is the way that every conversation seems to sparkle. He looks forward to their lunches and the few minutes in between classes like nothing before. 

Tenya finds the call box and presses the button with a firm click. He's been to Momo's house for parties before, but never without his parents. Those parties had all been high laughter, black tie dresses and political talk that Tenya can barely comprehend, even now. 

This afternoon, his parents were worried. They had to make sure that he remembered all the etiquette rules, from waiting his turn in a conversation to not throwing up on the host (it had happened to his great aunt and is still talked about to this day). His brother had laughed at the progressively more obscure rules and told him to have fun.

The closest he had felt to that sparkly conversation with Uraraka and Midoriya was when he spent time with his brother. 

“Here for the party?” the voice asks, certainly Momo. She laughs, “Kidding, there's nothing else you'd be here for.” 

Iida smiles, “Hello Momo. I hope I am in the fashionably late range.” 

“Iida, there are only three other people here, you’re practically early.”

Then the callbox cuts off and the gate begins to slowly grind open against the cobblestone. 

The house is large, with wide windows, orange brick, and crawling ivy. The glass is slightly tinted for privacy and the yard is a master work of stone and plants, all outlined by the large forest.

He makes his way to the door and the gate behind him slams shut. The pathway is cobblestone, and everything smells like honeysuckle. He gets to the front of the house and finds it unlocked, so he makes his way into the large main room.

He takes off his shoes and marvels at the entry room. It’s a sitting room, a gallery, and a foyer all put together. The windows are tall and let in an appropriate amount of light to shine on the European style furniture and decor. 

“Iida,” Momo says, walking around the corner in an outfit that's toned down enough from her usual formal wear to be appropriate for the party. The song and dance, they both know it well, “I'm glad you could make it.”

He's led more through the house, making small talk about the newly acquired Rembrant painting he saw in her foyer. They talk about historical art for the three minutes it takes to get through her house, a strangely common topic to fall upon. 

Apparently the real party is happening out in the backyard. Her home has a covered patio, a rose laced gazebo, and a pool the size of their classroom.

At least three of their classmates are already here, apparently determined to drain the pool through a grand water fight. 

“I’m not sure if Kaminari’s ever been in a private pool, so he insisted on doing this first,” Momo says, and then they do the rich person laugh that they’re used to hearing at parties. After a second it stops when they realize where they are and who they are. 

There’s a moment where all that can be heard is the rustling of wind and the splashing of their classmates.

“Doesn’t Kaminari have an electricity quirk?” Tenya asks, squinting as the other students yell about something inconsequential, some pool game.

Momo considers for a second, “Yes?”

“Do we think he’ll kill everyone in the pool?” Tenya asks, and then Momo just sort of shrugs. There’s that low level of responsibility again. 

Well maybe not as low a level this time.

“I’m going to ask.”  

★

After about an hour, the party has begun in full swing and almost everyone has shown up from class. Tenya has found himself a purple inflatable chair, and is now floating around the pool, trying his very best to not hit Kaminari, who is on a similar chair looking a bit grumpy. Apparently yes, it is risky for him to swim, so now he’s been isolated to the floating chair, where he’s crossing his arms and occasionally glaring at Tenya. At least Ashido is there to push him around and make engine noises. 

“I'm impressed. I didn’t know you could be that stressed while on a pool floatie,” Uraraka says, paddling over to him. She’s apparently done pretending to be sharks with Tsu. The other previous shark is now at the bottom of the pool, and at least half of the class is waiting for her to resurface, “You’re supposed to be relaxed.” 

Tenya points to where Kaminari keeps leaning too far over his pool floatie, “If he falls in the pool and kills everyone I worry that my presidential title will be revoked. That's where the stress is.” 

“He’s fine,” Uraraka says, “We’re all heroes, remember?” 

“Not yet we’re not,” Tenya says, pushing his glasses up and sighing. He then gestures to Tsu, “What about her? She seems to be content to live down there. Is she going to ever come up for air?” 

“Ah, yeah she told me about that. Apparently it's her ‘party trick’,” Uraraka says, and Tenya shoots another concerned look to where Tsu is maybe dead at the bottom of the pool, so she explains further, “She can stay under for I think...three hours? Frogs stuff, yeah?”

“Holy shit,” a voice says, and Tenya realizes that Uraraka has been slowly pushing them to where Midoriya’s gently treading water near the side of the pool, observing, “Three hours?”

“Apparently a frog can stay underwater for a long time,” Tenya takes a drink from the soda that Momo had brought out for them.

“Yeah, but,” Midoriya says, gently making waves, “Three hours? This could be really useful– Wait.”

He ducks his head under water and swims forward, under the pool float that Tenya's laying on. Uraraka tilts her head, but soon, Midoriya has swam out from under it on the other side, holding onto one of their classmates.

“I-I think Aoyama got trapped under your floatie,” Midoriya says, taking Aoyama to the side of the pool as he sputters the water like a drowned cat, “Swam with your motion instead of against and got trapped. Easy enough mistake to make.”

“Oh,” Tenya says, “Oh my–I didn’t notice. You have my sincerest apologies.”

“Oui, oui, ne t'inquiete pas cherie,” he says, laying half on the cement and half in the water, staring up at the sky like he’s a dying soldier.

“I think that was a curse,” Uraraka whispers to Tenya, “I think he cursed your family line. French-style.” 

“I would take full responsibility,” Tenya whispers back. Aoyama looks alright though, and after a base level check up from Midorya, he soon gets fully out of the pool. He slogs his way to lounge in a plastic chair and spreads out with much more dramatics than are probably necessary. 

“Good eye,” Tenya says, “Thank you Midoriya.”

Midoriya just sort of shrugs and starts up a conversation. Tenya examines him. He's talking to Uraraka about the potential French that just cursed the Iida line like nothing happened.

“Next year,” Tenya ends up starting. Midoriya looks up at the sudden interjection, “You're going to be class president.”

He smiles, a little bit like he's unconvinced. Like the whole idea is silly.

“You said you didn't like the audience,” Uraraka says, shifting focus a bit, “I think you could get around that. Stage fright can be helped.”

“It's not just that. I'm not good with responsibility,” he breathes out, “I make...stupid decisions.”

There's a beat of silence before–

“That's not even remotely true–”

 “Do you not remember how you saved me–”

Izuku is looking at the two of them, wide eyed. And then, “I'll think about it,” he mutters, “I'm going to go see if Kacchan has decided to show up.” And then he kicks off of the wall and starts to swim to the front of the pool.

Uraraka sighs, before swimming to the stairs and walking towards the cooler of soda, checking up on Aoyama. 

Tenya lays back, kicking his chair back into the center of the pool. Everyone who's going to show up is already here by now, the only missing students are Todoroki and Bakugou. Tenya is fine with that. Todoroki seems private, and Bakugou seems like a bit of a bad person. Tenya will respect the first and appreciate the absence of the second.

He still can't understand Midoriya's clear…leniency with him. Nicknames and everything, apparently. They most certainly know each other and Tenya is convinced that the harassment is targeted. 

The sun is cleared from the sky and shadows are long before everyone decides to get out of the pool. The exhaustion of inhaling a gallon of water can worm its way into everyone's physical wellbeing. Tsu is the last to get out, and she shakes off like a dog.

The shower situation is terrible, but it gets done, and about half of the students get more or less clean. Ashido goes first because apparently she turns purple if she doesn't wash off pool water. Something about how the chlorine affects the natural acidity of her skin.

Midoriya tries to very subtly write this down on his phone in a little notes app. He’s collecting their quirks like an antiques dealer, and Iida finds it positively charming. 

They start dinner soon after that, which is eaten at four circular tables and served from a long buffet-style table that’s too fancy for children with still drying hair and wrinkled clothing. They eat outside, with lights all around them and the pool shining blue in the quickly approaching moonlight. 

“This turned out great!” Uraraka says gleefully when Momo sits down after grabbing some forgotten napkins from the kitchen, “I wasn’t expecting so many people.” 

“Yeah,” Momo says, resting against her hand, deflating a bit in clear exhaustion, “I’m honestly surprised for a party this early in the year.” 

“Well it’s important to get to know each other,” Tenya says, “For class morale.” 

“And for drama,” Tsu says, “Can’t have drama if we’re all strangers.” 

“Todoroki was never going to come, was he?” Momo sighs, “That was half the reason my parents agreed to let me host this thing.”

“For one guy?” Uraraka asks, scooping some of the curry into her mouth. 

“For ‘networking’. That’s their word, I’m not crazy like them,” she sheepishly smiles. Tenya knows the feeling. The only reason he’s even at this party is because he framed it as a political move. 

“He seems…uninterested in any of this,” Tenya says, “Half the time I wonder if he even wants to be here.” 

“Blah,” Tsu says, “It's probably an ego thing. He just doesn’t want to be here because U.A. isn’t good enough. Or something like that.” 

“Have you been talking to Ashido?” Tenya asks, and Tsu shrugs with a smile, but leaves it at that. 

Midoriya mutters something behind the bit of rice he’s eating. 

Momo tilts her head, eyebrows furrowed, “What–”

“He asked if you know anything about a Bakugou,” Tsu asks, loud enough that Kirishima from the other table looks over. Midoriya looks to his curry and ignores all the looks passed around all the table. The rumors have gotten out that he had been attacked. And yeah, it wasn’t specifically against the rules, but a full explosion to anyone seems…reckless. The whole class understands that.

Tenya shares a look with Uraraka, who bites her thumb, clearly thinking. 

“Oh,” Momo says, before Uraraka can say anything, “About that.” 

“Wait, who’s Bakugou?” Tsu interrupts, asking Uraraka in a stage whisper, and the stares are suddenly directed towards her. After a second of silence, “I barely know you peoples’ names, give me a break.” 

Uraraka motions an explosion and Tsu clicks her tongue, remembering. 

“About what?” Midoriya asks, returning to look at Momo. 

“When I asked for his number for the group chat he seemed almost…receptive,” she sighs, “But when I explained what it was for, he said he ‘looked forward to seeing my name at the bottom of the rankings’. Whatever that means.”

“Yeah,” Midoriya says, “Yeah that makes sense.”

Tsu takes a deep breath and says, “He sounds like a character for sure.”

“He’s a firecracker,” Uraraka says, smiling at her joke. 

“Is the group chat for anything besides parties?” Midoriya asks.

“That and like, homework help. Regular school group chat stuff,” she tilts her head this way and that, her ponytail bobbing back and forth, “We had one in middle school and it was the only reason I passed chemistry.”  

Midoriya nods, his fingers tapping quickly at the tablecloth in a specific pattern, “If you frame it more about the homework, he’ll join. He doesn’t want to be invited to the parties, but he wants to be a part of any study group.” 

“Thanks,” Momo smiles at him, “You two are friends?” 

“I’d just give you his number if we were,” he says, shrugging. 

Before anyone can comment on that, the door behind them clicks open.

Iida's closest, so, besides Jirou, he’s the first to hear the smooth sound of the door sliding open. 

After all the devil talk they’ve been doing, Tenya expects to see the fiery face of Bakugou. 

Instead, he turns in his chair to see Todoroki.

He has a towel slung over his shoulder, a small backpack that he’s holding, and for the second time in a week has shown up inappropriately late to an event. 

“Train late again?” Kaminari asks from the back like a heckler at a comedy club. 

Todoroki puts his bag down and gently moves the towel from off his shoulders, “I walked,” he says, tilting his head while folding the towel into a perfect square. 

Kaminari gives a double thumbs up in a comedy heckler type shame. 

Todoroki takes this as an end to the conversation and sits down in the closest seat, which is next to Tenya. After a few minutes of Todoroki messing around on his phone, Momo brings him a plate of food and he switches focus to that. He picks off the vegetables first, and then all of the meat, and then the rice, all carefully picked up, soaked in the curry, and then eaten. 

 Todoroki, once he's finished with his food, turns away from the table and starts playing a mobile game on his phone, one that's sparkly and pink and something that Tenya’s mom plays. 

But occasionally, he’ll just look. Look out to the yard and the pool when he won’t even dignify anyone else with a glance. Tenya realizes that he hasn't been paying attention to the other conversation much, and so he goes back to the topic at hand. 

Once the tables are cleared, Todoroki has put away his phone and is now fully looking out. Tenya tilts his head around to see what he's staring at. 

The gray and red of his eyes are reflecting the light of the neon pool.

“Did you want to swim?” Tenya asks, quiet enough that no one else can hear. It's supposed to mostly be a conversation starter, but Todoroki looks to him like he's surprised to be talked to, “You can, it’s not a very structured party.” 

The two of them stare at each other for a second.

“Didn't you already go?” Todoroki asks, clearly having seen Tenya’s wrinkly fingers and wet hair.

“Sure, but I could swim for a couple more hours, if you want company,” Tenya shrugs, ignoring his aforementioned wrinkly fingers. 

Todoroki nods, and then nods again firmer this time, “Thanks.”

Tenya says, “I'll ask Momo after dinner, and then invite a couple more people. I don't think Tsu will ever be done with swimming.”

Todoroki just returns to looking at the pool, no indication that the conversation is over.

So Tenya reluctantly returns back to the other conversation. Despite what Momo had scoffed at, they are here partially to network. And since it’s almost impossible to get a singular audience with Endeavor, Tenya knows that his parents will be over the moon about him trying to talk to Todoroki. But for some reason, it sickens him to think about another person as a ‘networking opportunity’. 

He’s the president after all. It’s good to make everyone feel welcome, no matter the parentage. 

“Oh. He’s a firecracker !” Tsu says, dissolving into giggles almost half an hour late to the joke, “That’s so stupid.”

Chapter Text

Stain Page-

heropro_69: How the hell is there a page for this freak already?? People need to stop talking about people like this, that’s all they want. 

Likes: 20

swansong: Idk he’s kinda hot.

Likes: 3

heropro_69: I THOUGHT WE BANNED YOU SITE-WIDE. MODS KILL THIS GUY.

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(MOD)Red_Might: lmao

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Izuku is pretty sure that parties are an acquired taste. Like when he was young and tried tomatoes for the first time. They were too sharp and metallic, and all the same so strangely watery. He couldn't eat them until a couple of years ago, when he finally found that underlying sweet flavor. Parties are something like tomatoes. His metaphor is running away from him. 

He scoots, again, away from the center of the large chair. It's a floral patterned wing chair, with two large arm rests, and sitting on one of those seat rests is Sero. The couches are all taken up by the class, and Izuku thought he'd be safe if he went for one of the chairs. But Sero had very politely asked if he could sit on the side of the seat, and now they're here.

Izuku is slowly trying to slide his way away from Sero, who's hopefully not paying attention to how his seatmate is morphing into the side of the chair.

But there’s still occasional physical contact, the brushing of knees together, the jostling of his shoulder when Sero gets excited. Izuku is fine with touch, just as long as it’s not so...random. If he could schedule in when he gets hugs, he would. Happily.

He hasn't figured out a way to enjoy himself at this party yet. Whenever Uraraka, Iida, Kirishima, or Momo have tried to talk to him, it’s been fine. Dinner had been great, even with the addition of Tsu and the conversation about Bakugou. He’s been able to smile and wander through conversation and feel content with his contribution. But if the whole class is talking in a cacophony of voices, all trying to figure out who has the weirdest ice cream tastes, then it's horrible.

After swimming and a detour to the kitchen, they’ve ended up in the living room with bowls and bowls of ice cream. Momo encouraged them to eat as much as they possibly could, and so most of his classmates are on their second bowl at least. He's eaten most of his way through a mint chocolate bowl that tastes more like gelato than anything else. All he knows is that it's very expensive ice cream, something he could have told from the packaging. It’s a beautiful design, with gold patterns and unnecessary French, which Aoyama had delighted over.

“That's horrific! They make that? And not as a joke?” Kirishima says, shocked into standing after Momo declares raisin cinnamon to be her favorite.

“It's good,” she mutters as she spoons up another glob of what could be vaguely described as beige soup, “I know that Iida likes it too.”

“We need an impeachment,” Sero mutters, and Izuku goes through the seven stages of grief trying to figure out if he should laugh or not. He ends up with a choked off snort that makes Sero look at him with more concern than comradery.

“Honestly I don't believe that anyone else has even heard of that flavor,” Kirishima continues, but he’s laughing, so it’s fine. 

Iida's not here to back up Momo's claim that it's something he enjoys. Him, Todoroki, and Tsu went back out to the pool relatively quickly after dinner, for swimming part two. Izuku almost wishes he had joined them, but then no, he'd probably end up embarrassing himself in front of Todoroki by asking him about his dad. Or mom. Or siblings. Or grandparents.

So now he's here and the conversation has shifted. Sero is swinging his spoon around, laughing about Momo attacking him with the tarp during the U.S.J. challenge.

“I wish we had more of that,” Hagakure sighs, “Instead of whatever he's been showing us. Like, I get it, injuries are something we have to get used to, but we're not in medical school.”

“He's just being stubborn,” Ojiro says, “It will pass once we get an appropriate Hero Study Teacher.”

Izuku is at least interested in this conversation.

“Why haven't they gotten one?” Sero asks, clearly confused like the rest of them, “I thought U.A. was prestigious and all. On top of everything, they should at least know how to employ someone.”

Ashido coughs. Everyone turns in her direction where she’s sitting alone on a singular chair, lounging like a king. Why couldn’t have Sero gone and sat next to her? 

“There's a rumor,” she says, and her smile spreads to her voice as she looks to her nails, picking off a hangnail.

She waits until there's an appropriate uproar for her dramatics, a general demand for her to continue and so, “They almost do have one. They've almost convinced a very important man. The faculty decided to keep trying to get him instead of, like, I don't know, some low level pro hero.”

“Who?” Izuku asks, sitting up and moving to the end of his seat. He asks it, but it's drowned out by the rest of the demands for the same.

There's a second of silence as Ashido waits for the voices to quiet down, before:

“Endeavor.”

There's another beat of silence before the break, excited chatter spreading through the crowd. Izuku feels stuck to the chair.

That would make his day, wouldn't it. That would make his entire year.

If Endeavor were the one to teach, to train him?

That would be the greatest thing to happen in his entire life.

“It makes sense,” Momo is nodding, “His son does go here.”

“Wouldn't that be so weird?” Uraraka says, “Imagine if your parents taught you in high school. So weird.”

The revelation leads into a more exciting conversation about the potential of Endeavor getting to train them and what kind of things he would teach them. Instead of 'icky medical pictures' (Hagakura’s phrasing), they'd do 'sick shit stunts' (Kaminari’s phrasing). 

But eventually the train of conversation that Izuku can appreciate turns away from school and back to the small talk that he still hasn't quite figured out to participate in. He wishes he could, talk about anything and everything with anyone in the whole world like how Uraraka can, but the desperation doesn't help him much.

Eventually, Sero leans forward, brushing his lower arm against Izuku's shoulder, and that's enough. He stands and mutters something about getting more ice cream, and after he makes the horrible trek through the group of sitting students, and waves off Uraraka’s concerned face, he eventually finds his way out of the living room and back into the grand tall hallways of the Yaoyorozu Manor. His bowl is cold in his hands and the manor is suddenly very quiet. 

He walks past the windows, glancing down at the pool where the three swimmers seem to be...well swimming. Not talking, just Iida and Todoroki making slow laps around the pool as Tsu swims below them like an actual frog. The regret in not joining them grows a bit more, there’s no conversation out there. The only light is coming from the pool, bright and blue, creating the illusion of a portal.

He finds himself in the kitchen quick enough, a bright white modern room, contrasting to the strangely old fashioned European style house. He's also not alone any more.

“Ahh bonsoir mon camarade de classe,” Aoyama says from where he's sitting primly on the countertop, bowl of ice cream to the side of him. Izuku hadn't noticed his absence. 

“Hi,” Izuku says, realizing that he's not going to get the peace and quiet he had been counting on. The ice cream is slowly melting on the counter so he makes himself busy, putting lids back on and putting them back in the freezer. He leaves out the cinnamon raisin ice cream to try a couple of scoops. ”I'm sorry, I don't know French.”

“None of you do,” Aoyama sighs, long and drawn out, “I fear I will kiss the next Frenchmen out of excitement for hearing the language.” 

“Alright,” Izuku says.

The silence stretches long, and Izuku starts to breathe slower, trying to make it so it's not so obvious that he's in a pit of despair at this particular social event.

“I saw you whilst I took the test,” Aoyama finally says in his lightly accented way, setting down his spoon with a hollow clink, “You played it very safe, non?”

“I’d rather that than be dead,” Izuku says, “I'm surprised I even passed.”

“Me too,” Aoyama says, and Izuku looks at him, because this almost feels like bullying, “Ah no, I mean moi, yes? I am surprised that I myself passed. I panicked quite a lot.”

“Yeah.” Izuku says, trying a bite of the ice cream. It's quite…strong of a flavor. Izuku isn't sure if he likes it very much. Who knows though, could end up just like a tomato. Ew. Tomato ice cream.

Izuku clears his throat, “You're more aware of your mistakes than anyone else. My mom tells me that.” Honestly, Izuku didn’t even see Aoyama during the test, so it’s probably true. 

“Oh? Very smart of her.”

“She's a smart lady,” Izuku says, powering through the next bite, “That phrase helped me through a couple of anxiety attacks back in elementary school.”

“Ahh,” Aoyama lightly laughs, “I too am a frequent shopper at, ah how do you say? Frequent shopper at the anxiety store?”

That's not a saying, but Izuku just shrugs like it is. Aoyama smiles again.

“Well, if you do panic anytime soon, let me know. Better to commiserate with a friend, non?” Aoyama asks, tilting the ice cream at Izuku, and so they clink their bowls together.

The two of them easily fall into something of a comfortable silence. Izuku checks his phone and slurps at his ice cream, the raisons congregating at the bottom. He's finally feeling a little bit better. Momo comes in a couple minutes later. 

“Oh hello you two,” she says, walking into the kitchen, “Great choice,” she smiles at the ice cream that Izuku is eating, “Uraraka needs some tea.”

Izuku notices Uraraka, who's leaning up against the kitchen door, clutching at her stomach again.

“Did you try to float a car or something?” Izuku asks.

“Sero wanted to see how efficient his swinging would be if he weighed nothing,” she wearily smiles.

“And apparently since she pushed herself during the gym thing, and the test,” Momo says, pushing through her cabinets until she has an armful of different ginger tea brands.

“My tolerance is worse,” Uraraka grimaces, finishing Momo's statement.

“Oh non, non,” Aoyama clicks his tongue, “Recovery is important.”

“I know,” Uraraka groans, resting her head against the door frame, “I just thought it'd be cool.”

“Was it?” Izuku asks, spooning through the watery remains of the bowl. 

And she smiles at him, one of those wicked grins, “Obviously.”

His mind immediately starts to run at a million miles per minute, trying to figure out who else would be good with low gravity abilities applied to them. First he thinks of Bakugou, who could probably get hundreds of feet up into the air with weightlessness. Jirou could also be good for an aerial attack, if–

“There he goes,“ Uraraka says, laughing slightly, some of the color returning in her cheeks, “What scheme do you have now?”

Izuku covers the bottom of his mouth with his hand and realizes he was muttering a little bit, “Just potential tactics during future fights,” he says, only a bit embarrassed. 

“Hm?” Aoyama asks.

“He's got an eye for quirks,” Uraraka explains a bit unprompted, “He knows how to...look at them right.”

“I'm a fan of analysis, that's all,” Izuku says with a slightly red face, waving his hands in front of him.

“How would mine do in a fight?” Aoyama asks, looking curious, “I didn't fight during the U.S.J., and I am curious of your opinion.”

Izuku considers. Aoyama in class had explained that he had a laser type ability, but Izuku hasn't seen it in action yet.

“Well if it's a laser, I won't ask you to use it here,” Izuku says, and Momo nods rigorously, “But from what I've heard, you're one of the best in our class to fight a lot of people at once. You'll be good at straight combat.”

He goes more in depth, trying to explain a couple more potential battle plans that would be good for a long range and highly destructive ability. But he really has to see it in action first.

“Combat?” Aoyama says, looking an equal part excited and nervous. “Palpitant, c'est palpitant.”

“Now I'm curious about mine.” Momo's slowly stirring the tea and leaning against the counter. She's not looking at Izuku.

He considers her power. It seems almost endless, but he knows it can't be. Quirks don't often work in the infinite. He considers the taser and the tarp and the canned coffee. “You know,” he says, “I'm kind of surprised with you being in the hero course.”

“That bad?” she smiles, “My parents think I should have gone into business.” 

“No, no.” Izuku says, “Ignore them, you’ll do great. You'd be really good in a survival situation and when all odds are against you. Or a surprise attack, honestly. Can you make weapons?”

“I made that taser,” she says, “But yes, anything that’s in line with the amount of fat in my body. It’s not perfect, but I’ll wither to nothing if I use it indefinitely.”

Harsh limitations, but it makes sense for something as broad as her ability. 

“That's pretty cool,” Uraraka says, sitting down and gladly taking the tea.

“What about you, mon cher? Have you already had your future read?”

“I know what he's going to say,” Uraraka smiles, “Rescue.”

He nods, and she shrugs, taking a sips.

“It's really useful,” he says, “for natural disasters and falling buildings and stuff. As long as you rest after big important fights.”

She's about to respond–

“What about my quirk?” someone asks. 

Which is unfortunate. Izuku really doesn't like invisibility quirks. 

Especially ones that you can't turn off. At that point, it's more of a hindrance than anything else. Invisibility quirks are somewhat common and never particularly helpful, especially since there are tricks to spotting someone. 

“Uh,” he starts, still staring in front of him, not even sure where to look.

“What do we think? Battlefront for me?” she hopefully jokes.

“Spy work,” Uraraka interjects, looking at Izuku, “Right?” 

Izuku nods, relieved for the out. He doesn’t even know if she would make a good spy, but at least Uraraka said it first. But to placate her, he says, “Yes, yeah. You'd be a good secretive hero, an Underground Hero.”

“Oh!” she says, sounding maybe a little deflated, “Well that's pretty cool.”

Hagakure gets a refill of her choice of ice cream, and leaves the kitchen. When did she even enter through the doorway? Izuku lets out a sigh of relief anyways. 

“What is your quirk,” Aoyama asks, directing this at Izuku, “I have not yet seen it.”

The two girls agree with his sentiment, and he suddenly struggles to articulate it. Mostly because he’s only used it the one time.  

“It's...destructive. I can hit with many pounds of force. It's hard to use, which is why I was originally going to try and get into the support class. Convince them to let me strategize for a hero with a less...disruptive power.”

It's close enough to the truth that he hopes it can slide under the radar. 

“Support course?” Momo asks, looking at him, “I didn’t know they did strategizing.”

“They don’t,” Izuku shrugs.

“Yeah it might have been better for you to be here,” Aoyama yawns, “Seems you might be trying to carve out a nonexistent niche, non?” 

“Maybe,” Izuku says.

There’s a second of clear thinking from the group, the relaxed bit of casual silence that Izuku has begun to appreciate.

“Well hey,” Momo eventually says, slow and a bit conspiratorial, “My parents and the principal have been talking, and we've–”

A door slams shut somewhere in the house. 

Izuku sits up, dropping the ice cream bowl and catching it just as fast. He turns back to Momo, who looks like she's confused but trying to listen. The violence of the door sounded like something uncharacteristic for anyone here. 

“That’s the front door,” she determines, frowning a little bit, and setting her bowl down with a clink on the granite countertop. She hops off of her seat and makes her way to the kitchen door.

“Did someone else show up?” Izuku immediately panics, thinking of the only person who has yet to appear. The violence of that door slam would definitely be in character for him.

“I didn’t get anything from the call box,” Momo says, lightly touching her phone screen as if to double check, “So someone’s probably leaving.”

“Was there a fight?” Aoyama asks, “That was a very loud door.”

“Drama,” Momo sighs like she’s ready to fight the concept in a dark alley, “I’ve gotta go check it out. Anyone want to join?” 

There’s a beat, and then Uraraka stands up, “I’ll come. If I don’t go back to the party, I’ll never convince them to do karaoke.” 

She looks at him, not necessarily expectant, but she does motion with her head in a way that might be an invitation to join.

 And Izuku doesn’t know if he has an excuse not to. He might walk back, enjoy the company in the hallways as they check to make sure that Bakugou didn’t show up. And then he can find a spot in the living room where he doesn’t have to be so close to all of the conversation. He’ll find a corner to slump into and hopefully blend in enough that people won’t care that he’s on his phone. That sounds like a party he could tolerate. He’s halfway to leaving the kitchen when he remembers and turns back to the sink, finding Aoyama looking down to his polished shiny shoes, a crease between his brows.

“Wanna join?” he asks, soft enough that he hopes the girls can’t hear. Because Aoyama is alone here, and if it wasn’t on purpose, he might be waiting for an invitation. Izuku doesn’t know the cultural expectations of the French. Aoyama tilts his head a little bit, still looking down, past his shoes to the tiled checkered floor. But after a second, he looks up at Izuku, and some of the stress seems to be gone.

“Oui,” he nods, shaking himself off and hopping off of the counter with the grace of a teenager.

The four of them walk through a different hallway from the one that Izuku came through, and he can’t even begin to comprehend the vastness of the house. It’s probably a similar size to the school building that they all go to, and the fact that only three people live here is so bizarre that Izuku can’t even find it in himself to be envious. Who’d even want this?

Momo names the date of creation and the sculptor of one of the large busts that Uraraka asks about, with that questioning tilt of her head. She lingers on every piece of art like it’s…well a piece of art. Izuku has never found much interest in static creation. But he can appreciate her appreciation.

Izuku finds himself walking closer and closer to Uraraka, trying to pray that Bakugou didn’t just barrel past the call box. He can’t be here, he’s not on the group chat. That thought isn’t as comforting as he’d want it to be. 

The foyer is empty, and Izuku can’t help but audibly sigh, relieved. It wouldn’t be too strange for Bakugou to find some way to show up entirely unannounced. Uraraka puts her hands on her hips and surveys the room.

Izuku didn’t look at the room much when he first showed up, too worried about what might happen at the party. But now that he can just look, he notices the curtained glass windows and the high ceiling, all reminiscent of an old school European theater. There’s gilded gold everywhere that he wouldn’t be even slightly surprised to find if it was real, and the paintings are almost as impressive as the massive mural on the ceiling, Michelangelo-style.

“Well they didn’t leave a note,” Uraraka sighs, taking a break from where she’s staring up at an ancient portrait of a handsome looking white guy, “We should go ask who left.”

“Ah I truly hope there were no fights,” Aoyama says, putting his hand over his forehead and wilting a little bit, “That would be horrible, tragique.”

“Yeah,” Momo says, squinting at the front door for a little before motioning towards the hallway that leads towards the living room, “Let’s go.”

The collective group only gets about three steps away from the center of the foyer before the sounds of footsteps are heard.

“Is that Hagakure?” Momo asks, and Izuku remembers that their classmate had left without implying whether or not she'd be back.

Izuku stills again, letting the rest of his classmates walk ahead of him and waiting for the person to enter the foyer. Soon Hagakure will round the hallway with her strange presence and unprompted questions, and he doesn’t want to be the first one to face her. She makes him uncomfortable for reasons he can’t articulate. 

It’s not her.

It’s not anyone that Izuku recognizes. 

“I was looking for you,” the stranger says, and Izuku can hear a smile, a sneer of an expression behind those words and that pristine porcelain mask. The mask is perfectly blank with eye holes, all framed by the man’s light blue hair. 

Momo gasps at what he’s holding.

“But she’ll work just as good, yeah?” he continues, flippantly gesturing to Jirou, who’s stock still and standing right next to him. His hand is on the back of her neck like and nothing seems outwardly wrong.

But something clearly is. 

She looks terrified.

“It’s easy,” he snaps his fingers together, “Follow the rules, or the girl is dead.”

Chapter Text

HeroLog Chat-

BastionOfIntel: Hi hi this is weird because I don’t really ever talk to people on this site, and you're like... really cool. Are you okay with me asking you a question?

Red_Might: Thanks. And ig it depends.

BastionOfIntel: Be more specific? I really don’t want to overstep.

Red_Might: Well a week ago, someone, unprompted mind you, asked me which two heroes I wanted to fight to death in a public blood sport, and two weeks ago someone asked for a full picture of my drivers license, so as long as you have common decency I don't mind. 

BastionOfIntel: Oh.

BastionOfIntel: How’d you change the font color in your recent post? That’s my question.

Red_Might: HA okay you’re normal. Here I’ll send you a screenshot. 

image.PDF attached

Izuku wasn’t planned for the party, all bright lights and communication and everything in between. This hellish party has suddenly turned into a hostage situation, and the delirious, adrenaline-ridden part of his brain is almost relieved. 

It’s a hostage situation, and there’s an actual hostage, and everyone’s in danger, but at least he’s read three different police approved papers on how to deal with this. That doesn’t stop the panic of course, but it’s a panic he’s familiar with. 

“You know I had this whole plan on how this was going to go down,” the stranger stalks forward, carting Jirou with just the lightest of touch on her neck. His voice is low and quiet, like he’s trying to convince someone very important to do something very dangerous. But there’s something underneath his tone, something…untethered. 

He’s surveying the scene not at all how Uraraka was looking at the art. He presumably looks at each one of them from behind his mask, going down the line without much particular interest. There’s no appreciation there. He cracks each one of his knuckles on his right hand with his thumb.

He turns his concentration to a vase on a carved wooden pedestal, just feet away from him, a nice blue and green thing that Uraraka had stared at for a particularly long time. No one’s said anything yet, so he walks to the pottery, and gives one more look to the group, “Now for a demonstration.” 

He reaches out with his other hand and tips over the vase.

Before it even hits the ground, the thing has broken up, prematurely shattering as it falls. Without a single noise, it turns into dust, slowly falling to the ground like gray snow.

He has a disintegration quirk.

“Pretty cool, right?” he laughs for a very short period, “I think so. Now, if we are all real nice, that doesn’t need to happen to anything alive!”

Izuku assumes that behind that mask is some sort of manic smile. He can’t see much expression behind the black white porcelain, with two small upside down triangles for eye holes.

The rest of the stranger is entirely unassuming. He as pale as marble, with dusty blue hair that’s been pulled back into a hasty ponytail, and his clothing is three (but quite close) differing  shades of black, all loosely overlapping one another.

His left hand is placed carefully on the back of Jirou’s neck, and he seems unconcerned with the rest of the group, steering his hostage to one of the windows and moving aside the curtain with his hand, looking outside for a second.

“Yayorozou,” he asks, letting the curtain fall back down, “Yayorozou, I planned on your parents and you being here. And only that. So I’m unfortunately a bit unprepared. Let's start simply: how many people are in this house?”

He says the whole thing like an accusation. Like the fact that her parents aren’t here is a personal moral failing of her.

He turns back, and Momo is perfectly still. She opens her mouth a couple of times, still staring down at the pile of ashes. 

“I didn’t- I wasn’t expecting…” she trails off, scared. 

“That’s the point of something like this,” he laughs again, rubbing his neck. God it sounds like he’s having fun . “What, was I supposed to send an invitation? Cut out letters from a magazine? ‘We’re holding you hostage next Friday, good luck!’ Something like that?” 

Yayororzou shakes her head, like she’s genuinely considering the question.

“So what do you want? Why are you here?” Aoyama ends up asking, voice shaking as he does. 

Izuku can’t seem to stop moving, shifting his weight from one foot to another and twitching his hands. He knows that any fidgeting might lead to the stranger to become more agitated, but he’s worried that if he stops moving he might never move again. 

Uraraka, next to Momo, reaches for her. The stranger tracks her movement. Uraraka grabs her hand, but doesn’t activate her quirk, just holding it for comfort. 

Izuku’s fingers move up and down in a tapping motion on his legs as he considers. He sees the closeness of the stranger and the light grasp he has on Jirou. He thinks about who’s in front of the group, and what Momo could immediately do in a situation like this.

And he mostly looks at the man who’s decided to hold them hostage.

“What do I want?” the stranger asks, and a lilt enters the tone that Izuku can only describe as musical, “That’s fun. You didn’t answer my question.”

“What?” Momo asks, and Izuku goes back through the conversation as best he can.

He had asked if they were the only ones here. That was the only question. Izuku tries to remember the papers he had skimmed about hostage situations, mostly centering some of the heroes who were involved, and which situations ended up killing more people. He vaguely remembers All Might being involved in a few cases. 

But the general advice is to involve as few civilians as possible.

Jirou’s here as a hostage, and she probably independently heard the door opening. The problem is, if she could hear that, then there might be a chance that this stranger can hear whatever’s going on in the living room.

But she has a sound based quirk, so then again…

Izuku swallows down the panic, “We were hanging out,” he decides for the group, “the five of us.”

The silence stretches on for years. Izuku prays that he’s the only one that can hear the faint sound of music coming from the living room.

The stranger breaks out of his frozen state like a marionette, jerky, slight movements, his hands twitching a bit like they’re a different part of him entirely. He tilts his head like he’s trying to break his own neck.

“Fine,” he says, “So just the five of you? Where are the folks?”

“Conference,”  Momo chokes out, and Uraraka strengthens the grip she has on her hand.

“Huh. I guess my intel was incorrect. That fucking informant. Guess I’ll have to get my hands dirty. But what’s one more dead informant in the river? That’s where we usually put them when we need to dispose of them,” he says, scratching a bit at the porcelain part of the mask, “Yep, the rivvvver. Kurogiri?”

Nothing happens for a long moment. And that nothing stretches longer. But the stranger doesn’t mind the silence, because he continues: “Fact check my hostages, would you?” he asks, “Make sure our friend here,” he shakes the neck of Jirou a bit, “Hasn’t associated herself with a group of liars.”

Izuku has made a mistake.

The stranger turns back to the aforementioned hostages, leaning against the curtain and looking at them once again, one at a time.

“Nice house,” the stranger says. 

Momo says, “Thank you?”

Izuku has the strangest spark of relief, because maybe he’s not as bad at small talk as he thought. In the hierarchy of social convention at least he’s better than a full-blown kidnapper. 

“Ten children are in the living room,” a voice, presumably Kurogiri, rumbles from the darkness of the hallway interrupting the impromptu conversation, “The rest of the house is clear.” 

A longer sigh from the stranger where he sounds like the perfect imitation of a toddler. He even kicks his foot a little.

Izuku worries that by refusing to tell the truth about the rest of the students here, he might have just plunged this whole situation into peril. 

“Bring them over,” he says behind the mask, suddenly nonchalant, “I’ll probably end up needing more hostages anyways.” 

The fingers around Jirou’s neck tighten, and Izuku knows that he’s going to see one of his classmates be killed. At this point in a hostage situation there’s only one countermeasure:

Fight back.

He prays that surprise will work in his favor, because he doesn’t have anything else going for him. He steps to the side, and the stranger locks suddenly onto his movement.

Izuku pulls back his fist in a sudden attempt to hit the floor. He might break his wrist, but maybe it’ll be enough of a distraction if he can somehow shatter the wood floor and-

“Step away.”

Izuku hesitates, inches away from the floor because that voice was not their captor. He turns to find Momo, who’s apparently come to the same conclusion as him. Fight back.

She has a gun pulled.

 Her hands are shaking, and the stranger is staring at her like she’s an idiot. Or maybe that’s just the mask. He starts some sentence, something inconsequential in the grand scheme of things because she fires the gun.

She fires it twice, the crazy girl. 

Despite her shaking hands and probable inexperience with a firearm, the trajectory seems entirely spot on. Directed full force towards the man’s neck, just in case the mask has some resistance to bullets.

In a perfect world, the stranger would be dead in the next thirty seconds, too distracted by the blood in his throat to do anything about Jirou. This is not that perfect world.

Suddenly there’s someone else in front of the stranger.

Well, they might be a someone. Might not be.

They’re tall, an amalgamation of shadows and fog, combining to create a perfect illusion of plastic fire smoke. The form of them still somehow contorts itself enough into a person to be recognizable as alive, with bizarre accessories of clothing and armor.

Some sort of...mirror has erupted in the middle of the air, a portal to somewhere not directed at the stranger's neck. The bullet that had been fired perfectly, has ended up lodged in the wall behind Momo, two portals creating a system to protect this stranger. And that’s it for resistance. 

“Business-apparel haunted knight-looking guy,” Uraraka mutters under her breath, probably unconsciously, and Izuku wishes he was in any other situation because then he could laugh.

But the second bullet has been shot true, since the upper window has shattered, the glass falling outside and hopefully alerting anyone at all. 

Momo pauses, lowering the gun just slightly, and looks for all purposes genuinely apologetic.

Like maybe she can placate whatever consequences come from the attack.

“Fine then,” the stranger says, rubbing the front of his neck as if in phantom pain, “If that’s how we’re doing it. Kurogiri, bring the rest of the hostages. If you want a demonstration so bad, I’ll need an audience.”

In seconds, more portals begin to appear from above, swirling and black and purple, and quickly dropping his classmates. The scene would be funny if Izuku wasn’t worried about breaking ankles. The room is quickly filled with confused voices as the surprise attack quickly sinks in.

But after a quick glance around the room, Izuku notices two important things.

One, he would have no way of knowing if Hagakure were here, and hopefully, neither would their captors. That means that there’s a chance that she might be out somewhere still roaming the halls. Two, no one from the pool is here.

But before he can plan with that information, Izuku might have to watch one of his classmates die.

“Hello,” the stranger drawls out, “This is quite a big party, yes? Yaoyorozu, you’re a popular kid! Congrats.”

She swallows and nods. She keeps glancing at the second person, the shadow figure, who’s moved to the side, next to the pedestal and pile of vase ash. They’re watching her with diligence.

“Which means you lied to me,” he suddenly and angrily continues, looking to Izuku, “And you,” back to Momo, “Pulled a gun on me. Not very hospitable for a party host, no? A popular one at that.”

“Who the fuck are you?” Kaminari asks, “Who are either of you? Huh? What’s going on?”

The man pauses, and considers Kaminari for a second before audibly sighing, “Use context clues. Who would like to hear my demands?”

“Please,” Momo says, continuously glancing between the man, Jirou, and the hand that’s in hers, “What do you want?”

“First, phones please. Kurogiri? Make sure there are as many phones as students, I know you all have one. It’s the twenty-second century and whatnot. Everyone but…you.”

He points at Aoyama. 

“Do it,” Izuku says low, trying to figure out how he had the voice to even say that, pulling out his phone, “He’ll kill Jirou.”

Maybe they can win back some good graces if they follow everything from now on. From what Izuku’s read, sometimes a hostage situation is like a rope tugging type game. Make sure that the person thinks that you’re not a threat, but still do all that you can to escape. The kidnapper just can’t be afraid or desperate. They have to feel in control or they’ll start killing hostages.

And yes, Momo did try to shoot him, but he doesn’t seem phased by that at all. He’s still entirely in control of the situation.

The stranger grabs a potted plant, beautifully curated to look fake, and he dumps it out next to the pedestal, dirt, leaves, and all. He puts the basket down and gestures to it like he’s a middle school teacher with a plastic bin trying to gather phones. 

The phones get dropped into the basket by Izuku, all passed up between the classmates. Kurogiri counts with a tap on the wall for each phone. 

“Fourteen,” they say, “That’s correct.”

“Lovely,” the stranger says, “I love the cooperation. Now,” he steps forward, pushing Jirou with him, as she stumbles forward, “You,” he points to Aoyama, “Call the police”

It makes sense for him to want to talk to a hostage negotiator. He wants something if he’s taking down a whole class.

“Right now?” Aoyama asks.

“You tell them you heard a few gunshots at the current address. And you think there might be a robbery going on. That’s all.” Which is a strange way to get a negotiator here, “And put it on speaker.”

Aoyama nods, taking out his phone. Kaminari mutters something about how it’s unfair that he gets to keep his phone, but Ashido shushes him with a finger to her lips and a kick to the leg.

The call gets done in record time, with Aoyama’s strange charm slipping in and out. He even has it within himself to end the call with a ‘ciao’, which Izuku is pretty sure is the wrong language. 

“Perfect,” he softly says, tapping his hand on his mask, “Can I have the gun now?” He gestures for it to be handed over. 

Momo is staring at him and Jirou, and then glances to the pile of of ash that used to be a vase.

“Gun,” he repeats.

When the silence extends longer, the stranger lightens his grip. It’s probably so that the audience can clearly see what happens next. 

Izuku notices the hitch in Jirou’s voice. He notices the cracks appearing in her skin. On the back of her neck, like her skin has been turned to ice and shattered from the hand of the stranger, spreading out from under his fingers like broken pottery.

This works as a way to break Momo out of her frozen state. She lowers herself down and slides the gun over the polished floor. Jirou puts one hand over her mouth and locks her knees, swaying a bit as the blood flows down her hair and onto her shirt, staining the black even darker. She takes another shuttering breath as he doesn’t remove his hand. But the spreading slows, and once the gun gently taps his foot, it stops entirely. Still alive.

“And that was me being nice,” he says, “If we want, she can be gone in seconds.”

Jirou gasps in pain as the injury really begins to set in. 

“Sorry,” Momo coughs out to Jirou, still staring, squeezing Uraraka’s hand so hard that her hand is entirely white.

“It’s alright,” the stranger says, “It’s not your fault you think you have any sense of resistance. Now, next time we lie, or we fight back, or we break one of these lovely windows,” he nods to Jirou, “I’ll take her arm—”

He looks at her, and then the rest of the class.

“Her arm?” Uraraka asks, horrified, but the stranger ignores her, instead tilting his head at Jirou. She doesn’t try to move this time, touching the back of her neck, her fingers coming away bloody and dark with the flaking remains of her skin.

“Is this a class party?” he asks, genuinely a bit surprised, and clearly delighted, “Yaoyorozu, you go to U.A.?”

“Yes,” she says, because it wasn’t really a question. 

“Huh,” he says, “So we’re hopeful heroes then. What’s your quirk?”

He’s facing the group, but he jostles Jirou’s neck. She barely acknowledges this, still squeezing her eyes shut in pain, a tear slipping out.

“Jirou, please,” Momo says, and this gets her attention, “Please answer him.”

“Noise,” she barely warbles out, “I can hear anything, which is how I heard you.”

“That’s it?” he questions, tightening his grip on her neck. 

“Well,” she says, grimacing in renewed pain as he irritates her injury. But her earjacks have somehow slithered to the wall and connected, “I can do this.”

And there are the shockwaves. 

It’s a second of a sound attack that Kurogiri doesn’t catch. The stranger clutches at the side of his head in a sudden wave of pain as the shattering sound moves close enough to him to do some real damage. Izuku barely catches the mask falling apart just at the edges in swirling flakes where his fingers touch. 

He stumbles to the ground and only just misses hitting his head on the pedestal.  

Before anyone can move, before anyone can acknowledge the footsteps coming from the hallway, the stranger grabs Jirou’s pant leg, and tugs her down with ease. She yelps as she’s suddenly face to face with him, and her earjacks instinctively go towards the wall again. He makes eye contact with her and Izuku notices the glinting metal of the handgun.

He has the gun.

While knocked down, the stranger had picked it up.

He doesn’t give anyone any time before firing the gun directly towards Jirou.

Chapter Text

Endeavor Page-

OkamotoKeiko1234: Hello, I have a question. I don’t know where else to ask, and I’m not very good with social media, so apologies if this is incorrect. My daughter was recently born with a mutation quirk that she inherited from her father. I am not in contact with her birth father, nor do I want to be, so I can’t go to him for answers. I believe she is part beetle? I worry about dietary restrictions. The hospitals were not helpful. Thank you for taking time out of your day to read my query. 

Likes: 39

country: this is rlly sweet, you’re a good parent. i’ve dealt with dietary stff with my quirk all my life. i would advise doing a general internet search about what beetles eat, and then do an allergy test. there’s gonna be a lot of trial and error. good luck and godbless! 

Likes: 10

Red_Might: Good on you for trying. I second the previous comment. I don’t have dietary restrictions necessarily, more like…weird ass preferences. I won’t go into details here lol it’s kinda gross. But just know that as long as you’re patient, then that’s a real good start. Congratulations on the baby.

Likes: 3

“Wait!” Momo chokes out, much too late for the speed of a bullet.

The sound has already ricocheted through the room with a horrifying finality. 

Izuku tries to move forward, blinking fast as the smell of gunpowder becomes stronger and stronger. His movement alerts Kurogiri, and he trips over a portal landing right back where he was, on his knees and panting. Still blinking fast. 

Tears start to fall, and he barely notices, too focused on trying to remember to breathe. 

His hands feel cold and distant, the tears hot on his cheeks. But he has to acknowledge Jirou’s injury, try and see if it’s even survivable.

See if she’s still breathing.

He raises his head, forcing his eyes open.

There’s no blood.

Jirou’s on the floor in agony, her hands squeezed over her left ear and shaking ever so slightly. But she’s shaking, and she’s still alive.

“Son of a bitch,” Ashido mutters under her breath, presumably because she saw it.

Saw the stranger fire a gun inches from her ear.

He hit where he knew it’d hurt. 

“Any more resistance and we see how well her delightful little powers work when she can’t hear anything at all. We’ll see how many gunshots it’ll take to rupture both eardrums. Like an experiment!”

He pockets the gun in his coat pocket and turns back to the group, nudging Jirou with his foot until she staggers her way to her knees.

Alive.

Injured, but alive.

The stranger starts again, “Understand–”

“Who-” someone interrupts from the hallway. It’s the curt tone of their president. Who apparently has the worst timing in the world.

“Oh!” the stranger says, turning. The stairs are blocking whatever view is clear to Jirou and the stranger. But Izuku suspects the image would be clear. Three of their classmates, wet hair and wet towels, freshly smelling of chlorine, probably shocked into silence at the sudden danger of the scene.

