Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Midoriya Izuku starts with the universe opening up in his eyes, entirely his to unfold. There was so much to map out, so much to appreciate, so much to learn. But with such eagerness came inevitable disappointment – there would be a point where you could explore no longer, where parts of the world’s mysteries could not be revealed to you. For most of the people on the planet, they were able to explore just fine in this confined space, using their will and power to wander further – but some were crippled by the hand of fate before they could even begin, crawling forward on their hands and knees and blindly bumping into corners, praying for miracles to unlock pathways for them.

Midoriya Izuku was not lucky enough to be “most people”.

From a young age, Izuku loved the concept of quirks. Quirks shaped the person you were, helped you decide what you wanted to do. He loved that his mother could draw objects to her, and although he had never seen it, he thought it was amazing that his father could breathe fire, like a dragon in one of his stories. He would excitedly huff and puff, waiting for smoke to come billowing out of his mouth, or open his fist, hoping to yank something towards him. Theories upon theories filled his head about what he could end up with, what he could do, but –

For every thought that he came up with, it never crossed his mind that he could end up with nothing.

Years ago, when they were four years old, Kacchan got his quirk. It was amazing. He ended up with the most powerful combination of his parents’ quirks possible, and it was perfect for his aspiration to be a hero. Izuku knew that one day, Kacchan could rival All Might in terms of his power. All Might was an amazing hero miles and miles away, but Kacchan was right here in front of him, and Izuku was in awe every time he managed to use his quirk in a new and creative way.

“Show me again! Show me again!” he said excitedly, watching as Bakugou Katsuki sparked up his palm and slowly let out a long, sustained blast in a single direction instead of his usual quick bursts of explosions. “That’s amazing, Kacchan!” 

“Of course it is, Deku,” Kacchan said, sneering. “Did you expect anything less from me?”

“Of course not! You come up with something new every day, I already know you’re going to be great!”

“I am great, even now,” Kacchan sniffed, holding his head up high. “Unlike you. You need to hurry up and get your quirk, or else you’ll be a useless Deku forever. How do you expect to catch up to me and All Might if you can’t even do anything yet?”

Izuku smiled at him nervously. “I’m sure I’ll get mine any day now! We’re only four – there’s still plenty of time left for me!”

“You’d better hope so,” he said, scoffing, “but I’m sure whatever it is, it won’t be as good as mine!”

“Don’t worry about me, Kacchan! I’ll be a great hero with you, no matter what it is!”

“I wasn’t worried!” Kacchan shouted back angrily.

Thinking back on that encounter, Izuku smiled. Today, he’d probably find out for sure, and then he could finally join Kacchan on his journey to be a pro hero! Most kids discovered their quirks between the ages of four to six, so everyone in their class had already received theirs – except for Izuku. Today, Izuku and his mother were going to the quirk specialist to find out for sure – Izuku couldn’t wait around any longer, he wanted to join Kacchan immediately.

The ride to the office was long, with Izuku impatiently stomping his feet in the car. The second Inko had stopped the car, Izuku was already unbuckling his seat-belt and half out the door, tugging his mother’s door just a moment later.

“Wait, Izu-kun, wait a second,” Inko said, laughing. “I have to grab my purse!”

After Inko gathered all the identification and health documents she needed, they headed into the building, where the secretary directed them to the doctor’s office. For over an hour, they waited while the doctor performed various tests and left the room to look over the results.

At long last, he returned, holding a set of papers in his hands and his facial expression slightly grim. Inko frowned.

“Is something wrong, Doctor?” she asked anxiously. The doctor hesitated.

“Not necessarily,” he said slowly, “but I’m not sure if it will be seen that way by everyone.”

“What do you mean?” Inko questioned. The doctor sighed.

“Let’s take a look at this x-ray.” He pulled out a sheet from the stack. “As you can see, your son has a double joint in the pinky toe of his foot – this is a vestigial feature that humans have stopped developing and is now uncommon in society. Very strange for a child of fourth-generation quirk users. Today, this is an indicator of quirklessness – the extra joint means that the body has not evolved, or adapted, to this environment, like everyone else’s.”

There was a brief pause, in which both Inko and Izuku were quiet. Izuku was trying to catch his mother’s gaze, so she could reassure him that the doctor wasn’t saying what he thought he was saying, but Inko couldn’t look Izuku in the eyes just yet. She swallowed and looked back at the doctor.

“So, what you’re saying is…” she began, not finishing what she had concluded – perhaps in the hopes that the doctor would laugh and correct her before she could suggest such a thing in front of Izuku, who would no doubt be crushed.

He sighed again.

“I’m sorry, Midoriya-san… your son is quirkless.”

In the time of centuries’ past, quirks were nonexistent in society. But a few hundred years ago, quirks began to pop up – they were theorized to be advanced evolutionary traits in a changing world, allowing humans to adapt better to their surroundings. Like all other distinguishing human features, quirks did not suddenly manifest in the entire population. It took eons for humans to evolve into what they currently were, to lose the tails and excess hair and hunched primate stature. As it was, the rate of quirk appearance had already been exponentially fast – in about two hundred years, most of the population on Earth had quirks.

But not everyone.

It was so easy, to get caught up in the excitement of quirk culture. Theoretically speaking, it was likely that everyone would have quirks in another hundred years or so, with the exception of randomized birth defects. But the existence of quirks themselves would lend to a new sort of unspoken class system – it was undeniable that some quirks were entirely over-powered, while others were as prosaic and forgettable as commonplace weeds in the grass.

From the moment Izuku had found out he was quirkless, he knew it was the end of something. A social death sentence, a metaphorical place in the electric chair. Coming home that day, his eyes were wide and his hands were shaking. He was trembling in place while his mother cast troubled, sad looks at him the entire ride home. His face felt too hot and his stomach sunk. His heartbeat was erratic, alternating between too-slow pauses between beats, and frenzied, rapid pattering. The streetlights and neon signs – even the setting sun itself – were too bright and saturated, utterly lurid and blinding; the voices on the radio, his mother’s anxious words – those amounted to nothing but muddled background sounds.

By the time they arrived home, Izuku meandered aimlessly to his room, as though in a trance, while his mother followed him worriedly. Like he was on autopilot, he turned on his computer and waited for it to load. The upbeat tune of the start-up system was out-of-place, incongruous, with the sounds of uneven breathing from Izuku and Inko’s frantic requests for him to speak to her. In a few minutes, Izuku brought up a bookmarked video, one that he’d watched a million times – maybe more – and never failed to instill him with joy and pride and hope.

Watching it now, he didn’t feel any of those things. He didn’t feel very much at all. His mind was still numb from shock, and his hands still hadn’t stopped trembling. The echoes of All Might’s laugh in his debut, his familiar catchphrase ringing out in a wasteland of screaming and crying, turning it into hope and relief – it seemed so much further away. Izuku could see his face reflecting back at him on the screen, as though he was the one there in those citizens’ time of need.

But his face wasn’t smiling, or brave, like All Might’s. Suddenly, it seemed unbearably fragile and weak and he couldn’t bear to see it on the same screen as All Might’s unrelenting glory. His throat closed up and he made a few choking sounds – the first noises since arriving back from the quirk specialist’s office.

“Izuku? Izuku, please,” Inko pleaded, hands cupping his face and smoothing back his unruly hair, “I need to know, are you okay?”

Still trembling, Izuku plastered a fake smile on his face, the first pinpricks of tears stinging his eyes.

“Mom,” he started, his voice shaky. “Mom, I can still be a hero like All Might, right?”

“Izuku, I’m so sorry!” Inko cried, throwing her arms around his shoulders and crying with him. Izuku’s face remained unchanged as hot tears silently slid down his cheeks and his trembling hands refused to curl around his mother’s neck. The terrifyingly artificial smile remained pasted on his face, juxtaposed with tear tracks – a perfect depiction of a depressed clown, probably with an equal chance of being anything successful in the future.

They remained in that position long into the night, until Izuku had calmed down a little. Until his sharp disbelief and denial transformed into pangs of dull sorrow and longing for something to change.

Izuku knew things would be different from then on, but he could never have predicted by how much.

“Quirkless?” Kacchan asked, astonished, as if he had never even heard of such a thing. Maybe he hadn’t. It sounded so ridiculous, especially when they were in the midst of countless other children giggling away, using their unique quirks around the playground. “So what you’re telling me is that you really are a useless Deku?”

Izuku sighed and looked at the ground.

“I guess so,” he mumbled. Kacchan continued to stare at him.

“Damn,” he said, apparently still in shock. He seemed to process this for a moment further, before scowling and shifting uncomfortably, looking away. “I knew you would never be on my level, but now this just proves it. I had no idea someone could be so weak.”

Izuku’s head shot back up, lips trembling.

“I’m not so weak, Kacchan! I’m just,” Izuku paused, struggling to find the words, “the same as before.”

“Exactly,” Kacchan said, sneering. “You’re weak.”

Apparently done with the conversation, Kacchan turned away and stalked off into the distance. Some of their classmates’ heads perked up and they eagerly got up to follow him. For a second, he looked confused at the excess attention and his hands began to spark up, but he didn’t say anything to actively dissuade them from following him. And when a few of them gushed about his power, none of them even glancing to where he left Izuku in the dust, his lips almost lifted up slightly. This – this is where Kacchan ended, and Bakugou began.

Change doesn’t happen overnight, not for anyone. Not for Izuku, who was confused and upset about his recent diagnosis, but still had a burning desire to be a hero that was constantly strangled by his newfound feeling of worthlessness. And not for Bakugou, who was equally confused and upset about Izuku’s diagnosis, but even more confused and upset at the kids who began to crowd him eagerly, annoyingly –

Until he wasn’t.

Kacchan had always been loud and aggressive, convinced of his own strength and ability to be the best even before he got his quirk. When his quirk had finally made itself known, it merely supplemented Kacchan’s innate greatness. And when his classmates – his classmates with weaker quirks – gushed over his power, listening to him raptly and following him around, it was confirmed. And the greatest ones – they had no time to waste on the weakest.

“Bakugou! Show us the biggest blast you can make!” one classmate, a boy with retractable gnarled talons, shouted.

Bakugou smirked and let out a huge explosion in the sky. The blast range was enormous. All of the kids either gasped in awe, or looked away in fright. Soon, more requests and demands came flooding in by classmates eager to pander to Bakugou, cementing their spots of power at the top of the classroom. Izuku watched from the distance, in wonder as well as envy – not just for his quirk, but also for the spot next to Kacchan that other kids were filling up instead of him.

But interspersed in the growing distance between them, there were… moments.