“Forgot to check outside?” the stranger asks, directed back at Kurogiri. The latter just shrugs.

“My bad,” they say.  

“Help,” Jirou coughs out.

And then there’s a sudden wall of ice, pushing through the doorway to the foyer from the hallway. It shoves into the stranger like a battering ram, crushing against his ribs and hopefully strong enough to hurt. He’s immediately pinned to the wall, even as he begins to dissolve the ice like nothing. He growls, the first real sense of appropriate emotion from the man.

But Jirou is still standing there, still holding her ear and shaking slightly.

The distraction of the ice gives the perfect amount of time for Iida to run into the room, speeding forward and scooping up Jirou as best as he can, leaving behind wet footprints on the ground.

“Tsu, get help!” Iida yells, putting Jirou down next to Momo and directing the class to stay back. 

But Kurogiri acts fast, probably scrambling to make up for their blunder by only checking the house. 

Tsu appears in the hoard of the classmates almost immediately, dropped from above and landing in a pile of damp swimwear and swearing. Can’t get help when something like that is watching their every move. 

Momo crouches to Jirou, conjuring up a loose pill and giving it to her. Pain meds, hopefully. 

 The stranger is standing perfectly straight now. He wipes off his clothing with a shake of his head, and then there’s a shake in his hands, like he’s preparing for a plunge in a freezing lake. He’s shaking all over, out of anger maybe.

No, that’s not anger.

He’s laughing.

Izuku turns his head away, suddenly nauseous for reasons he can’t even begin to comprehend. It’s a genuine sound, not like the manic clipped laugh from before, this sounds almost…familiar. 

“This is fun!” he says, “You kids are fun!”

Ashido attacks first, apparently the bravest of them all, running forward with a speed that Izuku hadn’t realized she had. Before she can do anything though, she’s moved away like a chess piece, the portals popping up around the stranger.

Whenever anyone finds it within themselves to move, the portal appears and shuts the notion down as quickly as possible. Uraraka tries something else, breaking for an escape, but Kurogiri just creates a perfect outline of the door, blocking off that entrance. Kurogiri can clearly make as many portals as necessary to keep the stranger entirely untouched, effectively boxing the class into the space that’s most convenient for the two of them.

The stranger sits down after a minute, after Iida gets closest to hitting him, feet away with the surprise of his speed, but he's not given more than a second glance. 

The frustration builds just enough for the class to stall, just in time for a sound to perfectly stop everything in its tracks.

Someone is knocking at the door.

“Kurogiri?” the stranger asks from his still casual position, settled back against the wall, “That should be him.”  

They shouldn’t have sent a police officer, but then why is someone knocking? An underground hero would do better in this situation, and Izuku was banking on someone useful showing up. He hopes it’s not a cop. But why would an underground hero knock? 

Kurogiri stalks to the door and looks out through the peephole, “It’s not a civilian.”

“It’s not—”

“Black hair, skinny,” Kurogiri says, “But I don’t think he’s police. He’s wearing a costume. He’s an underground hero.”

“Goddamnit,” the stranger curses, under his breath, almost like it’s not supposed to be heard. He points to Aoyama again, and then louder this time, “Get rid of him.”

“What?” Aoyama squeaks.

“Send him away. I’ll be listening in. If you’re not successful…”  he hoisters the gun again, and Jirou steps back. But for some reason, as he’s holding the gun, it begins to dissolve. He quickly drops it, but the handle is rendered useless and he curses again, kicking the gun towards the pile of discarded articles.

“Sir?” Aoyama asks.

“I can still kill any of you,” he says, grasping his hands into fists over and over again, “Answer the door.” 

Aoyama nods.

“If you yell, or say anything that might alert him of this situation,” he says, “I will kill one of you at random, and then that underground hero with my bare hands.”

Aoyama waits for Kurogiri to step aside, and then with that looming presence just feet away, he walks forward and opens the door, just enough. Enough that the hero can see his face, but hopefully not anything else. 

“Ah bonjour Mr. Hero, bonne soirée,” his voice is shaking just a little bit, but nothing else that could give him away.

And someone asks, “I was called to check in here. There was a police call. And a gunshot was heard from the neighbors.”  

“Non non non, no worries please. We are just having fun and making noise. The gunshot was probably just when I dropped a bowling ball onto the floor. We will be quieter from now on.”

Izuku would have at least tried to add a coded phrase in there.

“Can I have a look around then?”

Aoyama doesn’t say anything for a very, very tense second.

“Ah, oui, so we have a warrant then?”

There’s another long second of silence.

“No you’re right. Have fun.”

And the door closes, Aoyama waving his hand in a goodbye, even as the door closes. He clunks his head against the door and shakily sighs.

“Good job,” the stranger says, and then motioning him back over, “Know your rights. Now you,” and he gestures to Todoroki, who’s in the center of the group, looking at his feet and not acting much different than how he is in class, “Come here.”

He points to Tsu and Iida, who stay stock still.

“Has Kurogiri not demonstrated enough? As long as he’s here, you’re hostages. He can drop you from a thousand feet without much of a second thought. I don’t need to constantly threaten one of your peers so you understand the gravity of the situation, do I? You’re not that hopeless.” 

And so they go through the whole system of getting rid of Tsu and Iida’s phones. But not Todoroki’s.

“Open your phone,” the stranger says, “Unlock it for me.”

Todoroki does, and then when gestured over, he walks over, still looking down at the ground and barely holding onto his poneh.

“Okay, show me your screen.” 

Todoroki drops the phone twice before getting to the appropriate screen. Izuku wonders why the stranger doesn’t just take the phone and text something himself,  he seems young enough to know how a phone works. 

But then again…

Izuku looks to the frayed mask and the discarded remains of the gun. Maybe this stranger doesn’t have a perfect hold on his own quirk. He knows that disintegration quirks are famously unruly, and this man already has a better grasp than Izuku would assume possible. Especially with one so clearly strong. He’s in a heightened state of emotion, and that makes him lose control. That’s the working theory. 

“Todoroki, right?” he asks, and after a nod, “Pull up your father in your contacts,” scrolling, and then, “You saved your dad in your phone under his legal name?”

Todoroki shrugs.

“Kid that’s–Well it’s whatever. Text him that you’ve gone home from the party,” he looks up to the rest of the group, and trails across the confused expressions, “Well if word gets out that this is a hostage situation, we can’t have the Number One showing up to try and save his precious son.” 

Todoroki snorts, but he begins to type something out.

“So you actually type like that?”

“To him, yeah,” Todoroki says, scrolling up to what’s probably his last text and pointing at it.

“Sad. Fine, send it.” 

Todoroki joins the group again after dropping his phone in the phone vase with a clatter. 

“Sir, what do you want?” Yaoyorozu asks, her voice shaking with either rage or sorrow, “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I would have liked that phone call to the police to have worked. But now we need to move to plan B.”

“Plan B?” Uraraka mouths to Izuku who shrugs. His brain is frantically trying to catch up, juggle the two men’s quirks and the hostage situation. Jirou is full blown crying now, and he can’t bring himself to consider that at all. A girl crying is apparently something he can’t handle right now. 

Maybe he was never meant to be out on the field. There’s something panicky that’s worming its way into his brain just from the emotions in this group and the desperation in the air. 

“Plan B,” he says, “Is calling the hero agency and demanding they send in–"

Like a rope, a scarf is thrown from the top of the stairs, and easily wraps around the outstretched wrist of the stranger. 

And so the underground hero has finally made it.

And more frustratingly, their homeroom teacher has just shown up to crash their party. 

Chapter Text

chinzhillasfan21: Okay so I figured out stain’s quirk based on the info we have on him, and it's pretty simple: 

He goes around and takes people’s blood to drink, then his quirk activates which leaves the hero in a trance like state to be brutally mutilated. 

So REMEMBER: if anyone is out there asking for some of your blood out on the streets, DO NOT give it to them…it might be STAIN. 

Likes: 18

Pooltoy: Okay? It's not like I'm giving my blood to people out on the streets anyways? Also I know you so called “figured out his quirk” but that description is so goddamn vague. 

Likes: 4

swansong: What that tongue do tho?  

Likes: 6

heropro_69: @stain/moderation BEGGING ON MY HANDS AND KNEES MODS PLEASE BAN THIS FREAK

Likes: 2

Shota is a very stupid man. Mostly because he just climbed up two stories for no reason but dramatics and a height advantage. And he slipped halfway through, which will definitely hurt his ankle tomorrow. It’s all because he allowed the excitement of his vice president to let him agree to a student house party. Of course something was going to go wrong. They’re fifteen for god's sake. 

But actually considering the route of his problems, the greatest reason to why he’s an absolute idiot is because he agreed to take the route of All Might. Underground heroes are the ones to do the nighttime patrol routes, make sure everything is safe and secure in the shroud of darkness or whatever. And now Shota gets to pick up his slack while the old man sleeps off his injuries. He couldn’t have said no to the HPSC, but that’d be like kicking a drowning man. The drowning man being All Might, not the multi-million dollar company that is Hero Public Safety Commission.

But he had agreed like an idiot. And instead of being asleep in his bed with his cat and the equally idiotic man who lives in his house, he’s here. 

He’s here, and he gets to deal with a classroom full of terrified teenagers. In the end, it’s really his fault, isn’t it? He’s shirked his Hero Study responsibilities for too long. Maybe they could have all learned some sort of combat abilities if he had actually tried to teach them anything other than the medical PowerPoints he stole off of the internet.

He’s wrapped his scarf around his arms, and that means it’s easy to immediately pull the kidnapper forward, who stumbles forward onto his knees. Shota is making sure to direct his visual attention on the man he’s trying to keep captured. He can deal with the kidnappers one at a time. 

Shota, still crouching, tries to account for each student. After a quick glance, there’s only the one missing, and even that much of a potential casualty makes Shota want to scream. 

But the number one priority right now is making sure that the two threats are dealt with before they can hurt anyone else.

Luckily, the man, the masked stranger, isn't looking at the students, instead looking past Shota to the dark hallway where he came from, like he’s willing someone else to show up. 

He turns his attention a minuscule amount to actually look at Shota, the mask a blank slate of nothing. Yet he could swear that he can see the emotion, the anger shaking just beyond the perfect stillness.

The other intruder is swirling around the room, jerking like he’s trying to determine whether to get close or farther away from Shota, but still making eye contact with him. Neither of them seem to be finding the motivation to move. Two dancing marionettes without much forward purpose. 

“So what will it take to make you give up the children?” Shota asks, starting the conversation, pulling the stranger taut as he begins to descend down the grand staircase. 

“You want to have a civil conversation then?” the stranger asks, pulling a bit at the scarf, probably to test it.

“Not really.”

Shota snaps out his scarf again, and the stranger is pulled forward, coughing a bit as he’s clearly trying to focus. Shota’s found that most people try to power through his quirk, and it always works as a distraction. The stranger looks around, back to the other intruder, who’s holding up his vaguely shaped hands, preparing for…something. Shota can barely see him out of the corner of his eye, focused only on the first man.

“Don’t. Kurogiri, not yet. Focus on the children, don’t let them get in my way.”

“Can you handle that?” Shota directs towards the students. 

“He’s a wild card,” Midoriya quickly says, “Use your quirk on Kurogiri and just avoid touching the other guy!”

The body of Kurogiri disappears entirely. Midoriya curses, but it’s not his fault. Apparently, Shota is going to be focusing on the one in front of him.

“Aw, too slow,” the stranger says, all nonchalant, gripping at the scarf.

“You have no hostage, let the students go. We can figure this out like adults,” Shota says.

“Who are you, making those demands?” the stranger says, “You’re an underground hero, yes? The front line cannon fodder? You don’t have any power here.”

“First responders are cannon fodder? How bleak,” Shota says, but he can’t help but remember the thoughts that he’s had himself. Underground heroes work at night, but they are also called to the unknown scenes. Scenes where the police aren’t sure of the danger levels. Scenes that might end up wasting Pro Heroes time, or might need as much help as is possible. All the little calls that are necessary to keep a city running. Underground Heroes are supposed to move to calls as fast as they can and try to keep things under control, or sniff out whether or not there’s some secret underlying danger. But that often means they’re sent to crime scenes that they are not prepared for.

It's part of the job and it’s dangerous as anything can be. And they do all of this while keeping a sense of anonymity. 

“So you are one of them. I bet you have a complex about that. Do you think you’re better than everyone else because you’re not in the limelight?”

“Not really,” Shota says. Both jobs are important. One is a group of heroes who are all representatives of the people, making sure that large scale villains are dealt with and the general public feels safe. Underground heroes deal with a lot of the excess work that comes with being in a city. Patrol and spy work and responding fast. They both have their place.

“You probably should,” the stranger says, as Shota walks forward, trying his very best not to blink. He’s being stalled, he know he is. He just has to get this man to a place where he can’t hurt the children. 

He tugs on his scarf, and the man stands up willingly, getting close enough that Shota can see between the eye holes in the mask.

Eyes just dark enough that he can’t tell the true color. Either brown or…red.

Blue hair and red eyes.

“How old are you?” Shota asks, quiet enough that he can hear the stranger immediately scoff.

It’s also quiet enough that he can hear a conversation with the students.

“Is that Mr.--” one starts.

“Shut up, he’s undercover.”

Which, yeah. He can’t be expected to hold his identity for very long in front of his students. He’s gone years without revealing it to his class, but occasionally they’ll figure it out and he’ll swear them to secrecy. It helps that he’s not listed on the faculty site for the school page. But still, this is the fastest they’ve figured it out. Being a teacher is the greatest threat to his identity. God why does he do this job. 

Hagakure had addressed him by name when she had confronted him after his conversation with Aoyama. She had told him that the class was in danger right after slipping out of the room. Invisibility is a good ability for something like this.

He had told her to run, but he’s not sure if she actually had. She hadn’t responded to his suggestion. 

“Did the police call you over here?” the stranger asks, a complete non sequitur, “Is this your patrol route or did you hear the gunshots yourself?”

“How old are you?” he repeats. 

The stranger thinks for a second, “We seem to both be wanting answers. A little exchange might benefit the both of us.”

“Sure,” Shota says. 

“It’s like a game,” the stranger says, certainly smiling under that mask. 

They’re not even fighting here, mostly just talking in tones more casual than Shota could have expected. How’d this man take an entire classroom hostage? 

“Why not,” Shota says, continuing to stare into the strangers eyes and trying his very best to ignore the constant need to blink, “You first.” 

“I’m twenty-seven,” he jeers. 

Shota knows better. Because first of all, this man is not his peer. That idea is laughable. 

“Lying wasn’t part of this. Tell the truth,” he says.

“Mr. Hero?” someone asks from the crowd of students, half of whom are making sure that Jirou is all right.

“Stay out of this,” Shota snaps at them, still looking at the stranger. Not so much of a stranger anymore.

“If you’re so confident you know the answer, why do you need me to tell you?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Shota says.

The stranger tilts his head, to the side and back again, “I’m twenty. Happy? Is this your route?”

“He’s twenty?” Ashido asks from the crowd, momentarily shocked out of her silence, “Denki, he’s twenty.” 

“We’re being held hostage by an infant!” he whispers loud enough for everyone to hear. 

“My shittiest cousin is twenty,” she whispers right back, “At least this guy is employed.” 

“Well, I don’t think ‘kidnapper’ counts as a job,” Kaminari responds. 

“Quiet,” Shota hisses, but the stranger luckily doesn’t react to the outburst. 

“Answer my question,” he says instead, fully focused on their conversation. 

Shota pauses for a second, watching as the man flits his gaze between Shota’s eyes. They’re reaching up to a minute and this little staring contest can’t last much longer than that.

“Tell me,” the stranger says, and seeping into his tone is the strangest bit of desperation, like a kid who’s about to have a tantrum. Just to cement that, he says, “You’re not being fair .”

Twenty fits the age perfectly. And that’s plenty of confirmation that this man is the same child from that photo. The picture of that little boy, squinting into the camera with a toothy grin and holding a nautilus shell, proud as can be. All Might had shown it to him years ago, sending him the photo over text only weeks after beginning to work together.

Besides the physical appearance from the photo, the only additional information was the boy's age and the fact that All Might believed that he was dangerous. 

Shota hadn’t even gotten a name.

He can’t see his face, but everything else fits just perfectly. This is a dangerous stranger, and Shota is pretty sure he knows what he’s after. 

All Might wanted to keep an eye out for him and had specifically said he was dangerous. And now here’s that same kid, desperately trying to confirm if this is still All Might’s route. He’s trying to figure out if All Might is truly dead.

He’s after One for All.

“I inherited the route after a recent hero death,” Shota says, lying through his grin, “Didn’t you hear? It was in the news.” 

He waits for the tantrum. The scream of frustration, the cursing or lashing out or whatever this conversation has been leading up to.

Nothing but perfect stillness. 

“Kurogiri,” is all the stranger says, snapping his fingers up to the sky.

Shota blinks, his eyes watering beyond their limits, and the scarf immediately begins to dissolve into nothing.

And that’s the start of the actual fight.

★

The stranger starts by taking a step back.

Izuku is momentarily confused by this, his quirk seems to be one that works through touch. In fact, most of their teacher’s scarf has already been dissolved into nothing.

And it is their teacher. That’s Mr. Aizawa, through and through, despite the fact that he’s pulled up his hair half up and has something of a mask on.

It’s a pretty terrible mask though, mostly just a visor, and with a quirk that distinctive, it’s clear as day who this man is. Izuku wonders why Aoyama didn’t try more to convince him that they were in a real hostage situation. 

But since the hero is here, it means that somehow he knew something was wrong. 

The stranger takes another step back, and even Aizawa seems a bit confused, wrapping up what remains of the scarf and tilting his head a little bit.

And then in a woosh of air, Izuku understands why there needs to be space between the two of them. A portal, bigger than any of the other ones, forms above them. The stranger is clearly trying to avoid whatever fallout is about to happen.

And it does happen, too quickly for anyone to do anything. Izuku barely has time to take half a step forward before something falls from the sky.

A blur of dark blue and red, larger than a car, crashes directly into the area where their teacher just was. Aizawa, who barely jumped away in time, is standing a couple feet back, squinting at the creature as it heaves on the floor, standing up in movements so unnatural that Izuku can barely comprehend it. It looks like it was formed of raw clay that no one ever bothered to fire. There’s a face like a predator, with human teeth and too wide eyes.

Its brain is exposed.

“Take him down,” the stranger says, shouting to the creature over the sudden cacophony of students.

“Iida,” Kirishima says, panicky as he tugs on the sleeve of their president, “Iida what do we do?”

The class is in shambles, with people still trying to leave, despite the fact that Kurogiri, from wherever he is, is easily preventing any attempt. He still hasn’t shown his face again, which means that either the man is hiding, or he doesn't need to see a room to still effect it. Izuku is going to bet on the first one.

The beast stands up to its full height, maybe ten feet, and begins to move in shambles towards their teacher, who's keeping eye contact with the stranger and not the monster.

“Get out if you can!” he yells, moving backwards and slowly up the stairs.

The stranger seems to ignore Aizawa, instead turning back to Aoyama.

“How'd he know?” he asks, vitriol dripping from his tongue, “How'd the underground hero know something was wrong?”

Aoyama shakes his head, eyes wide as he moves backwards, stepping around classmates as the stranger follows him with his gaze.

Their teacher jumps from the stairs, landing in a plume of disintegrated scarf and potted plant dirt, still making eye contact with the stranger.

“He can't hurt you now,” he says, “Just try to escape.”

Ashido takes a step forward, confidence radiating off of her and spraying out an arc of acid, sizzling immediately onto the hardwood floor as it drips from her arms. She’s aiming for the stranger, but the portals appear just as they always do, and even as Kaminari tries to take this as an opportunity to run, the portals still appear. Izuku is getting as frustrated as the rest of his class. 

“What did I say?” the stranger says, “As long as Kurogiri is here, none of you are leaving!”

The monster slams into Aizawa, who's hurled across the room, crashing into a window and landing in a heap of black. He groans out a curse and scrambles up as the beast strides forward, stepping around the crowd of students as it does.

Izuku reaches out as it goes, trying to touch the monster. It sidesteps his hand, but it doesn't even look at him.

 It’s not human, it’s following instructions. This thing has a goal that it's going to accomplish. But it's clearly not interested in the students whatsoever.

Fine. Izuku can work with that.

“So what happened?” the stranger says, still glaring down Aoyama.

What did happen? Izuku didn't notice anything that Aoyama said to be particularly worrying.

The class has divulged into enough nervous movement and chatter, horror as they glance to their teacher, where he's standing on shaky legs, still making eye contact with the stranger as he moves to the stairs again, clearly trying not to trip. He's putting some distance between him and the thing. He has a few bruised cuts on his face, harsh lines from where he landed against wood embellishments.

There's enough commotion now that--

“Izuku,” Uraraka whispers, sliding up next to him, “Did you see what happened with Ashido?”

He glances to Uraraka, where she's deliberately not making eye contact.

“What?” he asks.

“Right in the corner, when she used her acid, some of it just vanished.”

“The portals?” Izuku asks.

“There was still smoke,” Uraraka says.

“ Oh .”

Izuku hadn't seen the smoke, he had been focusing on the fight. Even if he had noticed it, he's not sure his mind would have first gone to Hagakure. He has a hard time remembering she exists even when she's an active participant in a conversation.  

Hagakure is still here, and she's probably the only reason Aizawa returned to help them. 

And most importantly, she still has her phone.

“We have to get her over here--” Izuku says, as Uraraka says, “--Oh my god she has a phone!”

“I don't know what happened!” Aoyama says again, and instead of violence, the stranger responds with dead silence, “I promise I didn't do anything.”

Hagakure has a phone, and that means that she can call someone outside of this house.

“How in the world do we get her attention?” Uraraka asks, and Izuku looks around the room, where their teacher is barely dodging around the monster and the stranger is moving for Aoyama. He's not sure where she might be. If she was here for the acid attack, it probably means she hasn't left yet.

“Hagakure?” Izuku ends up saying, loud enough to almost be a yell. Uraraka stares at him, and so do a couple other students.

But the stranger barely knew that they were from U.A., he's not going to know their names . For all he knows, Hagakure is Ashido's name. He waves just to make sure it looks like he's talking to a corporeal person.

“What?” Uraraka asks, and Izuku just shakes his head.

“Wait,” he says, walking to the edge of the group, “It’s fine.”

The only have to wait a few seconds before-

“Don’t do that again,” someone whispers, Hagakure has made her way over to them, “You just made quite the gamble.”

“I need your phone,” Izuku says, “Actually, scratch that. You just call him. Endeavor needs to know his son is in danger. That a whole classroom is in danger.”

“Endeavor?” Uraraka whispers. They're facing each other, and Hagakure is clearly just a couple feet away from them, 

“You know, maybe I do need an actual hostage, since you clearly can't get this through your thick head,” the stranger grabs onto Aoyama's wrist.

“Because our kidnapper doesn't want him here,” Izuku says, “Which means he should be, as soon as possible. Plus, he’s the number one.”

“I’ll go upstairs,” Hagakure says.

“And then you should go,” Uraraka says. Izuku nods in agreement, “Leave this house just in case.”

After a second, “Our teacher isn't leaving.”

“That's his job,” Uraraka says.

“That's going to be our job soon,” she says. Izuku opens his mouth to protest, but she beats him to it, “Fine, fine. I'll go to the police.”

Izuku tells her the number, which he does have memorized, thank you very much. He ignores the amused look from Uraraka as he recites it.

“Thanks,” Hagakure says, and that's the end of the conversation.

“She better make it,” Izuku says. Because he’s about to make another rash decision.

The monster isn't bothering them. And it sidestepped Izuku's graze, but it hadn’t seem concerned with him. It’s following orders.

Aizawa has been moving about the room, keeping to corners as he tries to continue his eye contact with the stranger while avoiding the hulking form of the monster. Without the scarf, their teacher can only avoid whatever attacks this monster is trying to get him with. He’s leading it away from the group, but Izuku isn’t convinced that it’s a necessary maneuver. 

The stranger is dragging Aoyama back to the front of the room, and without his disintegration quirk, Aoyama is still trying to fight back, scrambling backwards and digging his heels in.

But if the class can help with the strange monster, then maybe there's a chance that Aizawa can focus more on actually helping the class escape. Focus on finding Kurogiri.

“Stay here,” Izuku says to Uraraka, and he walks forward like how Ashido did. Kurogiri seems to be directly trying to protect the stranger, and doesn't seem to be too concerned about the slow movements of the class.

“Iida,” Izuku says, once he finds him. Iida is trying to talk to Jirou, who keeps waving him off as she squeezes shut in pain, her earjacks frantically moving above, puncturing and re-puncturing the ground. She might be having a panic attack. Izuku certainly would be.

“Midoriya,” Iida says, smiling tiredly at Izuku, “Are you doing okay?

“Doesn’t matter. I need you to distract Kurogiri, wherever he is.”

Iida nods, standing up and brushing his hands off on his pants. He looks to Todoroki and, “Want to try that rescue again?”

“Worked the first time,” Todoroki nods, and Iida beams at him. But despite the smile and perfectly smooth voice, Izuku can see his hands are fidgeting. He was the right presidential choice if that's the only thing that's showing his stress.

“Is she alright?” Izuku asks Momo, quick as he can, and Jirou wrinkles her nose but doesn't comment. Momo makes a so-so motion with blood-covered hands that Jirou doesn't see. Izuku takes a quick glance at the bandaging at the back of her neck. Seemingly alright, despite the blood already soaking through the bandage.

“Midoriya?” Iida asks, and Izuku stands up and nods. He returns to where Uraraka is, watching as the monster crawls over the fallen statue that Aizawa had thrown over behind him. It's like the most bizarre game of cat and mouse. Their teacher mostly just seems tired as he tries to gain distance between him and the monster.

“Sir!” Momo yells, “Do you want a gun?”

Apparently he still has the energy to laugh, so that's good.

“Don't bother,” he yells back, and then throws a potted plant at the thing's head. It shatters on impact, dirt cascading down the shoulders, but the thing seems entirely unconcerned.

“Wish me luck,” Izuku says, and then he hears the sound of Iida yelling something inconsequential, and the sound of ice hitting the wall in a solid thunk.

Izuku runs forward towards the monster, hopefully fast enough to stay in the range of the distraction. 

He rears his fist back, feeling the power build up. Instead of his wrist, this time it's his whole shoulder. If he uses this ability right now, he’s going to have to hear the sound of his own collarbone crunching against his arm bones. 

His teacher is clearly getting tired though, and from the occasional time the monster has hit him, he's bleeding, the blood running down the bruises that are already forming on his face.

Izuku can help with that, right now, right here.

His arm is aching with the idea of broken bones, splintered through his skin and more hospital beds. But he can also feel the power in his throat, like he's being choked with the idea of it, stuttering his breathing and moving him forward with an efficiency he’s never before felt.

He just has to make contact with the monster.

He makes it halfway to the beast, which doesn’t even turn to look at Izuku as it reaches for Aizawa.

But Aizawa notices Izuku out of the corner of his eye. 

And he looks at him.

The power falters with a stutter, the pain of absence a sudden and foreboding thing, the wrongness seeping into his skin all around him. 

“Midoriya, don't you dare!” Aizawa yells, and in doing so, doesn't have time to dodge the meaty hand of the monster as it grabs his throat.

Izuku stumbles to a stop as the stranger cackles in the background, and he suddenly knows that they've failed.

Chapter Text

U.A. Page–

yogurtluver: No but like seriously. Who the fuck is the Hero Study teacher. It’s been a week, this is beyond irresponsible. 

likes: 3

Dinostan: like cmon be so fr why do you keep asking us? this is a halfway archived, halfway dead website. who the fuck would know here??? i live in brazil???? 

likes: 5

FencinPro: Wait holy shit I live in Brazil.

likes: 7

Dinostan: 🇧🇷 🇧🇷 🇧🇷 🇧🇷 🇧🇷 🇧🇷 💋 💒 💍 👰 🤵 🇧🇷 🇧🇷 🇧🇷 🇧🇷 🇧🇷 🇧🇷

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FencinPro: Did we get married in the middle of that? I mean I obviously accept. 

Likes: 9

The monster hoists their teacher up by the neck, blood squeezed out of the cuts on his face.

He gasps for breath, struggling to sustain eye contact with the stranger, even as his eyes begin to grow more and more bloodshot. He scratches his nails on the beast's arms, drawing blood, but there’s no reaction at all. The monster pulls his jaw to the side, verifying that he won’t be able to stop the stranger's quirk at all. 

“What was that?” the stranger asks, still laughing as he waves his hands out in exaggerated gesturing motions to the still melting ice from the counterattack of Iida and Todoroki. The stranger still has Aoyama, who's curled up behind him with his head in his hands, “You’re pathetic!”

Aizawa is slammed into the ground so hard that the wood cracks.

“Oh my god,” Uraraka says as Izuku scrambles back, power returned to his system but with no motivation to use it.

Why had Aizawa stopped him?

Why hadn't he been able to save him? The plan should have worked.

Iida and Todoroki are back in the group, with a couple more flecks of ice on Todoroki's arm that he rubs off with his hand while staring down the stranger and heavily breathing. 

“Can we get on with plan B?” the stranger asks, and when no one comments, he nods, “Ey Nomu! Keep him down.”

Izuku is tearing his attention apart, trying to make sure that the monster isn't killing their teacher to the stranger, who's motioning for Aoyama to bring out his phone.

The monster hits Aizawa, two large fists on his ankles as he tries to stand up, the noise of splintered bones cracking through the room. Uraraka looks like she’s going to throw up again. 

Aoyama brings out the phone and hangs it to the stranger, before returning to putting his head in his hands, shaking like any moment the stranger will snap and hit him.

A portal appears close enough that the stranger pauses.

“Kurogiri?” he asks, but no one responds, so the stranger is left with a few portals opening and closing before he hears a body hitting the ground. A very invisible and frantically moving body.

“Oh,” he says, reaching out and apparently grabbing her, “Oh. Hello.”

He looks back to Aoyama, who's looking up at the interaction.

“I see,” the stranger says, “It really wasn't your fault?”

Aoyama shakes his head, “There’s an Invisible girl in our class,” he says, and the stranger nods.

“Well I’m not unreasonable. I have a replacement, so feel free to return to your class.”

Aoyama does, moving as fast as he can back, tears welling in his eyes as he covers his mouth. He's left the phone in the stranger's hand. The stranger considers for a second before grabbing something out of his coat pocket. It’s fabric, clearly a shiny gray glove. He maneuvers himself so he can put it on with only one hand and his teeth, then he grabs Hagakure with his newly gloved hand.

“No words for me?” the stranger asks, and when Hagakure doesn't respond, he just shakes his head.

“I guess it doesn't matter much. I'll take your legs for what you've done. You thought you could pull one over on me?”

Hagakure still doesn't respond, but Izuku can see how the stranger's hand is jerked away, she's clearly trying to escape. And it's all his fault. He told her to call Endeavor. 

The phone dial rings in the silence of the room, the only sound, the harsh gasping of their teacher as he works through the pain, and the faint struggling of Hagakure. The monster has a hold on both of his legs, twisting whenever he tries to move. At least it's not killing him.

The dial tone cuts out, and Izuku can faintly hear the sound of the police operator on the other side of the phone. 

“I have a room full of highschoolers here, and I will kill the first one in twenty minutes if you don't send over an underground hero. His name is All Might. Need me to spell that or are you competent enough--yes I’m serious. Send him or this lovely girl is dead,” the stranger eventually says to the phone. He tells the man the address and then, “All Might. Twenty minutes.” 

He hangs up. 

“All Might?” Kirishima asks, making quick eye contact with Izuku and then back to the stranger, “But isn’t he dead?”

The phone in the stranger's hand dissolves in half of a second.

One second a black screen, and the second, ash floating away into the wind. 

“Don't,” the stranger stammers out, pushing his hand onto the nearest wall to wipe off the ash, smearing it onto the vintage wallpaper with shaking fingers. 

Izuku isn't sure why the stranger put on the glove, but he's pretty sure that's the only reason his classmate isn't a pile of disintegrated flesh on the ground. The stranger takes a couple of seconds to deeply breath before he looks back to the class.

“Don’t,” he says again, collecting himself, “Say that to me. Pretty please?” 

So they don’t. Over the next five minutes, people rarely even make eye contact with the man, some nervously chatting with each other. But most are silently staring at their feet. 

Because of this, it takes Izuku longer to notice the comotion nearer to the center of all the students.

Momo is gesturing Izuku over with a singular finger.

He walks over in a faint numbness.

“Jirou heard him,” Momo said, and when Izuku just stares, “She heard Kurogiri. He's in the hallway upstairs, the darkened doorway.”

Izuku looks down to where Jirou is sitting, her earjacks in the floor, focusing clearly on something, her eyes still closed. This entire time she’s been trying to find him, bloodied and bruised or not. She hasn’t been having a panic attack, she’s been listening. 

Still proving to herself that she can use her quirk maybe. Izuku smiles at her, even though he knows she can’t see him.

He turns to look up as nonchalantly as he can. That has to be where Hagakure tried to take the phone call, and somehow accidentally ran into him. 

“You need to tell Mr. Aizawa,” Jirou mutters, “So he can stop his quirk.”

Izuku nods, and then motions for Uraraka and Sero. 

Then they make a plan.

★

Shota sees Midoriya come across the room again, though through the haze of pain and the impossible lack of feeling below his knees, it’s only a maybe that that’s not a hallucination. He's never broken both legs before, this is awesome. The monster isn't doing anything to him, just staring at him with those too wide eyes and horrible snarl. There's fluids leaking out of the exposed brain, dripping down onto the wooden floor, soaking into his pants and intermingling with Shota's blood. Whenever he moves, any minuscule movement at all, the creature tracks him with its eyes and squeezes a bit harder on his broken legs. 

He can't see the stranger due to the crowd of students. Shota is by the front door, and can see almost everyone but the man, who's surely positioned himself to do just that.

He turns his gaze back on Midoriya, who’s still making his way over to him . When Shota stops his powers for a second time, Midoriya just shakes a bit and keeps trailing along, like this is some leisurely hike. 

Once he’s about halfway to Shota, he pauses and considers for a second before breaking into a full sprint.

The portal appears before Shota, for Midoriya to run into and return to the class group, but he still somehow gets the words out. Those too important words. 

“Upper left hall. Kurogiri.”

And then the portal disappears and so does Midoriya.

And immediately, one of the students begins to float in the middle of the room, Uraraka focusing with all her might as Sero flies into the air, pushed up by Todoroki's ice in a blast of speed.

“Now!” Midoriya yells. 

So Shota focuses on that darkened hallway, and Sero shoots out tape from his elbows, all efforts trained on that man. 

Because if Kurogiri is still in motion, none of them are escaping this situation. 

Shota hears the sound of a struggle from that upper corner, followed by a leg that’s fallen into light, kicking as Kurogiri is clearly trying to get away, trying to pull himself back into the darkness. But Shota knows that they’ve succeeded. Because he’s still looking at that leg. 

But before any backlash can occur from the stranger, Shota hears something entirely unexpected.

The door breaking open.

Well, breaking might be the wrong word. The shattering sound is a side effect of the splintering wood, alighted by the burning inferno that's suddenly engulfed it.

A man kicks the door with a solidly placed foot and barely a grunt. 

And then Endeavor stands in the smoldering mess of the door frame, illuminated like an angel. He sniffs. 

The class has backed up from the sounds of a door breaking open, and now there’s enough space that Shota can see the stranger again, gripping onto his hostage and staring. 

“Sorry,” he says, kicking aside a bit of the wood. He takes three seconds to look at the incident, from the stranger, to the students, to Shota himself.

“Kurogiri?” the stranger asks, his voice cracking half way through the name as he begins to scramble backwards. Shota finds the whole thing pathetic. 

Endeavor takes in the scene, from the stranger to Shota. 

He sniffs again, and then focuses on the Nomu, holding out his hand without a second of hesitation.

The fire comes like a rocket, brighter than the sun as it smokes across the room. Shota feels the tension in his lungs even as the fire is aimed for the head of the creature, not him. The heat is still searing even feet away. For a second, it’s like he’s inside that inferno himself. 

The creature screams out something inhuman as the fire makes contact. It’s like a chorus of voices all discordantly yelling. Its eyes begin to melt and steam, the fluid boiling within its own brain.

Shota somehow drags himself away, Iida suddenly there to help pull him back from the inferno. After he's cleared from the scene, Endeavor annihilates the rest of the creature without a second look, roasting it until Shota can hear the bones cracking from the heat.

When it happened nine months ago, Shota read up about the bank robbery, the one that brought the city to a standstill due to the reckless way that Endeavor attacked. The attack that had incidentally left All Might indisposed after that slime creature had somehow gotten into the sewers. Originally, the number one had followed the getaway driver, the last person involved in the incident, into the sewers. When he couldn't find him, he just burned his way through the tunnels, cracking rock and foundation as he went, until he could smear the man into a stain on the cement wall.

That's happening here, and Shota can't find it within himself to look away.

It feels like his mouth is filling with blood at the stench alone. 

“Kurogiri?” the stranger asks again, after the fire has turned to smoke, and the pile on the floor is unrecognizable as something that had just been alive. 

“You got the call,” Midoriya says, stepping up to Endeavor despite the way that the rest of the class seems to be moving away, like fish in a stream. The stranger, despite his initial movement to get away, is still again. 

“What call?” Endeavor rumbles, 

“Well I had-” Midoriya starts.

“I just heard that someone wanted All Might?” Endeavor cuts him off. 

He turns to the stranger, who's subconsciously scratching at the wall, the paper dissolving under his fingers as he tears them ragged. Shota can barely see him out of the corner of his eye, still focusing on the tape constricted Kurogiri in the hallway.

“Kurogiri,” he says, “Please.”

After that flaming performance, Shota suddenly finds the fear a lot less pathetic. That man is scared, and he has every right to be. 

“You called for All Might? What, you think you can take him down? You think you have enough manpower to face off against All Might ? You and some monster? You can't even face off against me .”

The stranger quickly shakes his head, but Endeavor ignores whatever he’s trying to communicate. 

Instead, he extends his hand again. And now that the students have moved out of the way there’s a perfect path to the stranger, still unmoving, still frozen from the smell of burnt flesh in the air. Shota is still looking at Kurogiri when he realizes that Endeavor is aiming to kill this man.

To do exactly what he just did to that creature.

He lifts a hand up to finish the job with as much speed and finality as he just showcased. 

“Hagakure,” Iida gasps with horror, just as the fire is shot from Endeavors hand, just as fast, and just as blistering hot. Iida is just slow enough on the uptake. Their fastest student doesn’t even have time to stand before the fire is already making an arrow-true course in a second of glory and horror.  

Shota breaks eye contact with Kurogiri and turns to Endeavor, but the fire has already left his hand. Shota is about to watch Endeavor burn his student to death, and that means he’s going to tear that man's throat out. That’s not what Japan needs right now, but that’s exactly what’s going to happen. 

He’s never hoped for the mercy of a villain until now, but he finds himself praying that Kurogiri is merciful enough to take Hagakure away from this scene when he tries to free the stranger. 

He prays that Kurogiri will even be fast enough.

He's not.

Someone else is.

A jagged wall of ice erupts from Todoroki, who's pushed himself to the front of the class. The ice is barely faster than the fire, and blocks the attack in a steaming hiss of heat and a shuttering crack. The fire, in turn, is fast and hot enough to shatter the wall, and the steaming chunks of it fall to the floor. 

But the ice was enough to stop the fire, leave it only as a smoking pile of steam. 

Shota can see the stranger stare, just for a second, at Endeavor.

And then with a millisecond of a portal, he's gone.

Shota can hear the water drip onto the ground in the secondary silence.

Todoroki falls to his knees, panting with either adrenaline or exhaustion, ice rapidly growing up his arm, turning his skin beet red.

Endeavor is moving before anyone else, clearly not one to dwell on the shock. He walks over to where his son has fallen to the floor.

“Shoto,” he says, gruff and quiet. “Get up.”

Shota moves into a sitting position, ignoring the concerned look from Iida. He has to make sure that Hagakure hasn't been kidnapped, but from the way that the curtain is unnaturally folding, he can assume her safety.

“Why’d you interfere?” Endeavor quietly asks,  “I thought he was holding you hostage.”

Todoroki isn’t looking at him, frantically trying to rub the ice off of his arm, staring down at the floor. 

“Shoto?” Endeavor asks, settling down and grabbing his arm, melting the ice off of his son's arm with the heat still radiating from his palms, “That wasn’t very-,” Endeavor interrupts himself, and then sighs, “You need to respond to me, son. I need to make sure you’re alright.”

Endeavor still hasn’t let go of Todoroki’s arm.

The man quietly snaps his fingers, and Todoroki finally makes eye contact, face red, hands shaking, “I’m sorry.”

Why is he sorry?

Endeavor’s tone hasn’t been necessarily cruel. Shota's heard worse words, harsher tones. He’s heard worse from himself. But Endeavor keeps looking up towards the crowd before he speaks, and Shota knows that cool calm expression on his face. It’s the face he always has when he’s talking to the press. 

“Endeavor!” Shota shouts because the urge to tear his throat out has suddenly returned, and really, he doesn’t want to get his nails dirty. 

“One moment,” he says, holding out a hand as if to placate him.

“Endeavor you idiot ,” and that gets his attention, “He had a hostage!”

Endeavor whips his head to where the stranger just was, the absence of anyone.

“Say hi Hagakure,” Shota says.

“Hi Hagakure,” she says from near the window.

Endeavor lets go of his son, and Todoroki takes a step backwards. His arms are curled around himself, his gaze is to the floor, and he takes a deep breath. When he looks up, Shota sees harsh, fire-eyed anger, lip snarled, eyebrow furrowed. That rage is not something Shota’s seen often.

And then in a millisecond there’s nothing at all.

A blank mask of nothing. 

From this angle, Shota’s pretty sure he’s the only one who saw it. 

“Hm.” Iida voices.

Not the only one, then. 

“Good job,” Endeavor offhandedly says, not looking at his son. “For catching that.”

Shota lays back against the wood and lets the pain of interference break across his lungs and legs.

 The number of conversations he needs to have has just been upped by one.

Chapter Text

Recent News and Updates–

ryukyuplsplsplspls: ey  yo this news is wild. https://weheroes.com/article/students-held-hostage-in-villian-attack

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ladykiller: RIP those kids lol 

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ryukyuplsplsplspls: they survived, read the article. endeavor saved everyone, thank god

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ladykiller: Boo boring. 

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ryukyuplsplsplspls: c’mon man. 

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The police come by soon enough, with an ambulance for both Jirou and Aizawa. There’s enough people with notebooks to take statements of the night's events. The police go in the kitchen to talk to students in small groups, which means that the rest of them are huddled in the living room, around the remnants of a party that feels like it happened years ago.

Most people are calling their parents. Todoroki isn't, and neither is Izuku, who’s sitting on a large beanbag. Todoroki is on a wooden chair, staring off into space. In fact, everyone is staring off, the kidnapping finally taking effect. Izuku opens and closes the zipper on the chair, and wonders what it would be like to be rescued by his father. Probably weird, he hasn’t seen that guy in a while. But for Todoroki, he almost seemed…embarrassed. 

He isn’t sure why. Endeavor had even told Todoroki ‘good job’ and everything for correcting the mistake he had almost made against Hagakure. 

The thoughts of parentage reminds Izuku to send his mom a quick text. He does it with as few words as possible and quickly shuts off his phone. He puts his head back against the couch and thanks everything in eternity that he's still alive, but he still doesn’t feel up to hearing that relief and worry in his mother’s tone. 

“I'm checking on Uraraka,” he says, directing his comment to no one in particular and ignoring the guilt at his black screened phone. Iida gives him a wave in confirmation, and Izuku is out of the room.

He finds most of the commotion happening outside, where Aizawa is being carted away on a stretcher, resting his eyes. Jirou resting on the ambulance already, a silver blanket around her shoulders and a bandage already on her neck. 

Uraraka is near the ambulance for the overuse of her quirk, someone giving her a pill out of a bottle. She takes the pill, and despite the gaunt look, she's talking on the phone and laughing at something. 

Izuku finds himself stalling at the front of the door, staring out at the gardens with nothing really to do. He was meaning to check with his classmates or his teacher, but the three of them are fully preoccupied. 

He considers taking a stroll through the gardens. Before he can decide that's probably stupid, he spots Endeavor talking to a few officers. And more importantly, Endeavor spots him, motioning him over with two fingers. 

Izuku wanders over to him, trying not to feel weak in the knees.

“U.A., huh?” Endeavor asks, and when Izuku doesn't laugh, he continues, “I promise it’s not always this bad.”

“How else do we learn?” Izuku asks, puffing his cheeks out.

“That's what I like to hear,” Endeavor puts his hand on Izuku's shoulder, “Son, you've got a good class.” 

Izuku sways a bit, “Thanks.”

“I've got to go deal with some... aftermath, but you make sure that your classmates know they did a real good thing tonight.”

Izuku nods.

Endeavor walks about three steps away before the filter is broken.

“Aftermath?” Izuku asks.

Endeavor turns, the trail of fire like a sparkler, and laughs a little “There was an attack on my agency tonight. A hundred or so poorly trained men tried to wreak as much havoc as possible.”

“A distraction?” Izuku asks.

“Huh?”

“The kidnapper, he really didn't want you here. I think he was trying to distract you.”

Endeavor shrugs like that's to be expected, “He seemed…scared, so it would make sense. I'll look into it.”

“A hundred?” Izuku finally realizes, mostly to himself. He's not trying to continue a conversation that's clearly about to end. Endeavor has places to be.

“Ha,” Endeavor says, deadpan, “Well I had help.”

“It's a big agency,” Izuku shrugs. He knows most heroes who are associated with it. 

Endeavor takes a long sigh, rubbing skin between his eyebrows, “Well yes. I also had a bit of…outside help. You'll have to get used to the wannabe sidekicks once you go pro.”

Wannabe sidekick? Izuku tries to figure out who that could be, but comes up blank. Endeavor is called off by an ambulance worker. 

“Again,” Endeavor says, waving at the man, “Good luck with the studies.”

When he goes Pro? That leaves a soft feeling in his brain that comforts him all the way back to the party.

★

It takes the entire weekend for Izuku to feel normal. There's a constant changing eruption of emotion, from terror to a sort of settling pride. Because maybe Endeavor finished the job, but their class caged Kurogiri.

His mom frets all weekend, because the news report came out before Izuku had found his way home. He had found her clutching her phone, staring at the screen with tears in her eyes. But she doesn't threaten to pull him from school, which is the lowest bar. 

Those entire two days, he's not able to explain anything anyone did without her getting misty eyed and turning on house renovation TV so loud to drown him out. He thinks it's a joke?

The Herolog users are all about it too, since word somehow got out that the stranger was looking for All Might. The forums have been insane about this 'delusional villain' who faced off against Endeavor and survived . So he can barely talk to his mom and can't really use the internet without feeling sick.

One of the only highlights is when his favorite All Might moderator goes up in arms with Izuku to the defense of Aizawa, who someone tried calling useless. The references to Aizawa are few and far between, just commenting on the presence of a faceless Underground Hero who tried to help, but Red_Might defends him anyways. 

The other highlight comes from the group chat. After Jirou sends a hospital selfie with her and some incredibly boring looking paperwork, Momo asks if they can see her yet. That leads to a scheduling conversation, and finally, on Sunday evening, Izuku spends thirty minutes with most of his class, everyone but Todoroki and Bakugou, sitting in a very cramped room and listening to the vibrant conversation of a group who just skipped death. 

Izuku asks after her quirk at the very end. It’s as long as he can wait, trying to identify the damage from the little chart at the end of her bed. 

“I’ve lost half my hearing, and they’re suggesting an aid,” she grimaces, grabbing another slice of strawberry from the fruit basket that Momo brought, “So for now, I’ve got half a quirk. But that’s better than dead.”

Izuku smiles at her small determined expression, stabbing down into a strawberry with vigor.

“And that bastard–,” she pauses, stabbing another strawberry, “Well he gave me a pretty good reason to keep working for this.”

“This?” Momo asks, grabbing her another strawberry. 

“Being a hero. I’m going to be a hero so I can kill him.” 

★

Shota is staring down Todoroki who’s sitting on a hospital chair and looking out the window. It’s like he’s on a train and nothing is wrong at all. The tell is in his hands, made into tight fists and resting on his thighs. 

“Want something to drink?” Shota ends up asking from the cold comfort of his hospital bed, and Todoroki doesn’t even look at him, ignoring both his words and the soft snoring of Present Mic, who’s napping on a plastic chair next to him.

“So,” Shota tries again, “Why’d you fail the entrance exam?” Still nothing. 

So he gives Todoroki time, time to sit still and stare out at the early morning clouds. Shota had an email sent to both Todoroki and Midoriya late last night so they would come in before class. Before things get…complicated. 

“Your father sent me a word of warning before you joined our class,” Shota says, and this get’s Todoroki’s attention, even if the only indication is the tightening of his fists, “It was only one thing, you don’t have to worry. He said that your control of your fire isn’t stable. He asked me to focus on training you in that skill.” 

Todoroki draws his lips into a thin line.

“You told me your power was ice. I’ve only ever seen the ice.”

There’s a faint crease of a frown.

Shota pushes forward. He knows Todoroki is listening, “You apologized to your father because you stopped him from killing a fifteen-year-old. You felt the need to apologize to him. ”

Still silence, but Todoroki turns his slow gaze to Shota

“He–,” Todoroki cuts himself off, looking down at his hands, at the faint ice crystals forming on his fist. Shota thinks he can see smoke from his other hand. Not just steam but…

He looks a bit closer, feeling a sudden sick spike in his head. Todoroki’s fist has faint smoke, but on his wrist, there’s a dark splotch of purple. 