Sometimes, Bakugou seemed to grow tired of the praise, proud smirks turning into scowls. He seemed to like it most of the time, but too much attention tended to be exhausting and aggravating after a while. Izuku had already asked Kacchan to show him what he could do, a thousand times over, and this bland repetition couldn’t keep Bakugou going forever.

“Deku!” Kacchan yelled out, marching towards Izuku and leaving the other kids behind. “Are you just going to keep staring like a loser, or are you actually going to say something?”

“I wasn’t aware you wanted me to say something, Kacchan,” Izuku said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Eh? What does that mean, moron? You don’t think my power’s that great?”

“Of course I do,” Izuku backtracked quickly, raising his hands in supplication, “I just meant that I’ve seen this all before!”

“So I’m not inventive enough with my own quirk? You think you could do better, quirkless loser?” Kacchan screeched, palms sparking up in rage.

“No!” Izuku exclaimed, shaking his head frantically. “You’re amazing! Of course I know that already, we’ve experimented with your quirk so many times!”

Seeming to calm down, Kacchan grunted in response, looking away from Izuku.

“But,” Izuku said, a bit hesitant as he pulled out a worn notebook and Kacchan whipped his head back up to glare, “I have some more ideas for you? For example, have you tried shooting out explosions through your feet? You could self-propel upwards that way and engage flight! Or maybe you could see how powerful your explosions are when you just shoot them out of a single fingertip? That could be a great idea for conserving your energy and you wouldn’t use up so much of your sweat reservoir, if they’re still effective! And – ”

“Shut up, damn nerd!” 

“S-Sorry, Kacchan, I just got excited,” Izuku mumbled.

“Hmph,” Kacchan grumbled. “Well, maybe I should try out one of your shitty ideas. I guess they can’t be entirely useless.”

Izuku brightened.

These moments, they were almost painful. Izuku would eagerly wait for them to happen, only to feel crushing disappointment when they didn’t, and anguish when Kacchan would ignore him the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that, until it came to a day when he didn’t. And then the cycle started all over again.

Morning shouting matches on the way to school, afternoons spent watching All Might TV specials, evenings used to experiment with Kacchan’s quirk – they happened all the time, until it only happened a few times a week, until it only happened once in a while, until it only happened when Mitsuki invited the Midoriyas over, until it… just stopped. Kacchan seemed eager to become a passing memory while Izuku was trying desperately to hang on for the ride, only to have Kacchan push his hand off.

Friendship wasn’t something that could shatter upon touch. Lingering fondness and old memories kept it patched together, but days of blatant indifference and words filled with underlying insults kept cracking it until it could no longer hold itself together.

Quirklessness was a plague that killed everything it touched, Izuku decided. The first time Izuku heard the word, it caused the death of a dream. And when the word was repeated, it set in place the death of a friendship. And when the word was announced to the world, it brought about the death of any kind of social standing or self-confidence he could have. It was just… ridiculous. Why… why did he deserve to feel this way? Why was he the one made to suffer? Did he do something?

Izuku didn’t like to whine about his plight, not when there were people out there suffering much worse than he was, people out there who were starving or beaten or homeless or depressed – but was it so wrong that he was overcome with hopelessness from time to time? He was seven years old, now, almost eight, and his entire world seemed to be going nowhere but downhill ever since he found out the truth about himself. Sometimes it was hard to hold the tears back. Being a hero, it meant so much to him, and to have that and everything else taken away was killing him, like a slow-acting poison.

But it had been quite a while since his diagnosis, and while he was still upset, Izuku was coming to terms with himself. His mother certainly helped, telling him every day how much she loved him and how he was just as brave and amazing as before. Sometimes he even thought he could still be a hero, but he didn’t dare mention this to his mom, not just yet, and definitely not to Kacchan, his classmates, or his teacher. But sometimes, in brief pockets of time, he remembered. He remembered what it was like to be filled with enthusiasm and passion for a dream. He remembered his determination, even before he knew what his quirk could be, and how he was convinced that he would be as great as All Might, he would do it no matter what. He both admired and pitied his past self, but mostly he was envious of his old blissful ignorance and the happiness of early days. But with these brief upswings of his mood, he would scour the daily news on TV and new articles on the Internet, excited at the heroes with seemingly underwhelming non-offensive type quirks that managed to save people. And he would think, maybe – just maybe, if they could do it, then he could do it too.

Maybe that’s what spurred him on, that day. Maybe he made the mistake of being in a good mood for once – in front of Kacchan, at that. Maybe he should have kept his head down and his mouth shut and dealt with all that painful apathy by keeping his ideals to himself. But then – he was never able to keep his nose out of other people’s business, was he?

“What, you really thought you could face me?” Izuku heard Kacchan jeer, as he exited out the front of the school doors. He squinted into the courtyard, but couldn’t see much of what was going on, just faint explosions and laughter. Izuku frowned. Assuming it was just Kacchan messing around with his new friends, he made to turn in the opposite direction and walk home. But then –

“N-no! Stop! Please, stop!” someone cried.

Izuku froze in his tracks. He spun around, and narrowing his eyes, he made out someone on the ground, their hands raised above their head while Kacchan leaned over them, hands sparking up as usual. His stomach turned. Kacchan looked… scary, like always, but there was no way he could leave that boy on the ground, scared and practically imploring someone to help. Taking a deep breath, Izuku stepped in Kacchan’s direction – slowly, at first, but then hurrying, as fast as he could, when he heard the boy plead with Kacchan again.

Jogging up to the scene, Kacchan and a few of the kids who hung off his every word were snickering, too caught up in the brown-haired boy’s fright to notice Izuku at first.

“If you think you can beat me, why don’t you get up and prove it?” Kacchan taunted, leaning back.

The boy was shaking, but he sat up, putting his hands in front of him on the ground.

“I don’t think I can beat you! I was just saying you didn’t need to be so rude all the time! You’re lucky to have a quirk like that, but it doesn’t mean you’re better than me!” the boy said firmly, although he looked absolutely terrified. Clearly, it was for good reason, because if Kacchan was angry before, he looked furious now.

“I’m not better than you? Then, what – you think you’re better than me? You? Don’t make me laugh,” Kacchan growled, looking anything but amused.

At this point, Izuku had had enough. Kacchan’s followers were just hanging back in the distance, glad it wasn’t them Kacchan was angry at, and other students or pedestrians on the streets seemed to walk away, uncaring, or perhaps assuming it was a childish fight. They might be content to walk away while this kid needed help, but Izuku would feel sick if he just left the boy here, at Kacchan’s mercy – or lack thereof, more aptly.

Clearing his throat and taking a deep breath, he stepped forward, finally catching Kacchan’s attention.

“Th-that’s not what he meant, and you know it, Kacchan!” Izuku shouted, voice tremulous and hands formed into loose fists. He stood in front of the boy on the ground.

“Deku,” Kacchan sneered, “stay out of this. This doesn’t concern you. I thought you knew your place.”

“What place, Kacchan? It doesn’t matter who I am. I know that this is wrong!” 

Kacchan blinked slowly, once, and then twice. His features spread out into a menacing, maniacal grin.

“Are you challenging me, then? Seriously, Deku? I mean, I already thought fucking Takahashi was pathetic – he can only bend metal into different shapes, like some kind of overrated toy-maker, but at least he can do something.” 

“I am doing something, right now, aren’t I?” Izuku asked quietly. “I thought you wanted to be a hero, like All Might. All Might would never do something like this, so how do you expect to be like him, then?”

Maybe it was a mistake to say that – because Kacchan went straight from mildly amused to enraged, again.

“I don’t expect to be like All Might,” Kacchan said. “I expect to be better.”

“You’ll never be better if you act like this!” Izuku shouted. “Heroes are supposed to help people, not hurt them! Even I’m doing a better job at that than you are right now!”

For a moment, everything was silent. Izuku was breathing pretty heavily, but a sinking in his gut told him that there was no way Kacchan would take that one lying down. Izuku’s eyes were dropped to the ground for a second, and when he looked back up, all he registered was rage, and then a boom, and then redorangeyellow, and then he was on the ground, face and hands stinging with pain and his eyes watering. He looked up, almost disbelieving, but if he expected to see any kind of remorse, he would be sorely disappointed. For a moment, he thought he saw a flash of something in Kacchan’s eyes, but he decided it was just wishful thinking when Kacchan threw another explosion at Izuku’s feet for good measure. Izuku flinched.

“Listen here, Deku,” Kacchan hissed. “I’m going to be the best hero. Your pathetic, quirkless ass could never do better than me. Because you can never even be a hero in the first place. You’ll always be useless, no matter what.”

On those friendly parting words, Kacchan left Izuku behind, sitting there, shuddering, with scuffed knees and mild burns and a wet face. His ‘friends’ followed closely – a few glanced back, evidently a bit uncomfortable with what just happened, but ultimately they, too, turned their backs on him. Izuku wasn’t sure how long he sat there in silence, but eventually the sound of someone clearing their throat brought him back.

Izuku’s head jerked backwards as the brown-haired boy that Kacchan was tormenting – Takahashi – squinted his eyes at him.

“Why did you do that?” Takahashi asked. Izuku just stared at him, so Takahashi frowned and asked again.

“Did you not hear me? I asked why you did that. Everyone else was just walking by, and...” Takahashi sighed, “... and I wouldn’t have blamed you if you did, too. Bakugou’s pretty menacing.”

“I know,” Izuku said softly. “I know Kacchan better than anyone. That’s why I couldn’t just walk by.”

Takahashi shifted for a second - before nodding, accepting Izuku’s explanation. He got up off the ground to brush the dirt off his pants. He offered Izuku a hand, and for a moment, Izuku just stared again at Takahashi’s gesture of kindness, wondering if it would spark up too.

He quickly shook his head free of the thought, his green curls bobbing erratically in the wind, and smiled weakly, accepting the hand. When he got to his feet, Izuku hesitated, wondering if he should say something more. He thought about what Kacchan was saying before and decided Takahashi needed to hear something else.

“About Kacchan,” Izuku began, as Takahashi looked over at him curiously, “he was wrong. He is wrong, I mean. You have a great quirk.”

Takahashi scoffed. “No need to lie to make me feel better. I’ve already literally been kicked to the ground. Nothing could make me feel much worse.”