Keeping his face even, he studies the bruise on Todorki’s wrist, just under the palm of his hand. It’s the approximation of where Endeavor had grabbed Todoroki’s arm. 

Shota hadn’t noticed how hard he had grabbed his son, not focusing enough on the smaller details. Maybe the force of the grab was an accident, a stressor after the fight, but maybe–

He clenches his teeth together and tries to convince himself that he’s overreacting. That Endeavor, careless as he is, wouldn’t stoop to something so low. That the suspicion is just paranoia and he had just grabbed Todoroki with a bit too much accidental force, nothing more. That the nausea in his stomach is just the pain meds. 

He’s the number one hero, and just because Shota doesn’t find the man’s tactics to be in good taste, it doesn't mean…all of that. 

But maybe Shota has been severely misguided in his understanding of Todoroki. 

He had assumed that he was some rich asshole too high above his station. Shota is realizing now that the assumption might have been based on the fact that he has some baseline resemblance to his father. Maybe it’s true. 

But maybe Shota has been too focused on his less than stellar social skills, and had entirely ignored any other potential explanation for his behavior.  

He scratches at the blanket, feeling the loose fabric catch, trying to think it through. He wouldn’t be surprised to find out that Endeavor could run an abusive household, but he doesn’t have enough information to fully make that assumption. 

He stills his finger, conclusion made. Shota’s an Underground Hero, and finding information is what he’s good at. So what if he doesn’t have all the facts? He’ll find them.  

Todoroki has returned to looking out the window, only the white part of his hair visible, eyes flat. 

“You did save her life,” Shota ends up saying, plan stuttering into view, “No one else knew what Endeavor was about to do but you. Has she thanked you?”

“It was nothing,” Todoroki shrugs, grabbing his bag, “Can I go?”

“I’m worried though,” Shota says, as casual as he can be, “About that first attack. You and Iida came in guns blazing, and there could have been a better way to do it. You could have sent Tsu out to alert someone first, but you attacked.”

Todoroki frowns at the non sequitur. 

“I had a friend, back in my school years,” he says, “He was going to go pro, we all knew it. He had the type of personality that the media loved, a real spitfire, went into everything guns blazing. But he wasn’t an idiot, he knew his own flaws. He decided to apprentice with an Underground Hero before he graduated. Within two months, instead of running into an open massacre, he’d find a way to attack from behind. He got smart. He still went pro, but those underground skills were why he was able to climb the charts so quickly.” 

Shota keeps the ending of that particular story out of this conversation. 

“You’re telling me this, why?” Todoroki asks, standing up.

“You should train with me. At least three times a week after school. Monday, Wednesday, Friday.”

He sees the way that Todoroki’s face scrunches up, like he’s just smelled something really foul. But he doesn’t outright refuse. His eyes slowly look between Shota’s, like he’s trying to figure out if he’s lying. And the expression on his face begins to fade, just faintly disgusted now. 

“My dad wouldn’t–”

“I’ll be the one to email him and ask,” Shota says, “You wouldn’t have to worry about any of it.” 

Todoroki won’t look at him, beginning to walk out of the room. This conversation is going to end soon, and Shota won’t have a say in it. 

“If he agrees,” Todoroki says, his tone light, flippant, “Then I’ll do it.”

Shota’s eyes are burning, a sign that he hasn’t blinked in over a minute. He does that, wishing that he hadn’t picked up on that particularly weird habit from his training days. 

All he needs to do is send an email. Considering Todoroki’s tone, he clearly doesn’t believe that it’s possible to convince the man. But Todoroki doesn’t know Shota. 

Endeavor will agree if he can figure out a way to word it. Make the request a demand, make sure Endeavor knows that his son will succeed with more varied training. He’ll bring up Oboro again. This will work. 

He’s going to carve out time in his schedule to figure this out, try to find out if his student is safe. 

And if he’s making assumptions, Todoroki will just get in some extra training. 

“Hagakure hugged me,” Todoroki says suddenly, his hand on the door handle, “As a thank you.”

“Well, you did save her life.”

The door opens and closes with quiet finality.

Chapter Text

Endeavor Page–

Red_Might: Listen, I am fully aware that there are people who won't want to face the truth: There are dangerous men out on the street wielding too much power who have the potential to hurt innocent civilians. That's what a villain is.

That's what Endeavor is.

Likes: 0

When Izuku asks the lovely secretary about the email the Principal sent him about an early school meeting, she smiles and points down the hall, “Mr. Aizawa is waiting for you, last door to your left.”

“Mr. Aizawa? He's back already?” Izuku asks. He saw that man get slammed into the floor like he was a dog toy, and apparently all it took for him to recover was one weekend. 

The secretary looks at him with a tilt to her head, her earrings catching the morning light, “No darling, he's in the medical wing.”

The medical wing? Izuku thanks the woman and leaves with a surefire quickness to his step.

Sure, Recovery Girl is here, but she can only do so much. Their teacher needs actual medical care right now, not some partitioned room in a high school. He turns a corner and remembers the cold room that he’s spent a fair amount of time in. 

He rushes down the hallway, sneakers squeaking on the polished tile. He only spots a few meandering students, all slouching with Monday morning exhaustion. He slides a bit when he makes it to the door, the soft light radiating from behind the clean frosted glass. He knocks on the door before he can think better of it. 

Recovery Girl opens it with a gentleness that Izuku is used to. She puts her finger on her lips, and, “He’s sleeping.”

But she lets him in anyways, and quickly makes her way to a chair next to the door to the adjoining room, where Izuku can faintly hear a beeping monitor.

Luckily, Aizawa is not the one asleep, as that would probably be antithetical to the basic concept of a meeting. He’s sitting up on a medical bed with hand shaped bruises on his neck, and securely bandaged cuts, muttering as he grades papers. His legs are covered with a blue medical blanket, so Izuku can’t assess that damage yet. 

The sleeping object of Recovery Girl’s concern is Present Mic, with his arms folded and his head resting against the back of the wall, softly snoring. He’s on a hard plastic chair, glasses in his hair, directly next to Aizawa. 

“Glad you could make it,” Aizawa says, not looking up from the papers, not trying to lower his volume at all, “Pull up a chair.” 

Izuku finds another one in the corner and slides it to the end of the bed.

“Why aren’t you in a hospital?” Izuku whispers.

“You don’t need to be quiet, this guy can sleep through anything,” Aizawa says, motioning with his head to Present Mic.

“Okay,” Izuku says, “So do all teachers have to recover here?”

Aizawa smiles, “Like some weird job perk?” he stacks the papers and puts them on the side table next to his bed, “No. It’s just me and my circumstances. How are you feeling?”

Izuku does the most honest thing he can think of, and shrugs.

“Yeah,” Aizwa sighs, scratching at one of the bandages, “Yeah me too.”

They sit in silence for much longer than Izuku would have ever wanted. Aizawa is clearly thinking, looking out the nearest window with eyebrows furrowed.

“Do you,” he starts slowly, breaking the silence, “know what Underground Heroes are good at? And I mean really good at. Their bread and butter and all that.”

“Patrol,” Izuku says, “Undercover work, spy work, first responding…stuff like that.” 

“Yes,” Aizawa says, nodding curtly. 

There’s enough of a break that Izuku counts thirty of his heart beats. 

“Do you know what they’re not good at?”

Izuku shakes his head a bit. 

“Apparently,” Aizawa grimaces, “Dodging support beams.”

Bloodied teeth and last words being coughed out through dust covered lips flashes through Izuku's mind. He remembers that day like it was yesterday. He stills and stops breathing, “All Might? Do you know…what happened?”

He glances over to Recovery Girl, and Aizawa follows his gaze.

“She knows,” he says, “And so do I. All Might was a friend of mine, we worked together, and I’m an Underground Hero. Spywork, remember? I knew that he was alive six hours after the report came out,” then, “During that time, I also learned a couple other things.”

Izuku shrinks in on himself.

“And since I don’t think All Might is stupid enough to give One for All to Endeavor,” he says, “That left you or Bakugou.” 

“And?” Izuku asks, looking down at his shoes. He's still not breathing. Nothing he’s doing will give away what actually happened. But he's feeling suffocated anyways. 

“One of you is a better choice,” he says, shrugging like it’s obvious, “If I had been the one dying, I would have made the same decision.”

The guilt hits him again. Suddenly, the taste of iron is fresh on his tongue, and his arms absolutely ache. Aizawa doesn’t understand anything.

“I just can’t figure out one thing,” Aizawa says, and Izuku waits for the sharp stab of an accusation, some words of fraud and villandry. Aizawa figured out that Izuku wasn’t strong enough, and that he took it. He stole it from the rightful person and he’s a horrible–“Why haven’t you gone to Gran Torino?” 

“What?” he squeaks out.

“Gran Torino. He was integral to helping All Might after the death of Shimura Nana. He’s dealt with One for All throughout a couple generations.”

“Gran Torino?” Izuku just repeats. He knows who that is. In fact, All Might told him about him before his—but what if Gran Torino knows? What if he figures it out? The less people who know, the longer he can keep this bonfire of a power. 

“He can help you get some sort of control on the power. I saw what happened at USJ, and that was disastrous. You could have killed yourself. Or Bakugou, for that matter.”

“I’ve trained,” Izuku says, and Aizawa laughs long and loud. 

“Ow,” he finally says, “Ow. You’re going to Gran Torino today. Everyday after school for the next three weeks at least. Just so you can get to a point of survival. Give me at least that.” 

There’s something here about a grave that he’s dug himself. But the way that Aizawa isn’t looking at him, his eyes closed, his hands in fists, Izuku knows that he’ll have to face his choices yet again and pray that Gran Torino believes his lies. He can’t die under his teacher's watch, he couldn’t do that to him. 

“Okay,” Izuku says. 

Aizawa opens his eyes, and lets out a long breath. He considers for a second, “Why’d you wait so long anyways?”

“I was–” Izuku says, and then lies through his teeth “I don’t know.”

“You were quirkless, right?” Aizawa asks, and Izuku nods, “Then I guess it makes sense. It must have been overwhelming, especially so after what happened to All Might. You probably needed time for your system to get used to it anyways. You’re fine.”

There’s another second of silence. Izuku’s pretty sure that was a dismissal. 

“Is that why you stopped me?” Izuku asks instead. He’ll have to go to Gran Torino, and he’ll have to be okay with that, “My body isn’t ready for the power?”

Aizawa shakes his head, “Nah, you’ve done the punching move before now, it was actually pretty smart.”

“So–”

“People are after that quirk. I’m honestly impressed it took this long for them to strike, trying to find All Might. They want to make sure the power is still in circulation. It was smart what Endeavor did, making sure that they thought it was him who had it. You’ve had a pretty smooth transition, considering everything.” 

The attacks on Endeavor have gone up in the last nine months, and Izuku wakes up every morning trying not to feel bad about that.

“But All Might–” Izuku starts.

“Would never give it to him,” Aizawa scoffs, finishing the sentence, “I know. But they don’t know that. The man who planned that kidnapping, he’s been trying to get that quirk for years. He can’t know you have it, which reminds me…” 

Izuku looks up.

“You’re banned from the sports festival.” 

“I won’t use my quirk,” Izuku immediately says. Because honestly, now he’s just being selfish. The sports festival is a hub for agencies and schools alike to see what the U.A. has been doing, and Izuku wants to be a part of that. It’s one of the biggest events in Japan, “Or I’ll be careful. I’ll implement underground hero techniques or just make it unrecognizable or–” 

Aizawa laughs again, quieter this time, “Sure kid. I’ll watch your progress. We’ll talk again in a week or so.” 

Izuku sighs out a deep breath, and nods in thanks. 

“Get out of here,” Aizawa says, “And make sure–”

Swaying on his heels a bit, Izuku interrupts, “Can I ask a question?” 

Aizawa looks longingly back at the papers he’s clearly trying to grade, but he nods, “Shoot.”

“What are the circumstances?” he asks, leaning forward.

Aizawa squints at him, furrowing his eyebrows.

“The reason you have to recover here, and not a public hospital, I mean. I’m sure every other teacher recovers over there just fine,” Izuku asks, “Why is it only you?”

“You answered your own question,” Aizawa says, shrugging slow, “Public hospital.” 

Oh. Of course. He’s an Underground Hero, he needs his identity to stay out of the records, especially the hospital records. 

“Endeavor comes here too, he doesn’t like the publicity,” Aizawa says, “But most Pros either have an on-call physician, or go to an in-city hospital.” 

“But not Underground Heroes,” Izuku finishes the thought, and then slowly turns to the door that Recovery Girl is sitting next to, the glowing lights beyond the tinted glass and the constant beeping, “They come here?” 

Something very important connects in the synapse of Izuku’s brain.

“Ah shit,” Aizawa mutters, noticing where his gaze has gone.

“All Might,” Izuku says, “He’s here?”

Aizawa hits his head back on the pillow and gives out a long sigh, “Recovery Girl is good at what she does. But all she does is speed up the, well, the recovery process. So she can’t help someone who doesn’t have a chance of survival.” He takes a breath, “They also need to be relatively stable so she doesn’t just make someone hemorrhage in record time. Stuff like that. But the worst consequence of her power is the exhaustion. I’ve slept the entire weekend, and my legs are still weeks away from being fixed.” 

“That happened with my wrist,” Izuku mutters, still looking at the door.

“He’s been asleep for nine months,” Aizawa says. 

Izuku feels the floor drop out from under him. He has to grip the edge of the plastic chair. But quickly, the panic settles into understanding, because despite the horror, it makes sense. All Might has been dead to the world for the past nine months. Izuku wasn’t sure where he was, but he was sure he was injured, and quite badly. Apparently, he’s in the other room, asleep.

“What?” he says, quiet enough that he’s not sure he’s been heard. He stands up on his own, despite the shaking legs. 

“Recovery Girl is good at figuring out how long someone will need for their injuries, and slowly heal ‘em up over time. But All Might, his prospects weren’t good.” 

“I know,” Izuku says, and the smell of searing flesh and sewer water returns. He begins to move, walking towards the door like he’s in some sort of trance. Recovery Girl hops off of her chair and unlocks the door for him, swinging it open, revealing the dark curtained room.

“Healing him all in one go would give him the best chance of survival. So now we’re just waiting,” she says. 

Izuku can’t go in the room. It’s warm in there, with beeping machines all covered with a thin white curtain.

“Want to see him?” Recovery Girl asks, walking inside and gently grabbing the curtain, “He’s just sleeping, it’s alright.”

Izuku finds himself nodding before he can stop himself.

The curtain opens with a rattle of the rings on the bar, and Izuku sees the image of a man. He’s laying down and breathing shallowly, eyes shut to the whole world. There’s tubes everywhere, bags all around him to keep him perfectly vital, but despite the attempts, he looks…gaunt. His face drawn like a mask of death, hands perfectly manicured but dry, hair washed but limp against his forehead, longer than it was when Izuku last saw him. He squeezes his eyes shut and turns away.

“Tell me when he wakes up,” he says, waiting for the sound of the curtain being drawn closed again. So he can relearn how to breathe.

Aizawa says, “I read all about the attack. Your classmate, did Bakugou see anything?”

“No,” Izuku says, the door shutting and him feeling free to return to the seat, not making eye contact with Aizawa.

“Good,” he says, “Then he’ll just have to assume he’s dead. It’s better for everyone that way.”

Izuku remembers the mountain, the fingers pressed against his neck and the lights glinting off of snow, “He won’t care either way.”

And the less he knows about where that power was supposed to go, the less of a chance that Izuku gets exploded in some back alley. Or in broad daylight. 

“Good,” Aizawa says. 

“Sir?” Izuku asks, trying to focus on anything but the body in the other room, “This might be a stupid question, but why did you talk to Hagakure and not Bakugou?”

A week ago, Aizawa had been frustrated with a few students, and had talked to Hagakure after class. And sure, she had tased someone, but Bakugou…well he had attacked him just as bad. He can’t help but feel wronged. 

“Well, as you know, attacking students during battle situations isn’t necessarily against the rules. It got them both disqualified, but I won’t discourage the strategies they’re attempting. I had to talk to Hagakure because I thought she brought a taser to school.”

“It was Momo’s,” Izuku says, a bit monotone. 

“I know that now,” Aizawa nods, “No one really did anything against the greater rules of U.A.”

Izuku feels a sense of relief for something he hadn’t realized was bothering him that badly. His sigh might be a bit too loud though.

“You know,” Aizawa says, “President Iida has brought up some concerns with the young man. I told him we could wait to see if it really is a problem, but I wanted to check up with you just to make sure.”

Iida had checked up on him. Izuku feels both vindicated and a bit exposed, so he just looks down, “It really is fine.”

“Just let me know,” Aizawa says, “If you truly feel like it’s targeted, we can have a conversation about moving him to 1-B.”

Izuku looks up suddenly, Aizawa staring at him for some kind of reaction.

“Really?” he asks.

“If necessary, I can put in the paperwork today.”

The relief hits him again, like a truck this time. He can’t breathe all of the sudden. 

“Midoriya?” his teacher asks, like he didn’t just throw out a life preserver.

Izuku shakes his head, “I’ll be okay. But…thank you for the option.” 

It’s an understatement that he’s not sure how to quantify. The sudden power that Bakugou held over him throughout all of middle school, some of it has just been shifted in his favor. 

“That’s what I’m here for. Now get out of here for real this time,” Aizawa says, “I need to finish grading before I can take a nap.”

Izuku looks up at the clock and looks back to Aizawa, “We have class in ten minutes.”

“You have class in ten minutes,” Aizawa says, “My legs are broken.”

“Oh,” Izuku says, “Sorry–”

“It’s payback, if you think about it,” Aizaw taps his pen to his chin, and ignores his comment, “I took his shift for a week, he gets to be homeroom teacher for a week.” 

Izuku waits for a second before the concept clicks in his head, some of the excitement replacing the relief. 

“We have the Hero Study teacher?” Izuku asks, sitting up suddenly, his backpack falling from where it was resting against the chair, “Endeavor’s here?”

“Well,” Aizawa says, looking like he just ate something horrible, “It’s not… It was cleared just this morning.”

“Is it not Endeavor?” Izuku says, “You don’t seem excited.”

“Well,” Aizawa says, and then he stops talking. 

“Who–”

“You can wait ten minutes,” Aizawa deadpans, waving him off and grabbing the papers, “I won’t spoil the…fun.”

Izuku grabs his backpack and speedwalks from the room. 

The excitement is all through him, because the Bastion of Defense might be here, and ready to be the Hero Study teacher. And even not, they’re going to have an actual teacher who isn’t just going to lecture at them. 

He opens the door and finds Bakugou. 

For the strangest of seconds, Izuku wonders if this time the school just hired a student. He supposes it wouldn't be the strangest of plays the school has ever done, but…

The moment passes, and he smiles at his thought. Then he instinctively covers his mouth. Bakugou isn’t looking at him, instead opting to staring outside the window where clouds are slowly floating over the sky. 

Izuku makes a move to find a seat, and at the noise, Bakugou looks up and scowls. 

Of course Bakugou is just early, as he has been for the entirety of the week so far. Their Hero Study Teacher doesn’t have to be here for the next eight minutes or so, and this whole thing is just an unfortunate situation. Izuku waits, holding his breath until he can’t anymore, and then he brings out his notebook. 

He writes down half a page on Aizawa’s quirk. Three minutes from the time that class is supposed to begin, and just after he finishes up a note on the fact that their teacher’s eyes change color, he realizes that no one else has joined them in class. 

Bakugou’s foot is tapping out some vague beat on the floor. 

Izuku does the only logical thing and checks his phone. Only one notification, a text to the group chat. 

‘Just got an email from Aizawa. This morning we’re meeting in Theater C.’

He stands up and grabs his bag, trying not to hesitate. He fails. 

 Bakugou is still looking outside, and Izuku sees him nonchalantly shake his hands like he’s drying them. The theater is across the school, and if Bakugou is trying to figure out where to go, he’s not going to get there by staring out the window. 

“Hey,” Izuku says, quieter than he expected, but still somehow booming in the silent room. 

Bakugou takes enough time to move that Izuku is worried he somehow didn’t hear him. But he eventually turns, and the way he looks at Izuku, it’s somehow worse than he would have expected. He looks at him like he’s covered in sewer water. Again. 

“We’re meeting in the theater today,” Izuku says, only getting through the sentence by suddenly looking down at his phone and keeping his tone light and even. Pretending that he’s talking to someone like Hagakure. Uncomfortable and weird, but doable. 

Over the past nine months, Bakugou’s common response to any attempted conversation starter from Izuku is dead silence and look of disgust, followed by a swift exit. 

“How’d you know?” Bakugou asks instead, like Izuku just admitted to knowing a murder suspect, all dark and grave. 

Izuku gestures to his phone, still pretending to text on it, “Group chat.” 

Bakugou sighs, the last noise Izuku would expect to hear from him. 

He begins to put his phone away, ready for the conversation to be over–

“You have moderator powers?” Bakugou asks, and Izuku looks up at him, finally confused enough to make eye contact. He keeps staring until, “God you’re slow. Can you add me to the group or not.” 

Izuku nods quickly, and Bakugou holds out his hands. Izuku stares confused for another second before Bakugou claps his hands together in a waiting gesture.

So Izuku underhand throws his phone at him and watches as it’s catched. He waits for his phone to explode just as the notebook had, falling into ash and fire. But Bakugou just types something on the screen and turns it off. Then he bends down, puts it on the floor and slides it halfway across the room. 

Asshole.

Then Bakugou moves from the window and makes his way to the door. He passes right by Izuku who still hasn’t found it within himself to move. Just out of range of his sight he hears Bakugou come to a complete stop. 

Izuku remembers the last day they were friends. It was at some long forgotten park, just the two of them, a Tuesday a few weeks after the doctor told him he’d never be a hero. Izuku hadn’t left the house for a week, and when he had to it was with a fake smile for his mom and a little trading card of Endeavor purly for moral support. He could barely look at that card, his eyes would sting every time he thought about anything dealing with powers. 

At that park, that entire time they were playing, he was pretending to be fine. Pretending that his life hadn’t very recently and very abruptly fallen apart. They had run off somewhere out of sight of Mr. Bakugou, who was watching them. The reason for leaving was mostly to get rid of the rest of the kids at the park who wanted Bakugou’s attention, they all wanted to see his quirk. They had fled behind a small grove of pines and were both trying to climb the tallest tree they possibly could, giggling the whole time.

Bakugou got onto the lowest supporting branch with ease and a grin. 

Izuku had struggled for long enough that Bakugou’s grin had faded and instead, he was resting his head on the back of the tree, “Izuku, I’m getting bored.”

“I’m trying!” Izuku had said, feeling the tears welling up once again, more and more thoughts about his quirk passed through his head. This failure had just felt like one final nail in a coffin he didn’t really understand. 

“Try harder,” Bakugou had simply said. 

Izuku reached for a smaller branch, maybe able to get up with some of the weaker branches at the bottom. If he wasn’t fast enough, Bakugou would jump down from the tree, make fun of him, and leave him behind. 

He got a bit of leverage, foot resting on the bottom of the trunk, and hoisted himself up. 

The branch broke, snapped right under his hand, and he fell. 

It was a short fall, essentially only tripping, but it was straight onto his back. And when the branch had broken, his palm had caught on the ragged bits of wood left behind, scraping it all up.

Bakugou laughed. He stopped laughing when he realized that Izuku’s initial gasp of shock had turned into sobbing. 

Izuku curled around his hand, feeling the tears slip down his face, his hand feeling like a second heartbeat, heat and pain intermingling. 

“Are you dying?” Bakugou asked, leaning down to poke at Izuku’s hand until it opened. He inspected the injury with a scrunched nose precision, “It’s okay. You’ll survive I think.”

“Ow,” Izuku just said, rubbing the tears off his face and sitting up. Bakugou knelt down, still inspecting the injury, tracing his palm and watching as the broken skin caught under his nail. Izuku wondered at the time if the whole thing would just be another thing that he’d be made fun of. 

Instead, Bakugou looked around, grabbed the discarded stick that Izuku had broken off. He inspected it, sniffed it a bit. Then he brought it to his palm and sliced his hand open. 

Izuku had stopped crying at this point, “Kacchan, wait-”

Bakugu held out his hand, the cut deep enough to look scary, blood dripping down to his wrist, “Here.”

Izuku had simply reached out for his hand, still confused. Why would he do that? 

Bakugou grabbed his hand, face stony. Izuku felt a shock of hot blood mixing with his injury. It was almost a soothing feeling, a distraction. 

“Now we’re friends forever,” Bakugou said while staring directly at Izuku. 

He wasn’t letting go, his hand gripping harder against Izuku's. He winced with the sudden pain. He looked off to the side. 

“We are,” Bakugou repeated. 

That’s when Izuku had burst into tears. 

He’d never be a hero. He was quirkless. Everything was ruined, and Bakugou was going to leave him behind to go and become the greatest hero in the whole world. Bakugou could say words about being friends, but he would still leave him behind. He babbled about it all, tears running hot down his chin, hand still gripping Bakugou’s. 

Bakugou had started out consoling, placating in that very five-year-old way, trying to copy his parents. But about halfway, he had stopped touching him, prying his hand out of Izuku’s. He ended up scooting away and staring out into the distance. By the time Izuku had finished with his sob story, Bakugou had simply got up and walked away without another word.

Izuku realizes that he’s alone in the classroom.

★

The theater has at least half of the class here already, with more wandering in from the school. Izuku is at least four minutes late, but with the strange situation, that clearly doesn’t matter. Everyone already here is sitting near the stage with the exception of a few kids, including Bakugou. 

For some reason this class is much bigger than it should be. Izuku spots the blonde rich kid from Class 1-B, laughing at something a pretty redhead is saying, and realizes that for today the classes are joining. It somehow doesn’t damper the excitement for a Pro Hero teacher. 

He finds Jirou first, whispering something to Momo. He gives her a thumbs up, and she misses it, but Momo gives him a subtle thumbs up right back. She’ll be okay.

Uraraka waves him over, but before he can cross down the aisle to the front row, something flashes on the curtain of the theater, like a mirror signal in a spy movie. Izuku pauses to look upwards, shielding his eyes from the bright electric lights as the class begins to mutter.

He turns all the way around until he spots it. Someone standing on the catwalk and looking down, observing like an assassin. There’s another flash as the person shifts, the little light shining upwards reflecting off of that apparent spy mirror.

Izuku squints. There’s no mirror.

It’s a glass visor, easily reflectant against the lights.

The person leaps over the restraints on the catwalk

He plummets down, as precise as a bullet. His wings expand seconds before he hits the ground and he expertly lands in a flourish of bright red feathers, halfway down the aisle in the theater. 

The crowd is silent as Hawks, the third on the rankings, one of the youngest Pros ever, stands to his full height.

Their new Hero Study teacher grins. 

★

Tomura is not having a mental breakdown, despite the concerned looks that Kurogiri keeps giving him. If he pretends that it’s a normal night at the bar and that his ears still aren’t ringing, and that he didn’t face death only three days ago, then he’ll be perfectly fine. If he can pretend that he didn’t see a Nomu burned to nothing before his eyes, then what’s even the problem to begin with.

It’s been a hard weekend. He’s spent most of it blacked out on much harder liquor than the bitter wine he’s trying to stomach. 

He’s the most sober he’s been in days, and the events of that night keep playing in his head. The easiest one to deal with right now is the death of the Nomu. He didn’t know that it was going to scream. His sober brain hasn’t had to wrestle with that fact.

How would Tomura have sounded? Reduced to ash within seconds without a moment to think? He probably wouldn’t have even gotten time to scream. 

“Shigaraki,” Kurogiri says, gently like he’s talking to someone on the ledge. Which is entirely not true, “We need to talk about All Might–”

Tomura throws the wine glass as hard as he can. 

A portal opens, the glass flying through it and back towards Kurogiri, who catches it just fine. The wine isn’t as safe, splashing in blood-like arcs around the floor. Infuriating bartender.

“Sorry,” Tomura says, crushing his fingers together as hard as he can, until the leather of the gloves starts to creak, “It slipped.” 

Kurogiri gives out a slight sigh, but doesn’t say much besides that. He pours something else, presumably harder alcohol into the same glass and hands it back to Tomura. He drinks the whole thing in seconds, feeling a stream of cold liquid drip down his chin. 

“That was water, wasn't it,” Tomura doesnt ask, and Kurogiri shrugs. 

They stay still for a minute or so, Tomura trying and failing to clear his head of the suffocating pain he keeps feeling. 

“I’m sorry,” Kurogiri ends up saying, in that mumbling voice of his, “I didn’t–”

“Stop.”

“I wasn’t effective–”

“Kurogiri,” Tomura says under his breath.

“Shigaraki, I promise that you’ll find him.”

“I know,” he says, breathing deep, hands squeezing into his eyes like he can crush his skull.

Kurogiri pauses, hesitating for a second.

“I’m proud–”

“No one gets to kill All Might but me,” Tomura says, head clearer than it has been in weeks. He has a trajectory and he's going to follow it like an arrow. 

“I'm proud of you,” Kurogiri finishes with that smiling tone of his. 

And that's when the mental breakdown really starts.    

Chapter Text

Fifteen Years Ago–

Keigo is seven years old when his life almost changes. 

On one of the rare days his father wasn't home, his mother took him to the grocery store. This was novel enough to be the highlight of Keigo's month already. And then, as they were ready to walk home, he heard tires squealing. A fiery car crash, a pileup of vehicles just on the street. It’s late enough that the sudden bright colliding of cars is jarring. One muted brown van wraps around a telephone pole with a crunch, trapping a grocer between the two.

His first instinct is to run towards the suddenly screaming worker, just like the heroes on his T.V.. His wings still won’t work, and he’s not as fast as he should be for his age, but he is able to pull away from his mother in a snap moment of speed. 

But even with the help of those wings, he’s pretty sure that he wouldn’t have ever made it in time.

Keigo stumbles to a stop, ignoring the yelling from his mother to come back to her. Cops are going to show up soon, which means they have to get away from the scene as quickly as possible. But that doesn’t matter, because a man has just landed on top of the car.

He’s a hulking figure of seven feet, and he’s…he’s smiling. 

Keigo stumbles back at the sudden appearance of a real life hero, cape and everything. He can’t help his own matching smile, small and sudden. He’s filled with a fierce sense of hope he’s never felt before.

That man, he saves everyone. 

Finding each civilian trapped in the cars, moving debris from where it could be potentially dangerous, and leaving without a single goodbye. 

For the first time, he sees a real life hero. They’re real, not just people on T.V.. People who save others. 

Keigo, later that night realizes that he’s somehow been failed. The man didn’t save everyone.

Because Keigo had to return to the dark abyss of his home.

Chapter Text

Thirteen Years Ago-

Oboro is seventeen, and has been listening to his friends narrow down their internship choices for the past twenty minutes. And yes, he loves them dearly, but no one here knows how to take a hint. Lunch us practically over, he doesn't have time for his friends to not pay attention to him.

He’s been coughing periodically for the past ten minutes, and looking off longingly to the side for even longer. Someone is eventually going to notice and ask him what’s wrong. If not, he’ll have to bust out the pouty lip. That always gets Hizashi.

“What about Best Jeanist?” Shota asks, holding out a pen to prematurely cross out the name.

“He’s like, twenty two,” Hizashi sighs, tilting his head all the way back until his sunglasses are threatening to fall off, “I need someone more experienced to train the great Present Mic.”

“But he has flare,” Shota says, “Which is all you’ve been asking for. I really don’t know if we can narrow it down better than this–”

Oboro coughs again.

“Ugh,” Shota sighs out, and looks to Nemuri, who rolls her eyes, “Is he actually dying this time?”

“Yeah, dying of attention chlamydia. Because he's an attention whore,” she says, flipping another page in her book.

“How could–”

“So who’re you interning with?” she asks, suddenly bright, and Oboro can’t stop the grin from spreading across his face, because finally someone asked. Instead of continuing to be curious, her face returns to normal and she goes back to her book, “See. Attention whore.”

“We all know who he’s interning with,” Shota says, “Endeavor. It's obvious. Hizashi, we need to figure this out by tonight–”

“When has he ever been obvious?” Nemuri yawns.

“Thank you!” Oboro says, gesturing to Nemuri, “She gets me.”

“If you don’t get your dirty hands away from my book, I’m killing you with a real gun.”

Oboro puts his hands down and discreetly wipes them on his pants. Just in case.

“Fine,” Shota says, looking straight at Oboro's face. He closes his notebook, “Who are you choosing?”

Oboro leans forward and it seems impossible to wipe the grin from his face, no matter how hard he’s trying to be conspiratorial, “I’m going with an Underground Hero.”

Chapter Text

Nine Years Ago-

Mirai is thirty and has never been good with people. He gets too obsessive over the ones he likes and ignores everyone else unless they get in his way. It’s fine, he lives with the consequences of his own actions. His dad won’t talk to him after those years of ignoring him, and his ex won’t talk to him after all the texts he sent her. 

He was only trying to help. 

He’s just never learned to stop helping. People don’t want his advice, even if it’s lifesaving. No matter who it is, anyone he’s tried to save with his quirk ends up dead. His girlfriend had ignored his advice and her aunt died in a hit and run. His cousin tried to take the future telling and had somehow been in that avalanche anyways. 

Some things can’t be changed. That’s what his mother told him when he was younger. 

She’s wrong. Because apparently, nothing can be changed. 

And Mirai had almost accepted that fact. 

But one year ago, he tried to intervene one final time, one time to try and save his mentor, the greatest man he knew. 

And it had worked. 

He’s finally saved someone’s life. 

Because of that, All Might has been indisposed for the past year.

So, because it worked last time, Mirai tries to help. He sits All Might down and calmly explains exactly why what happened, happened. The fact that Mirai saved All Might’s life, no matter the consequences. Why it needed to happen. 

And their friendship breaks beyond repair. 

Chapter Text

Fifteen Years Ago-

Toshinori is forty years old, and this past week has been the type to make him regret becoming an Underground Hero.

Too many burglars with guns that think they can hurt him. And yeah, they can, because wow bullets definitely hurt, but it’s not long lasting pain. It’s like stubbed toe type pain.

Still annoying.

There’s also been too many men in suits talking to him about the politics of heroism, all trying to convince him to sign a contract with them.

And then there was today. It had already been a long shift, and then he almost lost a young girl in a car wreck. She was maybe eight, and had been panicking. She had escaped his grasp when he tried to gently pick her up.

She had hid under her fathers seat, and Toshinori lost precious seconds trying to comfort her enough so she would climb out from under her hiding spot. She survived, but ‘she’s going to have permanent lung damage.’ That’s what the EMT had said to him when he had inquired.

It’s been a hard day. He’s still in his hero suit, smelling too much like smoke to go visit, but on days like this, he likes remembering why he became an Underground Hero. He had worded his reasoning to Gran Torino like he was doing it to keep One for All Safe.

But the real reason is much more selfish.

The reason is a man who feels like a brother, and his wife, the kindest woman Toshinori ever had the pleasure of meeting. The reason is their two children, Hana, who that little girl in the car reminded him too much of. And Tenko, who sometimes gets so overjoyed and overwhelmed at the stories of heroes that he has to run around outside for five minutes to calm down.

Shimura Nana abandoned her son for fear of his safety. Toshinori became an Underground Hero so he could reconnect. To stay in the life of the child that Shimura had introduced to Toshinori all those years ago.

Now he’s Unkie All Might, and that alone makes everything in this past week worth it.

On top of a roof, panting from the smoke he inhaled, he decides to jusr change and shower in the guest room. Honestly, at this point, it feels more comfortable than his own bedroom.
He stands up, and jumps to the next house, the exhilaration never really leaving him. From this vantage point, he can see the–

The house is dark.

It makes sense, it's so late at night that it’s turned into very early morning, his shift ran a bit longer than necessary. But something feels immediately wrong.

Sickeningly wrong.

And Toshinori isn’t a bad Underground Hero, so he knows when to trust his gut.

He moves faster.

He moves fast enough that he doesn’t remember any of the way over but the blurring street lamps and the stars that feel somehow suddenly suffocating.

He opens the door without knocking, the creaking noise loud enough to rival his own heavy breathing.
“Kotaro?” he asks, trying not to shout, because if it really is nothing, he’ll get a slipper thrown at him.
But no one responds.

He finds the master bedroom, and again, without knocking, “Kotaro?”

The room is empty, the bedspread ruffled and pillows knocked to the floor. It doesn’t look like there was a struggle, but–

His breathing has slowed, and he’s standing perfectly still in the house, and everything is so so quiet.

Quiet enough that he can hear the crying.

Toshinori locates the sound and ends up finding himself in the living room, the lights out. Everything is dark and oppressive, and Toshinori can barely see the shaking form of a child in the corner of the room.
He absentmindedly clicks on the light.

He’s not ready for the appearance of Tenko, curled up into the corner of the room, a wide smile on his face and his hands covered in black dust, gripping his hair and rocking back and forth.

He’s not ready for the bright red handprint on his the little boys face, the tears streaked down his cheeks, chest heaving with sobs. He’s been hit.

“Tenko, where are your parents?” Toshinori asks, taking a step closer. The panic has solidified in his chest into a real concrete thing he can’t breathe around.

Tenko looks…different. He isn’t looking at Toshinori, instead staring off past him, eyes a strangely dark red. His hair is the color of moonlight white, streaked with black ash.

The ash is everywhere. There are splashes of it like explosions, staining the couches and walls, flaking down from even the beams in the ceilings.

Tenko still isn’t looking at him, but his hands are digging deeper and deeper into his own scalp.

“Tenko, where is your sister?” Toshinori asks, stepping closer and closer. Once he gets within a few feet, Tenko heaves out a shuddering breath.

“Please don’t touch me,” he quietly says. He sounds like Tenko, the inflection matching the boy he knows. But he looks so different. He looks scared.

Toshinori kneels down, taking off his cape, the picture forming in his head. He can’t think about it right now though. About what might have happened.
Tenko is at the right age to develop a quirk.

“Why not?” Toshinori asks.

Tenko scoots away, trying to wedge himself more into the corner, turning away from Toshinori.

“Because you’re the best hero in the whole world,” he say, words muffled against the wall, hands tearing into his skull. Toshinori moves forward.

And then, not thinking of anyone but the boy in front of him (not his sister, not his mother, not his father), he wraps the cape around his hands, scoops up Tenko, and wraps his body into a suffocating, bone-crushing hug.

And he doesn’t think about what might have happened if he had just gotten here a little earlier.

Chapter Text

Hawks Page–

(MOD)redfeathers: Alright folks, it's official. Hawks: The Ascending Hero, has been confirmed to be U.A’s Foundational Hero Studies teacher for the new year. Photos of him entering the school were leaked, abolishing any doubt beforehand. News outlets will be sure to cover this information in the next couple of hours. 

Likes: 540

KissForSterisHarms: ugh when the press get’s footage of him TEACHING??? this site is going to be unusable for the next month…sigh.

Likes: 121

wachtLinkClick: @KissForSterisHarms noooooo i just know that the fan edits are going to HAUNT ME 😭 😭 😭 

Likes: 54

(MOD)redfeathers: For hate comments on Hawks, take it to the page ‘Anti-Hawks Page’. Thank you. 

Likes: 22

DentistApprentice123: i think the fan edits are hilarious. positive enough? 

Likes: 3

Hitoshi is resting his face in his palm, looking out the window, and is trying not to lose his mind. 

His view is fine for seeing the meandering students who are determined to be perfectly on time, and he tries not to hate every single one of them. Hitoshi is five minutes early, of course. He woke up early today (the insomnia) and since he cannot find joy in scrolling aimlessly on his phone (the depression) he’s here sitting in this godforsaken class. Bane to his existence and all that. 

So he’s tired. He’s too tired to care about this stupid class and the stupid teacher and his stupid classmates. So he stares out the window while the rest of everyone in the class talks to each other. 

Mr. Whatever-His-Name-Was finishes giving instructions in front of the classroom to all of the other people who’ve decided to show up early. His classmates stand up and begin to mingle with each other, excitedly chattering about various projects. 

Hitoshi leans back on his chair, hoping to get a little shut-eye when he hears footsteps. He pries open an eye to see a pink haired girl standing in front of his desk, leaning forward with something hidden behind her back.

He still doesn’t know her name. 

“Hey,” she says, pulling eccentric goggles down and onto her face. She’s staring at him unexpectedly.

“What do you need?” Hitoshi asks, sitting up. He doesn’t know her name, and he’s pretty sure it’s a mutual situation.

She presses down on his desk with the pads of her gloved fingers, and grins, “What gave it away?”

“Huh?” he says, barely a question.

“That I needed something,” she laughs, “You’re a smart one. Listen. Can I have your desk? Mr. Majima didn’t have enough wood for the thing I’m working on, so…” 

Hitoshi stands up, and pulls his backpack over his shoulder, “Yeah sure.” 

He’ll find a corner to go sleep in. That’s fine. Mr. Maijima (which is probably his teacher’s name), doesn’t really care what he does in this class. No one gives a shit about what he does in this class. The fact that he doesn’t care makes him an anomaly that they don’t know what to do with. The Support Course is supposed to be a perfect lead into a perfect bright future, with all the educational resources to forge anything from the ground up. Hitoshi still hasn’t learned how to use a saw, and at this rate, he really doesn’t think he wants to.

Pulling out some sort of electrical screwdriver device, his classmate grins at him again. “Great!” and with one quick movement she unscrews the desk completely. 

Someone in the class bursts into laughter, a noise that grates on his ears.  

“Hawks?” the boy giggles. Okay so she wasn’t laughing at the whole desk debacle,  “They’re getting taught by Hawks ?” 

Hitoshi turns his head so fast it hurts. He stares for a solid three seconds before some antsy sort of rage fills his brain and clouds whatever he’s trying to think about. It could mean nothing, that conversation. Hawks might be interning some–

“I really thought they’d never find a hero study teacher, but I saw him entering the theater this morning. He told me to–” the boy puts a finger over his lips as a universal ‘shh’ motion. 

“Well, you’re really bad at keeping secrets,” the girl that’s decimating Hitoshi’s desk laughs over to them. Sometimes the whole class will do this, with everyone in on everyone else's conversation…Hitoshi has to get out of here. 

The rage is a new feeling, the all encompassing anger, it’s brand new and it’s taking too much space in his head. Like his brain has been flooded by ocean water. He’s never been this angry before in his entire life, and the lack of waning emotion over this past week is freaking him out. He’s going to have an aneurysm if he keeps thinking about school, but it’s not easy to ignore everything around him.

Hauling up the hunk of wood she asks, “Oh, are you going somewhere?” 

Hitoshi hesitates from where he’s started to step away. He looks around the classroom. Each student is in a group of two or three all combining their shared knowledge to make something great. Presumably. 

Hitoshi doesn’t belong here. 

“Yeah,” he says again, tucking in his chair to what’s left of his desk’s skeleton, “Bathroom.”

She places down the desktop and holds out a gloved hand, “Well, thank you kindly for your donation.” 

Hitoshi stares down at her outstretched hand. He reluctantly takes it, and lets her take the initiative in shaking his hand. She lets him go and returns to the desk

Class still hasn’t started, but he has to get out of here. He has to see if the idle gossip spreading around this hellish class has any substance. 

His teacher barely even looks at him, too engaged with someone else's project, the bare bones creation of some sort of armor. He slips from the classroom with no complaint or notice. 

The hallways are starting to empty, with class just having started, he realizes he’s technically truant. It doesn’t matter though, does it? 

As it stands, he can’t be here. And really what are they going to do, expel him? 

He doesn’t have parents to mind, and his grandmother, although not thrilled, would be fine as long as he still finished high school. She doesn’t care that he got into a hero school, she just cared that it was high on the lists of ‘best high schools in Japan.’ If he ditches this nightmare, as long as he gets into another high school, no one will really care. 

So who is he trying to impress? 

He finds the theater with ease, two large doors with a handlebar. He tries one door, and finds it obviously locked. All he wants right now is to see it. See what he was desperate to become, the room full of bright lights and a real life hero, and the thirty nine students who succeeded where he failed. 

Instead, all he gets is creaking noise as he incessantly pushes against the handle, willing something to break. He wants it so bad he can taste the acid of rejection on his tongue. 

It’s just not fair–

“Shinsou?” 

Hitoshi leaves the door alone, taking a slow step back like he just got caught stealing. He takes in a deep breath, trying to suffocate the anger with his exhaustion, reminding himself of the hours of sleep he’s lost over this. 

“Would you like a cup of tea?”

Hitoshi turns to see Principal Nezu standing with his hands clasped gently together and a soft smile on his face. Apparently the exhaustion has already won, because he imagines a warm cup of something caffeinated and nods without much hesitation. 

★

The room is nice, with bright windows, dark wooden furniture and soft looking plants, all close to the ground. Hitoshi would expect this place to find its home in a rather upscale manor, like a wealthy oil magnate's office. Not in a high school run by a sapient raccoon. Or whatever he is. 

They hadn’t talked on the way over, and Hitoshi is perfectly happy to keep up the silence. 

Nezu immediately breaks the dream of that with a solid clink of the porcelain on the table. There are two cups that smell like black tea, “Maijima was concerned with your lack of participation, so I must ask, are you finding it comfortable here?” 

“The couch is comfortable,” Hitoshi says, settling back for a second. The couches have done the impossible, somehow both nice to sit in and fashionable. 

Nezu smiles into his tea and Hitoshi realizes he probably wasn’t being that literal. He probably expects to talk about the tar pit of an experience that Hitoshi has found himself in. 

“Sir, am I allowed to be honest?” he asks. He will. He can voice his complaints, he knows how to do that. 

Nezu nods his head, looking at him with interest. 

“Great. I am decidedly uncomfortable at school,” Hitoshi says, trying to smile. Unfortunately this just means the words come out through gritted teeth and a snarl. 

Nezu nods in sympathy and takes another sip of tea before speaking. He looks out to the sky while talking, as if reminiscing, “Did you know that the support course has an almost two hundred percent higher employee rate after secondary school? Compared to the hero course at least.”

“Why would you tell me…how about you tell me what part of my application screamed, ‘put me in the support course, I’m here because I want stable employment’. I want to be a hero. I saw your pamphlets, if I didn’t get good enough scores during the entrance exams then you should have put me in the general studies course,” he says in a rant that has his hands clenched as fists, digging into the couch below him. He’s thought about this so much that the words have been seared into his brain.

Another sip of tea, and then, “There are many students who find joy in the support course, and even more who struggle in the hero course.”

That’s not really an answer, and the frustration keeps showing up in bursts. Frustration and a settling sense of suspicion.  

“So what, you’re looking out for me?” Hitoshi asks, dry.

Nezu makes a so-so motion. He seems comfortable in his office, legs crossed and tea steaming into his face. He hasn’t lost that little smile. That doesn’t distract from the fact that he still hasn’t made eye contact. 

“So you won’t be too uncomfortable?” Nezu decides to change the subject, apparently, “I have spoken to Aizawa and the others, and they have confirmed what I thought. You are an intelligent boy, Shinsou. I believe you will still be able to find heroism in the support course.”

Is that a dismissal? Is their talk over? Hitoshi hasn’t had a single question answered because apparently talking to the principal of this school is like talking to someone who hasn’t entirely learned how to connect strings of conversation together. Like someone who thinks conversation is playing a really good game of dodgeball. 

Nezu didn’t talk to the classes like this at the welcome assembly. No one has ever talked to Hitoshi like this. 

He frowns and scoots a little towards the edge of the couch. Hitoshi stares at Nezu with a look that he hopes isn’t too confused. The principal doesn’t even look at him. 

Hitoshi activates his quirk. 

The static at the edge of his vision intensifies, like an old TV that’s channel has just been changed. He focuses on Nezu and tries to fish for the mind control to activate. 

“I want to become a hero,” he says, not really focusing on the words that he’s saying, narrowing his eyes, “At least if I was in the general studies, I would have the chance to get into the hero course.”

Nezu hesitates for only a moment. Hitoshi can see it now, the microsecond of focused eyes as he takes another sip of his tea. He’s thinking before he speaks, “We have many great students here.”

Hitoshi focuses, his quirk isn’t working. 

Because the principal isn’t answering him. Nezu is treating this like two different conversations, two threads that won’t connect to avoid the quirk’s effect. Someone needs to respond directly to Hitoshi to be ensnared, and Nezu is avoiding that, successfully . 

People dodge the quirk by just…not talking to Hitoshi. Nobody has tried to have a conversation with the same level of avoidance before. Answering a question with another question. Not responding directly. The hesitation covered by the drinking of the tea, and the lack of eye contact to really secure the fact that they’re not having a conversation in any meaningful way. 

Hitoshi grabs the untouched cup and drinks the whole thing in a couple of seconds, burning his throat as he does. 

“Fine,” he puts the cup down, “Thank you for the tea.” 

Nezu nods, smile growing. 

“Have a lovely day,” Nezu says, apparently content with the performance he just put on.

Hitoshi leaves in a rush, and only outside of the office does he realize that he’s missed almost twenty minutes of his class period. He leans his head on the nearest locker, breathing hard. 

The exhaustion, the anger, all of it has been replaced in one swift conversation. He feels nothing but the phantom sensation of something crawling up his throat. 

There’s a clear answer for why he’d be put into the support course, why that conversation just went the way that it did, why all he’s felt is anger this past week. It’s simple. 

His principal is afraid of him.

Chapter Text

Anti-Hawks Page–

doubleyouteaeff??: Poor U.A. kids…what’s this guy going to teach? How to use hair gel?

Likes: 598

JUDGEOFJOKES: 2/10

Likes: 22

doubleyouteaeff??: aw c’mon man

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The way he stands, the smile carved into his face, the perfectly stylized hair made to make ‘bedhead’ seem like a compliment, it all forms the strikingly real image of Hawks, standing in front of them like he didn’t just drop from the height of a catwalk. He isn’t even out of breath.