“No, no, I really mean it,” Izuku said, shaking his head rapidly, “bending metal may seem useless on a small scale, but getting metal to bend correctly is really important in industrial applications, like automotive engineering, creation of electronic parts, and construction. Most machines involve the use of metal in some way. Your quirk could be really useful when careful metalworking is required, and also save a lot of time and money for companies. Have you ever tried to see how big of a piece you can bend, or how far you can bend it? Or tried to bend really small pieces into intricate shapes? That would be especially useful for computer chips and – ”

“Alright, alright, I get the point,” Takahashi interrupted. Feeling sheepish, Izuku made to apologize for rambling - but Takahashi started speaking again before he could. “I suppose I never thought of it that way, with people only ever asking me to fix their broken toys, or trash like that... but maybe you’re right.”

Izuku smiled. “Of course! All quirks are useful in some way." 

“What does that make you, then?” Takahashi asked, lips twisting humourlessly. “You don’t have a quirk, do you? That’s what Bakugou said.”

Izuku froze.

“W-Well, no, but I’d like to think I can still be useful in some ways. People can always make a difference, if they really want to.”

“Maybe so,” Takahashi said, looking at Izuku appraisingly. “Anyways, thanks – I’ll keep that in mind, about my quirk.”

“No problem! Actually, I could stay a little longer and think about more ideas for your quirk - I mean, if you wanted some more help!” Izuku said, smiling again. Takahashi hummed, suddenly looking mildly sorrowful.

“I – ah, I don’t think that’s the best idea, sorry,” he muttered, looking at Izuku with what was beginning to be a very familiar look – pity. Any hope that was bubbling up in Izuku’s chest froze, retreating back to the lonely recesses of his mind.

“Listen – Deku, was it?” Takahashi asked, paying no mind to Izuku’s flinch at that name. “I appreciate your help and all that, but clearly, Bakugou has it out for you. It’s not that I agree with that brute, at all, but I’ve learned my lesson and I’d like to steer clear of him. And it just doesn’t seem like I can do that with you around. It’s not like I could defend us, and you definitely can’t, so – I’m really sorry. Hopefully you guys will be able to work that out.”

Takahashi himself sounded doubtful of that last part, but looked firm on everything else he was saying.

It’s good that he's sure of at least one part, even if it was the part of him that didn’t want to spend time with me, Izuku thought humourlessly.

The amiable mood that was growing was suddenly stunted, resolutely crushed down into dust by the same hand that crushed Izuku in a different way, just moments ago – albeit indirectly, this time. Or maybe it wasn’t Bakugou’s fault, actually – what was it that Takahashi said? That Izuku definitely couldn’t defend them? Right, it always had to come down to that – his own quirklessness, the chokehold that he could never truly escape. But it was okay. Izuku understood. He always understood.

With the awkwardness blooming, Takahashi looked uncomfortably at the sidewalk, as if he desperately wanted to reach it so he could walk away from this train wreck. “Well, I have to leave now, my mother will be wondering where I am... so I’ll see you around, I guess.”

With that, Takahashi waved and turned around, walking away. Izuku stared at the place where he waved. The palm didn’t spark up. It didn’t spark up when Takahashi offered his hand to Izuku on the ground, either. He almost wished it had, that first time. At least then he would have been wary. He wouldn’t have gotten his hopes up for that one second, only to have them crushed again in the same conversation. Izuku should have really known better by now.

When he got home, Izuku mindlessly scrolled through the daily hero news and videos, as he usually did. His mind was still on the fight, but despite the fact that his self-worth took an overall beating, it was… strange. He didn’t feel as bad as he thought he would.

It didn’t really click with him until he was halfway through watching an old All Might interview.

“– doesn’t really matter,” All Might was saying sagely. “Saving people is the job. It may sound thoughtless, but how they feel about it is irrelevant. People may not be grateful to heroes for all manner of reasons – maybe it’s their hurt pride at needing to be rescued, maybe they’re angry because you didn’t save someone else instead, maybe it’s something else – but at the end of the day, their life is the most important thing. As a hero, you must know that, and not always expect kindness. But you should always be kind anyway. That is your duty.”

Izuku’s eyebrows furrowed, and he replayed that part again. Again. Over and over again. That – that was something. Something that stirred the old urge from inside him. Because Takahashi didn’t have to be kind to Izuku in return. At the end of the day, even though things didn’t go exactly as Izuku would have wanted, didn’t he still do the thing that mattered? Takahashi was in danger and needed rescuing. Izuku stepped in, and once he did, Takahashi was safe. And once the danger was gone, Takahashi was grateful.

It was so simple. Maybe it had always been this simple, and Izuku had been too caught up in his own self-pity and despair to even realize it. Being a hero… it was something he always wanted to do, because he wanted to save people. He wanted to make people feel safe, like All Might did.

But today, he didn’t need a quirk to make someone feel safe. All he needed was a few words and some courage.

For a while, that was enough. After the incident with Takahashi, it was easier for Izuku to bear the mild burns and the permanent ash smell that seemed to trail after him. After all, it meant Kacchan was fixated on him rather than anyone else. In his head, Izuku would admit to himself that this wasn’t the healthiest approach to take, either, but he knew how to handle it. Kacchan didn’t really mean to hurt people, Izuku knew – he was just cementing his place at the top. He wanted to be the best and tended to take other people’s opinions the wrong way, twisting them into personal threats against him. But never once did he waver in his ultimate goal. Izuku could respect that, and admired his dedication to victory. He knew Kacchan was wrong to hurt others, but he also knew it was wrong to write him off completely as a lost cause. After all, someone who wanted to be a hero that badly, someone who used to spend every waking hour obsessing over All Might with Izuku, someone who ranted on how easily they would defeat villains with their power – they couldn’t be a bad person, not really. Just a product of society’s unspoken class system.