Izuku takes a staggering step back out of the sheer star power of the man.

Hawks gives a scanning glance across the audience, not too interested in anyone or anything, like a marine biologist in the middle of the desert. Or something like that. Izuku doesn’t know any marine biologists, and his metaphors won’t work right now, not with a gleaming Pro Hero right in front of him. 

“You know,” Hawks says, still scanning the crowd, “When I took this job–”

He pauses for a second at this aisle, and squints down to the end.

Izuku is absolutely staring, trying to at least pry his eyes away from the man’s wings, which are folding gently along his back. The feathers look unexpectedly soft, but he’s seen the type of damage they can inflict. His hands are itching to write something down in a notebook, the size of the feathers or wings. 

They’re just bird wings, but they’re somehow the most eye-catching thing in the whole room, huge and exact. The texture of the feathers looks almost like velvety red ribbon, and Izuku wouldn’t be surprised to see one worn in the hair of some millionaire's daughter.

He’s actually seen that before, some wealthy idol wearing a bright feather fashioned as a hair clip, one of the souvenirs of a fight that Hawks had been in, one that hadn’t been cleaned up. It had been all over HeroLog, mostly met with mockery and claims of a staged event. But the picking up of Hawks’s loose feathers is enough of a novelty hobby that it was probably true. 

Izuku can hear the whispering all around the theater, all around him, a couple phone flashes to be used as photographic evidence. The news is going to break and people are going to go absolutely bonkers. 

“I’m about to get so many followers on LinkedIn,” Ashido says, not enough under her breath, since a couple kids from 1-B burst into tittering laughter. Ashido just grins and takes another picture.

Hawks has finished his inspection, and keeps with his explanation, moving down the section again, “When I took this job, I expected some level of security, you know maybe a non-disclosure agreement. Maybe a harsh contract if I was particularly unlucky. But what I didn’t expect was for them to send my paperwork written in code and cut out of a newspaper. I was convinced my mother was being held ransom for like three hours. You people have very fun staff here–Oh, hello!”

These last words are to Izuku, who’s found that he is suddenly very much in the way. Hawks has been walking down the aisle, and Izuku hadn’t found a seat before the bomb in the shape of a feathered man was dropped. 

So there he is, standing about a foot away from the aforementioned bomb, who’s staring at him with a raised eyebrow smile that could be verging on carefully controlled laughter. 

“Sorry,” Izuku says, scrambling to the first open seat he can find, next to that wealthy blonde kid, who doesn’t move his backpack. Izuku ends up with his legs partially in the aisle to keep from touching the bag. 

“No worries,” Hawks does laugh, but it’s probably not meant to be cruel.

Izuku, with a bright red face, digs through his own backpack until he finds the little green and gray notebook that he bought only a week ago. The few notes are just about class schedules, so he scribbles on the name ‘Hawks’ on the inside paper. He’s going to figure out those wings as if they were his own.

“Anyways,” Hawks says, hoisting himself up on the stage with clear ease. He settles down on the edge, crossing his legs and letting his wings droop around him. He takes a hand and presses it lightly to his chest, “The name’s Hawks.” 

There’s a muttering of the students brave enough to break the silence, saying hello to their new teacher. 

“This is…unexpected,” Iida mutters, and Izuku realizes with a breath of relief that his friends are just a row in front of him. He immediately scoots forward, which Uraraka notices. 

“Iida was worried you were going to have an aneurysm,” she teases. 

“I’ve talked to Endeavor and I’m still alive,” he tries to defend himself. 

“Barely,” she snorts. 

Hawks sits on the desk for a second more, his smile growing just slightly in the theater lights and ever increasing whispers from the group. Izuku begins to write down the description of the wings, trying to figure out the size in proportion to the man. He wonders how appropriate it would be to ask about the status of his teacher's skeleton, vis-a-vie its hollowness. 

“Mr. Hawks!” someone asks, two seats down from Izuku. He leans to see a pretty red-headed girl. She’s straining in her seat and raising her hand. Without any confirmation to continue, “My biggest concern is how we’re meant to catch up from your absence. Mr. Vlad taught us, but he wasn’t prepared.”

“Neither was our guy!” Kirishima yells out from the back. 

Hawks leans forward a little, “Well first, let’s establish something important. Mr. Hawks was my father, no need for the formality, Hawks is just fine. About your point as a whole, I assume you haven’t been properly informed of the plan?”

“Plan?” Iida asks, raising his hand a bit belatedly.

“We’re combining for the next week, two classes, all day hero study. Let Mr. Aizawa recover and let you kids get to know each other a little. Apparently there’s been some animosity between classes in previous years, and dear old Principal Nezu wants to get rid of that.”

“Where is Mr. Vlad?” the girl asks. 

“Uhhh one sec,” he pulls out his phone and checks something, presumably a calendar, “Oh right. New Zealand. Taking a trip with his family for the week. He really got the good end of the stick, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Izuku mutters.

“Oh I thought I had heard that Mr. Aizawa got attacked,” the blonde wealthy kid whispers, “Strange that one of the few civilian teachers was the one to get hurt, yes? Maybe…a little…bizarre? A little…suspicious even.”

It takes Izuku twenty seconds before he realizes that he’s being talked to.

“What?” he ends up asking.

“What,” the guy asks, turning to stare him down with those strangely bright blue eyes. 

Izuku remembers the question, and realizes that those in 1-B wouldn’t know about Aizawa’s underground hero status. So he says, “Oh. Sure, I guess so. I’d just say he’s unlucky.”

“Monoma, pay attention,” the girl says, gently elbowing him in the side.

Monoma. Izuku vaguely recalls the name in some list of the top families associated with heroes, but unlike Iida, he apparently wears the status with a bit too much pride. 

One week of a shared class without any basics besides Hero Study. The school is making up for lost time, and despite the fact that they’ll share it with strangers, Izuku squeezes his new notebook with excitement. 

“Two classes,” Hawks says, “Thirty-nine people. We’ll be meeting here for the week. Mornings will be filled with the lectures that you people must surely love, and afternoons with practical work.”

Finally.

“Today we’re going through some basics of heroism, history and what not. Ugh, I know, unfortunately it’s incredibly important. But before any of that, let’s get through some introductions. I’m sure you’re sick of these as well, but I’d prefer to at least know a couple of your names. So, hello,” he waves with two fingers, “The name is Hawks, yes it’s plural. My favorite color is blue, and I’ve never eaten a carrot. Easy. Shoto? Show them how it’s done.”

Shoto? 

Hawks points clear in the back where Todoroki is, sitting and staring out at nothing. He blinks a couple of times as the point registers. 

“Huh?” he deadpans. 

“Introduce yourself.”

The silence stretches on. 

“Todoroki Shoto,” he eventually sniffs.

“No fun fact? It can be boring, I won’t mind,” Hawks smiles. 

Todoroki shrugs, “That’s all.”

Hawks moves on without any more comment, continuing with some of the kids from 1-B.

“They know each other?” Uraraka whispers after a second, turning a bit to Izuku, “Shoto?”

“Hawks occasionally works with Endeavor,” Izuku says, “I think he actually interned at his agency when he was younger, I wouldn’t be surprised if he knew some of Endeavor’s children. I don’t know all the details though.”

“Well the information you had seems to encompass the whole of it. Quite honestly, I’d be worried about you being one of his delightful fanboys if you knew more details about his past.” Monoma says, and Izuku decides not to mention the fact that he already knew both fun facts that their teacher gave.  

1-A reintroduces themselves with the additional twenty people from 1-B, and the names immediately get mixed up in Izuku’s head. He decides to focus more on the fun facts of the classmates he already knows. 

Kirishima knows how to build a computer, Mina would really like it if everyone called her Mina, which is news to Izuku. Kaminari is used as a bug zapper in his family events, and Jirou is going to have a hearing aid by the end of the month, a fact that is quite the morbid reminder of the weekend, but also gets a small round of cheers.

Apparently the girl two seats down is named Kendo, and she’s the president of 1-B. Izuku can see it, she sits straight and smiles at the increasingly bizarre comments from her classmates, both attributes shared with Iida. 

Before this year, Izuku’s go-to fact was that he’s never broken a bone. 

He ends up saying something about his favorite subject. 

Bakugou says that Endeavor is his favorite hero, which Hawks nods at. 

“Good choice,” he smiles, and Izuku turns to see Bakugou’s reaction. He stays still, his arms folded, but he doesn’t scoff or frown or anything. It’s a major step-up from their classes with Mr. Aizawa. 

Izuku watches as a stray feather falls from Hawks’s wings like a leaf in autumn, shaken off as he rearranges himself. The feather descends gracefully to the ground before it’s catapulted back up, Hawks catching it between two fingers. He inspects it for a second, before it zips back to his wings, nestling itself amongst the others. 

Izuku writes down a few more notes on the wings, but without seeing it in motion, it’s hard to track. He’s seen a couple of videos, but the actual non fan edit ones are hard to come by on HeroLog, which means Izuku can’t find many videos for pure analysis that aren’t covered with sparkles. Nothing against the fan edits, he just doesn’t find them particularly informative since the editing choices will usually hinder his view of the strategy. Izuku moves on, jotting down a few notes about the costume and trying for a loose sketch.

“Sorry?” Monoma asks, and Izuku looks up, realizing that he was muttering.

“Oh,” he says, “Uh, I was saying that his jacket seems inefficient. Too bulky for a flight hero, especially compared to how planned the rest of his outfit seems.”

Monoma quietly laughs like a wealthy person, “But, my dear Midoriya, you need to consider the importance of appearance, especially with a hero like…that.” 

“Like what?” Uraraka asks, turning a bit to join the conversation. 

“He’s a celebrity ,” Monoma draws, “More than Endeavor and more than Best Jeanist. He’s only number three because he’s popular with fans, and even then it’s mostly only the women. They find him funny and attractive, and that includes that…inefficient jacket.” 

Izuku could make a couple points disagreeing with Monoma, but he finds he doesn’t really want to. Plus, he’s not entirely wrong on the fan point. 

Izuku makes a little comment on his notebook next to his loose sketch of the jacket that reads: 'pizazz.’

“Like peacock feathers,” Uraraka says, and Kendo covers her laugh with a cough.

 “It’s aviator, actually,” Monoma says, tapping on Izuku’s notebook. 

“What?”

“It’s not a bomber jacket , it's an aviator jacket. If this is a serious assessment, you need to fix it.” 

Izuku does, blowing off the eraser pieces and writing down the correct label. 

“You like costuming?” Izuku asks, trying for casual. 

“I can at least understand the importance,” he scoffs like Izuku doesn’t. 

Izuku digs through his backpack until he finds what he needs. A medium sized notebook with colorful stickers that Uraraka has been stealthily adding over this past week. He flips to the correct page and presents it to Monoma, “So that’s what I submitted for my costume. Thoughts?”

On Friday during lunch, Izuku, Iida and Uraraka had all gone over their potential costume designs to submit. The due date has already passed, but Izuku wouldn’t mind another set of eyes to confirm that his ideas aren’t absolutely terrible. And it’s somewhat encouraged to modify the costume over the school year. Monoma carefully takes the book, opening his mouth to say something.

“Does he look…mad?” Uraraka interrupts, and Monoma turns to look at the stage. Hawks is sitting still, and Izuku realizes that the entire two classes have been chatting with their own groups for at least a few minutes. When he looks at Hawks, the man is faintly frowning, chin resting on his fist as he stares out. 

“Quiet!” Iida says, clearly a little concerned, “Class can we show some respect?” 

Hawks blinks, and then blinks again, frowning a little deeper as he looks to Iida. Then he shakes his head and plasters on another smile, “No, no, I don’t mind the chitchat.”

But he stands up and shakes out his wings a bit, which means that the conversations have effectively come to a complete end. Momo gives Iida a quick nod. 

“Okay. So since we’ve missed out a week of hero studies, we’re going to get through the basics with as much efficiency as possible. What did your homeroom teachers cover?” 

“Medical diagrams,” Iida says. 

Kendo says, “Hero statistics.” 

“Not too shabby,” Hawks says, and Izuku knows he’s not the only one who disagrees, “But not very…basic friendly. I’ll start you off with something simple. Kindergarten question time. What are the roles of heroes?” 

Izuku can’t help but raise his hand, watching as a few other people do as well, albeit more hesitantly, Iida and Momo included. Hawks begins to walk down the stage, looking at the hands that are raised. The question is simple, and the answer is probably something vague and performative, but Izuku wants to give it a try. 

“Shoto!” Hawks says, standing on his toes to point.

Izuku turns to the back, where Todoroki has just scrambled upwards, blinking sleep out of his eyes. He looks concerned, and Hawks just repeats the question with a laugh. 

Todoroki’s look of surprise quickly melts away into nothing, and he settles back into his chair. Izuku watches the movements of Hawks and Todoroki both.

Todoroki, after a long minute of silence, finally relents, “Heroes protect society.” 

Hawks claps his hands together and crookedly smiles, “Correct. Simply put, heroes are here to protect us from the villains of society. It’s what I first learned when I began my training, this responsibility that we’re all taking on here. We’re civil servants above anything else, no matter the flashy lifestyle some of us promote. The perks are nice, but that’s all they really are. It’s not why any of you should be here. You should be here,” he takes a deep breath, “Because you want to keep people safe. Safe from earthquakes, fires, natural disasters, but most importantly, safe from the villainous side of society. Anyone know Endeavor’s moniker? This one’s easy.” 

Izuku raises his hand, but from the back, “Bastion of Defense.” 

He turns to see Bakugou, his feet kicked out on one of the theater chairs in front of him, looking disinterested. But…he answered a question. Even if he didn’t raise his hand. 

“Easy, right? His name alone shows exactly what you should all strive for as heroes. Swiftly dealing with those in society who want chaos–”

“Oh! Like Stain?” Kaminari asks, and Izuku cringes back a bit. That’s a particular villain that’s somehow avoided capture for about a month, and is a recent topic of criticism for Pro Heroes. 

Hawks scratches the back of his neck, clearly feeling a bit of the pressure as well, “Eh, well with him it’s only been a couple weeks, but I promise the hand of justice will end his terror–”

Kaminari interrupts again, “Wait you haven’t caught him yet, sorry bad example. I wasn’t being sarcastic, I forgot he’s still at large—Mina stop kicking meeee. Anyways, ahem, no pressure.”

Hero Killer: Stain. Speaking of monikers, he’s got one hell of one. Izuku has tracked the victims, making sure to check that every time Stain attacks another blossoming hero, that it’s not one that he’s been really watching. 

The most recent victim was a man with some laser eye ability, which Stain promptly dealt with, and the hero left the scene with a bloody bandage around his head and a suddenly impossible dream. Stain had paralyzed the man and simply sliced the flesh of the eyes until they were rendered to jelly. 

Despite the name, Stain has never killed anyone. He kills the symbols and dreams of those heroes, cutting them off where it hurts, targeting the quirk. And if he can’t target the quirk specifically, he’ll cut off the legs of the prospective hero, all in some bizarre sense of cruelty to stop them before they ever save anyone ever again. 

Hawks laughs a little, still tense with his posture, “Yeah, well the pressure is important. I appreciate the reminder of what we’re really fighting for. To continue, it’s what we should all be striving for. A defense of society.”

Izuku sees Iida nodding, so he turns again to see the reaction of Bakugou. He’s still looking off to the side, but his expression is a calm one, almost like he’s thinking. Izuku’s never thought much about the motives of becoming a hero. It’s obvious, everything Hawks is saying is so obvious. Of course people should want to protect and better society, Izuku barely thought of a world where that’s not the main motivation for any prospective heroes. 

He wants to strive to be the best version of himself so he can save as many people as he possibly can.

But that motive most likely isn’t universal, and if that’s the case, then what does Bakugou want? 

Is it the fame or power? The money? Izuku’s never thought about it much, and he finds that he doesn’t really want to know the answer. He’s more than a little worried that it’s absolutely going to be the power. 

“What’s your nickname?” Mina asks from the back, steering the subject away from violent men in the streets. 

He shrugs, “Hawks: the Ascending Hero. Pretty redundant if you ask me, but hey, I’m not the press.”

Izuku’s read up on the reason for the name in the few afternoons where he’s tried to get interested in Hawks as a hero. It’s an obvious connection, Izuku probably didn’t even need to put much real research into it. The press wrote articles and articles on him climbing the rankings of the system at an unprecedented speed, hence the ascension. Plus there’s the wings, which…yeah it makes sense. 

Izuku taps his pen, thinking of a couple alternative titles, a practice he’s accidentally started doing, just as a brain teaser type activity. He only gets to ‘Hawks: The Guy with the Weird Feathers, is he Psychic?’ before realizing that he can’t focus on both the lecture and the game. He moves to taking notes. 

They continue through the lecture. Hawks talks about the origins of quirks and how society almost descended into madness before bright pillars of heroism came to scrape the whole thing back together. 

He talks about everything with an even tone of cool collection, like he’s discussing something to one person across a table, not a theater full of teenagers. 

Izuku is picking up on the fact that he can really, really talk. He’s seen the smooth way he responds to subtle insults in interviews (again, ignoring the fan edits), and apparently that transfers to teaching. He doesn’t use notes, but he rattles on for minutes at a time. If he needs to, he’ll occasionally use his feathers for emphasis like a performance artist. Izuku finds it hard to take notes when their teacher begins to engage with the students, asking questions and nodding along. He responds to each question with the same practiced tone, no stuttering or tripping himself up, which with the added information that he’s not using notes, Izuku realizes that there’s a high chance that the whole thing is improvised. There might be some vague list of information he’s trying to cover, but he’s succinctly rambling like he’s never done anything else. 

They talk about the history of heroism, cutting himself off right before Nana Shimura. It’s probably the best place to stop, that’s a dark spot of history. Hawks stands there and, in the same conversational tone, says, “Lunch?”

Izuku realizes with a quick check of his phone that they’re five minutes late to their usual lunch time. He turns and sees a couple antsy looking students, but most look as surprised as he feels. That was three hours? That felt like nothing.

He grabs his bag, the thoughts of heroes and importance to society filtering through his brain. 

“And that was a secret lesson,” Monoma says to Kendo, “On the importance of public speaking.”

“Yeah you should see Mr. Aizawa– I’m not finishing that thought, that’s mean,” Uraraka says, and they leave the chairs to begin their walk to lunch.

Izuku is standing in the middle of the aisle again, and he realizes something, turning on his heel to face the stage, “Hawks?”

“Mhm?” he asks, drinking from a water bottle.

Izuku stays still for a couple seconds, realizing that a few people still in the theater are looking at him, waiting for whatever question he’ll ask. 

“Your history only included Pro Heroes. What about the other types?”

Hawks rescrews the cap onto his bottle, tossing it gently to the side. He tilts his head this way and that like he’s clearing water from his ears, “Well…I figured you’d people want to hear more about Pros. This school has the highest rate of that.”

“For every ten heroes, there are four Pro Heroes,” Izuku recalls the statistic without much thought, “It’s a majority, but not enough of one to ignore the other three categories in history.”

“Three?” Uraraka asks Iida, who have both stopped behind him.

Hawks looks down to him for a second, before shrugging, “What can I say? I like Pro Heroes best. I promise we’ll talk about the other ones soon.”

Izuku nods, and Hawks salutes him instead of any verbal goodbye, leaving the stage in long strides. 

“What three?” Uraraka asks, “I thought it was just Rescue and Pros.”

“Underground,” Iida says.

“And Specialists,” Izuku finishes. 

Iida nods, like he had forgotten that one. 

“Which one makes the most money?” Uraraka asks, and Iida laughs. But Uraraka isn’t laughing. She’s looking at Izuku, dead serious. 

“Pros, by a landslide.”

She puts her arm through the other strap of her backpack, beginning to walk forward and not looking at Izuku.

“Then I’ll be that,” she says, carefully casual, not looking at him. It’s almost quiet enough not to hear.

Izuku realizes that he’s not sure of his friends' motivations for being heroes. Money, fame, power, it’s an allure that apparently not even the nicest people can avoid. He puts the thoughts away for later and decides to go to focus on lunch.

Chapter Text

Stain Page-

heropro_69: Guys, please be careful late at night. Stain has been spotted several times over the past few weeks near and around Tokyo and Musutafu. If you see him, call the police and run to a safe place.

Likes: 22

yogurtluver: i don’t need to run away. 

Likes: 1

heropro_69: Yes you do. He’s a dangerous criminal. 

Likes: 1

yogurtluver: nah i’d be fine

Likes: 1

heropro_69: Fine then. What’s you’re quirk?

Likes: 1

(MOD)Red_Might: *your

Likes: 2

yogurtluver: don’t have one

Likes: 1

heropro_69: Okay, then how would you avoid his highly skilled swordsmanship??

Likes: 1

yogurtluver: dodgin’

Likes: 2

Faster than even the lecture, lunch is over in a twenty-minute flash. There’s no room for conversation, just scarfing down the rice and eggs as quickly as possible. Lunch at U.A. is already short, but even the third years look at them with pity when the whole group of them show up late. 

They return to the theater where the lights have been flooded across the room and the stage curtains closed. Izuku returns with Iida and Uraraka, but he keeps his original seat since Iida’s sitting at the end of the row, and behind them is just fine. Plus then maybe he can figure out if Monoma has already looked at his costume. 

Hawks returns before anyone else, asking after lunch. Izuku, not for the first time, wonders about the diet of their teacher. He’s seen Tokoyami’s food, which includes an almost obscene amount of berries and nuts along with whatever they’re serving in the cafeteria. In his notes, he has Tokoyami labeled as a blackbird. Hawks is a…hawk, which means there’s a chance he’s a carnivore. He wonders how much it affects his diet, since Tokoyami can eat seemingly like a normal person, but clearly has a preference for–

Uraraka must see the way he’s looking at both Tokoyami and Hawks, because she ends up saying, “Whatever you’re thinking about, Tsu will be your best bet. She’ll know more about mutant quirks.”

Izuku blushes a bit. Tsu is next to Kirishima over on the other side of the room, and Izuku wonders if there’s a chance he can talk to her after class.

“You people are quick!” Hawks says, standing up once an appropriate number of students have rejoined in the theater. Kendo and Monoma walk down the aisle like she’s giving him away to be married, her arm looped with his. He laughs at something she says, and sits down, still talking to her. So no information on his costume yet. 

“First things first,” Hawks says, clapping his hands together quickly, and the classes looks to him, “Shoto?”

Todoroki takes such a deep breath that Izuku can hear it from the very front. 

“Yes?” he asks after a second. 

“Want to help me?”

“No,” he doesn’t even give it a second to consider.

Hawks barks (squawks?) out a surprised laugh, before, “You won’t have to participate in the activity if you act as my assistant.”

Todoroki stands up and brings his bag to the front of the stage. He throws the bag to the side of the stage, watches it slide, and then stands there waiting. Hawks stretches out a hand, and Todoroki takes the help to climb up. Izuku wonders if either of them have noticed the stairs to the side of the stage. 

“How many are there left?” Hawks asks, trying to count. 

“Thirty-eight,” Iida says after a second of thinking, “If we minus Todoroki.” 

“Perfect,” Hawks says, “That’s...One second.” 

He squats down, pulling out his phone and typing something into it. 

“Let’s do eight groups of four, two groups of three.” 

He puts his phone down and for a second Izuku can see what is most certainly a calculator app. 

Iida turns to Uraraka, and then they turn to Izuku as fast as they can, and the team is suddenly secured. 

They won’t find a fourth member here, since Kendo and Monoma are still talking, and Jirou and Momo have clearly paired up. 

“Kirishima?” Iida asks.

Izuku turns to spot him, finding him making small talk with Mina and Kaminari. 

“Tsu?” Uraraka asks, but similarly, she’s chatting with Hagakure (...maybe). Momo stands up with Jirou to join that girls group, and Monoma and Kendo leave to find some more 1-B students, presumably. 

“Wait–” Izuku starts. 

“I’ll look at your costume when I get the chance,” Monoma says with a flippant wave of a hand. Izuku worries he’s not going to get that notebook back. 

The three of them are left in the corner near the stage.

“Three person group?” Uraraka shrugs. 

The teams are decided quickly, probably with more hurt feelings than Izuku can see, but eventually everyone gets situated, settling down in different parts of the theater, the whole room buzzing with a low-level of excitement. Now that all the lights are on, the room feels a touch more casual, like the very end of a half-way decent high school play. 

Hawks stands up and begins to count the teams, opening his phone again, probably to keep track. He abandons his phone after a second, and Izuku realizes that the teams are almost perfect, except a few stragglers. 

“Okay, you,” he points to the first straggler, someone from 1-B, “Go to one of the three person teams. And the rest of you, make a team.” 

The 1-B student, Shiozaki, if Izuku remembers correctly, joins the group that has some 1-B kids. The remaining leftovers join in one three person group: Monoma, Kendo, and Bakugou. 

Iida stares at Monoma’s group like they’re seconds away from setting off the nearest fire alarm.

Izuku settles back into his chair and ignores the horror of that pairing. At least Kendo is there to soften the cruel potential. Hawks takes some time to count each group off. There are ten groups. 

“Okay remember this,” he says, and then assigns a number to each four person group, counting to four, and then four again. Luckily the teams have split rather evenly between the left and right side of the theater, so it’s simple. 

“Damn,” Iida mutters, and Uraraka looks at him with delighted shock at the curse.

“The game is simple. Teams will be paired with one another. If you were assigned a two, you’ll go against the other two team. The three person groups will be going up against one another.” 

Damn indeed. Izuku turns back to the Monoma group, and finds Bakugou staring down to the floor, and Kendo looking at him with concern. She reaches for his arm, and he tears from her grip in a second. He catches the eyes of Izuku as he moves away. Izuku is really getting bored of being looked at like he’s worse than nothing, so he turns away first. 

“Okay, right side of the theater, you are in the process of robbing a bank. There will be a door that is assigned as the ‘vault’ door. If your team is in fighting shape, and that door is kept accessible by the end of ten minutes, you will have won. This means you have to keep the bank secured for that allotted time. Left side of the theater, you’re a group of heroes who have just been given warning of this robbery. You need to dispatch the villains in ten minutes without letting any injuries occur to the hostage civilians.”

“Topical,” Iida mutters darkly, immediately looking back to Jirou. She’s staring off to the side. 

“1-A, no hard feelings about Friday, don’t worry. This is a scenario I went through all the time in my early training, I’m just passing along the tradition,” he chuckles. 

Izuku waits for Hawks to continue, praying that no one from 1-B comments. The silence is still a bit uncomfortable. It’s been three days, people aren’t going to want to talk about what happened yet. 

“Gotta get back on the horse,” Hawks shrugs, realizing that no one is going to continue the conversation. 

 “The hostage situation horse?” Jirou flatly asks from the back.

“Well we don’t have to,” Hawks says, squatting down to be more eye level, “But it’s good to see it from a different perspective, ya’ know?”

“Can I be on the villain's side?” Jirou asks, still flat, almost like she’s challenging him.

Hawks consider for a second, “Why not. Switch with them,” he points to Mina’s team, “Now, ten minutes might seem short, but in a close contained battle, it’s going to feel like an eternity. Which is why, to discourage unnecessary violence, we have,” he digs in his pocket and brings out a pair of dark blue bracelets connected with a metal string, “these thingies. I’m not actually sure what they are. I found them in your gym and I had to get the Principal to help me out of them, so they’ll work as handcuffs. If your opponent can figure out a way to secure this around your wrist, you’re out of the game. I’ll pass them out before the actual battle. You have the next ninety minutes to plan strategy. Feel free to leave this room, but don’t--”

Bakugou pauses from where he’s halfway out of his seat. 

“Don’t leave campus. Other than that, tell me where you’re going because I want to check up on your progress occasionally. Best of luck! Remember, planning is half the job.” 

Amen to that. 

Bakugou leans down to his two teammates, quietly says something probably foul, and then walks away towards the exit. 

“Where are you going?” Kendo loudly asks, sitting up straighter and turning to him, making frantic eye contact with their teacher. 

“Somewhere I don’t have to deal with you people,” he matches her volume. 

“Hawks?” Monoma asks, smug in his loud confidence.

“As long as you check up with me at some point, you can leave,” he says, shrugging. Bakugou leaves without confirmation. Hawks tilts his head, “Sorry, can’t force anyone to participate.” 

Todoroki gently hits his head against the stage prop behind him. 

Kendo looks like she’s going to say something, but Monoma says something quietly and her mouth draws into a thin line. She ends up curtly nodding. Izuku’s not sure why they’re worried, Bakugou is going to return before the actual fight, he knows that for a fact. 

“And break,” Hawks says, turning to see Todoroki, who’s slid so far down the wall that only his head is propped up. Hawks covers a smile, “I’ll be around to critique the stratagem. Remember to be careful with what you say! Your opposition is under the same roof as you.” 

The class moves in motion, most people leaving the theater, a sudden and clear air of mistrust taking hold of the groups. Izuku wonders if that was on purpose, because this does not seem to be the way to let the two classes become closer. Most of the teams are divided by either 1-A or 1-B, since friends have grouped up. If Izuku were in charge, he’d put people together by random chance. But then again, he’s not the teacher.

“I’m talking to Hawks,” Iida says, standing up, in the suddenly empty theater, “You two can hold down the fort?”

“Yep, I’ll run off any bandits,” Uraraka says, but Iida doesn’t acknowledge her, walking forward with quick strides and robotic arm movements. Uraraka leans back, facing Izuku upside down.

“Wanna strategize here? Everyone else cleared out,” she says, looking around at the empty theater. Most people have probably gone outside, since the weather is nicer than it has been in months. But Izuku can’t risk his plan just for a little sunshine. 

“Yeah, we’ll just have to be quiet. Whoever got Hagakure has a pretty good advantage,” Izuku sighs, looking around like he can will her to suddenly appear. 

“You talk about her a lot ,” Uraraka says, a bit conspiratorial.

“She kinda freaks me out.”

“Like in a ‘girls are sweet and make me feel things so they scare me’ way?” she asks, suddenly sitting up correctly. She crosses her arms across the back of the chair and looks at him with glittering eyes.

“ You’re a girl.”

“Yeah but we’re friends so you don’t get to freak out about me. Plus, maybe I’m not your type, it might be exclusively transparent girls.”

“Girls?”

“What are you, a misogynist?” she asks like a reflex. 

“God I hope not,” he says, “Hagakure freaks me out because she could follow me home and murder my mom and I wouldn’t notice. Not because I have some complex about girls.”

He does, but that’s besides the point.

“You wouldn’t notice your mothers death?” Uraraka asks after a second

“Well not until she died,” he says. With Hagakure involved, she could waltz in, kill his mom with a well placed knife to the throat and leave in about half a minute.

“It would be pretty hard to notice anyone’s death before they die,” Uraraka says. Then she taps her chin for a second, “Wait, is your type transparent guys? You seemed incensed that I would imply girls…wait you don’t have to answer that sorry that was–”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, shrugging, “And I was incensed that you would imply my type is only girls, so you were close.”

“Alright,” Uraraka says, “So your type is invisible folks?”

“No, Hagakure freaks me out in a very normal way, not in a bisexual way. Like she’s a weird looking lizard that makes me uncomfortable to look at. Don’t tell her I said that.”

“Cool,” she sighs.

“Cool,” he returns. He’s only ever told his mom the whole sexuality fact, which she promptly nodded at like it had been expected and planned for. It probably had been, thinking back on it. 

“Me too,” Uraraka blurts out, “About the bisexual thing, not thinking Hagakure looks like a liz–It’s fine. Anyways, That’s why I got excited.”

“Cool,” he repeats. 

“What are we talking about?” Iida asks, returning from the stage and close enough to overhear their conversation. 

“Bisexual lizards I think,” Uraraka contemplates, and when Izuku breaks down into laughter, so does she.

“Righhtt,” Iida says a tad suspiciously as he sits down on one of the theater seats. This just makes Uraraka giggle into her palm. 

“What did you talk to Hawks about?” Izuku asks, sobering up a little.

“Just some…concerns.”

“And?”

“He told me to trust him,” Iida says, chopping his hand into his palm like he’s thinking, “Which is fine, he’s our teacher, I didn’t expect trade secrets.”

“We’re not our teacher's favorite?” Uraraka asks, “Shame. I guess Tokoyami is right there.”

“So what’d you ask about?” Izuku asks. 

“Bakugou,” Iida simply says.

Uraraka looks over to Izuku, trying to catch his reaction. Because going against Monoma’s team means Bakugou’s team. He can’t quite stop the grimace. 

He remembers what Aizawa had promised him. If anything else happened, Bakugou could go to 1-B in a second. But maybe Bakugou doesn’t care about any of that. Maybe the main goal for becoming a hero is to kill as many people as he can get his hands on. Pros will occasionally kill wayward villains, maybe that’s all the motivation is. Maybe his childhood friend somehow turned into a bloodthirsty monster.

Maybe before he gets to become an actual hero, he won’t be able to resist ending Izuku’s life. 

Which a transfer to 1-B wouldn’t be able to fix at all. 

Izuku needs to get better at controlling the emotion on his face, because Uraraka is frantically looking to Iida for some sort of help. 

Izuku knocks himself out of his own spiraling. They had a conversation this morning, and killing him would likely be too far, even for Bakugou. Besides the time on the mountain, Bakugou hasn’t actively bullied him for almost a year. 

Izuku takes a deep breath and an even deeper sigh, and ends up saying, “Strategy?”

Iida and Uraraka have to know a terrible non-sequitur when they hear one, but they let it slide, nodding to him. 

“He’s the big danger, yeah?” Uraraka says, “Big explosions, fast, dangerous.”

“Maybe?” Izuku shrugs, because, “We don’t know Monoma’s or Kendo’s power at all. They could have a quirk that’s just like explosions squared or something.” 

“Wait, Iida, don’t you know Monoma? He said you went to parties together or something?” Uraraka asks, turning to him.

“It’s not…common practice to share your children's quirks with other people. It makes schooling a bit easier if our quirks aren’t splashed on the front page of every hero themed gossip magazine, so we like to keep that information to ourselves when mingling with other families. Plus it discourages arranged quirk marriages.”

A bomb, and double wild cards. They have almost nothing. Izuku covers his eyes with his hands until he can see sunbursts of lights, trying to think. His teammates are blessedly silent, obviously giving him some amount of space as he tries to just figure it out. 

“Everything I can consider is too risky or stupid,” he ends up saying, halfway frustrated.

“Correct,” Hawks leans down from the stage, having reappeared from the side. Apparently they haven’t been entirely alone. He hops down, striding towards them with that semi-permanent semi-smile, “I’m sure you don’t need information about all of my intensively reckless exploits and all the many ways I have been yelled at over the years for those aforementioned actions, but you do need to know that it is not unique to me or my agency.” His face becomes serious, “I’m not a thrill seeker, I understand basic strategy. Everything, every day of your hero career, every simple strategy is going to feel reckless and stupid. If a mission doesn’t make your heart race with the upcoming doom you’re facing, you are not going to last.”

Izuku knows the feeling, the heart racing well. He ends up nodding. 

“I can promise you can be the most prepared person alive and still not have the confidence you’re going to want, and that means you can’t dwell on that feeling. Nothing will ever feel safe enough in this career, and if it does, you’re going to walk straight into a trap.” Hawks looks down and takes a breath, “Anyways, how is the strategy going my little baby students?” 

Izuku blinks at their teacher, who blinks right back. Izuku does it again, trying to see if there’s a second eyelid. Hawks doesn’t do it again, turning to Uraraka and Iida instead. 

“Good?” Uraraka says, after a long second. That was quite the monologue, “We don’t know Monoma’s or Kendo’s quirk though.”

Hawks does the lips sealed, throw away the key motion. 

“We talked about underground heroes for a second there,” Izuku says, “Would it be against the rules to try and…spy on them maybe? Sneak around a little bit?”

“Why are you asking me?” Hawks laughs, ignoring the imaginary key he clearly just threw on the ground, “ Asking the authority first? That’s not a very good way to start espionage. But go for it. And good luck.”

Hawks leaves it at that, walking away with a trilling whistle.

“He’s weird,” Uraraka says, “Like that’s not just me, yeah?”

“Do you know how old he is?” Izuku says, “It makes sense.”

Uraraka looks to Iida who does a ‘two’ motion twice, which she tilts her head at.

“He’s four ?” she whispers, seemingly going through a cacophony of emotions. 

“Twenty-two,” Iida deadpans. 

"Is that even old enough for a teaching license?" she says, maybe ignoring what Iida just said. 

“I’m not even sure Aizawa has one,” Izuku says, because they truly have no way of knowing. 

Twenty two isn’t unheard of for a high school teacher. That’s old enough to get a degree and a certificate and even maybe a bit of experience. But Hawks most certainly doesn’t have any of that. He has five years of being a Pro Hero under his belt, and he’s on the rankings. At that age, there’s not really a chance that he’s had much time for sleeping, let alone getting a frivolous degree. Izuku really hasn’t thought much about Hawks, and the sudden impossibility of him standing here as a hero is the first thing to make him want to really research him. 

“My brother is eight years older than him and I still wouldn’t trust him to teach a whole class,” Iida sighs, and Izuku shakes his head.

“He’s been on the field for five years. It’s longer than most heroes survive out there. And he has Endeavor's respect. You need experience to be number three.”

“I thought he was number three because of…fans,” Iida says, probably realizing halfway through that it’s a bit ridiculous. 

Hawks is popular, yes. But that’s not going to get anyone that high up the charts, despite what Monoma might believe. Hawks has a lot of arrests and even more take downs under his belt, that’s what the ranking is for.

Izuku itches to take out his phone and scroll to see what people are saying. It’s certainly out that Hawks is the Hero Study teacher, and for some reason, Izuku isn’t looking forward to the myriad of negative comments about it. But they don’t have time for that anyways.  

“So…” Uraraka begins, “Spy time?”

Izuku nods, “We need time to come up with as many plans as we need, and I’d feel better if we knew everyone’s quirk before we attempt any of that.”

“How many plans?” Uraraka asks, settling back down.

“Endeavor once said that the first mistake in planning is assuming that your opponents are stagnant beings. Our rivals are out there planning just as much as us, and whoever has the most contingency, that’s who wins.”

Iida takes a deep breath and leans back, “Well now ninety minutes doesn't feel like enough time.”

“It doesn’t,” Izuku sighs. 

Uraraka nods at him, and she and Iida begin to discuss the best way to get the information.

“Anyone have Mr. Vlad’s contact information?” Uraraka asks, “Could we just email him?” 

“Think he’ll just give out sensitive information?” Izuku sighs, “We could exchange a couple of our classmates' quirk information for Monoma’s and Kendo’s,” he doesn’t like the feel of the whole thing. It’s too slimy for his taste. Considering Iida’s expression, he probably agrees. Uraraka doesn’t seem fazed with the whole idea, but she doesn’t comment. Honestly they’re already at a pretty intense advantage, knowing even one of their competitors’ quirks. But Bakugou knows all of theirs, and even if there’s a chance he won’t talk to his partners, he’s dangerous enough as is. 

“Didn’t Mr. Aizawa record us up in the forest?” Izuku asks, “For further research? Do we think Hawks got that information?”

“It would make sense,” Iida says.

“So he might have a list of information about the 1-B kids too, right?” Uraraka follows up, “Whatever test they had to do at the beginning of the year, Vlad must have recorded that and given it to Hawks.”

Someone sneezes. The three of them look over to Todoroki, who’s now sitting on the stage, out of hearing range and clearly playing some game on his phone, his tongue sticking out as he taps something on his screen. This theater really isn’t as empty as they previously assumed.  Izuku had forgotten about him.

“He might have access,” Uraraka says, “If he knows Hawks.” 

Izuku nods.

“Bless you!” Iida says, and Todoroki looks up, wide eyed. There’s a chance he also didn’t know that the theater wasn’t empty. 

He squints at them and then gives a quick thumbs up before going back to his phone.

“Todoroki,” Uraraka asks, loud enough to hear. Todoroki looks up again, so she continues, sitting up a bit straighter, “Can you find out Monoma and Kendo’s quirks for us?”

He looks at her, and then to Iida, and finally to Izuku. And with that, still staring at him, “No.”

“Damn,” Izuku mutters, and Iida makes a ‘tch’ sound, policing kindergarten level swear words. A kindergarten swear word that Iida himself just used. 

Uraraka sits back down with a slight huff, scrunching up her nose in frustration. 

They sit like that for a couple of minutes, all thinking hard. 

“Do you think we could do a trade?” a voice eventually interrupts from the back. Izuku turns in sync with the rest of his group, finding Kendo. Monoma is striding behind her with a smirk on his face.

His two teammates stay silent, the best course of action right now. 

“It’s just a little thing, really,” Monoma says, “A trade that benefits the both of us!” 

Izuku can practically hear his hands rubbing together like some miscreant villain. Or more accurately, a weird blonde fly. 

“What sort of trade?” Uraraka asks, leaning against the edge of the seat and clearly trying to act casual, picking at a hangnail. She winks at Izuku like her cover is convincing at all. He nods in support. 

“Your quirks for ours? I’m sure you don’t need Bakugous, so we’ll only take two of your powers,” Kendo waves her hands like she’s already placating them.

“It’s a kindness, really,” Monoma sighs. 

Izuku looks back to Uraraka and Iida. Iida mouths ‘Bakugou?’. 

“Oh, your classmate knowing your powers? Is that your concern?” Monoma asks, “That misanthrope isn’t one to worry you. He hasn’t been…helpful.”

Izuku is sure that Bakugou isn’t planning with them, he’s the type to explode first and ask questions later. It’s good that the information won’t be shared, sure, but Bakugou alone has a chance of taking them all down.

“What do we say?” Iida asks, and Izuku pauses, covering his eyes again for a second. 

He considers every possibility, the fact that this could be a trap, or the fact that Bakugou clearly isn’t helping them much, despite being on a team together. He considers that. He knows exactly how Bakugou will attack, with fast action and brutal precision. How long range are his abilities? How–

“Todoroki!” Monoma says, cutting through the silence. Izuku looks up quickly as Kendo shoots their classmate a quick smile, “You know, we never got to talk after the entrance exam. I thought your strategy was quite bold. I’d be delighted to extend this little trade to you as well, you must know your classmates' quirks, yes? Now obviously there’s not much information you could glean from the two of us, but a reasonable favor? What do you think?”

Todoroki puts his phone down just enough to look over the top and stare at them. He narrows his eyes as he considers this. 

Monoma, for some reason, lifts his left hand up, finger pointed to the sky like a gun. Todoroki looks up, clearly confused. And then he furrows his brow and Monoma grins.

Todoroki puts his phone down and reaches for his pocket, dragging out a small piece of paper, one that Izuku immediately recognizes. That’s his list of names and quirks. 

“Yes,” Izuku says, “We agree. We’ll even do two for one.” 

Even if they only get one of theirs, it’ll be better than nothing.

But Monoma turns that snakeoil grin to him, “Oh, a little too slow. Too bad for you.”

“Sorry guys,” Kendo says, cutting through the weird fucking energy of the theater like an angle that specializes in normal high school interactions, “But seriously, good luck!”

Monoma walks to the stage, and Todoroki slides the piece of paper over.

Monoma looks down the list of names, “Where’s Midoriya?”

“I don’t know his,” Todoroki says.

“Fine. How do I know the rest of this is all true?” Monoma asks, taking a picture of the image.

“Guess we’ll see,” Todoroki says, picking his phone back up. Monoma slides the paper back, and Todoroki pockets it without making any eye contact.

“What’s that?” Uraraka asks, and Izuku cringes back into his seat. Monoma, with one more side glance walks from the theater, Kendo trailing behind. The theater door closes with a sense of finality, leaving them alone with Todoroki. 

“I gave him a list so he could remember our names,” Izuku says, preparing for even a bit of anger. But Uraraka whirls on Todoroki instead.

“But that’s not fair,” she says, pouting her lip. 

Iida’s phone buzzes. 

Uraraka is staring at Todoroki, and Izuku is staring down at his notebook. If he hadn’t given Todoroki that paper, there’s a chance he wouldn’t have remembered their quirks. He sighs, and then sighs again, and realizes that he’s just breathing really heavily. 

Now it’s two to one, and a plan could be formed on this, but he doesn’t like the feeling of the disadvantage so soon into this game. He feels like he’s been out planned already. 

Iida coughs out a surprised laugh, sharp through the empty theater. Izuku glances up and finds Iida looking to the stage with a confused grin, eyes alight.

“Thank you!” Iida says, echoing across the empty room.

Izuku watches Todoroki give a peace sign before returning to his phone. 

Iida stares for a second longer before, still smiling, shakes his head and looks down at his screen. He shows the two of them after rereading the texts. An unknown number is front and center, and this is the first conversation had. 

hes got a copy quirk. its not permanent and he has to touch you first. dont tell him i told you.

This is Todoroki?

yes. tell your teammates not to tell him either

Huh. Izuku reads it again, and then again. Todoroki clearly got the number from the group chat, but why everything else? Why the secrecy and the double crossing? He looks up at Todoroki, who clearly doesn’t look interested in holding any conversation. 

“Alright,” Uraraka says, “Awesome. Two vs. two as long as Bakugou stays disinterested in his teammates. This is awesome. Awesome.”

“The odds are certainly better,” Iida says, giving one more slight smile to Todoroki. 

With that crisis somewhat (and very confusingly) averted, Izuku returns to the consideration of the plans. They have less than an hour and twenty minutes to plan as much as they can against a bomb, a copycat, and a singular wildcard. At least she’s a normal high school girl wildcard. Pressing his eyes shut again, Izuku curls down onto his lap, the rings on his notebook digging into his stomach as he considers what he was thinking before Monoma interrupted. With the slight information from Todoroki, Izuku still knows Bakugou’s power best. 

Well considering his position right now, Izuku is sure he knows Bakugou’s power better than his own. 

And right now, that’s a very good thing.

“Iida,” he says, uncovering his eyes, blinking at the sudden brightness and wonders how long he was ignoring them, “How do you feel about distracting Bakugou?”

Iida sits up straighter (somehow) with a small smile on his face. He nods. 

“You’re good at dodging? You have to be good at dodging. And stopping very quickly so you don’t get intercepted,” Izuku says. He’s barely seen Iida’s quirk, only at the house party, but he was really fast. 

“If I do that, he’ll leave you alone, correct?” he asks.

“Well,” Izuku starts, chewing on his lip for a second, “Hopefully?” 

He can use his quirk here, just not at the sports festival. Which means that he’ll have some semblance of a last defense. But he can’t imagine using this quirk on a living breathing thing. He would tear someone asunder before they could even cough out last words. Plus he really doesn’t want to face Bakugou again. 

“Okay,” Iida nods, “Okay, then yes I can do that.” 

“Is it alright if I try attacking Monoma? Even if he takes my powers, it won’t be good on his stomach. It took me years to build up the tolerance. I used to throw up every, like, minute of using my power—Deku stop writing that down,” Uraraka says, face red. 

Her idea is a good one. As long as they isolate him, he’s probably not going to be too much of an issue. Unfortunately that all depends on how long he can hold a quirk for. Todoroki said it wasn’t permanent, but that could mean anything.  

He hasn’t seen Monoma or Kendo fight, but at this point, he can strategize around their personalities.

“Second rule to strategy,” he says, “Know your opponents. Our plan should be based on what we think they’re going to do based on what they’ve done.”

“What if they do the same thing?” Iida asks, “Plan for our plans I mean.”

“Then our second plan is based on what we think they think we think they're going to do,” Uraraka says, and when Izuku nods, she laughs at him.

“It’s true though!” he says, a little incensed, “Counter counter attack is what I call it.”

“That certainly sounds more formal,” Iida says, and now it’s Uraraka’s turn to be dramatically incensed. 

“Bakugou, we send Iida after,” Izuku says, “He’s fast and violent, but if he thinks you’re a challenge, he’ll chase you to the ends of the earth to fight you. He chewed through the ranks of the Junior Quirk MMA that way, tearing at people until he could take them down in seconds.”

“I can give him a challenge,” Iida says, and the ‘hopefully’ is the unsaid word there. 

“Good,” Izuku says, “And Uraraka, I don’t know much about Monoma, but he seems a bit…high up on his own pedestal. Like, he probably likes the sound of his own voice. Keep him distracted to the best of your ability until you can zero gravity him. As long as he doesn’t touch anyone else, it should be easy enough to take him from there.”

“Iida goes after Bakugou, I go after Monama, you go after Kendo,” Uraraka says with a solid sense of finality. 

“Now we get to do the finer details and the backup plans,” Izuku finishes, feeling almost confident.

Chapter Text

HeroLog Chat–

red_riot: you’re going up against bakugou??????? 

BastionOfIntel: Apparently

red_riot: lucky. i wanna fight that guy he seems so cool.

BastionOfIntel is typing…

red_riot: midoriya?

BastionOfIntel: Lol wish me luck.

The hour and a half in the theater feels much too short, even if Izuku’s notebook is full of as many ideas as he could make up. Their plans need to be based on their opponents, but it’s not easy when he just…doesn’t know them well. 

He’s a bit desperate by the end, searching up the Monoma family, which doesn’t bring up much besides a group of business savvy individuals that, in the past twenty years, have come into a large fortune helping manage some of the minor heroes from the Iida Hero Agency. Even with this connection, Iida still doesn't know him well. 

There’s also nothing about any significant hero in their past, which means that Izuku has to presume a very lucky baby. 

When they were younger, Bakugou, in his little five-year-old tone, had explained that he was the luckiest person in the whole world because his parents' quirks had mashed just perfectly together. They had theorized what Izuku’s might have ended up being all afternoon, from psychic fire to some dragon ability. 

But Monoma’s power is a rare one. Really rare. Probably rarer than medical powers, it’s a quirk that deals with other quirks. He wonders what the parents' abilities were to warrant something like that. But he doesn’t find anything by the end of the allotted planning time. 

People begin to float in as groups, already isolating themselves. If Hawks expected to have some comradery between the classes, he’s spectacularly failed — everyone is suspicious of everyone. 

Bakugou returns with a leaf in his hair, probably having spent the majority of the meeting time outside. His group seems relieved that he decided to come back at all, even if he doesn’t sit with them. He goes straight back where he was before, sprawled across three different chairs and sneering at anyone who dares to make eye contact.

“Cuffs up here,” Hawks says from the left side of the stage. He kicks out a large red bag that spills across the floor, showing off multicolored metal all connected through thick wire, “Sorry, they got tangled. Shoto, help me pass them out.”

Todoroki drags himself up from the middle of the stage like a disgruntled fast food worker who was just told to mop the bathrooms. He grabs a few and begins to walk down the stairs, passing them out between groups without a second of eye contact. He quickly runs out, and then sits down in the nearest seat. 

 Hawks takes a long look at his assistant, and then begins to pass out the items himself from the stage. He detaches his feathers without much of a thought, stringing the handcuffs along with ease. Izuku makes a note on the potential weight limit of the feathers, because when the bracelet drops in his lap, it’s not light. 

He looks at the cuffs, the smooth metal is stained with shiny red paint that’s slightly flaking off. He vaguely recalls a design like these floating around a couple years ago, an easier way to handcuff someone because once you get the ring around someone’s wrist, the wire will automatically wrap around the other arm. 

“Once you’ve been captured, that’s it. Even if you can still feasible use your quirk, you’re out of the game. Wearing one of these things,” he shakes the last bracelet, “Means you’re dead.” He tosses the last one to Iida. “Now, let’s get going.”

They shuffle out of the room and out of the school. Izuku almost regrets not planning outside, because the day really is nice, the sky is filled with cotton clouds and the sun is streaming, making the pavement sparkle. 

“Shoto, can you handle getting everyone over?” Hawks says, staring up and spreading his wings out, looking out to the sky like it’s got all the answers in the world, “I’ll meet you there.” 

Todoroki looks around, and when he doesn’t find anyone else with the name of Shoto, he looks towards the ground and closes his eyes like he’s praying. 

“You got it, yeah?” Hawks asks, and Todoroki just sort of shrugs.

“Sir, wait,” Iida starts, “At least let us know where we are meeting?” 

“The testing grounds over by the north forests. A shuttle is prepared to take all of you. And hurry,” he clicks his visor shut and runs a hand through his hair, “I’ve got a surprise for you all.”

And then he’s off in the sky, his red wings a blip of bright painted neon against the pale blue. He does a couple spins for good measure, large red feathers occasionally moving in and out of form like they’re a part of a flock of songbirds. 

“Give me a moment,” Iida distractedly says, gently moving past Uraraka with a touch to her shoulder.

He makes his way through the class, towards Todoroki. He turns away from the group and the two of them have a quiet conversation. It ends when Todoroki nods at something he says, and Iida leaves. Todoroki doesn’t look any different, but Iida seems relieved. 

“What’d you say?” Uraraka asks, breaking the communal silence the two of them had going on. Apparently watching Iida and Todoroki quietly communicating is just as good as any daytime television. 

“I asked him for the responsibility of bringing the class to the gym,” he sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “Low stakes, yes, but I worry Hawks is relying a bit much on our resident Todoroki.”

“Because they know each other?” Izuku supplies.  

“Well yes, but that’s not an invitation to treat him like an assistant. If he wants a T.A., he should go through the proper paperwork,” Iida shakes his head like the mismanagement of low stakes paperwork is the greatest sin known to man, “Momo, I, and the other presidential students from 1-B will direct the classes, it’s not his responsibility.”

“Good luck,” Uraraka says, squinting as the two classes are already beginning to diffuse from the crowd, wandering a bit around. Iida moves to Momo.

The rest of them are constrained to the ground as they move towards the bus, directed by the two presidents and vice presidents. The real confusing thing is 1-Bs vice president. With a start, Izuku realizes that Monoma trailing behind Kendo like a lost duckling isn’t just because they’re some definition of friends. With the quick smooth talking authority he uses to help alongside Momo, it’s clear that he’s the vice president of 1-B. 

It almost makes sense. He’s all smiles when talking to the vine haired girl, knocks shoulders with Tetsutetsu—Izuku would be insane not to remember that name—and laughs at something the American girl with horns says. He’s acting friendly, at least to the 1-B kids. 

People seem to like him. That’s a good presidential quality to have.

But then when the American turns away, Monoma is suddenly left with only Kendo at his side. So he lets the smile drop.

It’s not anything nefarious, just a sudden studious expression on his face. He stares out at both of the classes with a sharp and calculating eye like he’s some overlord of this kingdom. Also a good presidential quality to have. He’s quickly tapping his finger against his jaw, watching everyone. As he scans the crowd, he ends up making eye contact with Izuku, and mouths ‘good luck’. 

Or something like that, Izuku isn’t great at reading lips. 

★

Apparently the effects of the entrance exam were not particularly long lasting. 

The testing grounds for this activity are in a large arena, not dissimilar to the USJ (sans the dome), and walking back into the grounds, everything feels somehow even grander. All he can remember with the entrance exam is crumbling buildings and the sounds of crunching concrete. And his constant, constant panic. That last bit hasn’t really changed.  

It seems like the simulated city is back to being in peak condition, with shining windows and perfectly paved roads. He hadn’t had time to consider the place last time he was here, but now, with Hawks doing a couple more loops around the city, he has time to look around. 

The buildings are tall and exact, like a couple of downtown city blocks. Izuku’s rarely been, but he’s sure this wouldn’t feel out of place in downtown Tokyo. Honestly it looks more like a city than even mainstreet Musutafu, the only difference being that this city is much too clean to be believably lived in. 

Hawks swoops back down in a flurry, a grin on his face, cheeks bright red from the frigid atmospheric air and speed of his flight. 

“Welcome, welcome! We’ve only got about an hour forty five left, so let’s make the most of it! First off, the surprise. Principle Nezu has kindly offered to bring in what we need, and so we’re going to my headquarters.”

They walk as a very cautious group, like a school of fish who just know that a shark is right around the proverbial corner. 

“It seems they took the time to correct the damage from the test,” Kendo conversationally says to Monoma, just feet in front of them, “How’d that happen?”

“Well, I think they have a teacher here who specializes in cleanup.”

The second year literature teacher, probably. Cementoss is a–

“Huh?” Kendo asks, turning a bit on her heel.

“Cementoss,” Izuku says, louder than his muttering and hoping his voice doesn’t crack, “He’s probably responsible. Sorry.”

Monoma glances back to him before rolling his eyes, probably because Izuku interrupted.  

“Well I’ll send him a gift basket,” Hawks interrupts, “Now, when I’m not watching from the skies, I’ll be in this building. So if things get too rowdy, please do not accidentally destroy my home base.”

He points to the building in front of them, a sleek tall tower, pointing so high that Izuku’s surprised that clouds aren’t orbiting it. It has a needle esc design, pointed and smooth, one of the taller buildings in this arena. 

“Oui, like a nest, non?” Aoyama beams. 

“Uh-huh,” Hawks says, obviously distant. He immediately moves on, “The principal has also made an executive decision to bring along our nurse, because I’ve heard we’ve had some…issues with injuries.”

He scans the crowd until he makes eye contact with Izuku, and gives him a thumbs up like he’s doing him a favor and not just bringing more attention to him. Izuku nods in acknowledgment anyways, trying not to duck his head. Instead he reaches for his wrist.

“If you break it again I’m calling CPS,” Uraraka interrupts.

“On–” Izuku starts. 

“Your wrist. You don’t deserve one if you keep treating it like that.”

“I don’t deserve…a wrist?”

“Ground rules,” Iida says, quietly clapping his hands together and cutting off whatever bizarre ribbing that Uraraka is trying to do. It’s not his president voice, so Izuku knows that he’s only talking to them, “Uraraka, don’t get crushed under rubble again, and Midoriya please don’t break your arm again.” 

“At least I didn’t do that on purpose,” Uraraka mutters. 

“It really was mostly my wrist,” Izuku says, deciding not to mention that it was almost his collarbone. 

“Well,” Iida starts, huffing a bit, “Don’t…just please be careful.” 

With this power, Izuku’s not sure he can agree to that without actively lying to one of his friends, but he does it anyway. He’s lied enough that the sting doesn’t hit too hard. 

“Well so we know why the nurse is here, but why the Principal?” Momo asks, squeezing through the crowds so she can be next to the three of them and closer to Hawks. 

“He’s here to evaluate me,” he turns back to Momo and grins, the sun catching his visor, “So don’t make me look bad.” 

The entrance of the building is cool in tone and temperature, all slate grays and bright wide windows. Despite the clean interior, almost all of it is made of cement and glass, carefully constructed to be destroyed. Even the desks and chairs, they’re fused to the ground in a way that makes it look like they were grown straight from the floor. They walk through a grand entrance, three distinct elevator rides and two different rooms before finding the large conference center somewhere near the top of the tower. All of this, the hallways and the rooms, it’s all bizarrely blank. There’s no decorum but the occasional vague outline of where a painting might go one day, like a hopeful imprint. 

This room is no different from the rest, but this one has cement tables and built-in chairs, all circled around the back, where inlays a large stone mural. It looks like the ‘Creation of Adam’ (Thanks Ms. Kayama), but if all the figures were replaced by Cementoss.

“He’s got a weird sense of humor,” Uraraka says, staring particularly long at the mural. 

In front of most of the mural (thank god) is a large hologram, a projector showing the teams and who they’re going up against. This knowledge is common at this point, but Izuku checks anyway, somehow disappointed to still find Bakugou, Monoma, and Kendo against him. 

In front of the projection is a large desk with about a million buttons and three comfortable looking chairs, like they were brought in independently. In front of the screen is both the principal and the nurse. They’re chatting over a cup of tea, placed precariously on the ledge of the desk.

It’s only one cup, and Izuku realizes that they’re fighting over who gets to drink it. 

The principal notices them first, smiling brightly and jumping from his seat. The nurse grabs the tea, and takes a long loud slurp. The principal shoots her a glare, but says, “Welcome, welcome! I’ve heard we’re on quite the time table, so I’ll keep this brief. I look forward to seeing our rising young stars in action. Stay safe and smart out there, we don’t want any unnecessary injuries” he claps his hands together, “And Hawks?”

“Yes sir?” Hawks salutes, slow and lazy. 

“You’re late,” he says, smiling a little smile that Izuku is impressed he can translate. There’s a bit of harshness behind that expression. 

Nezu has a whole page about him, not because he’s necessarily the most active Pro Hero, but mostly because he’s the most recognizable animal quirk user. They’re rare, of course, and even rarer is when they become high functioning members of society. It has something to do with an intelligence quirk that Izuku knows a little bit too much about.

“Sorry sir,” Hawks laughs low, “I did try my best.”  

Nezu waves him off, “It’s all forgiven. The costumes are in the adjoining room whenever your class is ready.” 

“Costumes!” Kaminari yelps. Unlike the rest of the standing class, he and Mina had been lounging on the nearest table, but at that announcement, they come running back. 

Hawks looks at Nezu for a second, some unreadable expression on his face, before turning suddenly, with a smile, “Pretty alright surprise if I say so myself. It’s been a week or so, that’s about the appropriate time before costuming up.”

He flippantly gestures towards the next room over, “There should be signs to break up you by genders for changing. You have five minutes, that should be plenty of time. Let me know if there are any major wardrobe malfunctions.” 

The rush to get to the other rooms is as brief as it is noisy. Izuku is near the back of the group, a bit nervous about what his concepts and theories have created. What if it’s too flashy? He overhears the end of Hawks’s quiet laughter. 

“Were either of you that excited?” he says, “To get costumes I mean.”

“I wear a suit,” Nezu says, “There’s not much to get excited over.” 

“Yeah but you were like a…what, a raccoon before this?” Hawks says, “Isn’t wearing clothing a novelty upon itself?”

“I really would rather not get HR involved, so please stop asking about your boss’s nudity,” the nurse sighs, and Izuku stops paying attention. He does catch something about a certain someone being a ‘tea-stealing racoon.’

The room is grand, with a table of piled boxes, each labeled with different costuming corporations and student names. The scramble is uncoordinated until Monoma points out that it’s alphabetical, and that makes the chaos form into equally, if not smaller, chaotic lines.

 Izuku finds his box, a bulky thing that has quite a bit of heft to it. He lifts up the cardboard lid and the bizarre smell of new sports equipment and glue wafts through his senses. His mother had volunteered her services in making this, but had paled a bit at the composition, and Izuku had eventually decided to turn to a professional company. 

He splays his fingers out on the fabric, some tough threaded green makeup. He wanted it to be more gray, this is too saturated of a dark green. The rest of it seems right, at least. He grabs the box and notices the three separate rooms. The labels are written in what seems to be chunky highlighter, reading out ‘men’, ‘women,’ and ‘others.’ 

Izuku follows the sign to the ‘men’, but notices both Jirou and Tokoyami moving to the ‘others’. Izuku wouldn’t give Tokoyami another thought about falling outside of the gender spectrum, but there’s a possibility that it’s…not him. He really needs to ask what gender that quirk is. He’s still not sure if they can have genders. Sentient quirks aren’t common enough to have a normalized studying, but it’s not unheard of for some of them to run around living normal lives. Which, Dark Shadow clearly isn’t really doing, they’re somewhat connected to Tokoyami. 

Izuku joins half of the group over in the boys changing room. 

The room is almost entirely lined with mirrors, which is horrible when changing, he can’t face anywhere without seeing himself reflected back to him. He ends up looking at the ceiling. Here, he finds another form of Cementoss, this time a mural version of the woodblock print, ‘Takiyasha the Witch and the Skeleton Spectre’ (Thanks Ms. Kayama). Izuku shrugs off his uniform, putting it back into his cardboard box, and pulls out his costume, the many complicated pieces clunking together. 

He finds a way to strap the whole thing on all by himself. The inspiration is from as many heroes as he could find, a conglomeration of every good design decision that he’s seen on HeroLog. He likes costuming, but he’s worried he’s not particularly good at it.

Looking at himself in the mirror, he can’t find much wrong with the costume. It’s a simple green (too saturated ) with thick knee and shoulder pads and enough pockets that he could fit three gallons of sand throughout the costume, exactly as he wanted. The pocket thing, not the sand, that was just an example. He secures the necklace he requested around his neck, tucking it into a specialized pocket. That’s last one was the smartest idea he had. 

Despite this all, he feels strangely underwhelmed.

Monoma makes a pursed lipped hum, which Izuku sees from the corner of his vision (thanks mirrors). 

“ That’s your costume,” Monoma asks, a bit too flat to be a question, “I guess I like the color.” 

“What’s wrong with it?” Izuku asks, suddenly desperate for the answers. He knows how to take criticism well, and then he’ll know how to fix it.

“Oh I would never help an enemy,” Monoma scoffs, which is rich coming from someone who’s halfway into his pants. He’s wearing part of an immaculately tailored suit, something that looks like it's from Magician’s Weekly, the weekly magician magazine that Izuku just made up in his head. 

“I think it looks great,” a voice says, a thickly guarded hand landing on Izuku’s shoulder. 

“Jesus Christ who are you,” Kaminari asks, pointing with a freshly fish netted arm. Two fingerless gloves, both fishnet style, one bright red the other bright blue.  

“Tenya, just as I was this morning,” Iida says, and Izuku relaxes. The armor is thick and obstructive, good for a disguise, and looks incredibly similar to his older brother. Izuku finds the connection kind of sweet. 

“What have you done with our president?” Kaminari mutters, finishing up lacing his incredibly thick rubber looking boots, “At least open the mask.” 

“I’m responsible about my identity,” Iida declares, and Izuku almost agrees. They’re still in high school, and none of them seem to be gunning for an Underground Hero, so having an exposed identity isn’t the worst thing in the world. 

Izuku leaves before most people are done, and finds himself in a strange echo of that first competition with Mr. Aizawa, alone in the room between changing. At least Hagakure isn’t here. 

Probably.  

Bakugou joins him next, and pauses for exactly one second before immediately leaving again. No time for small talk. It’s probably for the best, Izuku is having a hard time keeping his mouth shut at the moment. 

He’s excited about everyone’s costume, and Bakugou’s is just so…well it’s a good costume. It’s imposing, threatening, and just really fucking cool . The gloves really add some stupidly awesome final touch to the whole thing. 

Izuku closes his mouth, cutting off the compliment before it can even try to escape his throat. 

He leans against a wall and waits for people that he knows to leave the three changing rooms. 

Everyone looks…well they look like heroes. Heroes who are fifteen and maybe have made some questionable design choices, but if Izuku saw these people on the front page of a tabloid, he wouldn’t look twice. 

Kirishima looks a bit like if Crimson Riot went through a garbage disposal and came out with a new appreciation of turtlenecks.

Momo walks out with the most confidence, an outfit that looks suspiciously higher quality than anyone else's, a well tailored red dress with two slits for movement above a sturdy pair of what looks to be biker shorts. She’d almost look more at home riding a horse in a fantasy movie. 

Jirou and Kaminari look almost exactly the same—albeit the colors—but Jirou has cooler boots. Kaminari's lesser boots don’t derail him from trying to give her high fives for their ‘twin ideas and perfectly in-sync brains’. Jirou mostly just tries to stare him into the ground. 

Mina comes out sliding on brand new kneepads, her outfit louder than anything else in the room, clashing purple and turquoise designs. It’s like a bowling alley carpet. She accidentally runs into Hagakure which kinda puts a damper on the coolness element, but no one makes fun of her for it. 

Uraraka walks out of her changing room pulling a bit at the outfit, looking about as dissatisfied as Izuku feels. Her outfit looks nice, if a bit…

“It’s too tight,” she says, sitting down at one of the benches closest to Izuku.

“You can get it fixed,” Izuku says, his problem solving brain kicking into high gear, “And if you want you can wear gym clothes for the time being. No one should give you a hard time for it.”

“So it is noticeable,” Uraraka looks to the side suddenly, and Izuku realizes with horror that she might be tearing up. He turns away to give her some semblance of privacy. 

He should have tried to placate her in some way, not just immediately tried to help. 

“It’s okay,” she breathes in suddenly, “It’s not that bad.” 

He turns back to her, her cheeks flushed but her eyes bright and clear. 

“I really like the helmet,” he says, reaching out and tapping a bit on the glass to check the material. Some synthetic durable glass, hopefully. She nods for a second, opening her mouth to say something about it but–

“Well who’d you commission?” Monoma asks, where he’s sidled up into their conversation like an unwelcome stage magician. So pretty much any and all magicians. 

“Uh,” Uraraka thinks for a second before saying a name that Izuku is only vaguely familiar with. 

“Oh,” Monoma says, and then breaks into some haughty laughter, “Oh well.”

“What does that mean?” Uraraka asks, turning on him.

“Hm,” he says again, “Well if you had known anything about anything , you would have known they have a bad track record with women. They can do men’s costumes just fine, but they don’t work with women’s bodies nearly as well.”  

Uraraka chews on her bottom lip for a second, making eye contact with him again. She seems to want to say something, balling her hands into fists and then relaxing them again. 

“Are we remembering that this is a game?” Iida asks, moving to intercept between the two of them, voice modulated slightly. 

Kendo (her costume, a teal qipao dress and heavy duty corset) pauses from halfway across the room where she’s also moved to intercept their conversation. She gives a short nod to Iida. 

“School isn’t a game,” Monoma hisses, voice low under his breath, “I have a part to play.”

“And I empathize,” Iida says, “But let’s wait until we get into the arena before we tear each other apart.”

“None of you understand true acting,” Monoma scoffs, walking away back to Kendo. 

She rolls her eyes at him and makes a quiet comment. He sighs, and then just shakes his head. He says something else, a little brighter, and she extends her arms like showing off a wingspan. He pauses, tilting his head. He ends up doing a spiral motion with his hand, and Kendo does a quick spin to show off the twirl of her skirt. He nods in satisfaction. At least he’s successfully approved of her costume.

“What a bizarre little man,” Iida says. 

“You changed faster than me,” Izuku says, “Where were you?” 

Iida hums for a second. With the faceplate up, it’s hard to judge his reactions, “I think…Todoroki may have had a mix up.”

“Ah damn, Todoroki what happened?” Kaminari asks in a very timely fashion from where he’s been itching slightly at the bulky jacket he’s wearing, “Wardrobe malfunction?” 

Todoroki is just wearing the gym uniform, rolled up a bit on his legs. He shrugs and simply says, “I think it fits.” 

“Wait,” Tsu says (her outfit is what seems to be a wetsuit), “Is that your costume?”

Todoroki shrugs. 

“Apparently the design he submitted was just a request for an extra pair of the gym clothes,” Iida sighs. 

Izuku also sighs, leaning against the cool cement wall, “I’m less and less surprised by his lack of effort.” It will never make sense, but the shock of not even trying is wearing off. 

Uraraka nods in agreement, tugging at her costume again.

“He helped at the party,” Iida says, quiet enough that it might be a personal thought, “When it really mattered.” 

Izuku knows that’s the case, but there’s a chance he won’t get much farther past the starting line if he doesn’t at least try in school. If he only uses his quirk when it’s important, well then he’s not going to get much practice in. Izuku lets Uraraka dig the necklace out of its pocket.

“What’s this?” she asks, effectively changing the topic of conversation. Iida takes the bait and looks towards the accessory. 

It’s a simple black cord with a thick wooden crescent hanging on it. It looks like a horseshoe made out of wood. So not much like a horseshoe at all really. 

“Last resort,” Izuku grimaces, and then promptly ignores the rest of the sudden questions from the two of his friends. Eventually he pries the thing from Uraraka’s fingers and gently puts it back into his pocket. 

“It’s time,” Tokoyami says darkly, checking his watch, which does not match the rest of his caped getup. Honestly it just kinda looks like the cape he wears in class. 

The group leaves the room and finds seats in the main hall, staying with one another. Hawks is chatting amicably with Recovery Girl, but he waves as the kids walk in. He’s messing with something in his hands, some sort of calling card maybe? 

“You guys look very charming,” Hawks says, clicking a button behind him which lowers the lights in the room, including lowering curtains outside the windows. 

Nezu coughs.

“And also very awesome and professional,” Hawks says. He turns to their principal, “Nezu, charming is such a kind adjective. I could have said adorable or silly. You’re lucky.” Hawks claps his hands together, “Anyways, hello my adorable and silly looking students, are we ready to rob some banks, and/or stop some bank robberies?” he stands there for a second, waiting for maybe…applause? He bulldozes past when it doesn’t happen, “I need to establish something first: No moving from your seats.”

He’s dead serious at the end, the words coming smoothly and professionally like he’s talking down a hostage situation. But when no one moves, he smiles at the cooperation. 

“Second point of order. I want serious attempts here. I know we’re bumping up on the end of the day, and there is a chance we go over time. But if you people weren’t willing to put in extra time at this school, you certainly wouldn’t be here.” 

There are a scant few agreements. Izuku gives a short nod in agreement, and ignores the cartoonishly long sigh from Kaminari. 

“But just in case you people need encouragement,” Hawks says, bringing up that little card.

Jesus Christ, Izuku knows that card. 

“I was out touring,” he says, “Scouting potential areas to hold this little event, and I found this in one of the U.A. buildings. It’s a gift card, and I think it’ll work perfectly as a prize.” 

Mina breaks up into laughter, as the slightly scratched ice cream gift card is shown off to the class. The rest of 1-A is either sitting in stunned silence or bursting into similarly delighted laughter. Hawks seems miffed at the joke that he’s not involved in, but eventually the class relaxes. 

“Funny, yeah?” he asks, a bit of a sly smile appearing all of the sudden. He reaches out with a hand and clicks a button on the array of colorful lights. The hologram star wipes to another page. 

It’s a different makeup of teams. 

Similar, but different enough to be incredibly disruptive.

The teams have been switched . Instead of Izuku, Iida, and Uraraka, it’s…well, it’s certainly not that.

Iida stares, clearly a bit daunted by looking at the screen, and then back to Izuku. 

“Well at least that’s something new,” Iida says, deadpan, “Trust him. Delightful.”

“This is the final wrench in your plan,” Hawks shrugs, “We’re switching some things up. This is how it’s like out on the field. You plan and strategize, and then all of the sudden, the press finds you in your stakeout spot, or there’s been a traitor amongst your ranks, or you just mess up somehow. Plans will be dashed upon the rocks more times than you can count. So in this lesson, we’re learning how to strategize on the fly.”

Kendo, Iida and Uraraka are now suddenly on a team. And Izuku will face them alongside Monoma and Bakugou.

Chapter Text

dyeing_is_inevitable : (Archived) Fiftieth (??? I think???) day at the Endeavor Agency.

• I went into the field!!!!!!!!!

• Woooooooo!!!!!

• Like it’s been too long, ya’know? I’m useless at paperwork, someone should have noticed that earlier 

• They should have noticed that I’m good at this. People just chose to ignore that bout me i guess lol 

• No but me and Miss Boss went to scout out some potential hideout locations for Endeavor’s lackeys to stake out places

• And we intercepted what I think was an arms deal

• They were in the back and tried to escape when they realized we were here, but absolutely not, you’re not getting away from me

• We captured four of them, but one of them had a gun (obvious in hindsight, they’re arms dealers)

• She tried to go for Miss Boss

• I took him out before she even noticed the attack coming for her lol

• Because I’m good at this

• At least Miss Boss knows that for certain now. 

• I think they’re going to put me out on the field more.

Likes: 212

KissForSterisHarms: god why didn’t this account get more hate for being soooo obviously fake. no one is this much of an arrogant shit in real life. 

Likes: 3

The first team to go is, of course, theirs. Just Izuku’s luck. There’s no time for preparation with all of their plans suddenly laid bare and intermingled between the two. Why’d Hawks give them an hour to plan if he was just going to pull the rug out from all of them? Well Izuku knows exactly why, it’s a fine teaching moment or whatever, but he’s still upset that all his planning went down the drain in one stupid star swipe.

Monoma stands on one side of him at the end of a city block. Apparently the ‘villain’ team gets a couple extra minutes to scope out the bank and prepare the civilians. It’s mostly a way to keep the groups separate as Hawks finishes setting up the system that allows the rest of the class to watch and listen in on the fight. 

Izuku and Monoma are at the edge of a street, standing near some hollow cement building and waiting for the go ahead from Hawks. They only have ten minutes to take them down. It’s daunting.

Monoma takes one grand sigh, and then turns to Izuku, “Listen–”

“Can you apologize to Uraraka after this?” Izuku interrupts, kicking a rock, “For the costume comment.” 

“Fine.”

“Okay, I’m listening.” 

“Kendo’s quirk is super strength. She can grow her hands and it, well…I’m not quite sure yet. It’s exponential growth, or something like that. My ability is copying others quirks. You need not worry about that, I have it figured out. Can I know your quirk so I can work around it?” Monoma asks, simple, charming, polite. It’s like a switch was flipped the second he changed teams and now he remembers how to be nice. 

“Similar to Kendo,” Izuku shrugs, “Exponential strength. I’m not sure how it works either.” 

Monoma nods, templing his fingers together and clearly thinking hard. Maybe there’s two planners here. That stirs a spark of hope in Izuku. 

“Who’s did you copy?” Izuku asks, brain already kicking into overdrive. 

“Todoroki and Shiozaki. Yours, too, if you don’t mind. I can do three at a time.” 

“How does it work?” Izuku asks, taking a step away before Monoma can just grab his ability, “And who’s Shiozaki?”

“Vine haired girl,” Monoma says, motioning around his head like Izuku doesn’t know what hair is, “She lets me have unlimited access to her quirk as long as I go to bible study with her every Wednesday. So…I have that at least. And my delightful quirk works rather simply. Physical contact and my intent to copy.”

Izuku hadn’t even noticed him touching either of them. It’s certainly intentional that he hadn’t, but he’s still impressed. He might make a good Underground Hero at this rate. Monoma reaches out for the strip of skin between Izuku’s glove and sleeve. Instead Izuku takes another step backwards. 

“Wait,” Izuku says, “This thing will tear you apart.”

“I–” Monoma frowns, “You’re sure?”

Izuku nods. Monoma sighs, but doesn’t push and instead quickly glances to Bakugou. He’s at least half a block away, leaning against a lamp post and double checking to make sure that his gauntlets are secured.

“Would he kill me if I asked?” Monoma asks, flexing out his fingers. 

“Probably,” Izuku answers honestly. 

Monoma nods, still looking over, “Do we think they’re functional? The gauntlets?”

“They’re cool,” Izuku says, and Monoma laughs. He suddenly remembers something, “Wait you said you wouldn’t help me with my costume since we were on different teams. And that’s not true anymore. What’s wrong with it?” 

Monoma takes a long second, looking down at the sidewalk. He’s clearly begun to think about something, “I need to figure this out first. Give me a second.” 

“I can help. I’m good with strategy,” he says. He knows that there’s very little time before the fight is going to begin and working together is going to be better in the long run. 

“It’s not strategy,” Monoma scoffs like the very thought is ridiculous, “I’m figuring out how I’m going to play this character. I’m a method actor. Heroism? How dull. Oh sorry, I mean how...interesting.”

Izuku takes a couple more steps back to leave him with privacy and considers his incredibly disjointed team. If the others stick to the plan, then Iida is going against Bakugou and Uraraka is going for Monoma. But then again, they’re probably switching it up already in the short minutes they have before the fight is actually starting. So that means he needs to figure out what they might be trying to–

“And go!” Hawks yells from the nearest building, “Good luck.” 

Monoma jumps up, straightening his costume and plastering a gentle smile on his face, “We got this, team!” 

“Uraraka is going to try and take you down,” Izuku quickly explains, and Monoma gives him a big toothy grin in thanks. 

Oh god that’s uncanny. 

Izuku turns back to Bakugou just in time to almost get run into. 

“Outta the way nerd,” he mutters, pushing past. 

“And Iida’s going after you,” Izuku loudly says after him, standing as straight as he can. Bakugou doesn’t turn back, because of course he doesn’t. 

“He can try,” Bakugou yells, and then with two explosions, he’s off. The image is close to what it was in the original test, but instead of full out flying, he’s just making large leaps across the street. Monoma is equally fast, using the vines to quickly whip himself forward like how Sero will move sometimes. Izuku begins to run after the two of them, the only thing supporting him being his training and somewhat decent quality sneakers. 

Minute One

Tenya watches the bank fall perfectly into his hands. The civilians are all carefully arranged as a large human shield to stop that explosive Bakugou, his cohorts are placed in the perfect place to intercept the others, and he feels the adrenaline of the fight building in his lungs. As long as they keep the back of the bank protected, they’ll be able to simply break in after ten minutes. It’s all too easy. He’s on top of his own evil, evil world.

Uraraka gets into it in her own way, having been the one to suggest the human wall of civilians. But she’s not going all out, still acting like her own sunny self, and Kendo just seems to be having a good time. 

But Tenya, Tenya waits for the front door to explode into a million pieces and all the civilians to be ruthlessly destroyed.

The aforementioned civilians are a collection of mannequins (sourced from the fashion club), CPR dummies (from the health class), and porcelain dolls (god only knows). 

The bank is not entirely what he was expecting. First off, he doesn’t think it’s actually a bank, he’s pretty sure this is a theater with a hastily made sign out front, reading ‘Real Bank!’. He’s sure Hawks just chose some buildings that looked like they’d work, since they don’t have Cementoss here with them to clean up after them. 

It’s a grand room with a bright glittering skylight, too majestic to be a bank. The room is bright and clean, with a large central desk and two doors that Hawks had instructed them would be opened in ten minutes if they made it that far. The room is rectangular, and the front and back are by a total of twenty different marble columns. The room is perfect for a bank that they’re going to rob. 

In a bank that Uraraka and Kendo will rob. 

He’s going to distract Bakugou so they’ll have an actual chance to do it. 

In a half minute of silence so palpable that he could strangle it, he only has thoughts for their shaky plan and how they're going to have to crush Midoriya’s team under his foot. He feels bad, sure, but that’s the weakness inside him talking. 

The window above them explodes in a glittering cascade of glass. 

“President Iida!” Kendo yells from the corner, warning him about something that’s already happened. But even with just the sound of the glass, that’s enough of a warning to get him moving. 

Uraraka had smartly piled all of the porcelain dolls directly below the skylight. 

And in seconds Bakugou will crush the babies under his attack, losing the match only seconds after it’s begun.

Tenya can’t wait to watch it happen. 

Instead, all he watches is Bakugou pointing his gauntlet sideways and shooting out a major explosion, clearing most of the glass shards as he does. He pushes himself out of the way, and lands with a simple roll. 

Tenya begins to run through his route, having been prepared for the inevitability of competency. He dodges below a simple explosion that Bakugou sends his way and moves further away and closer to the door. Once he’s farther along, he whirls around to face him. Bakugou’s snarling, Iida's mask obscuring only some of his unfriendly expression.

Tenya is near the front door, and he raises a hand. He gestures Bakugou forward in challenge, and pries open the door for his inevitable escape. 

But Bakugou doesn’t take the bait. He stalks towards the girls instead.

Minute Two

Neito only allows himself now to feel guilty about the blackmail he’s subjecting Todoroki to. The character he’s working on, some brave, gold hearted hero with a tragic past and a hopeful future, that man would feel bad about what happened in the theater. 

It had been simple. He had reminded Todoroki of what he had known during the entrance exam when Neito himself had used the quirk, when he had lifted a finger and ignited the fire. The fact that Todoroki is keeping that a secret (for some reason). It was just a simple reminder of that. And Todoroki fell like putty in his hand, giving him that list, all of the information of his then-enemies. 

He allows himself to feel guilt. He doesn’t actually feel that emotion, not easily at least. But he’s certainly allowing the possibility to occur.

He sighs as if the feeling was real and concrete and distracting him from this bank robbery he must stop. It’s not, thank heavens, because he certainly doesn’t have enough time for something like that. 

He had been able to acquire a couple quirks, but those won’t last forever. He wishes he had grabbed one more from one of his allies, but both options would have probably ended with him being violently exploded. All he has left is the potential to get a couple more quirks from his enemies. 

He didn’t even have to do any more blackmail this time around. Most people in 1-A aren’t aware of how he gathers powers, which meant he was able to graze Todoroki’s elbow without any comment from that crowd. But the time between them leaving the building and the test actually starting was almost four whole minutes. It really set aflame some of his plans. No abilities from his allies, so almost half the test, he’ll be useless. 

He hates feeling useless. 

He hates that his power gives him that feeling so readily and so commonly. 

He ignores the darkness of those thoughts, the thoughts about the impermanence of his ability, the fact that he can only ever rely on others to become anything heroic. 

He flexes his arms and breaks open the bank doors with a flurry of vine whips, and ignores those thoughts. Bakugou had been faster than him, running without any clear semblance of a plan, and Neito can immediately hear the sounds of explosions. Midoriya is back somewhere in the streets, too slow to keep up. 

“You’ve got this!” Neito yells behind him, to where Midoriya is running as fast as he possibly can. Still not fast enough. Neito enters the bank. 

It’s somehow less of a disaster than expected, with Bakugou clearly making room for the large pile of civilians, focusing most of his efforts on deterring the actions of Iida.

Uraraka and Itsuka are near the back, guarding what’s clearly the door that will be unlocked in ten minutes. Two of the team members are waiting for that to happen. 

Not Iida though. It’s like watching one dog who really wants to play fight, Iida constantly trying to get into Bakugou’s space. Neito vaguely remembers Midoriya saying that it was a part of the original plan. 

Bakugou will occasionally throw an explosion behind him, only vaguely engaging with Iida. He’s clearly running for the girls. 

And Neito has to make sure that Iida doesn’t succeed in deterring him. 

Neito runs through the bank, the clean floor easy to navigate with his vines. But...he pauses. He spreads his hands out and shoots ice forward, spreading a thin layer on the stone. 

He hopes that Bakugou will have the brains to use his explosions so he doesn’t slip. That will help him against Iida, at least. 

Neito feels a crawling of ice up his arm, and he involuntarily shivers. 

He uses his other hand and rubs the ice away with the slightest increase of his power use, the smallest bit of fire and warmth. The ice falls away like nothing, leaving his arm only slightly red and tingly. 

He watches as Iida slips, catching himself on a stone chair. He scowls over to Neito, “You fiend!”

“Release the hostages!” Neito yells, “They have no part in this!” 

Iida cackles, long and loud, just enough time to get hit in the side with one of Bakugou’s large explosions. He gets thrown to the side, sliding across the ice.

“Good one, teammate!” Neito firmly says, and tries not to revel in the glare he’s given in return. It’s not his fault that he’s clearly the superior actor, “Keep it up.”

Bakugou sends a warning explosion in Neito’s direction, “Don’t distract me!” 

He turns on his heels back to the other two girls–one girl, actually. Where did Itsuka–

His class president and dear friend, socks him in the jaw. 

Minute Three

Izuku makes it to the bank, out of breath and out of ideas. He should have forced a plan onto his teammates, but instead it’s become some disjointed fighting. Bakugou is clearly trying to reach something in the back (maybe Uraraka?), and Monoma is fighting with Kendo, already bleeding out of a cut on his cheek and bruised on the other. The floor seems to be made of slowly melting ice.

Izuku makes eye contact with Uraraka, who raises her fists in questionable challenge. He ducks to the side and behind a desk, holding his head for a second, trying to just think. 

Hawks had said that the back door was what the villains were going for. Which means–

“Oh bother,” Monoma says. 

Izuku pops up from the desk to see the damage. Iida has his arms wrapped around Bakugou's middle, and is clearly trying to just…pick him up. Pick him up and run. Uraraka is looking with glee at the scene. 

Kendo is so distracted that she doesn’t see Monoma hit her with the same bizarrely grown fist as her own. She stumbles back, and then spits out blood. 

“You menace,” she says, real heat behind the words. Monoma twirls the handcuffs around a finger, and then lets a vine take them. He’s trying to maneuver them to her wrists, but Izuku has bigger problems. 

Iida has just fully grabbed Bakugou, who is a writhing terror, trying to fling an explosion in a way that matters. 

If Bakugou leaves this room, that’s game over.

He blocks the door with his own body, hands spread out and bracing for impact. He doesn’t have time to think, he just has to throw his body in front of the problem. Iida won’t run him over…right?

He hears an explosion instead, as Bakugou successfully wraps a hand around Iida’s gauntlet, blackening the white plastic and causing Iida to drop him, immediately grabbing his armored wrist with a hiss.

Bakugou’s panting, staring at Izuku even as Iida tries to go for him again, armoured arm limp against his body. He won’t last that long if he does it again, Izuku knows that for a fact. Iida can’t chase Bakugou, it has to be the other way around. Bakugou snarls again, and directs at Izuku, “Stop trying to help me.” 

“Sorry?” Izuku tries.

“Just stay the fuck out of my way!” Bakugou says, turning and beginning to make a slow, confident trek to the back of the bank. 

Uraraka looks at him, a bit of panic in her expression. She watches as Kendo throws Monoma into a wall, and she rushes to help her instead of sticking around. It might be a cowardly move to get out of the way of Bakugou, but it’s no different to what Izuku would do himself.

“I’ll kill a civilian!” Iida yells, placing his foot over the neck of one of the porcelain dolls. Bakugou continues forward. 

“He’s not playing the game,” Izuku mutters, to no one in particular “He doesn’t believe your acting.” 

Iida crushes his foot down, fully intent on killing the thing. Instead, he finds himself stepping on Izuku’s foot. 

He can’t plan this fast, but he can certainly put his body in the way. The porcelain doll slides to a slow stop. He probably shouldn’t have kicked a baby, but it still seems to be intact. 

Izuku swings his fist, and Iida takes a quick step back, dodging without a second thought. Izuku scrambles more forward, trying to get in a good kick, but this just makes Iida move even farther back, fast as anything. He’s halfway across the bank and is clearly (and successfully) trying to disengage, bringing his focus back on Bakugou when he doesn’t have to worry about Izuku, “Bakugou! You’re a terrible hero! You’re going to make a terrible hero!” 

Bakugou doesn’t even flinch, moving ever closer to the back for some unknown goal. Both of the girls have moved from their original position, so his motivation is perfectly unknown. Maybe he’s throwing this all away and has decided to just rob the bank himself.

Monoma is hit by Uraraka, floating thoughtlessly into the air, but he just reaches out with a vine, wrapping himself on one of the far back pillars and pulling in that direction. 

It gives Izuku an idea. 

He takes a step forward, putting one foot onto a cement swivel chair and cupping his hands around his mouth, “Kacchan! Go for the–”

Bakugou flicks his finger towards a pillar like he’s clearing a crumb from his shirt. An eruption careens forward from the tip of his pointer finger and the first pillar explodes in a sunburst of light. Izuku falls a bit off the chair, it’s fine, no one sees. He scrambles back up, and sees Bakugou give him a backwards glance.

“Yeah,” he says, frowning like Izuku called him stupid, “I’m not stupid.” 

Take down the pillars and it takes down the back half of the bank. It gets rid of the villain's access to those back doors, and in doing so, gets rid of their access to the vault . 

Izuku begins to collect civilians so they're not killed in the soon to be multitude of explosions. 

Minute Four

He’s not playing the game right. Tenya is trench-deep in a villainous voice, and Bakugou isn’t even responding . In the real world, or at least in the stories that Tensei told him when he was younger, heroes had goals and morals and could be blinded by the villain throwing out a perfectly manicured insult at the friend or significant other of the hero. Bakugou isn’t really playing a hero right now. He’s clearly just playing…himself.

It’s frustrating, and it means that as a villain, Tenya has to go for the character of his classmate. If Bakugou is just playing himself, then that’s on him if Tenya hurts his feelings.

He watches as the first pillar falls in a crumbling mess, the grit of the cement crashing into the floor, causing fissures in the ground. 

Threatening the civilians won’t work, and personal gibes…

“No one likes to be around you! How are you not lonely?”

Nothing. Tenya will just have to keep trying. 

Midoriya is looking across the bank to him with these wide eyes as he tries on a wardrobe of insults, from his appearance to his fighting style. He doesn’t get a single response back. 

It doesn’t mean that Tenya can’t feel a bit of sick glee at the sudden outlet for the array of insults that have been stewing in his head for the past weeks. He gets to tell Bakugou exactly how he really feels. 

But Bakugou takes down the fifth column. There are only ten, and he can see the way the ceiling is straining. 

Midoriya runs across the room, clearly trying to distract him again as Bakugou tears through the architecture. Despite his character, Tenya doesn’t want to see his friend use his quirk. He hadn’t seen it the first time, and he doesn’t plan on it this time, so he won’t fight Midoriya if it’ll contribute to him using his power. 

Sixth column. 

Plus he really shouldn’t be distracted right now.

“Your costume looks incredibly tasteless!”

Midoriya grumbles something incomprehensible, and Tenya realizes how close his friend has gotten again. He runs towards the door, avoiding Midoriya. Pillar seven goes down. 

Fine.

Tenya listens during fun facts, he’s the president and they’re important to get to know his other associates. So one last attempt. 

Bakugou doesn’t have a partner or even friends to insult. Tenya will have to go for the next closest thing.

“Endeavor–”

Bakugou fires an explosion behind him, an immediate warning of some kind. The first bit of a reaction.

Bingo. 

“Endeavor is a reckless fool,” Tenya parrots, something his mother had once said, while clicking her tongue and watching the news about some villain hospital attack that left a couple civilians injured. Endeavor is usually good with keeping civilians out of the fights, “Society would be better without him.”

Bakugou freezes.

Midoriya stumbles to an equally surprised stop.

“How pitiful,” Tenya says, letting the cruel smile of his villainous character spread across his face, “Even Stain is more noble than that cretin.” 

“How long do we have,” Bakugou says immediately, sounding raspy. 

No one responds, most of the group having paused to stare at the sudden attack on the pillars. 

“How long do we have?” he asks again, louder, and whirling on Monoma. 

“Five minutes,” Izuku says.

Bakugou looks at the final three pillars across the room and nods to himself.

Then he whirls on his heel and begins to run towards Tenya.

Chapter Text

Ryuku Page–

thegallows: i found a kitten in a storm drain should i name her Ryuku or Mirko?

Likes: 22

ladykiller: a KITTEN in a STORM DRAIN??? 😭😭😭 pleasseeee tell me she’s okay.

Likes: 9

thegallows: she’s all good 👍

Likes: 11

ladykiller: thank god. Anyways I’ll give you 34 dollars if you name her best jeanist. 

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thegallows: done. i’ll dm you my banking info

Likes: 8

Minute Five

Izuku runs to the pillar. Monoma is near the edge of the bank, trying to fend off Kendo while simultaneously trying to entrap her with a pair of handcuffs. This leaves both Izuku and Uraraka to race to the back. To either help or hurt with the current destruction of the bank. 

The ceiling is already starting to crumble, and Uraraka finds a falling piece of the pillar and taps it, letting it float for a second in the air, before crashing it down into the ground. She clutches at her stomach. 

“Told you to take a rest,” Izuku says, grabbing one of the manikins and tossing it to the center of the room. It lands on some glass shards, but it’ll probably survive. 

“School isn’t about taking breaks,” she says, turning to face him. She holds out her fists again, “Both of us seem a bit useless, wanna hit it out?”

Izuku tries to clear his expression at the thought of hitting a girl, because Uraraka starts to laugh at him a bit. And anyways, she’s clearly just trying to distract him. She throws the first punch, catching him off guard and getting him in the shoulder. As she does that, she grabs his elbow with her other hand.

“Got you,” she says. 

He starts to float for a second. 

Before he can panic, swimming in the air, she gags something fierce, and he falls to the floor. She kicks at him, clearly frustrated.  

He dodges this time, getting up and leaping backwards and out of the way of her range. She moves closer, and he moves to the side, just before she can hit him. 

It’s like playing a game, where he has to push the right buttons at the right time. He’s disconnected from his body, only moving when absolutely necessary, focused only on Uraraka, who tries to quickly hit him another six times, and only gets him once. 

If he thinks of her attacks as a video, something he’s slowed down to analyze on the internet, something to critique, he can predict what to do. She only surprises him when he realizes that he’s been moved against a wall. She’s trying to specifically corner him.

She, sweating and frustrated, kicks out her leg. Izuku, ignoring his own weakening movements and panting breaths, jumps over her leg and lands to her side.

And with that, with a simple sidestep, he’s moved to her back. Suddenly, he realizes that he’s been focused only on dodging. 

She tried to hit him six times, and he hasn’t tried to retaliate even once. His hands are practically in his pockets, he’s focused so solely on defense. He moves his hands into fists, raising him in front of his face. 

And realizes something. 

He has less than a second before she turns on him, but he’s in the perfect position to hit her as hard as he possibly could. Less than a second is a fine amount of time to decimate someone with the quirk. 

Instead, he simply taps her with his fist, just at the nape of her neck, just on her spine. It’s like he’s fistbumping her back. She reaches out and grabs where he hit her and turns around, confused more than anything. 

Her eyes widen in shock as she realizes what he must have. 

If he were in the field, and he actually used his quirk, Uraraka would be dead and he’d be the victor.

“Boom,” he whispers. 

He takes another few steps back. And then he breaks into a sprint. He hasn’t actually won, of course. But the sudden exhilaration makes him need to move, keep moving, and actually, truly win. 

He also can’t face the expression that Uraraka just made, like he truly just scared her. 

He catches himself on the pillar, too fast to stop with his own feet. Uraraka is behind him, he can hear her steps, he can smell his own sweat, he can see the glittering glass of the window and the stagnant powder of the other columns. 

Bakugou left because he knew he had enough time. That’s all it was. He wasn’t leaving these last pillars to them, he was just confident enough that he’ll be back in time. 

That same fight of competition bites the back of his skull like a real, concrete, thing. 

Izuku is going to destroy these last three pillars and Bakugou is going to have to live with that. Izuku is going to help him win . 

Bakugou had flicked outwards with a single finger when he had exploded the pillar. It was most likely for precision, but this whole time, the movement of it has been plaguing him. 

Izuku can use that . 

He has two arms. 

But he has ten fingers. 

He lays one on the pillar, feeling the power course down his bones, leaving him shaking, pouring through his finger at an unprecedented rate. If it felt like it was choking him before, this feels like it’s ringing out the bones in his pointer finger. 

He grabs his new necklace with his other hand and brings it to his mouth. He bites down as hard as he can. 

He flicks his finger with his pointer and thumb, and the noise breaks the sound barrier. 

He digs his teeth into the necklace in a way to distract from the pain, the scream that’s building up in his throat. At least that works. His teeth won’t crack, and the focus of his pain has shifted just slightly.  

The bile digs through the lining of his throat anyways. 

Minute Six

Neito does not feel great. Itsuka does not reel in her punches no matter how much he talks of being the greatest hero in all society. His monologuing is not stopping her villainy. Good on her, she knows how to do this right. 

The only thing that stops the foray of hits is the sound. Neito had thought that Bakugou had left, but the ricocheting noise is too similar to his trademark explosion. 

Itsuka pauses too, turning to the back. She squints, and then widens her eyes, turning ever faintly green.

“Midoriya Izuku, I’m going to kill you!” Uraraka shouts. 

Neito wishes that she was just in character, but he’s already seen what she’s looking at. The pillar has been destroyed, blasted straight through the second pillar, and has crumbled into the third and final one. The third pillar is still standing, barely. 