So when Kacchan ran ahead of him with his new friends, always leaving Izuku struggling behind him with the picture of his back firmly implanted in his head, it was okay.

When he heard loud snickering as he struggled to complete the same physical fitness tests that the other boys cheated on with their quirks, it was okay.

When Kacchan grew less reserved with his craze for power and tested his newest quirk applications on Izuku whenever Izuku tried to stand up for the other kids in the class, it was okay.

And when Kacchan bragged that he wasn’t afraid of jumping into the river, only to fall in while Izuku reached out desperately to make sure he was alright – when Kacchan grew furious in ways he didn’t see too often – when Kacchan let loose his biggest explosion yet on Izuku, causing him to fall back in the river, both freezing and burning – well, that? That was okay, too.

Even if Kacchan had some kind of warped misinterpretation of what was really happening, Izuku would always see Kacchan as his old friend and try to help him, even if he didn’t feel the same. Wasn’t that what All Might wanted, too?

Times grew tougher, but Izuku’s resolve to be a hero grew stronger. He couldn’t just stand by and let things happen – helping people was what he did, what he always wanted to do, and learning that he had a setback should never have stopped him. Real heroes… they never gave up, no matter what. So he would never give up, either.

That day with Takahashi showed him that sometimes bravery was all that was needed.

It wouldn’t always be enough, Izuku knew. He couldn’t stagnate like this. He had to be better, be stronger. Because something had to change – either him, or Kacchan, or the world. The world was a big challenge to tackle at age eight, so he decided to put that one on hold for now. Kacchan? Well, changing that one would be about as tough as the world. In the end, the one thing Izuku knew for certainty he could change was himself.

Perhaps it wouldn’t make anything different. Perhaps Kacchan would still be the same inveterate fire starter, screeching that all of Izuku’s attempts to be stronger were useless if he was born a weakling. Perhaps the world would still look at him and see a helpless child trying to play hero in a world where he needed to be coddled. But there was one thing Izuku knew for sure: while it was true that changing himself might do absolutely nothing, staying the same would definitely result in failure. And as long as there was a chance, then there was really only one thing left for him to choose.

So, with bright pink, stinging arms dripping in ice-cold water, eight-year-old Izuku marched through the front door of his home. He stopped in front of his mother, who was reading a book on the couch.

Inko dropped the book in shock, immediately demanding to know what happened to him, but Izuku halted her in her tracks by speaking over her.

“Mom,” Izuku said. “I want to learn martial arts. Self-defence. Maybe aikido or taekwondo.”

Inko stopped her babbling, looking over her Izuku again. His arms were covered in mild burns and he was dripping wet. But that wasn’t all. For months – no – for at least a year, he had been coming home hunched over and unhappy. He even came home with a couple of bruises a few times, and while Izuku always insisted that he had tripped or had done something equally as clumsy, refusing to say anything more about it... he got the feeling that Mom knew. How long had she gone by pretending not to see the visible bruises that were there, for his sake? 

Not this time. And by the look on her face, it seemed that she agreed. 

“I – yes. Yes, that sounds just fine to me,” she said, softly but firmly.

“Not just self-defence though,” Izuku said. “At least one more, too. Something more offense-based, like judo or Krav Maga.”

Inko frowned. “I’m sure I understand why you want to learn self-defence, Izuku... but why something more? Something like those?”

It would never make sense to her – for better or for worse, Izuku had never thought to hurt people, no matter what they did to him. Izuku took a deep breath and looked his mother in the eyes, so she could understand how serious he was.

“Because I want to – no, sorry,” Izuku said, pausing for a second to steady himself. “Because I’m going to be a hero.”

Chapter Text

Izuku grunted as his back hit the mat yet again. A tall, brown-haired man with intense, narrow eyes frowned down at him.

“That’s the third time today, Midoriya,” he said disapprovingly. “You’re supposed to be better than this.”

“Sorry, Himura-sensei,” Izuku mumbled, getting back to his feet. Himura sighed and turned away, crossing his arms.

“What’s on your mind, Midoriya? Clearly we won’t be able to fight properly until you get it out of the way.”

“I didn’t mean to ruin – ”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Himura interrupted. “It’s okay to be preoccupied with your thoughts, but I’d appreciate knowing beforehand so we can deal with it instead of wasting time on half-assed training.”

Izuku winced. He knew Himura-sensei wasn’t truly angry, just stating the situation for what it was, but he couldn’t help but feel guilty.

For years, Izuku had trained with Himura Kosuke, a man well-renowned for his expertise in multiple martial arts and his maintenance of the best dojo in the city. His teacher was a no-nonsense, blunt man who kicked students out of his dojo as frequently as he turned others into success stories. Which was, to say, a lot. At the annual Japanese National Martial Arts Championships, students of Himura’s dojo had been consistently placing in the top three for the past nine years. Himura really knew how to beat undisciplined kids into shape, turning them from half-hearted wannabe ninjas to well-developed precision fighting machines. But despite the fact that he accepted anyone who wanted to learn, he was also an excellent judge of character and would kick students out if he saw that progress was impossible. Open to everyone he may be, but he made no promises about how long they could stay. Izuku remembered the first time he met Himura-sensei, eagerly dragging his mom by the skirt to the city’s finest dojo.