Izuku is in the same position as that third pillar, shaking with effort and barely standing at all. For some reason only his finger is extended. Although it might be generous to call it a finger. 

It’s warped, broken and bent backwards, so bloody that it’s already dripping into his absolutely ruined glove. 

Izuku is gritting into some sort of mouth guard, eyes filled with tears. 

“Keep fighting!” Neito shouts with as much encouragement as he can muster. His voice is confident, but he doesn’t feel that. He feels relief. He dodged a bullet with that quirk, huh. 

Itsuka looks again, still green in the face, her features twisted with compassion. She cups her hands in front of her face, “Do we need to pause for him–”

The soft click of the cuffs around her wrist stops her in her tracks. 

She stares at him for a very long second as Neito finishes securing the cuffs on her wrists, the other loop automatically wrapping around her left wrist. 

“Not very heroic of you,” she says, soft and careful, “I was checking on your teammate.” 

“Cleverness is the greatest heroic attribute,” Neito takes a step back and wiping his hands together like he’s just finished a hard day of gardening. He ends up smiling.

And Itsuka smiles right back. Neito doesn’t know why, but the expression makes his throat hurt just a bit. Just a bit. 

Because that smile means she’s not mad at him. 

She suddenly feigns dead, sticking her tongue out and everything, locking her knees and doing a half-way decent stage fall. 

“Only in death did she achieve what was truly important,” Neito does a quick cross over his heart for Shiozaki, “Being a good actor.”

Apparently dead people can kick pretty hard. 

Neito turns his focus to the other two, who are–where is Uraraka? Why do women keep disappearing from his field of view. 

He sees her out of the corner of his eye, flying down from a large pile of rubble as softly as she can. The cuffs are held out in front of her like a shield. She’s squeezing one eye shut and looks somewhat nauseous. 

He reaches out a hand casually, ready to swing her right back to the ground with a vine from Shiozaki. 

His stopwatch rings. 

She crashes into him, and in the scuffle, he’s too disjointed to use Itsuka’s quirk, and it doesn’t work great in close quarters anyways. As they’re fighting, he reaches for her face, barely gracing her cheek for her quirk. He can work with this. He can—

Too late. She clicks on her handcuffs, detangling herself from him as best as she can as Neito squawks something dearly undignified. 

He finds himself on the floor like an isopod that’s been flipped over, right next to Itsuka. He settles after a second and faces reality. 

There goes that character. 

Minute Seven

Tenya has never felt better.

He always feels good while running, the speed of everything moving past at unprecedented rates, smoothing over every thought he’s ever had. It always feels like he’s going absolutely insane, a little bit, in the perfect way. The air is fresh in his throat and the burn of running is deep in his calves. 

He’s not really using his quirk right now, just carefully running with only the occasional help from his leg engines. He’s already fast. He can do a sixteen minute 5k, easy. So this, running through the streets of this fake city is the simplest thing in the world. 

He turns to run down an alleyway, but first, he pauses. It’s just to check to make sure that Bakugou is still following him. He is—and making strangely good pace, too. Tenya pauses for a longer second than he was initially going to, letting him catch more up, trying to see his strategy. It’s a simple one. It’s the strategy that Tenya’s employing, actually: two jet-like propulsions of explosions to keep him moving forward and moving fast. 

Tenya laughs a bit at the idea of Bakugou copying his quirk usage. 

Bakugou growls something, eyes darkening and the explosions behind him turning more smoke than fire. He speeds up, lifting himself up every couple of steps or so. 

Despite the fact that they only have a couple minutes left of this simulation, Bakugou is still hot on his tail. 

Tenya finishes turning the corner, zipping through the perfectly pristine back alley, grateful for the emptiness of this city, and for the light gray buildings he can see at the end. This alley is open ended, which was a gamble that Tenya hadn’t realized he was taking. 

The back end is open to a large highway, at least six lanes with a double yellow lined divider between the two. Perfect. 

He jogs backwards, making sure that Bakugou can see where he’s going, and then he starts a slow sprint up the street. He tries to make his movement sluggish, tries to make his breathing more labored. He coughs, trying for something ragged. 

“Running out of fuel?” A voice asks, and Tenya looks upwards, spying a smear of red and smugness. Hawks is here to watch. Tenya waves, like he can’t physically do anything else. 

“Don’t kill yourself of overexertion,” Hawks simply says, perching atop a large building to take notes, turning to look past Tenya, “And you. Don’t go easy on him just because I’m here.”

In a curt response, an explosion catches Tenya in the legs, making his knees buckle. The armor does its job, and the explosion was too far away to do any real damage, but it still stings under all that. Occasionally he’ll hit his legs on a low table, or something will catch on the exhaust pipes, and for a couple days after they’ll feel like just slightly too loose teeth. 

Tenya stands straighter, jumping backwards with speed he forgot to use. Bakugou is staring him down somehow, despite being the shorter of the two. He’s as tense as a death row inmate, with teeth bared and hands smoking. 

“Was it truly just the slander of Endeavor–” Another explosion that Tenya barely dodges, jumping to the side and ignoring the delighted clapping of Hawks. 

No talking then. That’s fine. Tenya can implement this next strategy just fine. He gets to go on the offensive. 

He runs at Bakugou. The explosions come quickly, but Tenya is able to make small micro adjustments, altering his trajectory in a blink of an eye, zig zagging around the attacks. 

Tenya realizes that he can predict Bakugou’s movements after a handful of quick attacks. He’ll aim right, left, then center. Exploding in an almost automatic robotic way, like a planned attack of some sort.

Right explosion. Tenya dodges. Left explosion. Tenya dodges. Center explosion. Tenya dodges.

Bakugou begins to move backwards, eyes forward and hands aimed near the ground where he can leap backwards in fiery movements, able to easily move out of the way of Tenya’s fists. They’re quickly moving down the road, some sort of push and pull as they try to attack and then quickly disengage. 

Right explosion. Tenya dodges. Left explosion. Tenya dodges. Center explosion. Tenya dodges.

He reaches to grab Bakugou around the waist again, reaching as if he’s going to pull him further into this fight. Further away from the bank where he’ll do the most damage. Instead, at the last second, Tenya kicks his leg forward to trip him. Bakugou falls, but only for a second, course correcting with a quick explosion to stabilize himself. He looks at him, and begins the sequence of attacks again. 

Right explosion. Tenya dodges. Left explosion. Tenya dodges. Left explosion again.

Shit. 

He’s been hit. 

Minute Eight

Bakugou, in creating a pattern, trained Tenya into that same pattern. By being predictable first, he’s able to alter Tenya’s own defense. 

And Tenya is left flat on his back, helmet smoking from the interior. 

He throws off the helmet and ignores whatever nonsense Hawk’s is yelling. He leaps to his feet, feeling his sweat soaked hair chill in the air. 

Bakugou looks…confused. The expression quickly morphs to something more familiar, a snarl that looks like it would belong to a dog. 

“The hell you smiling for?” Bakugou spits. 

Tenya touches his mouth, and then shrugs. He tries to steel the expression, but he can’t for some reason. Tenya’s pretending to be a villain, and he can’t even have the decency to make the smile nasty. It’s a wide grin, and he can’t stop it. Bakugou, realizing that he’s not going to get a real answer, just curses at him.

“About two minutes left,” Hawks shouts from the roof, “Keep fighting in the streets like cats if that’s what we want, but–oh goodbye Bakugou.”

And he’s off without another second of thought. Bakugou doesn’t need to take Tenya down to win, just return to the bank and destroy that back wall. 

Tenya’s really just been a distraction for as long as he can. He should be grateful that he’s been able to distract him for this long. 

 Bakugou does call Tenya a bastard again, just over his shoulder like a goodbye. 

It’s not a goodbye, if Tenya can help it. 

Tenya engages in the back thrusters and begins to really run. This whole time has been nothing but jogging to him. A slow jog at that. 

For the first time in a while, he really, really starts to go.

In less than a second, he’s in front of Bakugou, relishing in the sweet surprise in his eyes for only a moment. With the thrusters still engaged, he simply kicks him in the stomach. 

Bakugou pitches over, letting out a surprised cough, tripping over himself as he skids backwards. Tenya brings out the handcuffs and, for a delightful second, the image is clear as day. 

But as he’s bent over, halfway to the floor, Bakugou has grabbed onto Tenya. He’s like a little kid who’s clutching their parent for support, but instead, Bakugou has dug two fingers into the seams of Tenya’s armor, right where his knee lays. He can feel the pressure, the heat of the upcoming explosions. If Tenya doesn’t do something right now there’s a chance Bakugou could cause some real damage. 

He’s not being much of a hero at all, all underhanded slimy tactics for fighting. Tenya stills, real fear suddenly apparent. He begins to understand some of the faces Midoriya will make in conversation that even tangentially revolve around Bakugou. Their classmate is dangerous and threatening and–

There’s a gentle click. 

Tenya hadn’t noticed Bakugou’s other hand, holding the gaudy colored cuffs. He had completely forgotten that Bakugou even had them. He lowers his hands and stands up straight. 

“Dead,” Bakugou coughs, bent over himself, “You’re out of the game.” 

And true to character, Tenya lays down. He doesn’t stop smiling, though.

Minute Nine-

There’s one column left, near the very back of the bank, and it’s crumbling already. Neito has no real idea of how it’s still standing, the ceiling has started to cave in near the right of the bank, but the door to the vault is still easily accessible. The ceiling is clearly straining, but it could be hours before it fully collapses. 

If that final pillar were destroyed, that would bring the back half of this bank down. 

But Neito’s character is dead. 

And it’s clear that Midoriya isn’t far behind. One of his fingers has been rendered down to hammered meat, and his face is pale from the shock of it. He’s still biting down on that little necklace, teeth digging into the wood. 

He’s in clear pain. 

Which is why it’s almost comically easy for Uraraka to dig into his pockets. Midoriya jumps away, but in doing so, allows her to take out the handcuffs. 

Neito can barely watch. He’s put himself in a terrible position, Midoriya has. He’s sweating bullets, but he’s still looking over to the pillar. 

“Just let me–,” Uraraka starts, like she’s calming down a skittish horse. Midoriya almost looks the part, eyes darting around as he tries to outpace her gentle approach. He’s still trying to get to that last column. 

But he’s too far. Even Neito is closer than him. In fact…

“Deku, please,” Uraraka says, holding out the cuffs. Midoriya squeezes his eyes shut for a second. And for a second, Neito is worried that he’s going to give up and give in to the pain. 

Instead he swings with his leg, kicking the cuffs out of her hands. Uraraka goes for the fallen cuffs as they clatter onto the floor, but Midoriya goes for the pillar. 

Neito holds his tongue, and watches with held breath as Midoriya makes step after step, holding his hand close to his chest as he moves forward, blood dripping onto his costume. Neito’s never seen a broken finger so up close, but it looks terrible, skin rendered impossibly torn, muscle and veins crushed together. 

He’s soon feet away from the column, close enough for it to be in the danger zone. Neito is probably too close for safety, but he doesn’t move away. Itsuka must realize how close he is and tries calling him back. He ignores her, because—well—she’s dead. 

Midoriya gets to the pillar, and brings out his injured hand again, prepared to use his middle finger this time, thumb pressured on the pad. But he hesitates. 

Just long enough that Uraraka can leap over him, turning off her power in time to crash to the ground. She spins around, heaving with exertion, her arms splayed forward. She’s protecting the pillar with her body. 

Midoriya immediately puts his hand down, the sympathetic fool. 

The air around Neito pops in a stark change of pressure. .  

“You promised Iida,” she says, and Midoriya flinches backwards, “I don’t care that you’ve broken that promise already. You’re not breaking it twice.” 

Midoriya lets his hand fall fully. 

That idiot. 

Neito still has two powers, and one is a quirk that he took from Uraraka as she clasped the handcuffs around him. Gravity control. 

He’s close enough to the column that he can see a little slab of rock that’s stabilizing the rest of the column. If only it was a bit lighter. 

Unexplainably, the pillar would fall to the floor.

He reaches out to push it. 

“You’re dead!” a voice shouts from the back. Bakugou has returned, and the shout is directed at Neito. “Don’t cheat, you fucker!”

Minute Ten-

It takes Bakugou exactly three seconds to enter the bank, yell at Monoma, and then blow up the final column. He doesn’t look at either Izuku or Uraraka, only sprinting across the theater and straight for the column. He gets over Monoma and Kendo with a side explosion, and then propels himself into the air.

He explodes the column, shooting backwards at the sudden force ending up suspended in the middle of the air. The ceiling begins to creak and groan, and he lands perfectly upright, skidding only slightly back. 

The ceiling collapses, and Izuku is barely able to move out of the way with the help of Uraraka guiding him. They stand and watch the collapse, and that’s the end of the bank.

Chapter Text

Endeavor Page–

Uglyduckling43: Guys I just thought about something insane crazy insane. What if…………there are heroes on this website??? Like actually real life HEROES!??? Maybe they’re even seeing this!!!! ♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

Likes: 2

ryukyuplsplsplspls: i wake up and pray to god that one day this website will get a homepage so i can stop being psychically damaged by six-year-olds who got internet access too early. i just want the latest news on endeavor. 

Likes: 3

Uglyduckling43: I hope there are villains on this site too. And that they doxx and kill you.

Likes: 0

ryukyuplsplsplspls: ooooh I’m soooo scared.

Likes: 0

godlikeabilities: I wish there were villains on this website. I would hire one to hitman assassin my neighbor. 

Likes: 0

“See? I had plenty of time,” Bakugou sneers to the side, looking over Ochako to Midoriya, “There’s at least a minute left, so I never needed your help. I could have destroyed every single one of the pillars. In the end, you only wasted your own time. You’re useless.”

Midoriya is holding his hand to his stomach, blood slowly seeping onto the fabric part of his costume, and he looks positively crestfallen. Ochako doesn’t like what Bakugou does to her friend. Even when he’s just brought up in passing conversation, Midoriya suddenly looks like he has to go to a funeral for a hypothetical grandmother. 

“Hey!” Ochako says, standing up a bit straighter and turning to Bakugou, all that pent up adrenaline turning into quick untapped rage. He doesn't look at her, just staring out at his work, the ceiling collapsed in. He doesn’t smile, but that cool expression absolutely radiates pride, “That was mean!”

“It’s okay,” Midoriya wheezes out, clearly in pain, “He’s fine.”

“At least you’re helpful when it actually matters,” Ochako says, nudging him to make sure he knows that he can lean on her, which he does, “Bakugou missed everything that happened Friday. He wasn’t very helpful there.”

She doesn’t say it quietly enough for courtesy. Everyone in the room hears her.

Bakugou’s face goes red, chin immediately scrunching up, and Ochako realizes that she might have actually hit a nerve. Midoriya, despite the broken finger and shaking legs, immediately takes a small step between the two of them, clearly trying to be subtle in his attempted peacekeeping. But Bakugou just hits the nearest wall with his fist, and sits down. 

“I won, the bank can’t be robbed now,” he mutters into the crook of his elbow, arms crossed over his knees. Ochako doesn’t really need to hear the useless ramblings of a man scorned, so she brings Midoriya down with her to sit on the dusty ground. It might be worth it to go and try to dig through the rubble, to try and figure out a way to finish this simulation, but there’s no way they have more than thirty seconds left on the clock, and her stomach is kinda maybe going to kill her soon. Plus Midoriya looks as green as she feels. Plus plus, Bakugou, despite sitting down in a curled up position and most of his head being covered by his crossed arms, is still staring at her. His eyes are bright and dangerous as he watches her movements when she goes to support Midoriya.

She’s lost the match, that’s for sure, and she’s going to spend the rest of the time trying to make sure that her friend isn’t going to pass out from pain. 

“I'm not dead yet,” Midoriya says, and Ochako just shushes him, turning away from Bakugou and directing him to sit down. Her friend does so with slow movements, like he’s suddenly aged forty years. 

“We need to wait for the nurse. What can I—”

“Do you have any of those ginger candies?” he asks softly, like he's a little kid who just broke a glass.

She gets one from the assigned pocket (she has designated pockets) and unwraps it. The gold candy gets passed to his good hand, and he pops it into his mouth with a grimace and a very polite ‘thank you’.

“Your tummy hurts?” she asks, trying for light, but somehow sounds deadly serious. She didn’t know one could sound that serious with the word ‘tummy’ in a sentence. 

“Yes,” Midoriya sighs, and then winces, and then sighs softer, “It just started hurting after I broke my finger.”

“Well that’s the nausea from breaking your finger. If you need to throw up I can look away.”

“Do you think I got hit by a bus without noticing?” he groans, laying more on the floor, curled partially on himself, “Uraraka, how do you deal with this feeling every day? I don’t think I could do anything right now.”

He might be fishing for conversation, but if he wants to be distracted then Ochako can play along until the nurse gets here.

“One time I used my power in my first grade talent show and ended up throwing up on the class hamster.”

“That doesn't answer my question,” Midoriya laughs, which leads easily into a cough. 

“He didn’t even hold a grudge. I’m pretty sure they should have sainted that little guy for dealing with that. Most saintable hamster I’ve ever met”

“Stop, stop, I'll just actually throw up if you keep making jokes,” he hits her shoulder with his good hand.

“Oh yeah,” Ochako says, “Well, in all seriousness, I drink tea and eat soothing foods and take baths and I try not to actually throw up too much. It can make you feel better, but after a while it can really mess with the lining of the throat, you know? So if you can handle it, just wait until we get back, and drink some water. That'll help.”

“Thanks,” he says, “Sorry to complain, you've probably experienced worse.”

“Well yeah.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry, that was mean. I guess it just means I understand your pain,” she smiles at him, maybe a bit sheepish, “We can be stomach trouble people. Whenever you break a bone and feel nauseous about it, come talk to me and I can pat your head and call you brave. And you’ll do the same for me but actually…try not to be as condescending, that’d be weird.”

“I told you to stop trying to make me laugh,” he says, and then a confused expression crosses his face, as he settles more onto the floor, ending up completely on the floor, “But I wasn't nauseous the first time.”

“I mean, it is a pretty weird quirk. Might be some unforeseen drawback.”

“Maybe it’s puberty,” Midoriya mutters, which Ochako pretends to not hear, “My…my arms hurt the first time.”

“You broke your arm.”

“But it was both of them.”

“Maybe your right arm is an empath,” she suggests.

“Good job!” Hawks says from the doorframe, his wings spread out like they're announcing him, “Good, good, job! You people are so exciting! The magazines are going to love you!”

Iida is behind Hawks, handcuffs still around his wrists and his attention immediately goes to Midoriya. Once Hawks continues into the room, grinning at the damage with a hand to shield his eyes from the sun (unnecessary, that man is wearing a visor), Iida spots what's wrong, mainly the blood down Midoriya's front.

He stalks forward, face growing more and more stern like a teacher who just got beat in the annual 'best chalkboard cleaning techniques’ competition. 

“Save me,” Midoriya whispers.

“Nuh-uh, you brought this upon yourself,” Ochako says, scooting a little bit away to avoid any stray lectures and dramatic hand motions. Out of the corner of her eye she spots Bakugou with his loud costume, coming her way.

“Sorry,” she ends up scrambling up despite the complaint of her stomach, just to get out of the way. Bakugou, who's aiming to steadily walk across the room towards Hawks, doesn't even spare her a glance. She watches him go.

Although…he isn't walking towards Hawks, he's stopped where she just was. It’s a place between Midoriya and Iida.

“Is something wrong with you?” he suddenly asks, pointing a finger and getting so close that he’s either going to bite Iida’s head off or kiss him on the mouth. It’ll probably be that first one. 

“I apologize?” Iida asks, moving Bakugou's finger down so he has more breathing room.

“You get off on this kinda stuff?”

“I apolo- what ?” Iida says, wide-eyed, a bit more insistent this time.

“You're not stupid, dumbass. Why the fuck were you smiling?”

The moment is tense, with Iida looking down at Bakugou with genuine confusion, slowly morphing into something akin to deep discomfort. 

“Smiling?” Midoriya asks, getting to his feet with a waver. Ochako supports him again.

Iida turns, “We fought, and I believe I was smiling,” he explains, like that means anything. 

“Yeah, why?” Bakugou asks again, emphasizing both words.

Ochako looks over to Midoriya, who seems equally confused by Bakugou’s confusion. 

“Well,” Iida says, wavering a little bit, “I'm not entirely sure. I was truly focused on the fight, and what I could do against your attacks. Again, I must apologize, but I really don't know. And I really don't see why this is important.”

Bakugou stares him down for another very long second, eyes narrowing as he tilts his head. It’s like he’s trying to figure out how Iida’s deceiving him.

“Just stop,” he ends up saying, “It's not helping anyone.” 

“Well,” Ochako finds herself saying, hoisting the slowly sliding Midoriya up like she's a washerwoman from the 1600th century and he’s a basket of laundry, “Iida, you seemed to be pretty into the whole villain character. Bakugou, there’s a chance he was just…having fun.”

“Oh,” Iida says, clapping his hands together, “That must have been it. Bakugou, since this was so important to you, I will say that you were a noble contender, and I felt truly challenged during our fight. That was why I felt the need to smile. Can I have some space now?”

Bakugou stares at him, eyes suddenly wide and angry. He isn’t moving, just still looking at him with that expression that could curdle milk.

“You’re lying,” he spits.

Midoriya coughs.

A small explosion bursts in the air for just a second, directed toward Midoriya. “Shut the fuck up.”

“See, he didn't even say anything,” Iida says, eyes narrowing, “Can I ask what your problem is with Mido—”

“Iida,” Midoriya hisses, voice still a little weak. 

Bakugou looks at Iida, and then to Ochako, and then away.

”Well I didn’t,” Bakugou says, a non-starter and a non-sequitur at the same time, how exciting. 

Iida tilts his head and raises his eyebrow in a physical question that's so condescending that Ochako could reel back from it, “Didn’t what , Bakugou?”

He’s using his presidential voice, the one for important messages to the class. Ochako honestly worries for the sudden strange tension in the room. Hawks must notice it too because, while still chatting with Monoma and Kendo, he makes short side eye contact with Ochako and tilts his head in question. 

“I didn’t have fun,” Bakugou snaps, suddenly taking a few steps back, “So there.” 

They stare as Bakugou returns to his spot near the wall, practically smoking with rage that Ochako really, really doesn’t understand. Apparently he takes great offense at his classmates participating in the horrifying concept of, get this, having fun. Ochako breathes out a breath and tilts her head. What a strange guy.

“Bakugou is considered a ‘noble contender’?“ Ochako asks, and even though continuing to discuss their classmate doesn’t help the whole grandma funeral expression on Midoriya’s face, she is curious. Ochako and Iida share the same opinions on Bakugou (angry at him being a bastard, confused about his past with Midoriya, even more confused about why he’s even in this school, etc. etc.) and she would never call him ‘nobel’. Even ‘contender’ is a bit of a stretch. At this point he’s like a weird natural disaster they just have to avoid for Midoriya’s sake. 

“That was unfortunately a lie,” Iida grimaces, “I know why I was having fun. To put it simply, it was because I got to kick Bakugou in the stomach.”

Ochako laughs quietly under her breath, trying to keep it low enough that Bakugou can’t hear her. She makes eye contact with Midoriya, quick as can be, just to make sure that downtrodden expression is gone. Surly now that they’re joking about the person tormenting him that expression will be gone. 

It’s not. He’s staring at the floor and he looks…horrible. Like, ‘We bought a prank show to your grandma's funeral, and it turns out it’s both your grandma and grandpa in that casket! Gotcha!’ type horrible.

“Where was this energy in your hero performance?“ Monoma asks, conversationally but still loud. He’s shouting over to Bakugou from the other side of the room, “That conversation just now was drama! That was flare! You're wasting your talent on that delinquent act!”

Bakugou staggers to his feet, and only now does Ochako realize how injured he actually is. His face is etched into a permanent scowl, which wouldn’t be out of the norm if he wasn’t also limping? Iida said something about kicking him, it’s probably got something to do with that. 

Despite it all, he still starts to make his way over to Monoma. He stumbles his way across half the building before Hawks claps his hands together in a rather efficient interruption.

“Well, I'm certainly impressed. This was quite the experiment, but I think before we debrief much more, Midoriya needs to get to the nurse.”

“Oh right,” Iida says, focus shifting from closely watching Bakugou back to the injury that Midoriya is fostering, “We can help.”

“You're not yelling at me?” Midoriya asks as Iida takes some of the support from Ochako. She's sure that Midoriya doesn't actually need two people to keep him standing, but it feels good to keep him boxed in. Sometimes, to prevent a dear friend from running off and breaking another finger, you have to guard him diligently..

Ochako moves to Midoriya’s other shoulder, and wraps her arm around him, and thinks about his broken finger. She can't help but think that it wasn't a bad strategy. That the finger is, in the long run, probably better to break than a wrist. She sees the grimace on Iida’s face as he looks down and over Midoriya and promptly decides not to vocalize this thought. 

“Not yet, I’m not,” Iida ends up saying.

★

Tenya is waiting outside the nurse's office with Uraraka and a pile of vending machine snacks that he impulsively bought. The pile is sitting on the singular waiting chair, and Uraraka is trying to figure out a way to sort it all into Tenya's backpack without crushing any of the bean paste buns he bought. She’s being extra careful, because they both know that Midoriya likes them best. 

“Uraraka, do we think he's alright?” Tenya trails off a bit, tapping his cheek. It’s been over ten minutes since school let out and there’s been no word of his health.

“Well he’s probably still alive,” Uraraka says, sticking out her tongue in frustration as she tries to zip up the backpack again, “Iida, have you ever tried to have…less folders? Most of these are empty. We don’t even have a biology class.”

“Yet,” Tenya is standing, and Uraraka is crouched in front of the chair, trying to figure it out like a jigsaw puzzle, “Some of those are for next year.”

“Iida you have three biology folders. What if this folder style, I don’t know, goes out of style?”

“It’s practical. Practicality never goes out of style.”

“At least they’re different colors,” she mutters, going through the rainbow cleaness of it all.

“For sorting purposes,” he reminds her, just so she doesn’t start to switch the folders around. 

“One day I’m going to steal your backpack and the whole thing will come back bedazzled,” she says. 

“That’s still practical,” he says. 

“Yeah?” she asks, smiling, having just found his zippable side pocket. She shows a handful of individually wrapped candy into it.

“Yes, if I have a bedazzled backpack, I’ll never have to worry about being hit at a crosswalk. My visibility will go so up that I’ll practically be indestructible.” 

“Ha ha,” she flatly says. 

Uraraka goes back to her sorting, which means that Tenya is free to worry that the nurse will never let Midoriya out of the office. Which is fair, since he belongs there, that promise breaking scoundrel.

“Was it...” he starts, “Bad?”

Uraraka pauses from where she's subtly trying to sneak in a five hundred yen coin into his front-most pocket. He initially paid for the snacks despite the protests from Uraraka. It was his idea, he wasn’t about to let Uraraka pay for it. He’ll have to figure out a way to sneak the money back soon. 

“The quirk?” she quietly asks.

Tenya nods, “I have yet to see it in use.” 

“Well it was very cool,” she says, and she sounds like she means it, like she's a little kid who just saw their role model on tv, “And…scary too. He was in so much pain that he almost threw up. I had to walk him through the nausea.”

“Should you start bringing along extra ginger candies for him? If it’s a permanent consequence.” 

He hates talking about Midoriya’s power like that, like there’s nothing to be done, but he’s not one to talk. He’s seen the way Midoriya talks about heroes. He’s not going to try and stop him, only help him.

Uraraka looks like she wants to say something, furrowing her brow and leaving the snacks alone to sit back on the linoleum tile. The backpack is almost closed anyways, “I–”

“I want to talk to you.”

Uraraka jumps a little, and Tenya barely avoids doing the same. He had heard someone coming, but had assumed it was a janitor. Maybe some student who hadn't gone home yet. Which…the newcomer certainly counts as that second option. Todoroki looks unphased and unchanged from his daily appearance. 

After a second of one-sided eye contact, Tenya realizes that Todoroki isn’t going to look at either of them, so he asks, “To me?” 

“Who else?” Todoroki asks, staring off into the hallway. He’s not really looking at anything, really. He’s squinting slightly, like there’s an arguing couple back near the math class and it might become interesting soon. 

“Hi,” Uraraka reminding Todoroki of her presence, smiling in a way that’s clearly only for Tenya. Her smile is painted with a veneer of confusion, too confused to be offended. 

“Oh. Hello…” Todoroki says, now looking down to the ground, where Uraraka is still sitting. He’s still not looking at her, looking a bit to her left, on the tiled floor. He pauses for a second before reaching into his pocket and bringing out the list Midoriya gave him.  

After a second of looking, Uraraka sighs a little bit, “It’s Ur-”

“Uraraka,” he says, and nods, pointing at a name on the list.

“Hi Todoroki,” she says again. He puts away the already incredibly creased paper.

“Midoriya is about ready to go home,” Recovery Girl says, having just opened the door to the rest of the office. She smiles at the three of them. 

“Thanks ma’am,” Uraraka grins, standing up and kicking off the dust from her shoes, “I’m good to leave you two?”

A conversation with Todoroki, preventing him from seeing Midoriya. Tenya tries not to let the frustration show. 

“Tell Midoriya I will be along in…” Tenya turns to Todoroki, who looks at him without a single light of recognition that he’s being asked how long this conversation is going to take, “I’ll be in soon.” 

“Have fun,” Uraraka smiles, raising her eyebrows a little in a portrait of what might be…pity? She leaves him to his pity, walking into the office and immediately chatting with the nurse about some television show they apparently both watch. 

 “So,” Tenya says, offering the waiting chair to Todoroki with a quick hand motion. But his classmate has already started to move, and he’s now opening the nearest classroom door. 

“This one is empty,” Todoroki says, declaring their meeting room with the same flat delivery that he always uses. 

He enters the room without confirmation from Tenya, and soon the door is closing, and he’s clearly expecting to be followed. So, like any good president, Iida shoves himself off from where he’s been leaning on the wall, and follows.

Chapter Text

All Might Page –

Red_Might (MOD): It’s been four weeks since the last post here. I’d like to think that you all keep him in your hearts, but I worry the public has moved on too fast from the passing of, arguably, the greatest hero. I worry everyone but me has moved on. 

Likes: 1

They end up in some third year classroom. It’s still buzzing with the energy of the people who were here only fifteen minutes ago, still warm from the presence of people. The windows are covered with shutters. It only allows in a scant amount of light, filtering across the desks and yellowing the colors from the late afternoon sun. Tenya doesn’t know any Catholics, but the whole thing feels like a confessional booth.

Todoroki is already sitting down at the teacher's swivel desk chair, looking down and quite literally twiddling his thumbs. 

Tenya turns on the light, washing out the sunlight. 

Todoroki doesn’t move, doesn’t look up. He’s slightly spinning with his feet, moving the chair back and forth, back and forth. 

“Should I sit?”

Todoroki shrugs. Tenya sits at one of the desks, the middle front one, and it only sort of feels like he’s about to get a lecture from the least enthusiastic teacher of all time. 

But he’s not, because Todoroki isn’t saying anything at all. He still hasn’t looked at him. Not that Tenya minds the lack of eye contact, he knows how to communicate without always having to look directly at someone. But if Todoroki doesn’t acknowledge him soon, Tenya is going to worry that he’s accidentally stolen Hagakure’s quirk somehow. Or Todoroki is just playing the strangest prank. 

“So, what did you want to talk about, Todoroki?” Tenya breaks easily, only after twenty seconds of silence. He’s carefully quiet, so his voice doesn’t boom around the classroom. His parents have told him that he struggles with volume control. He thinks he succeeds at it this time.

The chair moves back and forth, back and forth. Without any visual acknowledgement, Todoroki speaks: “Did you mean what you said about my father?”

Well that makes sense. 

Tenya, Uraraka, Monoma, and Kendo, all after returning from their bout were able to watch the rest of the teams trials. They had seen Sero imprison the villain team in under five minutes, each time giving off some fun quip. In the next match, Hagakure had put on all of the handcuffs on the heroes in under three minutes, dead silent the entire time. It had been impressive to sit down and see his class actually work, and not in an active hostage situation. He and Uraraka had taken rigorous notes, and Tenya had recorded the footage with his phone just in case they had missed anything. This was for Izuku, since he had been carted off to the nurses office after the event.

But if Tenya had seen everyone else's footage, that means that Todoroki had seen theirs. More importantly, he had heard their match. 

“What I said to Bakugou?” Tenya asks, relieved knowing that the solution is so simple. 

Todoroki nods. 

“You don’t need to worry, I was just trying to rile up our dear classmate,” Tenya laughs a little, feeling like he’s laughing at some charity event, “It worked rather well, yes? Your father has a lot of die hard fans in this school.” 

“He does,” the chair has stopped spinning. Todoroki is looking to the back of the classroom, and he doesn’t say anything else.

Tenya does not believe that this has dissuaded his fears.

“That must be strange,” he muses, just trying to make conversation. Make sure that his classmate knows that it's easy to talk to Tenya. He’s the class president, he needs to be easy to talk to.

“Sure,” Todoroki says.

“Now I must not leave Midoriya alone with Uraraka for too long or she’ll try to hug him, and I can’t let that happen before I lecture him,” Tenya smiles, “The push and pulls of friendship, you know. I hope this was enough to calm any of your worries,” 

Todoroki stands up abruptly, “Sure.”

And as Tenya expected, Todoroki begins to leave the classroom. Nothing is really…different. Todoroki has the same posture, the same expression as he did this morning. He’s quickly making his way to the door, arm already outstretched to grab the handle, and Tenya realizes that he doesn’t want to leave the conversation like this.

“Todoroki?” 

If Todoroki is leaving while acting entirely the same, then Todoroki is probably feeling entirely the same. Tenya has yet to mitigate his worry. 

The door handle has been clicked, but the rest of the door isn’t moving. Todoroki hasn’t acknowledged the call of his name outside of that. Tenya has to let him know that he truly meant no harm. 

“I truly apologize, I have nothing bad to say about your father, he’s quite a figure in society, and it would be presumptuous to call him a cretin, which I do believe I called him, and I again, apologise. His fighting tactics are fast and efficient, and he’s very quick on the battlefield, which is clearly something I would appreciate,” Tenya is at this point, using talking points from Midoriya, the statistics and facts that he’ll ramble on about at lunch, “And yes there are times where he can be reckless, but I don’t think that should define a hero.”

Todoroki still hasn’t moved, that should be the cue for Tenya to stop talking and assume that the placation has worked, but now that his mind is on the statistics that his friend showed him, he can’t stop himself from continuing on with thoughts that have been brewing all weekend long. He feels like an out of control freight train when he keeps his spiel going:

“Well I guess he could benefit from a few crash courses on public safety and how to avoid burning people he’s trying to save, the news doesn’t report on that as much as they probably should,” why is he still talking? He’s rambling and it’s unbecoming of a president, and this is the opposite of placation–“He’s only killed a few civilians,” dear god he needs to shut up, “and most of that has been through the fallout of architecture failure, which is to be expected, but he’s the number one hero, and I don’t think it should be radical to expect a body count of zero,” he has to stop now , “But that’s neither here nor–Todoroki?”

The door has stayed closed.

And Todoroki is staring at him. 

His eyes are wide and bright under the fluorescent lights and Tenya suddenly feels the urge to run. It comes from nowhere and it is making it hard to breathe. It’s not the fear that prompts flight or fight, but the exhilaration that always hits him right before he starts a marathon. 

Todoroki is staring at him with the most bizarre expression on his face. Tenya cannot parse it, he doesn’t know him as well as he knows Uraraka or Midoriya. He only really knows the one expression from Todoroki, the expression of flat boredom. 

Well that’s not entirely true. He also knows what Todoroki looks like when he’s angry. 

The wind is suddenly crushed out of his lungs in a single, harrowing memory that he’s somehow disregarded throughout this entire conversation. He remembers the time he saw Todoroki angry. It was at the party, with his father. 

He had looked angry . Demon spitfire levels of anger, and it had been all directed towards his father.

After that party, Tenya has had complicated feelings about Todoroki’s father. 

“Todoroki I–,” he starts slow, trying to work out a truce of some sort, “Your father almost killed Hagakure. You saw that. So to be entirely honest, even if most of what I said was simply for the dramatics, I do find him reckless, and I’m sorry.”

If Todoroki hadn’t been there, Hagkure would have become another civilian that Endeavor accidentally killed. Not as uncommon as it should be in the hero world, but not acceptable either. Hence the complicated feelings. 

If Todoroki hadn’t been there, Tenya would have never forgiven himself for the death of Hagakure. If Todoroki hadn’t been there, Tenya would despise Endeavor. 

“Did I ever thank you for saving Hagakure?”

Todoroki shakes his head. 

“Well then. Thank you,” he says.

Todoroki moves towards the door handle again, his shoulders still slumped, his head still looking down. The only change is that he’s still looking at Tenya. A different expression again, slightly changed from his apathetic one. Tenya hopes he’s not upset. 

“Where’d you hear about that?” Todoroki finally speaks again. 

Tenya tilts his head in question. 

“The people he killed with architecture.”

“I can send you the article,” Tenya tries, because if he doesn’t say that, he might ask if Todoroki is still upset with him. At this point, it’s best to let the topic rest. 

“Can you-,” Todoroki is quiet, voice barely traveling. He tries again, “Can you send it to Midoriya instead?”

“Of course,” Tenya agrees without a second. He’s not sure what pretense he’ll have to include to justify sending a rather explicitly anti-Endeavor article to Midoriya, but he’ll figure it out. He’s not sure why Todoroki wants Midoriya to know of these facts when he most certainly already does, but at this moment that doesn’t matter. 

He reaches for his phone to do just that, to start drafting some sort of text he can send along with the attached PDF, but as he’s reaching for his pocket, already standing to leave, he catches one more glance of Todoroki as he opens the door, one final time. 

He’s still looking down at the floor, and his shoulders are still slumped. He’s not even looking at Tenya anymore, focused on opening the door and leaving the classroom.

But…he’s smiling. 

It’s small, his mouth has barely moved at all. But he is smiling. Tenya notes that it’s particularly crooked. 

Todoroki leaves in a rush, closing the door gently behind him. He doesn’t look back once. 

Tenya packs up quickly, and decides that he could run all the way home today. He probably will, just for the hell of it. 

★

Izuku, in a fashion that he finds uncomfortable, has yet again traded his pain for exhaustion. Luckily this time, his injury was not as all encompassing, instead only deeply cracked fingerbones. This means that his exhaustion is only swirling around his head, clouding every future. At least it’s not knocking him out.

He thinks of All Might in the other room and shutters. 

He flexes his finger, ignoring the way that it feels raw, like he took sandpaper to it before Recovery Girl healed him. 

“You know?” Uraraka asks from where she’s sitting on one of the other guest chairs. Izuku himself is on a bed, the blanket covered with a sheet of paper. His recovery had gone much faster this time, he hadn’t even needed to lay down, much less disrupt the cleanliness of the bed.

“I don’t,” he says, rolling his wrist again, feeling the slight click of a bone almost perfectly put back in place, “I don’t think I’ve heard a single word you’ve said.”

She bursts into laughter, holding her stomach as she looks at him, “Deku, I’ve been talking for at least five minutes.”

“I could sit here and not listen to you for all of eternity and I would never notice.” 

“Charming,” she laughs again, “I’m totally writing that down and you’re apologizing to me when you wake up tomorrow.” 

She underhand tosses a bottle to him, and he can’t even imagine a single universe where he’s fast enough to blink, let alone catch it. It hits him in the chest and rolls onto the bed, and then clatters onto the floor. 

He lays back. 

He’s going to sleep. 

“Deku,” Uraraka says, “It’s caffeine.”

He reaches his hand out, and he can hear Uraraka grab the bottle for him. He takes it by the bottle cap, opens it with a twist, and is about to bring it to his mouth.
“Midoriya, may I suggest drinking it vertically,” Iida says, closing the door behind him. Izuku sits up, sluggish and exhausted. He’s so, so tired. 

“What did Todoroki want?” Uraraka asks. 

“I’m not sure,” Iida says, and leaves it at that. Izuku can’t even be mad at the vague answer, he’s got soda to chug. 

“Well alright,” Uraraka says, “I’ll have to assume you guys like…traded stocks. Picnic time?”

“Picnic?” Izuku asks, and then coughs because the sweet syrup made his voice sound weird, “Picnic?” he tries again. 

“We were going to go on a lovely walk and I am going to lecture you about the importance of keeping your body healthy, and then we were going to sit at a park bench and eat these vending machine snacks,” Iida says in one large breath, “Or the other way around, we’ll see how you’re feeling. But seeing your current state I think it wouldn’t be too admissible to just do it here.”

“Mr. Aizawa, can we pretend you’re not here?” Uraraka asks.

“That’s what you’ve been doing the whole time,” he says behind the curtain that’s dividing the two beds for some semblance of privacy. He’s still injured, still bedbound. Izuku feels a little bad for disrupting his sleep. 

“Oh hello,” Iida says, to the bed next to them, “How are you feeling?” 

Aizawa doesn’t respond. 

“He’s good,” Uraraka says, and Izuku laughs.   

“Where’s Recovery Girl?” Iida asks instead, looking around. 

Izuku points to the secret All Might room and doesn’t clarify. If Iida can’t tell them about his secret Todoroki meeting, then Izuku won’t tell him about the comatose guy in the other room. 

“Then I will take the initiative and assume this is fine,” Iida says, grabbing his bag and dumping out the snacks on the bed. 

“All my work packing it up,” Uraraka sighs, unzipping the side pocket to reveal even more candy. 

The caffeine hasn’t hit, but the sugar and his friends are helping, so Izuku reaches out and grabs a melon bread to eat. He unwraps it with his perfectly healthy hands and feels weird. He didn’t realize that healing powers were going to make him feel so uncomfortable. The healing also hasn’t really helped with his nausea. He knows it’s going to be good to eat, but the look of the food makes his stomach hurt. 

“Midoriya, I have decided that you–”

You need to stop using his power. You need to give it back, it’s not helping anyone.

But Iida doesn’t say anything of the sort. Izuku looks up from his bread, and realizes that both Iida and Uraraka are staring at the door. Izuku must have missed someone knocking. 

“Who…” Iida starts. 

There are two people standing in the doorway. One is a short older man with a fashion style that is a bit too cowboy for Izuku’s sleep deprived taste. The other one is a student. 

Izuku hears the curtain next to him slide open halfway. Aizawa is abandoning his sense of privacy to greet the newcomers. He uses a metal grabby hand to open the curtain all the way, and Izuku is able to see him. He’s reading some historical romance novel, the type that Izuku’s mom likes. Present Mic isn’t here this time, but there’s a large bouquet of flowers and small pile of what Izuku could only describe as crow trinkets next to it. Oh god, should they have gotten their teacher anything?

Aizawa is looking at the newcomers with a perfect mixture of rage and confusion. 

The seconds drag on for a little bit too long. The older gentleman is looking right back, not saying anything. The student catches Izuku’s stare and waves. 

“President Iida, you and Uraraka need to leave.” 

“Aw,” Uraraka asks, slumping a bit in her chair. But she doesn’t complain other than that, beginning to pack up the snacks again. She leaves a little pile for Izuku and nods. 

“Text us when you are home and we can do our original plan,” Uraraka says, “No worries.” 

“Okay,” Izuku says, not having the heart to tell them that he’s probably going to sleep the minute he gets back. 

They begin to leave the nurses office, “Can I ask why we’re not permitted?” Iida asks, quietly, looking between the strangers and Aizawa. 

“No,” the old man says, “Get out.” 

Iida raises his hands up in a giving up motion, and Uraraka grabs his arm to start moving him out of the room. 

“Don’t talk to them like that,” Aizawa says, stopping the two of them with his tone, “President Iida, this is a private matter, you may ask Midoriya afterwards if you are still curious. And before you leave, I do have a question.”

Iida pauses, looking back at him and tilting his head. 

“Is Hawks going to be annoying enough that we can fire him?” 

Iida laughs, “No sir, I don’t think so. He’s a little unorthodox, but I think we can manage.” 

Izuku mutters, “If I keep getting to do hero study activities, I’d study under anyone.”

Uraraka looks at him, clearly trying not to laugh, and Izuku realizes he said it a bit louder than intended.

“Fine,” Aizawa says, looking a little disappointed, “Now go home. Please.” 

Iida bows a little, and the strangers step aside so they can comfortably exit. Izuku, despite his delirium induced exhaustion, is sobered up a little at the sudden lack of any friends. Any support. 

“Hello sir, it’s nice to see you, I hope the recovery is going well,” the student says, looking with concern at Aizawa. He’s tall with a strong physique and golden blonde hair. His eyes are weird to look at, so Izuku avoids that.

“Hello Mirio, I hope the studies are going well, etcetera, etcetera,” he suddenly shifts to the old man, and in a much more hostile tone, “Why’d you bring him ?”

“Company for the sad injured teacher,” the man flatly says, and then points his cane straight to Izuku, “Come on kid, we’re having that overdue chat.” 

Overdue chat. Izuku suddenly realizes that this is most definitely Gran Torino, one of the most famous speedsters of all time. He’s old, but Izuku can’t help the air that’s knocked out of him. He’s here, in all his glory, and only dampened by a couple years of retirement. Aizawa had said they were meeting after school, he just hadn’t realized that also meant today.

Aizawa visibly relaxes, and then gestures for the nearest plastic chair. Mirio, apparently, sits down and, “Whatcha reading?”

“A book,” Aizawa responds. 

“Classic. I love that one.”

“Kid,” the old man says, motioning him over. Izuku stands up on sort of shaky legs and walks over to the exit door.

“This one,” Gran Torino says, knocking on the door with his cane. The door to All Might’s room. 

Izuku turns back to Mirio, who’s chatting (mostly one sided) with Aizawa. 

“It’s fine,” Gran Torino says, and Izuku hesitates.

“My legs will be fine, Mirio, I don’t need more tea, and Hizashi is doing his radio show right now—Midoriya get in there. He knows how to deal with your power.”

Izuku walks over and opens the door in the second of bravery that he can muster up. There’s a rush of perfectly temperate air in comparison to the drafty room with Aizawa. He steps in before he can stop himself, the beeping noises and blinking lights greeting him as the noise from outside is muted by the closing door. 

The curtain is closed, making sure that no one from the outside can possibly see All Might. On a very tall stool and reading the same book that Aizawa was (weird book club maybe?) is Recovery Girl. 

“Sorahiko,” Recovery Girl smiles. She jumps off her chair and wanders over. They share a quick old person hug, and Gran Torino smiles at her. 

“How’ve you been?”

“We can catch up on Wednesday,” Recovery Girl says, “Fix my student as fast as you can.”

“Yes ma’am.” 

She leaves without much more comment, and Gran Torino grabs for the bed curtain. 

“What’s on Wednesday?” Izuku says, delaying the inevitable of having to see All Might again. 

“Me and her meet up for lunch,” he grumbles, and opens the curtain anyways, with no consideration for Izuku’s panicky feelings, “Grab a chair.”

The curtain opens and Izuku looks away to find a chair. 

Gran Torino is here, and Izuku can barely revel in his excitement. This man worked alongside Nana Shimura in her golden years, and he wasn’t anything to sneeze at either. 

Izuku feels a second of discomfort, because he should not be here. Iida should be the one finding a chair dutifully ignoring the presence of All Might. He’d benefit most from the tutelage of one of the world's greatest speedsters. 

Maybe he can take notes for him. 

Gran Torino taps his cane hard against the metal bed frame, so Izuku finishes thinking his thoughts and grabs a chair.

He pulls a metal folding chair from the corner, and sets himself near the edge of the bed. And now he has to face All Might again. 

He’s just as he was this morning, hands resting carefully next to him, face a mask of some sort of twisted peace as his chest rises and falls in time with one of the beeping machines. After just a second, Izuku can only watch the monitor. Gran Torino sits on the stool that Recovery Girl vacated, acting so calm like everything is perfectly normal and there’s not a man half dead in this room. Izuku gently bows his head, like he’d have anything to offer in the suffocating soundlessness of the room, only occasionally interrupted by a soft snore. 

Izuku had expected less movement from All Might, but he is truly just…asleep. Some lesser form of a coma, impossible to wake from. He’s breathing, his hand occasionally twitching. 

He’s covered with a thin scratchy looking blanket with a medical gown on, but he’s really just sleeping. He can’t look at his face, but his eyes are drawn to something else, a little hanging pot, hooked around the metal curtain rod above his head, and absolutely filled with flowers.

“Brightens up the place.” Gran Torino asks, catching the gaze of Izuku, “Brought it in a couple weeks ago. I thought it’d be nice to see outside of all this drab blue.” 

Izuku stares at it for a second longer, “If he wakes up he might hit his head on it.”

Gran Torino looks back to it, and then to Izuku. Then, using his cane, slowly pushes the hanging flowers away from his head. 

“Happy?”

Izuku shrugs. 

“Yeah, well get over it,” he says, turning the full force of his glare to Izuku, “Because apparently you’re the dumbest one yet.”

Izuku scoots a bit back in his chair, almost an instinct.

“What’s wrong with you, going so long without talking to me? Did All Might not properly inform you?”

“No,” Izuku almost leaves it at that for his sake, “No, he did.”

“You people. Nine months of you wandering the streets without any warning to anyone and you expected everything to fall perfectly into place? You expected to be able to handle this power?”

“I work out,” he mutters. 

“Sure,” Gran Torino says, “Sure, and I’m twenty three years old.”

“Well you look really bad for your age.” 

“Are you this smart with your teacher?” Gran Torino asks, and Izuku slinks back a bit further. This is Gran Torino, why is he talking back?

He doesn’t need someone to spell it out that it’s a defense mechanism. Most of the time he’s able to keep these thoughts as just that. Thoughts. 

“Sorry sir,” he mutters instead, and Gran Torino nods.

“I don’t want to be in this stuffy room longer than you do, but we need to get through some questions. This information doesn’t leave this room,” he says.

“I know,” Izuku says. 

“Do you? Because again, you’re the dumbest one yet.”

“Sorry,” Izuku says again.

“Aizawa said you were quirkless, is this true?”

Izuku nods.

“That’s fine,” he grits out, really selling his sentiment. 

“What would have happened if I hadn’t been?” Izuku asks, “I have all these questions, but I keep thinking about that, and I can’t–”

Gran Torino looks at him for a second, before interrupting, “You know, if you wanted these questions answered, you probably should have talked to an actual adult instead of whatever you’ve been doing.”

“Sorry,” he says again.

Gran Torino sighs, long sufferingly like this is the largest burden in the world. It honestly might be.

“But to answer your question, we’d be having a much different conversation. It would have enhanced your original power, along with the strength you’ve inherited.”

Bakugou with powers beyond his greater limits. Izuku can see it, the strength of him already so apparent, the explosions increasing tenfold, his pure unrefined energy increasing tenfold. The strategy would have been perfect, if Izuku hadn’t thrown a wrench into the plans like a selfish idiot.

“What was All Might’s?” Izuku thinks back to the few videos he’s seen, distracting himself. Probably some body modification considering the bulky form of him compared to the stick thin man inches away from him.

“You two have a lot in common,” Gran Torino says, after a moment. 

That tilts everything to the side, just for a second. 

But after that second, he realizes that it makes some sick type of sense, All Might’s power mostly just being some sort of enhanced strength, and the words he gave Izuku in the park. He knew exactly what to say. 

All Might has been him. 

Izuku balls his hands into fists, his throat beginning to sting. Everything in the whole world is just so unfair. 

“Why can he do…” he asks to distract himself, because if thinks of the potential future where All Might hadn’t been impaled, he’ll end up running himself in circles long enough that it kills him. 

“The shifting thing?” Gran Torino sniffs, “I have no idea. Nana certainly couldn’t do that, but my theory has something to do with his injuries.”

Izuku nods, and Gran Torino takes this as an invitation to continue, “There are a couple of things we need to establish, Midoriya. You know why this power needs to be kept quiet, you know the importance?”

He waits for an answer, so Izuku nods. 

“People will die if you tell anyone where you got it from. What have you told your parents?”

“Nothing,” Izuku says, and then, “That I was a late bloomer.” 

His mother had been more than delighted, she had been relieved beyond belief. He’s worried he’s chipping away at that relief every time he injures himself. 

“Good. Anyone else?”

Izuku shakes his head. Lives are at stake, yes, but so is his secret. And maybe that makes him selfish, but it’s good to have two reasons. Sickening, but good.

“Good job. The other matter is simple. This power is fragile, it’s dangerous, and it’s deadly. For others, sure, but also for you.”

Izuku nods again, looking down to his lap. It is fragile. He put Endeavor in danger all those months ago, and he’s failed in being able to even successfully use the ability. He’s felt sick for a very long time, but now he feels like he might throw up. 

“But I am glad for one thing,” Gran Torino says. Izuku looks up to him, “At least with you here, All Might isn’t as much of an idiot as I thought.”

“What does that mean?”

“I thought he had kept the power,” he hops off the chair, “Dying with One for All could have spelt the end of society as we know it.” 

He pauses next to his chair, stopping to look just one more time at All Might.

“What did he say?” Gran Torino asks, and Izuku doesn’t really need the clarification, “Just told you to come for me?”

Izuku wrote down the words, in some far off phone app that he’s never opened and couldn’t bear to, ever again. It doesn’t matter, he has them memorized. He’s thought of those words every day for the past year. They’re haunting. 

“He told me what the power was, how to use it, and to find you.” 

There are a couple important steps he skips. 

“That’s it?” Gran Torino asks, his face having gone from some terrible mix of sorrow to genuine confusion. He even drops some of the old gruff man act.  

Izuku feels his breath quicken for just a second, worried he’ll have to expose his own secret already, before remembering the true last words. They hadn’t meant much to Izuku, so he had moved right past them, had tried not to think about them like most things from that day.

“He said someone might come looking for him, and that he had left him a note under this person's bed. I think. It was weird.” 

The confusion clears from his face, and he luckily nods. Izuku found the right answer. 

Gran Torino turns with softness on his face, but sorrow too. He ends up gently shaking All Might's upper arm, “You’re a sentimental idiot .” 

And then he walks away from the bed, to the door. As he’s walking across the room, he grabs a loop of the curtain with his cane, closing the whole thing. Izuku tries not to feel relieved.

“Do you know what it meant?” Izuku asks before leaving his chair. 

“Stay seated. It’s not my place to say,” Gran Torino says, simple as that, “Last time All Might let some upstart student learn about that particular sob story, he ended up…well, he’s not anywhere good. Dead, if we’re lucky.” 

Izuku sits back down, trying not to think about that too hard. The vague question he had about a dying man's potential last words has just been the opposite of answered. 

Gran Torino opens the door and, “Ms. Chiyo, Mr. Mirio, I’d like your insight.” 

Soon the door is closed with the addition of two more people. Recovery Girl is standing in front of the hospital bed and Gran Torino is sipping from a cup of tea. Mirio, the student, is leaning against the closed door and looking around with confusion. He quickly sees Izuku, smiles, makes his way to the chair, and holds out a hand. 

“Heyo, I’m Mirio,” he says, “Nice to make a first-year friend. You’re in class 1-A, right?”

Izuku nods, shaking his hand “I’m Midoriya.”

“Man,” he whistles, “Kidnapped already, that’s gotta be a record. I’m honestly kinda jealous.”

“It’s not,” Izuku says. 

“Huh?”

“It’s not a record, I looked it up and fourteen years ago three kids in their first year were kidnapped on the way to their first day of school.”

“Did they survive?”

Izuku gives him a thumbs up, and Mirio nods.

“Hey I’m still impressed,” he says, before taking a step away and, “Any more chairs?”

Izuku looks around, and eventually stands up, “You can have mine.”

“Thanks man,” Mirio says, gesturing for Recovery Girl to take the seat. Izuku figures he probably should have given up his seat the second the elderly woman showed up. 

“How are you feeling?” Recovery Girl nods her thanks, settling down and taking a sip of her tea. 

“I’m okay now,” Izuku says, ignoring the fact that if he stops moving the exhaustion will hit him again. He also doesn’t mention the fact that the nausea hasn’t gone away. His stomach hurts, if a little less. He’ll hope it’ll go away on its own. 

He settles back against the hospital bed, and Mirio stands next to Recovery Girl.

“I don’t like seeing students here,” Recovery Girl says, her brows tilted and her eyes sad, “Especially those with preventable injuries.”

“I’m- I’m sorry,” Izuku says, eyes wide at the presence of a sad old lady. It’s something he didn’t realize he’d have to face today, and it’s very suddenly suffocating.

Mirio looks to Izuku, amused and confused at the same time. Maybe a little concerned. Maybe a lot concerned. 

“What have you learned in our little conversation here?” Gran Torino asks without acknowledging Recovery Girl’s reaction.  

“What?” Izuku asks after a second.

“What have I told you?” Gran Torino sighs, “Throughout this afternoon? Careful about the company.”

Izuku wonders if there’s a secret answer he’s supposed to have gotten from their conversation. Some smart way of responding that confounds the teachers with his intellect. He has no idea, so he decides to just answer honestly. 

“Uhh…that I can’t tell anyone about the…thing. And that I’m not strong enough yet.“

Gran Torino nods.

“Am I…supposed to be here? You told me I was coming to keep Aizawa company, I feel like I’m doing kinda a poor job at that right now,” Mirio says.  

“Me and Chiyo were talking,” Gran Torino gruffly says, entirely ignoring the previous comment and directing the sentence at Izuku. 

“You have lunch together once a week,” Izuku nods. He shifts his weight on one leg to the other, only slightly uncomfortable. He rests a hand on his stomach to stop the nausea, but the pain just increases. He ends up leaning backwards more against the bed frame. He’s so tired, and still in pain, he feels like he’s fighting for things he can’t have, like crawling up a cliff with his fingernails ragged. 

“We do,” Recovery Girl says, not looking up. 

There’s another long stretch of silence. Izuku looks from the clock to the door, and then back again.

“You should probably eat lunch more than once a week,” Mirio scratches at the back of his head, “That’s not enough food.” 

“Shush,” Gran Torino says.

“Sorry,” Mirio says, laughing at his own joke. It doesn’t help with the tension, though Izuku is sure that’s what he was going for. 

“What’s this about?” Izuku asks. This doesn’t feel like a talk about his power, this feels like…something else. Neither of the adults are making eye contact with him, ignoring him in favor for looking past him. He’s in the center of the room and he feels like he’s on stage. 

“Mirio is the top of his class,” Gran Torino says suddenly, “He’s eighteen this July, and he has a phenomenal quirk.”

“It’s nice to meet you, I guess,” Mirio smiles, “Again.”

“What is it?” Izuku asks, despite the anxiety that’s filling up his chest, he still needs to see it. It will help him, ground him. 

“Demonstration?” Mirio asks Gran Torino, who shrugs. Mirio smiles, and then lifts one foot up. He lets it fall back down to the floor, and it begins to phase through. Fast, like he’s falling off of a cliff. 

He catches himself with his hand, and then jumps back out of the floor. He smiles at Izuku, who tries to smile back. He’ll have to make some notes once he goes back to the main hospital room and reunites with his backpack.

“Some poor janitor just had a heart attack,” Recovery Girl says. 

“Nah, they love me,” Mirio says, “Love me even more now that my uniform is me-proof.”

“How’d you do that?” Izuku asks, willing himself to ramble, “I mean with your right foot. It’s clear that you have a phasing ability, but I’ve never seen it done with such precision, I didn’t know you could pick and choose which limbs to make–”

“Don’t you see?” Gran Torino interrupts, “He’s a much better candidate.” 

Izuku stops dead in his tracks.

Chapter Text

HeroLog Chat-

swansong: So, you like video games, yes? 

DentistApprentice123: 2/10 opening convo starter. boring, unoriginal, be more exciting if you want to have a conversation with me.

swansong is typing…

DentistApprentice123: *sighs*. fine. roblox, starforce, the top games right now are all trash don’t even bother.  

swansong: Do you know how to make a pipebomb?

DentistApprentice123: what?

swansong: You said to be more interesting. 

DentistApprentice123: oh. do you?

swansong: I’m like eighty percent sure I could figure it out by tomorrow. Do you?

DentistApprentice123 is typing…

swansong: And the two best games I’ve ever played are A Stretch in Bulgarian Winter and Sonic Chronicles: The Dark Brotherhood

DentistApprentice123: yes

Mirio ignores Gran Torino, looking at Izuku with a little smile, “Pretty cool quirk I’ve got, right? I think it’s so awesome.”

Izuku barely hears him, still looking at Gran Torino, “What?” 

“Aizawa told me that you have all the makings for a good hero. Brave, caring, but above all, you’re smart . I know I said otherwise, but I can see that. You’re good at thinking through things.”

Izuku takes an involuntary step backwards, hitting the door, the handle digging into his side.

“You can see it too, right? You can’t control the power and our world needs someone who can . Someone who’s brave and caring and smart, and above all, resilient. You’re missing that last one, Midoriya. You can’t keep hurting yourself. Mirio can take this from you.” 

“I can’t have a student who keeps hurting himself,” Recovery Girl says, looking up, and Izuku realizes that she’s not sad, she’s guilty . She feels bad for cornering him in a room and making a request like…like this.

But isn’t it reasonable? 

Izuku is smart. He can see the path they’re presenting to him. Give it to Mirio and be done with all of it, all of the pain and exhaustion and guilt. The fear and anxiety that floods him everytime he has to use his power. 

“I can’t,” he says, ignoring the thoughts.  

“Midoriya,” Gran Torino says. 

“I feel like I’m missing something here,” Mirio says, looking between Izuku and Gran Torino. 

“Midoriya, you really can’t keep this up,” Recovery Girl says, “There’s only so much time before you’re permanently injure your body doing this. Especially if you keep breaking your wrist or fingers. Those are delicate bones, it’s not something that’s sustainable.”

“I can’t,” he repeats, digging his fingernails into the palm of his hand. 

“Mirio was chosen as a potential candidate years ago, we’ve just been waiting for All Might’s cooperation and agreement,” Gran Torino explains. 

“So why didn’t he?” Izuku asks, trying not to let his voice wobble. All Might isn’t young, he’s certainly in the age that a hero could feasibly retire. 

Gran Torino sighs before talking again, and for the first time it seems like the frustration isn’t directed at Izuku, “He had some…stubborn ideas of who the power was going to go to, even after the situation was clearly a lost cause. The only person All Might actually wanted to have this power was a tragic piece of work. Made for a real sad situation. I don’t want to have to see this power cause that sort of tragedy again.”

“See?” Izuku says weakly, ignoring the questions about who All Might could have seen as a successor, “He didn’t want this.”

“He didn’t want you either,” Gran Torino says, and Izuku flinches, full body, “You’re too young, too small. If Mirio had been there in the sewers, All Might would have chosen him before you a hundred times over.”

Izuku knows that more than he knows anything else and it hurts like nothing else. Because All Might already made that decision. He chose someone stronger, someone more equipped, someone who could work with the power as easy as breathing. And Izuku had taken that choice away from him. 

“Just give us a piece of your hair. It doesn’t hurt,” Recovery Girl sighs, “It’s simple. We’ve already talked to Principal Nezu, and he’s agreed to transfer you to the support course after it’s done. You’ve really impressed us, Midoriya, despite it all.” 

Izuku slinks to the floor. 

He slinks to the floor and puts his head in his hands and starts to cry. 

“Midoriya,” Gran Torino sighs, “Please. We are sorry.” 

He’s crying into his lap, and it’s just started and it’s burning his throat and he can barely breathe. He’s so tired. His stomach hurts everytime he tries to gasp in a quiet breath and his finger feels strange and he can still remember the noise his wrist made when he broke it and his head feels like a hundred needles have been stabbed into it. 

And he just can’t give this up. 

It’s not his to give away, it never was and it never will be. Bakugou needs to become a better person, and Izuku needs to be there with the key to the future of heroism, labeled with someone else's name. Bakugou’s name. All Might wanted that, so Izuku needs it to happen. 

He doesn’t think about what his answer would be if this power was his to give away. Would he give it to Mirio? Allow the responsibility to shed from his shoulders? 

He knows it wouldn’t change. 

He can’t give this up. 

The tears don’t stop even a little bit. He’ll feel ashamed about this, the embarrassment of crying in front of one of history's greatest heroes and his strange classmate, but he can’t stop. It’s not even helping, he still feels sick and sad. 

“I don’t know entirely what’s going on,” he hears a voice, quiet and close to him. When he looks up, Mirio is in front of him, kneeling on the floor, “But I think I’ve grasped some of it. I didn’t get a solid seventy on my last science test to not be a guy who understands some of what goes on in every situation.” 

“What?” Izuku wetly asks. 

“I’m saying that I don’t want whatever they’re offering me. Some power? I’ve already got a pretty good one right here,” he taps his forehead. 

“It’ll–” Izuku coughs,“It’ll enhance your current quirk.”

Mirio hums like he’s considering, and then shakes his head, “Nah that sounds kinda weird. I think I’ll pass.”

“Mirio, you’ll become the number one hero with this. This kid will keep hurting himself if you don’t take it,” Gran Torino says, sounding distant. 

“Well I don’t want it. Especially if just the possibility of giving it up makes someone cry,” Mirio says, turning to frown at Gran Torino, “Can we give him some time? You’re clearly freaking him out.” 

The door struggles to open, and Izuku realizes he’s in the way. He scrambles from the door, Mirio helping him up, putting a hand on his shoulder as they move. 

Present Mic stands there, obviously sweating and breathing hard. He points at Izuku, “You have got to check your email more, little dude.”

He’s in perfectly casual clothes, sweats and a t-shirt that seems to be a hand-sewn fan shirt for his radio show, his hair down and pulled back. He leans against the door, and Izuku can see Aizawa behind him, sitting on his bed and positively fuming. 

“Gran Torino if you don’t get out here right now I’m telling Hizashi to pull the fire alarm,” Aizawa says.

Izuku checks his phone, letting the curiosity distract him just slightly. There’s three different emails, all from Aizawa. He skims them quickly, all short and increasingly annoyed. The last message is simple: ‘I know what he’s trying to do, don’t let him take that quirk away from you. He tried to do it to All Might too.’

“And I’ll do it too, I’m crazy. Hi Mirio, haven’t seen you in decades.”

“How’s it going old man?” Mirio asks, and then side whispers to Izuku, “I had English with him this morning, he just thinks he’s funny.” 

“Hizashi, do it,” Aizawa says, and Present Mic backs away with a nod, “Sorry about getting the patient in there all soggy, but sprinklers won’t even hesitate for the comatose.” 

“Stop talking, we’re coming,” Gran Torino grumbles, herding everyone out with a couple good hits of his cane. 

Izuku walks out on shaky legs, and Aizawa has Present Mic open his privacy curtain all the way so Izuku can sit back down on his bed, while still being able to see everything. Even if everything feels sort of far away. Aizawa waits until the two older folks take a seat and the door to All Might’s room is closed. 

Present Mic, after noting the lack of chairs, looks at Aizawa with a tilted head and a smile. Aizawa sighs, but scoots over, and soon it’s two full people on the hospital bed. Izuku didn’t know that was allowed in a hospital, especially one housing a man with two broken legs, but Recovery Girl doesn’t comment. 

“Mirio, thank you for being here, please go home.”

Gran Torino grabs onto Mirio’s pant leg as he moves to walk out, “He’s not leaving."

“Fine. Circle of people knowing the world's worst secret just went up by one. Whatever, I don’t care,” Aizawa says, “Mirio, you’re talking to the principal after this meeting, is that alright with you?” he asks. 

“Am I in trouble?” Mirio asks, “Because if so…no?” 

“You’re fine,” he emphasizes that first word while glancing at Gran Torino, “ You , however,” now he's looking directly at Gran Torino, “I’d appreciate it if you stopped trying to use scare tactics to go against All Might's last wishes.”

Gran Torino says, “Once he wakes up, this is what he’ll want,” he points at Mirio, “Mirio should have been the one this whole time. All Might should have stopped holding onto that power years ago.” 

“You don’t know that,” Aizawa sits up a bit more with the help of Present Mic, “You’re stressing out my student for the sake of something you couldn’t possibly know.” 

“He’s too stubborn,” Gran Torino mutters. He sighs after a long second like Aizawa and him are on the same side, “You do understand that none of this really matters, right? I’m just making sure that it stays safe. Once he wakes up, we know who’s getting the power.” 

Aizawa looks genuinely a little taken aback, “Midoriya’s keeping it.” 

“All Might’s taking it back,” Gran Torino says, “You know that, I know that. He’s too optimistic not to.”

“He wouldn’t do that. He’s not stupid.”

“Yes he is,” Gran Torino answers without hesitation, “You’re not going to let this go, are you? You’re actively hurting Midoriya unless you tell him to give it up.”

“I’m not taking it,” Mirio repeats. 

Aizawa motions towards him, “At least he understands what it means to not spit in the face of a friend. I trust All Might.” 

Gran Torino stares at him for a very long second. 

And then he stands up off the chair. 

“Fine,” he says, “Good luck then. Chiyo, tell me when he wakes up.” 

“Will do,” Recovery Girl says, staring at Aizawa with an equal amount of resentment. She leaves her chair too, walking towards the All Might room. 

“Wait,” Present Mic says, “Aren’t you supposed to train–”

“I’m not teaching a drowning man how to swim,” he scoffs, “Let me know when you change your mind, Aizawa.” 

“What’s wrong with you?” Aizawa says, “ You can help him. You’re one of the only people in the world who can.”

“You can help him too,” Gran Torino says, “Tell him to give it up, that’s helping. You’re letting him live in delusion and he’s going to kill himself with that power, and then where will we be? Against All for One with nothing, that's where." Gran Tornio sighs, "Shimura Nana would be so disappointed.” 

The door closes, and Izuku feels like he’s maybe been torn apart by a sandstorm. He hasn’t breathed in at least a minute, and the first breath is ragged from his throat, like he’s been chewing glass.

“Well I never knew Shimura,” Aizawa says at the door, and then he sighs, “Sorry about that Midoriya, he’s older than bones and clearly grumpy.”

Izuku still hasn’t relearned how to move. His hands are digging into his chair, and his skin is certainly indented like cracked stone. 

Present Mic whispers something into Aizawa’s ear, and he bursts into quiet laughter, “Shut the hell up, that’s rude. He’s just old.”

How are they laughing? Izuku’s life just got taken to court and the jury blew up the whole building. He takes another shaky breath, and tries not to laugh when it tears through his throat again, almost worse this time. It tastes like blood and strawberry soda. 

“Midoriya,” Aizawa says, holding his hands out like he’s about to cast a spell. Maybe he’s just placating him, “I’m sorry that happened. I really thought he was going to be cooperative.”

“It was weird,” Mirio says, “I didn’t realize they let leeches into the school. He was so…aggressive.”

“That bad?” Present Mic asks, grabbing a strand of Aizawa’s hair and using it to make a second mustache over his already kind of terrible mustache. 

Present Mic seemingly asked Izuku, but he still can’t respond. His hands are still the anchor to his own sanity and everything happening around him is just circumstantial. Nothing else matters except for clearing his head of any of the traitorous thoughts that are going through his head. 

The three of them have been nothing but supportive, and that makes Izuku sick to his stomach. Sick down to his very bones. He doesn’t deserve any of this. 

They supported him, but all of the points they made against Gran Torino equally damned him.

They came to his incredibly undeserved rescue. If Aizawa knew exactly how he got this power, he’d be just as disgusted with him as he is with Gran Torino. 

Trust All Might’s last decision. Izuku would laugh if he could. He’s a walking defiance to that statement.

“...and obviously,” Aizawa is still talking. Izuku should at least pay attention, at least give him that, “I’ll have to figure out how to train you. I remember a few of the stories, but me and All Might never talked much about the finer abilities of One for All.”

“One for All?” Izuku ends up saying, the first thing in minutes. His voice feels stuck in his own throat from the crying and silence. But he needs to say something, and this seems important.

“That’s what the quirk is called,” Present Mic says, “Poor kid, you really didn’t know anything.”

Izuku shakes his head. 

“But hey, at least that means you were smart not to go to Gran Torino in the first place. He would have been able to corner you in his own home. You really are smart,” Present Mic says. 

“I know why Aizawa knows this,” Izuku says, voice still sounding too small, “But why do you know everything about All Might’s power?”

“I tell him everything,” Aizawa flatly says, “Midoriya, are you okay with training under me? I already have a potential spot for training, but you’d have to share the space with Todoroki. Our schedule is the same, Monday, Wednesday, Friday. I don’t think we’re doing it today, I haven’t gotten permission, but I’ll expect you here by Wednesday?”

“Why are you training Todoroki?”

“Don’t worry about him,” Aizawa says. 

“I don’t want to waste his time,” Izuku says.

“I’ll talk to him. It will be fine.”  

Izuku ends up nodding. Even if none of this is deserved, he still has to be responsible with the power he’s holding. He only has two options, and the first one involves rushing down the halls and giving it to Bakugou with tear filled eyes and accepting any punishment deemed worthy. But the thought of that makes his head hurt. The thought of doing that, begging for forgiveness makes him sick with frustration. Plus, that’s a dangerous option that could leave him exploded. 

The second option is to keep it until they can stand as equals. When Bakugou is a good person again. 

Which means he has to protect the power, and that means protecting himself. 

He nods again, just to cement that fact. 

“I’ll try and make it worth your while,” Aizawa sighs, “But listen. I don’t have the skills to teach you with something so uncontrollable. I can’t promise much improvement.” 

“What if I can’t improve at all?” Izuku asks, “What if I’m stuck breaking and rebreaking my bones?”

“I will take it if you need me too. I don’t want it, but if you’re in too much pain, I’ll take it,” Mirio says, with a sorrowful smile. Izuku realizes that he’s telling the truth. He doesn’t want this ability, but he’ll be a stand in. Izuku is sure that if he’d asked, Mirio would just be a vessel, he’d give it back and everything. 

But this is his responsibility. The second he hesitated in giving it to Bakugou, that’s when this all became his problem. He gets to live with the broken bones and the anxiety and the potential death of getting exploded by Bakugou.  

“No,” Izuku says after a second, and Aizawa lets out a breath. He was watching him to see what he’d do. 

Aizawa nods, and says, “Mirio, thanks for the help today, but I think we’ll be okay. You have homework, right?”

“Correct sir,” Mirio says, “Wouldn’t be a Monday without it.”

“Well get going. You’ll talk to the principal tomorrow, but for now, nothing we said leaves this room.” 

“Wouldn’t be a Monday without that either. A cryptic conversation with a bedridden man I mean.” 

“Thanks,” Izuku says, turning to him, “I really mean it.” 

“What are friends for?” Mirio asks, and then reshakes Izuku’s hand, “It was nice to meet you. You seem really cool. Just let me know if you’re ever cornered by two old people trying to steal your quirk again, and I’ll swoop in.” 

“Thanks,” Izuku says again. 

And then he’s left exhausted in a room with two of his teachers. 

“Go home,” Aizawa says, “Get some rest. This was a hell of a day for you.”

Izuku nods, grabbing his backpack. At least he’ll get to see his friends soon. Not today though, he’ll put in a raincheck for the picnic. That’ll be fine, they’ll be understanding. 

“Did All Might have another successor?” Izuku asks.

“You just love asking questions after being dismissed,” Aizawa says, and when Present Mic hits him in the arm and he sees Izuku’s unmasked expression of apology, “It’s fine don’t worry. And no.”

“...None?” 

“Why?”

“Gran Torino said there had been another one. He described them as a…tragic piece of work? Something like that.” 

Aizawa looks to Present Mic and they have a very short and very silent conversation. 

“No,” Aizawa eventually says, “I don’t know anything about that.” 

Izuku says goodbye, and leaves his own personal cryptic conversation with a bedridden person. He tries to feel anything but exhaustion at the prospect of finally, at last, going home. 

It doesn’t work. 

★

He gets ninety percent there. 

He’s so close to his warm bed and all of his Endeavor action figures and decompressing his day with his mom’s terrible taste of daytime television and some hot food. 

His thoughts aren’t being helpful. He’s tired, and his brain will only run in circles, which means that all he’s thinking about on the way home is the fact that he would have still gotten into U.A. without this power. Even now, Gran Torino would have made it so he was put into support course. U.A. was never as much of an impossibility as he thought. 

He watches water run down a drain and tries to remember the fragments of his original plan. Strategy support? It’s not a real thing, that plan was a desperate attempt to bring meaning into his life again. 

It’s raining, which means that there’s a heavy scent in the air and everyone is using umbrellas. His is a small one his mom bought from a convenient store years ago. It’s clear plastic, and it’s growing yellow with age. He goes through the street he walks on the way home, it gets him home fastest, water dripping down gutters and into dark pools of gathering water. Only a few people are walking here, and the quiet chatter isn’t much of a distraction at all. He wishes it was more of one. 

He walks a bit faster, his jacket doing very little against the cold. 

Turning a corner, he runs into someone. 

Well no, she absolutely runs into him. She rams full speed into him, knocking him to the side and to the ground. 

“Ah!” she yells, somewhat incoherent, “Move!” 

And then he watches her run to the side and away. He had barely seen her at all, a girl in some high school uniform he didn’t recognize. 

Someone else runs from the end of the street, some tall elderly woman with a hairnet and bloodied apron with a logo for a nearby butcher. 

“Goddamn freak!” she yells after the girl. The lady slows to a jog in front of Izuku, and then turns to him, “Sorry bout that.”

She helps him up, muttering something about needing a new job, and she walks back from where she came from. 

Izuku is standing on shaky legs, hand supporting him on the wall. Once the woman is out of view, he falls back to the floor and gags. He spits bile out of his mouth, but nothing relieves the sudden and hard hitting stomach pain. This isn’t nausea, this feels like–

He untucks his shirt. 

He changed before leaving the training center, but that had been hazy with pain and he had done it as fast as humanly possible. He doesn’t remember looking at himself once. 

So he does know. He looks down to his stomach, and finds it absolutely mottled with deep bruising, so red it’s almost prematurely purpling. It’s only on his stomach, roughly the shape and size of a clothing iron. Like someone threw a chunk of iron off of a moving train and it hit him in the stomach. If he bends over slightly, he can feel flare ups of pain, which also happens if he gently prods at his stomach. 

It was never nausea, he somehow got injured during the activity today. 

When did that happen?

“Do you make a hobby of going thirty percent nude in the middle of the street?”

Izuku yelps, dropping his shirt and smoothing it down in one fluid motion. He turns his head, still sitting down on his knees, his umbrella open on the street and slightly rolling away in the wind. 

At the corner of the street is the girl who ran into him. She’s returned to the scene, and is staring at him with a sly, sharp-toothed grin, like they’re in on the same joke. 

“I-I was–,” he says, and then realizes he really doesn’t have anything to be embarrassed about, “Actually, hey now, you ran into me, I was checking my injury.”

“Uh-huh,” she says it with sparkling eyes, like they’re still in on the same joke bending down, her hands on her knees as she squats in front of him. “Is this your umbrella? Are you using it? Can I have it?”

“My umbrella?” Izuku asks, grabbing for it where it’s rolled down into the gutter of the sidewalk. He hoists it above his head and looks at her closer.

Due to the uniform, Izuku assumes that she’s somewhere around his age. He thinks the logo might be for an all girls high school somewhere nearby. But beyond that, she could either be twelve or twenty five, he wouldn’t really be surprised. She has yellow owl-like eyes, and a wide grin with sharp incisors. She looks like a wolf, her smile too close to a snarl. 

Her hair is cute though. 

But she’s also clearly been out here for a very long time. Her bangs are plastered to her face like wet straw, and she keeps brushing them out of her eyes. Her nails are dirty and ragged, and her shirt is marred with mud.

“Yeah okay,” Izuku sighs, swinging the umbrella around and struggling to his feet. He doesn’t mind the rain, and she clearly needs it more than him. He hands it to her and she gladly takes it.

“Awesome,” she breathes, looking up at the umbrella and shaking her hair off like a dog, grinning the whole time, “This is awesome. Wanna do me another favor?” 

“Want my backpack this time?” Izuku asks, realizing that he might just be getting mugged in a rainy alleyway.

“Nah. Well,” she looks to his backpack, and really seems to consider it, “Nah, yellow isn’t my color. Plus I have one! That’s the favor. I accidentally lost it.”

She looks up at him and smiles. 

He notices something about her teeth. Sharp sure, but that’s not uncommon. Hell, Kirishima has a pair of what are essentially shark teeth that Izuku’s got drawn in his notebook. But despite the sharpness that this girl has, there’s also blood on her gums, mixing in with her spit and staining her teeth. He tilts his head, and then looks her up and down again. 

Some of those dirt stains on her clothes, especially around the wrists of her shirt, are definitely more red than brown. Around her fingernails too, and on her hands. And dried around her mouth. Oh there’s a little in her hair too. 

“Bloody nose?” he asks, trying for causal despite the fear that’s just spiked in him. Maybe vampires are real and they all look like teenage high school girls. 

Because this girl is positively covered in blood.

Chapter Text

Endeavor Page–

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DentistApprentice123: bots? tch, how inefficient can these mods be? 

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(MOD)EndeavorRolePlay4Life: No worries, civilian. Soon, villainous bot, I shall vanquish thee!!

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The girl’s smile drops entirely. She takes a step back, and scrubs her mouth with her sleeve, which just smears more blood under her nose. She sniffs, her eyes wide like a prey animal. 

She’s not moving to attack him, only having moved away. She looks behind her for a second like she’s about to flee.

If she’s not some vampire in the middle of the street that means she’s just a teenage girl. Which means that she’s a teenage girl who just got attacked, or one with a blood quirk.

“Where’s your backpack?” he asks, still trying for casual. She darts her eyes behind her one last time, and then she wipes her face again. That gets most of the blood. 

“Down the street, there’s an alleyway with a crazy ton of wiring cables on the side. It’s next to a clothing store I think. My backpack is green,” she says it all in a rush, her eyes squinting at him. 

In another circumstance, he might ask what’s preventing her from getting the backpack herself, but he doesn’t want to scare her anymore than she already is, especially if she has a blood quirk. He wants to ask her about that. He nods, and begins to move where she’s pointing. 

Out of earshot, he digs out a phone from his backpack, and calls his mom. 

“How was school?” his mom asks. She’s not as worried, since he texted her after the confrontation with Gran Torino that he’d be late, “I have dinner ready.” 

“School was…,” he says, thinking back to everything that happened. The promise of mentorship that was dashed with the incompatible views of Gran Torino. The explosions and his broken finger, figuring out another way to use his quirk. Hawks was also there. “Good. How was work?”

“Good. Baby why are you calling? You’re almost home, right? It’s raining, right? Do you need me to meet you somewhere? Did you forget your umbrella?”

A drop of rain drips directly from his hair to his eye, and he almost wants to take her up on the last offer. Instead he just embraces the cold and continues. 

“I’ve been sent on a sidequest,” he sighs, “And part of that apparently involves walking into a random alleyway, so I’m calling you to keep me company.”

“Plus I can call–”

“Plus you can call the cops if I get murdered. Exactly,” he says. 

She laughs at him, but the laughter ends one of those big mom sighs that he’s starting to get really familiar with. 

“Is this school related?” she asks, “Like they’re not making you go fight vigilante crime in a potential murder alley at this age, right?”

“No mom,” he says, walking to the end of the street. He can see the alleyway with all the cables. It’s right next to some mid level boutique store. The other building framing the alleyway is a butcher's shop. He saw one of the employees only a couple minutes ago, he probably should have assumed. 

“Well I guess I should be grateful for that. So, what are you doing?” she asks. He walks down the street and winces at the puddle that he can’t jump over, instead trudging through it, the water seeping through his socks.

“There’s a girl,” he says, and ignores the teasing cooing from his mother, “Who lost her backpack. She asked me to go get it.”

“Is she with you?” his mother asks, as Izuku goes into the alleyway. It’s dark in here, the light above gray and drab, and the puddles dark and impossible to avoid.

“No, she looked tired.”

“Well if this isn’t some sort of sting operation, where she scams you for all your money, I will be mighty impressed with your chivalry.” 

He blows out a breath, looking around the dumpster, “Thanks mom.”

There, in the corner beside the dumpster is a backpack, a dark green and absolutely soaked through. He hefts it up, unexpectedly heavy for something that’s barely a kindergarten sized bag. He hoists it on his shoulder, and walks back out into the light. 

“I survived,” he says, and his mom laughs at him.

They talk all the way back to the previous street, him passing under the increasingly bright lights of the street lamps as the sky begins to grow dark.

“Well, let me know when you’re actually coming home. If you don’t get…distracted,” his mom says, and Izuku can hear the eyebrow wiggle. 

“Byeeeeee,” he complains, before hanging up and pocketing his soaked phone. It’s fine, the case is high quality. He dregs through the dripping rain, getting looks from passersby as he steps in puddles because at this point, he’s too damp to really care. 

“Ah!” the girl excitedly yells once he finds the corner where she’s hunched down and making purposeful ripples in the puddles, “You actually found it!” 

“It was pretty easy,” Izuku says, “Right in the alley where you said.” 

“Thanks!” she says, twirling the umbrella and hoisting the bag over her shoulder, “You’re the best! Here, I’ll owe you a favor or something.”

“Okay,” Izuku says. She smiles like that’s the end of their conversation, “Then I’m cashing in the favor right now. What’s your quirk?”

She starts, her umbrella stopping it’s spinning altogether. Her smile trends downwards, and she takes another step back. 

“I don’t have one,” she says, “I’m quirkless.”

“I promise that there’s a better way to get blood then to try and steal it from the dumpster of a butcher’s shop,” he says, taking a couple liberal steps here, “I’m pretty sure they might just sell it to you if you ask.” 

He has to know if she has a blood quirk. He knows that the 1-B teacher has one, but he doesn’t really know how to approach him with questions. But he’s always been so curious. 

And he’s exhausted, and still sort of sad from the conversation with Gran Torino, so he’s falling back into his favorite concrete interest. An impossible day like this would be normally remedied with an hour or two of research on a quirk or hero. This is much better. This is field research. 

She stares at him for another second. Then the smile is back, brighter than before, really showing off those incisors, “But I don’t wanna drink animal blood. My plan was to bait the butcher out of her hiding place and then stab her until the pavement is stained red! I wanted her blood.”

“Well that’s not true,” Izuku says almost immediately, hoping that he’s not lying.

“What?” she asks, momentarily shocked into snarling.

“I mean if all you’re after is human blood, then I’d probably be dead already. We’ve been alone on this street for like five minutes,” Izuku explains, gesturing out to the quiet rainy road. 

The girl frowns again, looking out around them, down to her shoes and then back to him. 

 “Fine. I think she’s pretty,” she says, “That’s why I wanted to drink her blood.” 

Aw.

“She seemed kind of old,” Izuku says, barreling past all of his questions to get to the cooler, better questions stuck in his head, “So if you only want to drink the blood of ‘pretty’ people, then is it an attraction thing? Or just like a really weird rule you have. Also are we talking about your quirk or do you just have like a…vampire fetish. Because one of those is more cool to me. It’s the quirk thing, I need to clarify. My favor is asking if you have a blood quirk.” 

She starts slowly spinning the umbrella again, glancing between his eyes, right past his head, and his neck. She’s clearly thinking hard, “Quirk.”

“Okay! Quirk! Your teeth are all sharp and you clearly have a thing for blood, and I want to know what kinda quirk can cause the sort of desire to drink blood. And how debilitating is it? If you physically can’t stop yourself from drinking it then that either means you’re really good at being on the run from the cops which is bad for me, or you can stop it.”

Izuku’s never talked to someone with a blood quirk. His sudden questions feel unending. 

“If I find someone pretty I want to drink their blood,” she says like it’s simple, “Are you normal in the head? Why are you still here?”

“That is a good question,” Izuku says, sitting down to make himself a little more comfortable. 

“You want to hear more about my quirk?” she ends up asking, sitting down on the sidewalk right next to him. She seems to be looking at something distant, “I guess you did do me a favor.” 

“Okay,” Izuku says, itching for a notebook he can’t bring out. He doesn’t want to ruin it in the rain. He pulls out his phone instead, sits down, and scoots in close enough to be covered by the umbrella, “Okay what is it?”

“It’s a,” she takes a deep breath, and then in a voice that sounds like a bizarrely good impression of an old person sounds like, “A clear type of mimicry based on blood consumption, which has led to a clear case of a quirk induced clinical vampirism,” her voice returns to normal, “At least that’s what my doctor said.”

Izuku finishes writing it down and nods, “So you can copy based on blood? You can copy other people?”

She nods.

“Can you copy quirks?” he asks, immediately thinking of Monoma. 

“No,” she says, still looking down but at least smiling a little bit, “That would be crazy. It’s just appearances.”

“And you like to drink blood?” he asks. 

“Food tastes grody,” she grimaces, “It always has. But blood tastes like…everything. It’s crazy. It’s delicious, like liquid joy. I never get sick of it.” 

“So is it just a taste, dietary thing then? The whole ‘pretty’ thing was an act?”

She shakes her head, and the manic smile comes back a little bit, “No, it’s true. I want to drink people’s blood, especially people who I like. I tried to explain it to the doctors, I said I invented another love language with blood drinking.”

“So you did want to drink the butcher’s blood–”

“Ew no I don’t know her, that was a lie. It’s like…listen. Blood is a way that I connect to things, and if I don’t already have a relationship to the being that I’m drinking, then it’s like…crazy overwhelming. Kinda gross too. But dead blood is easier. Hence the butcher shop. And I can control the desire. Sort of,” she mutters the last part, “But if that seriously freaks you out then you should stop talking to me.”

Izuku has read articles on quirks in society and how to deal with people who have dangerous quirks. If all she’s doing is stealing blood from a butcher's shop, then that’s not really dangerous, just...weird. Plus she seems to have interesting ethical belifes about her power, and he really wants to hear more of her thoughts.

“It’s cool,” he ends up saying, “I think you’re cool.”

She stares at him across the close space of the shared umbrella. He’s never seen it happen to someone else, but her whole face goes bright red. She hands him the umbrella so she can cover her face.

“Thanks,” she mumbles. 

He holds the umbrella over her head until she looks back up and takes it back. 

He realizes that they’re both sitting on a sidewalk with one umbrella between them and he’s going to get trench foot if he stays in these sneakers any longer.

“Do you have a place to stay?” oh god that’s too much. She’s clearly been on the streets, but he can’t just ask someone that, “I mean- I just mean I have dinner at my apartment, and I’m kind of cold and we can keep talking at my place?”

He’s sure that his face is equally red at this point, but she’s smiling a little bit at him.

“You’re sure?” she asks, and then she pauses, “Wait I’m not coming to your house if you’re an adult, that’s weird.”

“I’m fifteen,” he says. 

“Oh me too,” she says, and then stands up and offers him a hand. She practically hoists him up, “This is fun! It’s raining and now I get dinner!" 

“Oh wait we don’t have blood. I’m sure I could get my mom–”

Her face drops.

“Oh nevermind,” she says, dropping his hand, “I need to go anyways.”

“But she–what?”

“I’m not going to your house,” she shrugs, “I don’t trust adults.”

“But–” 

“You’re mom isn’t going to be as cool as you think,” she says, “That’s impossible. Everyone thinks they have cool parents until their kid brings home a dirty, blood-drinking, vampire girl.”

“Is that from personal experience?” he asks. 

She’s looking to the side and tapping on the ground with her foot. She crosses her arms. “No,” she says, “Thanks for the umbrella,” 

“My mom is at her yoga class,” he quickly says before she can walk away, “She does yoga today, and the house will be empty. She left me dinner. I was going to call her and see if she could end her class early to maybe buy you blood, but I don’t have to.”

He’ll have to send a lot of frantic and unexplainable texts to his mother soon. Because yoga is actually on Wednesday. 

She nods. It’s not paired with that manic smile, just a quick determined thing, “Okay.” 

★

It’s raining harder by the time that they round the last corner to his apartment building. They’re still sharing the umbrella, and Izuku barely catches his mom rounding the other corner. Secret texting mission was a success. He had lied, frantically letting his mom know that he needed the apartment for two hours for an ‘impromptu class hangout’. 

He tries not to feel bad. His mom has brought home enough third dates to be fine with repaying him without asking too many questions. They have a designated cafe that they go to for a couple of hours whenever they need the apartment to themselves. Although putting the girl next to him and his mom’s ‘date scenario’ in the same vicinity makes him feel like his rib cage has been tightened. He’s not sure if that feeling is good or bad yet. It might just be the mysterious stomach bruises, honestly. 

He enters the apartment building, and the elevator ride up is no different from the walk over. Izuku asking increasingly specific questions and the girl answering with seemingly perfectly honest responses. The house is blessedly empty, and dinner is still warmed on the oven. He’s going to clean this kitchen until it’s shining as a thank you.

“Your house is awesome,” she says as he hands her a bowl of steaming vegetable udon that his mom likes to make on cold days. She’s looking around with wonder at all the photos and decorative plates and furniture. She finds a picture of him and his mom, and she turns it a little away from her. 

“Thank you!” he smiles, and then they sit at the table and he watches her choke down the first three bites of food.  She shutters a bit after each bite like it’s trying to crawl up her stomach and poison her. He watches with a bit of morbid fascination.

So to distract her, they continue the conversation. It’s the only way he knows how to help. He asks about dietary situations, and how she’s figured out a way to eat her entire life. This somehow slips into talking about school, which the girl grimaces at and Izuku talks about at length. 

“You go to U.A.?” she asks, taking another minuscule sip of her soup. He’s finished the bowl long ago, but he sits criss cross on the chair in front of her anyway, “That’s pretty cool.”

“Did you ever want to be a hero?” Izuku asks.

“I mean, no,” she sighs, “It seems—and you can’t laugh at me—it seems like, really boring.”

Izuku laughs anyways, and when she glares at him, “No I’m not laughing at you. It’s just the first week of school I totally would have agreed with you.”

So he starts talking about his classmates. The pitter pattering of the rain has stopped at this point, and it’s entirely dark outside, the lights from the kitchen reflect on the black windows. He talks about Iida and Uraraka most and entirely ignores Bakugou. He talks about how devastatingly boring the first week of school was, up until Hawks decided to show up. She talks a little about her middle school friends, but closes off when he presses.

“Not friends anymore?” he asks, ignoring the fact that in the state he found her, he wouldn’t be surprised to learn that the school had exploded. 

“No,” she says, twirling her chopsticks in the broth. She’s gotten through most of it, “No I don’t think so.”

He mumbles something. She looks up at him with those bright eyes. 

“What was that?” she squints.

“Nothing,” he says. 

She just stares at him, a little smile growing on her face. 

He sighs, “Was there any…bad blood?”

She bursts into a fit of giggles. 

“God I’m sorry,” he covers his eyes with his hands. 

“Don’t be,” she says, still laughing, “That was so stupid.”

His phone rings. He answers it quickly with a tiny bit of dread. 

“How’s it going?” his mom asks, which isn’t fair because that’s Izuku’s normal code for, ‘Can I come home’ and also ‘Check the time your date is going too long.’ 

He checks the clock. It’s almost nine. 

The girl has already grabbed her bag and left her bowl. She’s standing in the corner and eyeing the window like that’s a viable option. 

“One second,” he says, and then he turns to the girl, and covers the phone, “She’s coming home in a couple minutes. Do you have a phone?”

She shakes her head.

“Okay. Okay. My mom has a business meeting Wednesday,” her real yoga class, “And you should come back.”

She looks at him, “Why?”

He employs Uraraka’s tactics, “Because I don’t have any friends outside of school, and that’s kind of lame.”

“You’re going to brag about having friends to your classmates?” she asks. 

“Better,” he says, “I’m going to brag about having friends to the people I talk to on the internet.” 

She laughs again, “Fine. I’ll come back on Wednesday so you can brag to all the adult men you talk to on the internet.”

“Don’t say it like that,” he says, “Five is her business meeting.”  

“I’m Himiko,” she says, holding out a hand, “I’ll bring my nail polish.”

“Midoriya,” he says, “Izuku if you want. I look forward to it.” 

★

The second dream is worse than the first. 

Izuku takes a second to realize it’s even a dream. It feels more like a flashlight has been shined directly in his eyes, and that’s not normally how his dreams start. 

The light fades after a second, and he’s left with pain in his retinas and an afterimage so strong he barely registers where he is. But after a few harrowing seconds, he can see that he’s looking up towards the sky, towards an ocean of wispy clouds. 

He shifts, trying to find his bearings, to figure out where he’s sitting. 

He’s not though. Sitting that is. He notices quickly that there’s nothing to sit on. He looks down to Musutafu, the city hundreds and hundreds of feet below him. 

He scrambles for second, waiting for the delayed noise of rushing wind and the plummeting feeling of falling in a dream. 

But it doesn’t happen. He stays perfectly suspended, like he’s entirely weightless. Earlier today, when Uraraka used her quirk on him, he had felt the same thing. 

He’s floating in the air. 

The wind gusts across his face, and he brushes his hair out of his face. He’s surprised at the amount of control he has up here, in most dreams he feels like he’s flailing about with no thought behind it. 

The problem now, is that he has no idea what to do. He’s never been so…conscious in a dream. 

He doesn’t have to worry for too long because there’s a sudden shock of pain in his stomach. 

“You’re a spineless idiot. I’d call you megalomaniacal, but that’d insinuate that you have any sort of self-worth.”

The voice is booming all around him, louder than the wind, louder than the whole sky. It’s like whoever’s speaking is screaming at him with a perfectly controlled tone. The voice sounds like falling itself. 

And then the pain returns in waves, starting from his stomach and moving outwards until it’s all encompassing, making it impossible to think about anything except the splintering points of agony. It’s concentrated in his stomach, his wrist, his finger, his arms. 

The pain begins to focus, finding pinpoint areas of intense agony, ignoring everything else before. It keeps moving until all he can feel is the white hot anguish at two areas of his body. The rest is entirely numb to anything but the fever hot pain in the lining of his throat and the palm of his hand. 

It feels like years, but the pain begins to fade. Or maybe he just gets so used to it that he can open his eyes again. 

He realizes that now, he is falling. 

Falling at a heart shattering pace, tumbling through the sky, already seconds away from the ground. 

He realizes only now that the city below is in ruins. 

He squeezes his eyes shut and waits to wake up.

Chapter Text

Endeavor Page–

dotdotdot: Thanks for the patience everyone, but it's finally here! I spun the wheel and the random word is: crackled!!! Enjoy ;) 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Endeavor takes Y/N's hand. You feel his strong muscles as he whisks you into his arms. This camping trip was the best thing you ever decided to go on. 

(click to expand)

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(MOD)modeavor: Great story! May we please request you move this post to the ‘Endeavor–Y/A Fan Work Page?’ This page is used for analyzing real things that have happened with Endeavor.

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doubleyouteaeff??: @modeavor c’mon man chill out, they aren't cluttering the page with spam like others and they clearly have found their fan base. they're writing is also clearly thought out, so don't just kick them out. 

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dotdotdot: Lol it's actually my mistake, I meant to post this to the Endeavor subsection of the Y/A page but I think I accidentally picked this one instead. I'm surprised how well received it was though so thanks everyone!! I'll transfer this shortly. Hey, maybe this whole mix-up will shine more to light onto the Y

/A page :)

Likes: 34

Izuku is dead exhausted by the next day. Apparently eight hours is not enough to sleep off a broken bone, and so walking to school feels like a nightmare. 