“Mom! Here it is!” Izuku exclaimed, staring up at the sign in awe. Inko looked a bit uneasy, but pushed open to door to let herself and Izuku in. Inside, there was a clean-shaven brunet at the front who seemed to be in the middle of demonstrating some forms for a few students in front of him. Hearing the telltale jingle of the door, he looked over, seeing Izuku and Inko by the door watching curiously.

“Complete the next three forms in the set, please,” he called out to his class. “I expect them to look perfect when I get back.”

Walking over to the door, he raised an eyebrow and asked, “May I help you?”

“Yes!” Izuku said enthusiastically, before Inko could speak. Himura’s lips seemed to twitch faintly at that.

“Nice to meet you, Himura-san. My name is Midoriya Inko, and this is my son, Izuku. He wants to learn martial arts,” Inko said, cutting in.

“Some kind of self-defence, and…” she paused for a second, pursing her lips and glancing warily at Izuku, and then the taller students inside the room, “and something more offense-based, as well.”

“Really,” Himura pondered. “Well, that’s interesting. You’re quite small, so I think aikido will work just fine for you – many women practice it, as well, for that reason. Aikido is the way of harmonious spirit – a way to defend yourself while also protecting your attacker from serious injury. Does that sound alright to you?”

Izuku’s eyes were fixed on Himura while listening raptly to what he was saying, and he bobbed his head up and down in agreement when Himura was finished.

“I don’t want to hurt people if I don’t have to – I’m going to be a hero!” Izuku declared.

“Oh, yeah?” Himura asked, amused. “Well, you’ll definitely need something more offensive then. Maybe Krav Maga. But I have to warn you…”

“What?” Izuku asked curiously.

“Martial arts can’t be simplified so greatly, but if I had to guess there was an opposite of aikido, it would be Krav Maga. Aikido aims to peacefully take down the opponent, but Krav Maga is a combination of techniques from boxing, wrestling, judo, karate, and realistic fight training. It’s a military defence system developed for the Israel Defence Forces, and some people look down on it because it involves ‘fighting dirty.’ It’s known to emphasize physical aggression and target the most vulnerable areas of the body.”

Even Izuku looked uneasy upon hearing that. Inko looked shocked.

“Are you sure that’s something you should be teaching him?” she exclaimed.

“If he wants to be a hero, then yes,” Himura stated firmly, “yes, it is. In a fight for survival, you shouldn’t be worrying about the ‘honourable’ way to take someone down. You need to win – for yourself, and for others. There comes a point when you must realize that damage to others has to happen. Krav Maga is aggressive, but it’s the best real-world fighting technique there is.

“Don’t get me wrong – I’m not saying it will turn you to constant aggression. That’s why I actually think it will complement aikido. One will teach you that harming your opponent is not always necessary, and the other will teach you that you can’t always be soft if you want to win. With knowledge of both, you’ll have the background to know when you’re going too far, but also when you’re not going far enough. In this world, holding back can be fatal sometimes.”

“I understand,” Izuku said seriously.

“Good,” Himura said, tilting his head downward to look Izuku in the eyes, “because in this dojo, you must pledge not to use your skill to purposely hurt people. These techniques are to protect yourself and others. Now, are there any more questions, or shall we get started?”

Inko still looked slightly worried, but appeared to commit herself to sticking firm.

“I think he’s okay to start – ” Inko began, but Izuku interrupted her before she could finish. His hands were fidgeting with the frayed ends of his sweatshirt.

“Actually,” Izuku mumbled. “I have one more question?”

“What’s that?” Himura asked, head tilted slightly to the left.

“Do you – is it okay to teach me, even though I’m quirkless?” Izuku asked, shutting his eyes and wanting to get that revelation out of the way before it could cause any kind of problem down the line. He only heard silence for a few moments, so slowly, Izuku opened his eyes again – only to see Himura looking at Izuku blankly, his expression unchanged.

“Why the hell would that matter?” he asked, with no inflection in his voice. “You still have two arms and two legs, don’t you?”

Izuku blinked. " Well, yes, but – ” 

“But nothing,” Himura stated with finality. “That’s all you need to learn martial arts, isn’t it?”

“I guess,” Izuku said, before asking again, shyly. “So then, you don’t think it’s stupid that I still want to be a hero?”

Inko winced, although Izuku didn’t seem to notice. Himura stared at him for a moment.

“It doesn’t matter what I think, does it?” Himura responded briskly, before turning around and beckoning Izuku to follow him to the inner parts of the dojo. " Just don’t disappoint me, and I won’t have to toss you out.”

Izuku never got an actual response that day. Himura-sensei had started his training on the spot, giving him a uniform and ordering him to find a free space on the mats without giving him ample time to even breathe. But he never treated Izuku any differently – in fact, he made a point of warning Izuku that there would be no one going easy on him. As if he would ever want that anyway.

Himura-sensei was truly the picture of indifference. Quirk or no quirk, six-foot-tall body builder or petite little girl – they all looked the same, to him. As far as he was concerned, martial arts were learnable skills – so there was no reason why one person could learn, but another couldn’t. All Might himself could walk into his dojo and Izuku truly believed that Himura-sensei wouldn’t bother giving him a second glance before picking up a uniform and chucking it at his face.

So Izuku wasn’t sure why he was so hesitant to tell him what was on his mind – Himura-sensei never seemed to care enough to judge him before, so what was there to fear from him now?