“I was going to ask you on the train, but I decided that might be insensitive,” Kirishima says as they leave the station and step out into the freshly bright morning. The sun is so bright that his eyes hurt and every step feels like he’s about to trip. Taking the stairs up the station had probably been his closest brush with death yet. 

“Huh?” Izuku asks. Last night he had spent an hour talking with his mom, clearing the lie about the party and being incredibly vague about who he brought over. That had made the teasing almost unbearable. If she had asked him one more time if the friend was ‘just a friend’ he was genuinely going to flee the country. 

Then he had then spent the next hour transcribing his conversation from his phone to his notebook. So Himiko now has a chapter that has maybe one too many dracula sketches on it. 

“Did you get hit by a train or something? You look like you got hit by a train. Like seriously. I know you broke your finger, but you look honest to god–”

“Like I got hit by a train, yeah,” Izuku pauses for a second, “I don’t remember that happening so probably not. Just a bad night's sleep.” 

Definitely a bad night’s sleep. He doesn’t remember the finer details of his dream, but he remembers some tone of disappointment. And falling. 

“Night time sleepy trains dude, they’ll get you.” 

They spend the rest of the talk on some bad television show they both watch. 

They barely get past the third episode before they’re back in the school, walking past the hoards of other U.A. students. 

“Oh!” someone yells, “Midoriya, Kirishima! Wait up!” 

Izuku turns to see Hawks with a cup of a steaming coffee, wearing the same hero outfit as yesterday.

“How late are we?” their teacher slows down, sipping the last bit of coffee and then throwing the empty cup into the air. One of his feathers catches the cup and it drops it into the nearest garbage cans. Someone in the hallway claps. Hawks turns to give a very short bow to the person. 

People are staring at him, but not as much as Izuku would expect. The news of a new hero teacher was all over the tabloid magazines, so maybe people are already used to the presence of the ascending hero. 

“Not too late, sir,” Izuku says.

“Perfect. Listen, I never got to talk to you yesterday after school. Aizawa told me there was some…”

“Conflict,” Izuku says. 

“Conflict was the exact word he used, how’d you know?”

“Because it was a conflict.”

“Okay so I couldn’t talk to you after school, but I did want to just real quick double check that you’re alright,” Hawks says, “Both about the ‘conflict’ and the bone.”

“I’m good,” Izuku says, flexing the finger to show it off.  

“Oh good,” Hawks says, doing a quick golf clap, “Just…let me know if it’s ever too much.”

Is he with Gran Torino? Izuku smiles instead, and just nods. 

“Dude,” Kirishima asks to their teacher, which is bold, “Why are you late? Is it train season or something?” 

Hawks, standing in an almost perfect rendition of what he looked like yesterday. But, Izuku notices a few new things: he has deep eye bags, his wings are sparse, and there are feathers missing in clumps. He wonders if he can still fly with wings like that. 

Hawks laughs, “Slept through the alarm, happens to the best of us. Ah wait, did you not hear the news?”

“About you?” Izuku asks, remembering again the tabloids. The one he had picked up had sloppily edited glasses onto a photoshoot of him, probably to make him look more like a teacher.

“Last night they found another Stain victim, and I spent most of the night looking for him” Hawks sighs, “We’ll talk about it in class, but I’m surprised you two didn’t hear anything.”

Izuku is bringing out his phone already. 

Hawks walks forward, and Izuku and Kirishima hold back for just a second so they won’t have to try and make more small talk with their teacher. At least that’s Izuku’s motivation for looking at his phone for a little bit longer. 

The theater is bustling with activity and he gets enough stares for it to start being uncomfortable. Everyone knows that he broke his finger, bad. He gets most stares from the kids in 1-B, since it doesn’t take much for 1-A to apparently get used to him. Uraraka and Iida wave him over, but since people are sitting in different places today, Izuku ignores them for a second. He crosses the aisle and works his way past a couple 1-B kids. Kirishima follows him.

“What about my costume?” Izuku asks Monoma, one aisle down so he can be face to face with him. Monoma pauses his conversation with Kendo to look over to Izuku. Izuku continues, “You said something was wrong with the costume and never told me what it was, even when we were on the same team.”

“And are we on the same team now?” Monoma asks, all light and airy. 

Izuku stares at him. He’s not awake enough to understand the undertones of the question. Is it a threat? Izuku realizes he doesn’t really care. 

“Dude, come on, now I’m curious,” Kirishima says, “Midoriya, I thought your costume was sick.” 

“Thanks,” Izuku says. He’s still tired, so it takes a second before he responds with a: “Yours too.”

“How sweet,” Monoma quietly laments. It doesn’t take long for him to sit up straighter, “But affection will not save you from your poor design choices. Izuku, I have written up a report on your costume that you may read at your leisure. Kirishima, I have a few words for you, but to summarize: get more original. If even my darling President Itsuka could figure out your inspiration then that is a problem.”

“Okay,” Kendo shoots a glare from beside Monoma, “Rude.” 

Izuku is already holding out his hands for the paper, and when Monoma gives it to him, he realizes that it’s at least five pages long, printed on bright white printer paper. Monoma puts a hand on the page to stop him from reading. It’s not like it matters much, he’s not sure if at this point he could even make out the words, the exhaustion is like a blanket of fog. 

“Listen, I will tell this to your face because class is about to start and I live off of the crushed spirits of my lacking peers,” he waits for Izuku to look at him, “Your costume is one of the most utilitarian, uninspired, boring things I have ever seen. It’s sad.”

“What?”

“You know something is wrong with your costume, you can feel it in your bones?” he waits for Izuku to nod, “It’s because you don’t like it.”

“I worried that if I added any embellishments it would distract from the necessary components of the costume. We don’t put firefighters in glittering outfits.”

“I know,” Monoma says, standing and grabbing Izuku by the shoulders suddenly, “But imagine if we did . All of this is to say that for your next design, have fun. Practice self expression. I’ve heard it’s healthy.” 

“Okay class!” Hawks has rounded the stage from the back theater. He’s a bit later then both Izuku and Kirishima because he had to go behind the stage. 

Izuku feels daunted by the task, but he nods, “Okay. Okay.”

“Izuku, go to your class,” Monoma says. Izuku blinks at the use of his first name, but at this point he’s too tired to even think much about it.

“Oh and did you apologize to Uraraka?” Izuku asks. 

“I sent her flowers,” he waves him off, “Kirishima, can I suggest any other color besides red?”

“Nope!” he smiles, and then he takes Izuku’s arms and they go sit down with Uraraka and Iida. He drops Izuku off before rounding the seats and joining Mina and Kaminari. 

“Hello Midoriy—did you sleep at all?” 

Izuku blinks at Iida kinda slowly. He makes a quick decision that would not be happening if he had gotten more sleep last night, and therefore more deep anxiety, “I need you to call me by my first name please, it can’t just be my mother and Monoma.” And probably Himiko. 

Uraraka tilts her head, “Does that mean I have to stop calling you Deku?”

“No you’re fine,” Izuku sits down, and then puts his head in his hands, prepared for a quick class nap. If his middle school self could see him now, trying to sleep through a hero course, he’d have an aneurysm.  

“Well we should call each other by their first names then,” Tenya, not Iida anymore, says, and Izuku agrees wholeheartedly. He can’t really agree without talking or moving, but he agrees nonetheless. 

“Me too, call me Ochako,” she says. 

Hawks claps his hands together, reminding people that he’s there. 

“Okay so I couldn’t bring paintball guns onto school grounds, which I luckily learned before I bought forty paintball guns. Sad. Anyways today we’re throwing paint pellets at each other.”

★

Izuku leans his head against the shower tile and lets the spray of water clean away the paint, dripping from his face to his soaked uniform and into a drain that’s faintly stained purple. He’s blaming that on Momo, who’s designated color was a light violet. She ended up just replicating a slingshot and firing off the bullet like they were shot from a paintball gun. She had almost won the whole thing, but she had been hit last second by Bakugou. Bakugou, who hadn’t been hit once.

He’s glad that Bakugou’s already went home at least, since he had succeeded in making the game of ‘run around like children throwing paint’, into an actual warzone. Since he’s gone, he won’t try to continue his efforts and turn the changing room into a warzone. 

He’s got that talent. Turning anything into a horrific field of battle and competition. 

He finishes showering after the necessary five minute soak of the warm water, and slogs his way out into the main changing area, where some of the class is just cleaning off with old towels. Most people have already left, but there are a few stragglers. 

“Huh,” Tenya says as Kirishima bursts into laughter, “Izuku, would you like a towel?”

Izuku gratefully takes the towel and begins to clean off the wet paint and his even wetter uniform. 

“You know they clean them, yes?” Monoma asks, again too haughty for someone whose voice is mostly muffled by a duck printed towel , “You didn’t need to shower fully clothed.” 

Izuku just shrugs. He mostly just wants to get out of here as fast as he can so he can go take a nap. Staying in his uniform had seemed to be the fastest strategy. Clearly it didn’t work, since most of the class has already cleared out of the changing room. 

For this activity, since they ran around in a field with too much paint, they (almost) unanimously decided to change into gym clothes. Monoma had complained about the lack of realism, and how ‘maybe one day they’d have to fight a real life paint villain and we cannot treat our costumes as something precious, yada yada yada’. But he had been easily outvoted. So they instead just ruined almost forty pairs of U.A. uniforms. 

He takes off his shirt and begins to change into his school uniform, praying that enough of the paint has been scrubbed off to not stain the white fabric. 

“Izuku,” Tenya says next to him, with a level headed voice that does not match the bright pink pigmented paint that’s still flaked in his hair, “The snacks may be a bit stale, but–”

“You still need to yell at me?” Izuku tries to joke. He had really thought he had avoided that particular conversation. He had really wanted that nap. 

“I wouldn’t call it that,” Tenya says, “First and foremost, I’d call it a picnic. Then if we have time, I might have some constructive feedback for you and your… activities.”

So they meet up with Ochako in the main hall and Izuku must look really miserable because she links her arm with his immediately. Although it might not be a kind gesture, she might be just further trapping him in this conversation about responsibility. 

 The foot traffic is light, since the running around and throwing paint ran an hour later than school’s supposed to go. So they’re easily able to make their way to the greatest outdoor part of U.A., which is the small private garden that’s built specifically for students with plant quirks. It’s under a canopy of trees, there are lines of overfilled planter pots and pounds and pounds of flowers. The trees have been taken over by vines, and the whole thing feels like a suffocating, beautiful, mess, and is always overcrowded during lunch. 

Even now, Izuku can see Ms. Midnight drawing on one of the benches. She’s sitting in a gargoyle style, scribbling something on a drawing pad with a thick piece of charcoal. It’s staining her sweater. Tenya brings them over to the other side of the park so they don’t disturb her. 

“–but if you really consider all of the possibilities, and the endless limit of research,” Ochako reaches into her bag for something while continuing the conversation, “I think aliens are totally real.” 

“Okay…” Izuku says, “I think I can understand that.”

Tenya shakes his head, “Stand by your convictions, dear Izuku.” 

“But aliens would be so cool,” Ochako tears open a yellow plastic bag with her teeth, making her sentence muffled.

“I just really don’t mind either way,” Izuku sighs, “I haven’t seen one yet, and I…well they’re probably too far away anyways. But who knows?”

“Fine, fine,” Tenya says, “I will mark down two for pro, one for against. Why did Mina ask this, do we know?”

“I think she’s just likes aliens,” Izuku says, remembering her incredibly loud rant to Kaminari about the horrific inaccuracy of even the concept of humanoid aliens during lunch today.

“Ochako,” Tenya says, inputting the results into the group chat, “Why are we using an emergency shock blanket?” 

“Oh they gave me one at the hostage situation, and I didn’t have the opportunity to use it. So…picnic blanket!” she says in the same light tone she’s been using all day. Midnight bursts into laughter on the other side of the garden, and Izuku looks over to her where she’s clearly been listening in. She waves him off, stands up, and closes her sketchpad. 

“Sorry,” she shouts over the plant boxes, “You kids just get weirder and weirder every year.”

She packs up her bag, preparing to leave. 

“What are you drawing?” Ochako asks, now that the silent agreement to ignore their teacher has broken. She fully abandons her job of spreading out the blankets, which Tenya swiftly takes over. 

“It’s a gift,” Midnight yawns, “And a secret .” 

And then she leaves them to the gardens.

“And w e’re the ones getting weirder?” Ochako asks, before looking down and noticing the blanket fully spread out, “Ooh, picnic time already?”

So…that’s what they do. It’s a picnic where they talk about aliens and hostage situations and Hawks as a teacher, all while eating two-day old sandwiches and donuts and drinking so much strawberry milk that Izuku is probably going to be dead by the morning. The light is filtering through the branches and vines. For the first time in a while, Izuku feels warmth in the late winter season. 

“Oh!” Izuku remembers something important, “Tenya, did you get your reward, or are we going to have to wait for the next event to get that ice cream gift card?” 

Tenya perks up, reaching for his bag. He pulls out his phone, and carefully tucked behind the extra duty protection case is the bright card. He lifts it up like a small baby bird to the gentle cheers of Ochako and Izuku both. 

“I’ll treat you two sometime,” Tenya says, putting it back, “When we figure things out.”

He pointedly looks at Izuku for that last statement as he puts the card back. ‘Things’ are probably regarding his quirk. He feels a spike of anxiety like Tenya is going to knife him and dump his body in a gutter for being reckless. 

That feeling, although unwelcome, only intensifies when Tenya begins to pick up the garbage and put it in the discarded grocery bag. They stand from the blanket and Ochako dusts it off, folding it up back into a perfect square and shoving it back into the yellow plastic, which might lessen her impressive folding techniques. 

“Let’s walk,” Tenya says, and Izuku stands up. 

He’s not scared. 

He just…doesn’t like confrontation because it makes him cry, that’s all. Reminds him too much of middle school.

But he doesn’t want Tenya to be secretly (understandably) upset with him for the rest of their friendship, so he follows him with an open mind to accept any consequences necessary. He broke a promise and he gets to live with the consequences. Ochako walks next to Izuku and they both follow Tenya, the two of them occasionally looking at him for the first bit of the walk.

They march out of the gardens and back through the campus. Ochako takes the long awkward silence and easily crushes it under the hammer called ‘a conversation about the wikipedia article on brown bears.’

They only get through the taxonomy section before they’ve entered a building and made their way up two flights of stairs. 

“Why—sorry Ochako,” Izuku says for cutting her off, “Why are we here ?”

“Constructive criticism time,” Tenya says, standing firmly next to the door and making no move to enter it, “Izuku, I believe that your reckless attitude may lead to your untimely death, and I don’t think that would be very helpful for your goal of becoming a hero. Furthermore, I worry that your current use of your quirk could be dangerous to others around you. I have sent you a few different articles on heroes in our society and how your behavior might lead to similar situations that led to outcry.”

“You sent me articles? I didn’t get any–” Izuku says. 

Tenya holds out his finger for a second, and then the notification pings. Izuku brings out his phone and finds an email with four attached articles, one on Crimson Riot’s death, one on Endeavor, one on Midnight, and one on Ryukyu. He downloads each one. 

“Did you schedule out the email?” Ochako snorts, “For dramatic purposes?”

“For my calendars sake, I must,” he says, “Izuku, you may read those at your leisure. I would like to move onto the final phase of this picnic outing.” 

Tenya knocks very gently on the door to the Support Course class. 

“It’s almost five,” Ochako whispers, “Are there even going to be people–” 

The door opens with a swing, a burst of hot air, and incredibly loud music. Standing there with one hand on her hip, the other holding the door, is a girl that Izuku’s never seen before. She’s almost a stereotypically cartoonish portrayal of a mechanic. She has grease on her face, goggles on her head, and a pair of coveralls with two wrenches sticking out of both pockets. Her hair is pulled back in pink dreads, and her irises are a strangely metallic gold. 

“Oh,” she says, “I wasn’t expecting visitors.”

“I sent an email,” Tenya says. In the background, a distant notification chimes. 

The girl doesn’t blink. “I don’t check my email ,” she scoffs. “You need something?”

“Well we–”

“Actually scratch that. How about this: I’ll hear you out if you help me with something.” 

★

‘Helping’ her turns out to consist of the three of them standing in the corner next to her phone and skipping any songs she doesn’t like, because her gloves are too thick to touch the screen. 

“So–” she says, “Actually skip that one, I don’t like the singer. Anyways, now I know what you might be thinking, and despite the outward appearance, this is actually not a car engine. It’s supposed to be a skin relaxant that I’m making for a client.” 

No one had been asking. In fact, it’s been strangely silent for almost twenty minutes as the three of them wait for her to finish her project.

“Is it supposed to be so…” Ochako gestures at the hunk of metal that the girl is working on. 

“Big or loud?” the girl asks.

“Both.”

“Hm, I’m not sure why I specified, cause the answer is absolutely neither. This little baby is supposed to be silent and also small. I want it to be able to fit in the clients pocket.” 

“What’s a skin relaxant?” Tenya whispers to Izuku, who tries to first figure out why Tenya thinks he’d have the answer in the first place. Actually no, it makes sense, he has a whole notebook on quirks. He’d ask himself. 

“So what are you doing in my shop?” the girl asks, before Izuku can try and figure out an answer. She quickly strips off her gloves and shuts off the engine looking thing with a hidden switch that Izuku doesn’t catch, “Or do I have to actually pull out my email.” 

“It’s alright,” Tenya says, “I would like to ask you for your professional opinion.” 

She crosses her arms and leans against the table. She inclines her head to the side, allowing him to continue. 

“So–,”

“Skip this song,” she pauses, “Actually just toss the thing.”

Ochako quickly touches the phone, and frisbee tosses it to the girl, the gravity making the phone lighter and the toss much less precarious. She skips the song, puts the phone in her coverall breast pocket, and inclines her head again. 

“Whenever he uses his power, he breaks his bones,” Tenya says, pointing to Izuku like an accusatory child. Izuku hesitantly takes a step back, like he actually is someone at fault. Well, besides the circumstances of him acquiring the power. 

The girl immediately tilts her head to the other side, “Can I see it?” 

Izuku doesn’t have to deny her, his friends do that for him just fine. Her hands and eyebrows are raised by the end of the volleys of ‘no absolutely not’ and ‘he’ll break his bones. ’ 

“Right, right,” she waves her hand off, “So what causes it then?”

Izuku pauses to watch as Ochako and Tenya turn on him, one with a studious expression, the other with a glint of curiosity. He looks down to his hands. There’s no pain anymore, but that…wrong feeling is still there, the incorrectness of perfectly healthy joints that should still be crushed. He realizes he doesn’t know the answer to the question.

“Either because I hit something too hard for my bones to handle, or because the power just…does that. I’m not sure yet,” he tries to work through the possibilities in his head. So far, he hasn’t been really able to theorize about his power, it makes him feel sick to think about. 

The girl snorts. She grabs a pencil out of her hair with two fingers and a notebook from her pocket. She begins to scribble something down. 

“Next time you’re going to use it,” she says, “Invite me and we’ll see what we can do. You,” she directs this to Tenya, “You brought him here to be analyzed for a support item?”

“If that’s doable, then yes,” Tenya says. 

Izuku had barely even considered a support item. But…it’d help, right? These kinds of situations are the sort of thing that the support course is here for, right? 

“Should be,” she says, “Once I get more information at least. But that does leave a pretty important question, yeah? Who’s coughing up the cash?”

Izuku can feel his cheeks heat slightly. His family isn’t doing…badly within their current financial situation, but he’s seen the prices these specialty items can rack up. It’s not something his mother is going to be able to afford in this life or the next. 

Ochako looks to him with a frustrated frown, and the sympathy doesn’t really soften the blow. 

“Read the email,” Tenya says, “That should clarify things.” 

The mechanic takes her phone out with a vague look of interest. 

Izuku starts talking, “Tenya, you’re not offering to pay–” 

“I can be persuasive if necessary,” Tenya says waving him off, “No need to worry.”

The mechanic bursts into laughter, “Yeah that works. Thanks,” she squints at her phone, “Iida. Nice to meet you. I’m Hatsume, but you’ve clearly found my email somehow.”  

“I asked your teacher for his best mechanic,” Tenya says. 

She smiles, “Well, yeah. Now get out of my shop, I need to weld shit.” 

Only once he’s left the building and walked his friends all the way down to the station does he feel better. The conversation is…over. That’s all Tenya subjected him to, a quick conversation to scold him, and then immediately presenting a solution that Izuku had somehow completely disregarded. Izuku can’t tell if the ache in his heart is from appreciation or the strawberry milk.

Chapter Text

Quirks Page–

swansong: Didn’t know where to put this, but here’s a rant lol. 

The current system that we have with incarcerated prisoners is not sustainable. We’re putting villains in a system where they never have a chance to improve as people, and essentially blacklisting them as members of society once freed (if freed) and this makes the only solution for a lot of these people is to return to a life of crime…

(click to expand)

Likes: 19

89film: agreed with your points, but the theories are a bit basic. dm me if you want to do some further readings on prison abolition, i’ll send a couple pdfs. 

Likes: 3

country: eyo @swansong arent you the poster who keeps thrsting after stain???

Likes: 5

swansong: it was 40% a joke 

Likes: 4

country: 40 is NOT ENOUGH

Likes: 3

Izuku drags his soaked shoes across the welcome mat. It hadn’t been raining when he had left school, but the downpour, just like yesterday, was vicious and unexpected. He peels off his jacket and undoes his tie with stiff, cold fingers. 

“Hey how was–” his mom rounds the corner and after seeing the soggy state of him, pouts her lip, “Aw poor baby. I’ll get a towel.”

He drapes the jacket over his arm and curses himself for not looking at his weather app this morning. Not like some foresight would have helped much, he’s down an umbrella (but up one friend). 

His mother brings a fluffy blue towel that she tries to pat his hair with. He takes over for her as fast as he can, shaking out his hair and feeling a shiver run throughout his entire body. 

“You’re going to get a cold,” she says, and he hates when she sounds so sad, “Did someone take your umbrella again? I thought that had ended.” 

It had, almost eleven years ago. Bakugou had taught him that umbrellas could duel purpose as swords in a pinch, and that kids would stop trying to take your shit if you swung a weapon at them hard enough. He also taught him that you could only do that if the adults weren’t looking. 

“No,” he mumbles, “I gave it away and forgot to tell you.” 

She clicks her tongue in sympathy, like him forgetting is a natural event that she had forgotten to schedule for, and kindly says, “Go get dressed, I’ll make some tea.”

He follows her into the kitchen and watches her put a kettle on the stove. He puts his bag on the table so he doesn’t forget to do homework, and wanders past the fridge and to his room. He checks updates on HeroLog, tapping at his keyboard while his cold fingers relax a little. He could have sworn he wanted to check something, but the thought is gone, and his fingers are aimless. 

He changes quick, and by the time he’s back out, the kettle is boiling and his mom is bringing out a powdered mix that he likes. 

Once he has his hands around a warm cup and he can relish the dry clothes, and there isn’t a strange girl in his house, he can relax a little. 

That relaxing leads into his exhaustion. He didn’t get nearly enough sleep, his stomach still faintly hurts whenever he pokes it, and he ran around all day throwing paint at his classmates. He takes a long sip of tea. 

“Who’d you give your umbrella to?” his mom asks from where she’s closing the fridge with her hip. She puts the two apples on the countertop, and brings out the knife that Izuku knows she likes best. It’s the sharpest, which is evident as she begins to peel off the apple skin between her thumb and the blade. 

“A girl I was hanging out with last night,” Izuku mutters into the steam. He had folded on the party lie pretty quick when his mom confronted him yesterday, which means she knows that he brought over a solo individual. He wishes she didn’t make such a big deal out of it. 

“A girl,” his mom gleefully says to herself, probably assuming she’s being quiet enough to not be heard, “You’re sweet.”

“Why?” he asks. 

“Well she forgot her umbrella, right? Real gentlemanly move.”

Izuku remembers the way Himiko asked for his five-dollar plastic umbrella, with a sense of forward confidence that he’s rarely seen on anyone else. 

“I didn’t do much,” he shrugs, “ She asked. I think she just wanted my umbrella.” 

“So she didn’t have one?” his mom asks, still making conversation. She puts the apples on the plate, all perfectly sliced and brings them to the table. She wanders back to the kitchen to grab herself a cup and pours in steaming water.

Izuku snacks on some of the apples, and barely swallows before speaking, “I don’t know, I didn’t ask. I think she might have had some…home life problems. Or something. Maybe that’s why she didn’t have one. She didn’t seem to have a lot.”

His mom finishes pouring the tea, “She was your age?” 

“Yeah,” he says, “Honestly I think she was on the run or something. Sorry, I didn’t…tell you that before bringing her here.” 

His mom immediately puts her tea down and makes eye contact from across the kitchen, “She’s your friend? That doesn’t matter. Did you feed her?” There’s that really sad expression and tone again.

Izuku shrugs, kind of slowly, “We…ate dinner?” 

“Izuku,” his mom stands up, walks over, and hugs him to her side, patting his hair, “You’re very sweet. Do you know that? Do you have her number?”

“I don’t know if she had a phone.”

“Okay,” she hums, “Will she visit again?” 

“I hope so. She seems cool,” he says, sorta muffled into the hug.

“Next time,” she says, “Am I allowed to interrupt your date?”

“Not a date,” he mutters, finally pushing away from her. 

“Next time she visits I need to make sure that she’s okay. She’s a teenage girl and she might be on the streets. That’s not safe.”

“Because of Stain,” he says, and his mom looks at him for a long time. 

“Well Stain is certainly one threat,” she finally says, “But so is everything else, baby. Next time, let me know, and I’ll make sure to ask her if she has a place to stay.”

“She doesn’t trust adults,” he shrugs. He wants to make sure she’s safe, but he’s not really sure if he should involve his mom. 

His mom sits down, and takes another drink, “Okay, that’s okay. But I still want to talk to her. If she agrees, I promise I’ll try not to freak her out.” 

He doesn’t really believe her. He nods anyway. He’s going to have to really schedule when he hangs out with Himiko. He’ll let her warm up to the idea of his mom before he actually lets them be introduced. He can’t help but compare the situation with dealing with stray cats. 

She must notice his expression, because her sternness, her sadness, it softens, “Just…if she comes around again, break into the emergency money and try to sneak her some.”

“Okay mom,” he laughs, taking another apple. She smiles at him, and takes a slice for herself. 

“I wasn’t joking. How was your day?”

★

Shota can walk again, which means that the scope of his life has moved from his bed to the whole of his cramped hospital room. He hobbles around the room, with the singular crutch that Recovery Girl has allotted him. One leg has already been cut out of its cast, and is now the weakest part of his body by a country mile (discounting the other leg, still firmly broken in his cast). Every time he takes a step, he half expects to just pitch towards the floor. 

It’s a whole ten minutes after class has been let out, and Midoriya has yet to show up. 

“So did you leave early?” Shota says as he stands in front of the large window, watching as the students leave from classes. 

“Huh?” Todoroki asks from where he’s sat next to Shota’s hospital bed. He’s fiddling with one of the many evergrowing strange toys on the side table. There’s a pile of…things, courtesy of Hizashi. Todoroki has found a little eraser shaped like a seal and is systematically taking it apart, just like he had been doing with the pen. Shota needs to invest in some trinkets for that kid. 

“Does Midoriya know it’s Wednesday? It’s been ten minutes–”

There’s a knock at the door. Todoroki doesn’t even look at it, so Shota clinks on over to the door, opening it while leaning heavily on the crutch. 

Midoriya is standing red-faced and out of breath, “Sorry, sorry, Hawks said that he’d tell me about his latest fight if I helped with cleaning up the glass—Walking!” 

Shota nods, stepping to the side to let him into the room. Midoriya waves a little hesitantly to Todoroki, who still doesn’t look up. He moves his gaze around the room, until he clearly spots the card that Yaoyorozu brought to him during lunch. She had the class (both A and B) sign it, and had brought it in along with nicely trimmed flowers in a beautiful blue vase, a gift from her parents to him for defending their home. He had looked up the retail price of the vase and is absolutely going to sell it. Midoriya smiles a little at the card, and then wrinkles his eyes in confusion at the sketch that Shota hung above his bed.

One of Nemuri’s drawings is secured with scotch tape, a rough cartoonish sketch of a cat destroying a city, godzilla-style. It’s her form of a ‘get well soon’ note. 

“What glass?” Shota catches up to the conversation that Midoriya was starting. 

“Oh, uh well, we had this attack situation that Hawks made us go through on the boat in the USJ, and combining Jirou and Bakugou, the windows got demolished. A few of us swept up most of it so it would be easier for Thirteen to clean.” 

“Huh,” Shota says, “Well are you still up for training?”

Midoriya nods without a moment of hesitation. He looks over to Todoroki, and that’s where the hesitation begins, “Is it really okay that I’m here?” 

Todoroki still doesn’t look at him, so Shota puts a hand on his shoulder, “I already talked to him.” 

He doesn’t mention that the conversation was almost entirely one sided, had all happened about nine minutes ago, and Todoroki had seemed slightly uncomfortable the entire time. But that last one isn’t really a new development, so Shota hopes it’s okay. 

“Plus, today Todoroki is doing some individual training,” he says. 

Todoroki does look up now, startled, like he hadn’t realized that Midoriya had been talking about him at all. He probably hadn’t. 

“C’mon,” Shota says, “We’ve waited long enough.”

Todoroki puts the seal back in pieces, and they leave the hospital. Shota goes as fast as he can with the one leg and crutch, which means that it takes them almost five minutes to get to his classroom that’s just a couple hallways away from the nurses office. 

He opens the door, and clicks on the lights. The room is almost dusty with disuse, and the windows have condensation from lack of airflow. Shota has Midoriya close the curtains since the light won't be needed. 

He moves to his desk, and, still standing, connects the computer to the projector. Soon he’s pulled up what he’s wanted, a two hour long documentary that Hizashi sent him last night with a long string of laughing emojis after it. It’s some amateur investigation trying to identify some of the less conspicuous Underground Heroes. 

He turns it on, and then dims the lights.

“If the public knows that you exist, you’ve failed as an Underground Hero,” Shota says, handing Todoroki the remote, “This video demonstrates that perfectly. This button controls the volume, this one, the lights. I’ll be back at five.” 

Todoroki looks down to the remote, and then back to Shota, his brow creased in confusion, “Do you want a written report?” 

Shota shrugs, “They never helped me in school. Midoriya?”

Midoriya is staring at the video like a cat watching a bird. 

“Midoriya?” Shota has to say again. Midoriya shakes his head, looks away, and nods. He waves again to Todoroki, who’s still not looking at him, having made his way to the back of the classroom. 

It takes another five minutes to get down and out of the school, only possible through the lovely invention of elevators. Shota had plans to make it to the gym today, but the walk over there is daunting on his sore wrist and weak leg, and Recovery Girl had wanted him to leave the building for some ‘outside time’ anyways. So instead of that horrific sounding walk, he finds a close bench just outside the school and sits down. He puts the crutch next to him, takes a relaxing breath and feels the dread fill his heart for this next conversation. 

“Do you think he hates me?” Midoriya bursts out instead, like he’s been struggling with the thought for their whole walk.

“Todoroki?” Shota asks, lifting his head up towards the sky, and letting the sun wash over his skin. He pulls his hair back so he can feel the fresh air on his neck. Whenever he tries to open the window in the nurse's room, she’ll close it with a huff and talk about the importance of keeping warm.

“Yeah because I think I said something wrong to him, and now he won’t really…look at me. And I’m the reason he has to watch a documentary instead of doing anything really related to training,” he says in one big breath, pacing a little bit. 

Shota covers his smile, and kicks his still broken casted leg up next to him, “ You seemed interested in the video.”

“Yeah because I like that kind of stuff. What if he doesn’t? What if he blames me for taking away training time?”

“This is the exact training he signed up for,” Shota sighs. Hopefully it’s true. Hopefully Todoroki takes these ‘training sessions’ for what they’re really supposed to be. Time to be away from the pressure of Endeavor. “And worry about yourself.”

Midoriya bites his knuckle, clearly still thinking. Then he shifts his weight and nods, “Okay.” 

“Show me how you use the power,” Shota says, and before anything disastrous happens, “Without activating it. Just the motions.” 

Midoriya looks confused, and then he simply throws a punch. It’s perfect in form, but a bit stiff. Like someone who’s been instructed all their life without ever trying to actually hit anything. 

“That all?” Shota asks. 

“I mean,” Midoriya says, shifting weight from one foot to another. He seems uncomfortable with the attention, “I think I can use the power when I do anything. It’s a…heightener. I think? Like if I activated it while opening a door, I would just probably rip the door off its hinges.”

In line with what Shota’s heard and seen of All Might’s power.

“We’ll keep away from doors for this training,” Shota chuckles, trying not to reveal how little he’s prepared for this. How absolutely lost he is, how much he’s worried for this training. 

Shota’s seen All Might, they’ve worked together on occasion, but he’s in no position to train this child in the slightest. 

The times he’s reached for his phone and put in the number of Gran Torino these past two days is so high that he’s not comfortable counting it. He has the phone number memorized, that’s for sure. 

He would put in the number and let his finger hover over the call button, prepared to beg on his hands and knees for Gran Torino to train the kid. Demand, threaten, beg, Shota was prepared for any of it. 

In the end, his pride eventually won out. Well his pride and the look in Midoriya’s eyes after the confrontation in All Might’s room. And Hizashi walking him through a pros and cons list last night.

But the situation is looming, and he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do, even now. Especially now.

He wishes All Might would hurry up with his nap time, but he’s sure that Recovery Girl has tried the water to the face trick. She’s probably even tried the airhorn trick. 

He just…doesn’t want to put this kid through this. Doesn’t want to be the one who pulls the trigger and makes his student break another bone. He heard about the finger, Hawks had sent him an email. From the way that he phrased the email, Shota is pretty sure that the new Hero Study teacher finds the whole concept more intriguing then alarming. That alone makes Shota hate him. 

“Mr. Aizawa?” Midoriya asks, and Shota realizes that he’s been staring off into space for a very long time. 

“Mr. Midoriya,” Shota says, sighing again, “What’s the power feel like?” 

Midoriya walks him through the quirk to the best of his ability, explaining in vague abstract words how the power feels. How the first time it felt like fire crashing through his arm, and how the second time it felt like the sun in his fingertip. Shota was hoping for something simpler. 

They continue through the conversation, with Midoriya talking about how All Might told him to get stronger to be able to use the power. 

“Some quirks are based on physical strength,” Midoriya says, “And I think that’s what I need to be focusing on right now. If I get physically stronger, then I should be able to…use it better? I think?” 

“That doesn’t make sense,” Shota counters.

“Well–Wait, why not?” Midoriya immediately asks, flexing his fingers. After a second, he flexes his fingers again, and then grabs his backpack and brings out a notebook. 

“When I saw you use this power, you broke apart a pillar of stone. The bottom was completely shattered. It doesn’t matter how reinforced your bones are, if you hit something that fast and hard, you’re going to be breaking bones. Doesn’t matter how muscular you are.”

Midoriya finishes the notes, and then taps the pen to his head, sitting down in the middle of the grass, “But with the force that I punched the pillar, because it was so fully destroyed, it should have completely pulverized my bones. Right? Like…all of them I think.”

Shota inclines his head, “So?”

“I don’t know,” Midoriya sighs, resting his head on his fist, “All I’ve done is physically train, but you’re right, that doesn’t make sense for the amount of bones I haven’t broken. I really don’t know.”

So they’re back to square one. Shota shifts his other leg on the bench, and lounges as comfortably as he can with a seat made of metal strips. Midoriya puts his notebook down and looks up to the sky, contemplating. 

“I don’t know,” Midoriya sighs again. 

★

“It was a total kobayashi maru. Like there was no way for me to win,” Izuku says the next afternoon, Thursday, trying his best to focus, “No way for any of us to win.”

“So, you went crazy cool guy mode and won anyways?” Himiko asks, watching with careful eyes as Izuku adds a fine coat of clear nail polish to her left pinkie, “Do another layer.” 

He dips the brush back into the bottle, with still slight shaking hands. He’s never painted anyone’s nails before, and it mostly shows on the skin just around her nails that have been stained bright pink. 

Himiko takes a cotton swab that Izuku stole from the bathroom and cleans up around her cuticles as he gets more polish. Izuku says, “No I definitely lost. Hawks made us fight ten of our peers. Course I lost.”

Izuku shifts so he’s putting more weight on his other leg. The activity during class and the training with Aizawa yesterday has contributed to soreness in his lower legs. Aizawa made him go through basic exercises for almost an hour while they discussed healthy self preservation tactics. It was a drag. He still can’t control his power, and this day’s lesson had little effect at all, so he hadn’t walked away feeling particularly encouraged anyways. The soreness almost feels useless.  

“Man,” she mutters, still cleaning up the third finger on her right hand, “So what, preparing to be a hero involves getting beat up daily or something? Your teacher sounds psycho.”

“He said it was so we can keep calm in no-win situations and just focus on surviving and escaping. Hawks knows what he’s doing. But that’s not the point,” Izuku says, adding another shaky clear layer before leaning back against the couch. Himiko wanted to paint on the table, but Izuku was able to convince her to do it on the floor on top of almost an entire roll of paper towels that have been laid out. 

“My turn,” she says after a second of marveling at the nails. She had let Izuku choose the color, and had clapped her hands in delight when he chose the brightest pink he could. Score one for Izuku.

He holds out his hands. He’s never painted nails, and he’s never had someone else paint his nails. He feels suddenly self conscious about the state of his hands. He examines his stubby fingers, nails cut shorter than necessary. There’s a thin layer of black blood in the nail of the finger that he broke, the only remaining evidence of his stunt on Monday. 

“This one,” she says, putting down an equally gaudy looking color, a neon green with flecks of golden glitter. She has a strange collection of colors, all entirely full nail polishes, “It matches your hair.”

“It does?” he asks, grabbing a strand and pulling it down. Not suddenly neon, thank god. 

“In theory,” she says, and unscrews the top, “So what was the point?”

“Oh!” Izuku remembers his story, “It’s a no-win situation. A kobayashi maru. But listen. Bakugou, he won . He faced down ten people and took them down in three minutes. We had to call the nurse because he burned four of them bad enough for medical attention.” 

“Jeez,” she says, painting on his nails with a little more confidence than he had, “So your fellow classmate got what…arrested?” 

“It’s a hero training simulation,” Izuku shrugs, “Physical violence isn’t discouraged.” 

“It’s not ? I should go there and consume all of your classmates if it’s not discouraged,” before Izuku can parse if that’s a joke, she continues, “But who’s Bakugou?”

He forgot that he hasn’t told her about him. He had initially wanted to keep that part of his unfortunate situation to himself. But Himiko is just so…easy to talk to. She’s not associated with heroism in the slightest, and she clearly doesn’t know much about the situation of U.A. in general. So he can just tell her things, and she in turn, will talk about things that she likes—shows she’s seen, music she listens to, what’s in fashion. She steers away from her personal life, but Izuku can paint a bit of a picture. Especially after his conversation with his mom. 

“Uhh,” Izuku hesitates. The hesitation ends after a second because really, who’s she going to tell? “Well I guess we used to be friends. Then he started bullying me in middle school. He’s just a jerk.” His hand aches.  

“You could let me at him,” she (probably) jokes, “I’ll tear him apart.”

“He downed ten people in three minutes,” Izuku deadpans. 

“Well that’s just because I wasn’t there,” she smiles, one of her fangs poking through a little bit, “That totally would have made it a no-win situation. Who’d wanna stop being friends with you?”

“Him,” Izuku sighs, “I didn’t get a quirk as a little kid and because of that, he didn’t want to be friends with me anymore.”

“And then he decided to just tank the relationship further by bullying you? Lameooooo,” she says, “Rotten luck that he’s in your high school, too.”

“We had, have, the same goal,” Izuku sighs, covering his eyes and resting his head against the couch, “It sort of makes sense.”

Despite the attempt to just try and ignore Bakugou, the fierce spark of competition that he lit during the first ice cream challenge has yet to totally disappear. They’re not equals, but Izuku can finally see the skill he’s lacking. He can see a pathway of improvement. 

They’re not on the same playing field, Izuku’s metaphorically barely even learned how to walk. But he’s made the first step. 

Even so, it’s hard to see Bakugou succeed with so much ease. He wins at everything he tries, and he has an expression of disdain the entire time, like he’s not even enjoying himself. Like someone is forcing him to be at U.A.. 

“But he still bullies you,” Himiko says, “I was being serious, I will absolutely kill–”

“He only ignores me now,” Izuku says, “He has been for a year or so. I think he’s just gotten bored of me. Sometimes when we were kids he’d stop playing with people if they weren’t ‘interesting enough.’ His words, not mine.”

“Okay so you have a psycho teacher and a psycho ex-friend ex-bully-turned-classmate. Your life seems awesome,” she dryly says the last word. 

“I like my teachers,” Izuku huffs, reaching for more of the sour gummy candy he bought from a convenience store on the way home, “They’re cool.”

“Psychos can be cool,” she says, gesturing her hands out, “You’re looking at walking evidence.”

“You should stop calling people psychos,” Izuku says, “And you’re like…ninety percent normal.”

She grins at him, but no not actually, she’s just showing off her fangs, “I drank the blood of a dead squirrel today that I found behind a bush.”

“Ninety-two,” he says. 

She laughs, “Why’d it go up?” 

“You went to a park. That’s a perfectly normal activity,” he says. 

She laughs harder, somehow not dripping any nail polish onto the carpet. He’s grateful. His mom won’t be home for another twenty minutes, but that’s certainly not enough time to clean up a stain that’s that toxic of a green. 

“So was the teacher surprised that Bakugou won?” Himiko asks, “Hawks?”

“I can’t ever read him. He’s always as cool as a cucumber or whatever,” Izuku says, “He could have been contemplating murder the entire time and it would have looked like–”

He does an impression of Hawks’s smile, and she squints. 

“Pretty good,” she says, “From what I’ve seen.”

“You don’t like heroes,” Izuku says, “But you know Hawks?”

“I don’t mind heroes when they’re hot ,” she scoffs, “I’d drink the shit out of his blood. Hottest man alive dear god.”

“Augh,” Izuku covers his eyes, “Don’t say that, he’s my teacher.”

“You can find teachers hot, that's pretty normal,” she says, “I think.” 

He plugs his ears to stop the conversation and she laughs again. 

“You’re not denyinnggg it. Whatever though. Are there any other hot faculty?” she asks, “I know Mirko isn’t there, I already checked.”

“Stop,” Izuku groans, “They’re all like forty .” 

“Yeah that is kinda old I guess,” she blows a loose strand of blonde hair to the side as she focuses on the last nail, “What about classmates? You got pictures?” 

Izuku shakes his head, but she stares at him, teeth still peeking out of her lips. She keeps staring until he carefully pulls out his phone with his still drying left hand, and scrolls through the group chat. There’s one from the hospital with Jirou on the bed, surrounded by her classmates. 

“Where’s Bakugou? I want to make fun of his appearance. It’s always funnest to mock people for things people can’t control,” she says, glancing over the photo as he holds it out to her. 

“I don’t have a picture of him,” Izuku says. 

“Lameo,” she says again, “Fine. I’m going to rate your classmates by hotness.”

“Please don’t,” Izuku sighs. 

“And then you’re doing the same thing,” she grins at him, “I wanna know your type .”

“Leave me out of this,” he says, “I’m innocent.”

“Okay so she’s a solid eight–”

The door opens. 

“Izuku, are you home–”

His mom stops in the doorway, yoga bag in hand, hair pulled away from her slightly sweaty face. She stares, wide-eyed for only a second at the scene in front of her. Then she puts the bag down, closes the door, and kicks off her shoes, all without making eye contact.

“Don’t get any on my carpet,” she says, and Izuku can absolutely hear the slight twinge of panic in her voice. It’s similar to the voice she used years ago when Izuku wouldn’t leave his room for days, focused only on his great life plans of heroism. Focused on anything but his quirk.  

Himiko is staring at his mom like she got caught doing a demon summoning circle in their living room, like they’re not just painting nails. Her eyes are wide, and her hands are resting perfectly still on her thighs. The paint cap has fallen from her fingers and is resting now on the paper towel, dripping polish. 

Izuku puts it back into the bottle and watches as his mom picks her bag back up and, “Have fun though. Let me know when you want dinner.” 

She leaves into the hallway, closing the door with a simple click. 

Himiko takes a ragged breath. She curls down, wrapping her arms around herself, “I’m going to leave. Okay?”

“Please don’t,” Izuku says, sitting up straight and turning to her. There’s a sudden spike of panic.

“No one’s parents are as cool as they think,” Himiko says again, like she did the first time, “I don’t want to get you in trouble.” 

Izuku scoots his legs forward, moving closer to her hovering over her as she refuses to make eye contact. The music they put on the radio is playing in the background, a song that makes him feel a bit hive-y with how fast it’s moving. 

Himiko eventually unfolds from herself, and stands up in one swift motion. She shakes off her hands again, “Thanks for dinner the other night. You can keep the nail polish.” 

Izuku stays still, trying to think. He’s good at strategy, it should be applicable to situations like this. It has to be. 

She packs up her bag before he can find his voice again. 

“She’s a good mom,” he stands up with Himiko, grabbing her scarf and handing it to her, “She really really is.”

When Himiko speaks next, it comes out slightly as a snarl, “I don’t care if she’s a good mom. That’ll just make it worse. She’s going to get all protective over you never let me see you again because I’m dangerous and scary. And guess what, Izuku, it’s totally true!” she throws her hands up, “One of these days I’ll snap and drink your blood until you’re dry and dead, and she’ll have been vindicated and you’ll be dead. Everyone has always been right about me, I don’t think that’s ever going to change.” 

Izuku can’t figure out what to say for a very long time. Long enough that Himiko begins to walk for his door and the panic is so stark that he says the only thing he can think of.

“She let’s me go to U.A.,” Izuku quietly says, leaning against the wall and reaching for his backpack, “My power, it’s destroying me from the inside out. Everytime I use it I break my bones, tendons, muscles, all of it. I’m destroying pieces of my body at school. I keep injuring myself and I don’t know how much I can actually get healed from, and I’m doing it on purpose. But she lets me go to U.A. and lets me use the power because she knows that it’s what I want. She trusts me to be able to handle myself. And if you’re the line she’s going to draw, if she won’t let me be friends with someone who’s never hurt me and is ninety two percent not a psycho, then I don’t want to be here either.”

He shoulders his backpack. 

“If my mom ever makes you leave,” he says, and forces a sense of finality that he doesn’t feel at all, “I leave too.” 

She stares at him. Her lips are still curled into a snarl, but her eyes are searching when she says, “Promise?” 

“I promise,” he says. He can’t be sure if he’s lying or not, but he makes himself say it with as much power as he can. 

She gives him another long moment of anxious silence before nodding. Only a slight nod, but she reaches out her hand anyways, “Shake on it.”

He takes her hand, and they mess up their nails immediately. 

So they sit down to repaint them, and they turn up the music and the discomfort of the charged moment begins to fade a little. Himiko doesn’t look at him much, only focused on the nails and the sugary candy, but she still engages in conversation, a little shyer than before. 

When Himiko’s stomach audibly growls, Izuku asks her if he can ask for dinner. She doesn’t look at him when she nods, so Izuku knocks on his mom’s door and she comes into the kitchen/living area with light footsteps and a gentle smile. Himiko, for her part, goes back to normal. She talks loud, and laughs louder, and the only difference is that she ramps up the violence talk. She eats her food with a grimace and barely even looks at his mom, mentioning the squirrel again with a rebellious glint in her eye. 

In a way, she’s testing Izuku’s words. 

In turn, his mom doesn't take the bait, talking mostly to Izuku about his day, and only occasionally laughing under her breath at some of the things they say to each other. It’s not mocking though. She seems almost…charmed by the strange violent talk that Himiko keeps bringing up. 

When Izuku leans down to clean up the nail polish, Himiko joins him, and ignores the soft look that his mom gives both of them. 

Himiko stays until the late hours of the night, and when she leaves she only thanks Izuku. But she does give one glance to Izuku’s mom, only for a second. 

And she leaves without another word. 

“Next time I’ll text if yoga ends early,” his mom eventually says, breathing out a held breath.

“Thanks,” Izuku mutters, going to the sink to help her with dishes. 

“She’s cute,” his mom leans into Izuku, a little dramatic, “You’re growing up so fast, try not to break her heart.” 

Izuku leans his head against the cabinet in a mixture of embarrassment and relief. 

★

Friday they go to school and Hawks reminds them that despite the first week of school, they’re resuming the six-day school week. Despite the extra day, Friday is still the closest thing he’s gotten to a break in a long while.

Hawks gives them the fastest EMT course in the history of ever during lecture period, and then they go outside and do a simulated triage situation with volunteers from U.A.s drama club and gallons of fake blood. 

Training with Aizawa is fast and brutal, mostly more self defense. Afterwards, Izuku goes to a cafe with Ochako and Tenya, where they talk about the recent Endeavor fight. He had gone against a villain with a plant based quirk, and half of the city is still covered in pollen. When he gets home, he finds Himiko loitering around the apartment, picking at the sleeve of her sweater. She smiles when she sees him, still a little reserved from yesterday.  

She shyly asks him if she can use his bathroom, and he lets her into the apartment where she takes a forty minute shower. She doesn’t stick around, talking about her plans with ‘more of those squirrels.’ 

He tries to get her number but she brushes him off, confirming that she definitely doesn’t have a phone. He tries to think of a solution before bed. 

Despite the problem, he sleeps pretty well. No weird dreams haunting him. 

Saturday is not a break day. 

Saturday is something…else.