But, then – maybe that was why. People, as Izuku had learned from scattered old burns and half-hearted excuses, always had a limit. Izuku didn’t want to find Himura’s. Izuku didn’t want to hear derision or scorn from the one person who seemed to treat him with the same general respect as everyone else. He didn’t know if he could deal with it, where to go from there.

But Himura-sensei continued to stare at Izuku imploringly, eyebrows furrowed and evidently refusing to throw another punch until Izuku opened his mouth. So Izuku took in a deep breath and decided to take the plunge. It was better to be crushed sooner rather than later, wasn’t it?

“We have to start sending in our applications for high schools now,” Izuku said slowly. “And I want to apply to U.A. – I always planned to apply there, I mean.”

Himura stared at him.

“So? Do what you want.”

“But do you think I should?” Izuku persisted, holding his breath in anticipation of a negative response. Himura rolled his eyes.

“Why do you keep asking me these things? It’s your life. Who’s stopping you? If you want to apply there, then apply there,” Himura said, studying his nails.

“All Might went there, too,” Izuku added.

“I know,” Himura sighed, rubbing his forehead, “and the other students in this dojo know. The parents know, the schoolteachers know, the beggar on the street corner knows, hell, even my dog knows. Who doesn’t know that? Are you planning on getting to your point any time today?”

Izuku fidgeted.

“You think I can get in?” Izuku asked quietly.

“I was under the impression that this was a training session, not afternoon therapy,” Himura said dryly. “Self-confidence comes from the self, hence the name. I can’t help you with that. But you seemed pretty keen on it, even back when you were eight. What’s the problem now?”

The problem?

Determination wasn’t a cleaning agent that could wash away the ever-present stains of low self-esteem and far-reaching anxiety. And stinging burns, bitter insults, and forced loneliness weren’t blemishes that were completely washable – they always tended to leave behind mild traces, no matter how hard you rubbed at them.

It was easy, when he was eight, to shoot for the stars when they were so far away, and all he had to do was keep flying upwards as far as the eye could see. It was hard, when he was fourteen, to take a single step forward into the unknown, when all the barriers like the pesky stratosphere, freezing cold temperatures, lack of oxygen, and crushing pressure were finally making themselves known.

As application deadlines loomed closer, Izuku was more and more reminded that his whole life depended on the next few months. Everything that he had been working towards. If things didn’t go as he had planned, he wouldn’t be fourteen, hopeful and determined, anymore. He would also be six – lonely and lost and bitter and afraid. And maybe he wouldn’t know how to get back from there.

Not again.

“I just,” Izuku started, trying to swallow over the lump in his throat, “don’t want to disappoint myself, or you. Kacchan is applying there. People like Kacchan will be applying, too. I don’t know if I can compare to them.”

“First of all, never worry about me. That shouldn’t even cross your mind,” Himura said, “and second of all, what does that mean? You’re not even going to try? Doesn’t sound like you.”

“It’s not about that,” Izuku insisted, waving his arms. “I want to try, more than anything, but the entrance exam for heroics – it always seems to be something destructive. Every time I watch the Sports Festival – it’s obvious that only kids with ostentatious, earth-shattering quirks make it in. The exam is designed that way. So it’s not even about how hard I try. I can’t destroy buildings with the power of my own will, or with my bare hands, no matter what I do.”

“Then don’t,” Himura said simply, shifting back into a defensive stance and beckoning Izuku to attack him again. Izuku frowned, not moving from his position. Himura sighed. Clearly, he had thought the conversation was over. 

“What do you mean? You think I should just give up?”

Himura shrugged. “If you want to. I was actually implying that if you really wanted to get into heroics that badly, you should think of another way – but giving up would also solve this problem, technically.”

“What other way could there be…” Izuku asked himself under his breath, eyebrows furrowing. He stood in silence for a few moments, thinking hard, before his eyes widened.

“I… you’re right!” Izuku blurted out, as if he just discovered the meaning of the entire universe.

“That does tend to happen, sometimes. I wish you would also realize that I was right about this being a dojo, where we fight, not spill our feelings all over each other... but one realization at a time, I suppose,” Himura drawled.

“Heroes like All Might’s old sidekick, Sir Nighteye… or underground hero Eraserhead… or that new hero, Heartstopper, who can manipulate people’s emotions…” Izuku went on, ignoring Himura-sensei’s exasperation, “…they never would have passed the exam. But they’re still U.A. alumni.”

“Fascinating.”

“Yeah…” Izuku breathed, either unaware or uncaring of Himura’s clear apathy. “It’s… the Sports Festival! It doesn’t happen so often, and it doesn’t make the news, but every once in a while… a kid from General Education does really well. I remember now – I’ve watched it every year since I was four. Sir Nighteye and Eraserhead must have had their Festivals before I started watching, but Heartstopper – she was in Gen Ed, and she won the Sports Festival when I was nine. Meaning she was transferred to Heroics. Which means… I could be, too.”

“I’m so glad I was able to help,” Himura said, tapping his fingers against his thigh with clear impatience.

“Right - thanks, sensei!” Izuku exclaimed, finally getting back into an attack position. “Let’s hurry up and practice! I need to be even better if I have to win the Sports Festival.”

“My distinct apologies for taking up so much of your time,” Himura said, rolling his eyes. “Let’s get going.”

When Izuku and Katsuki were both four years old, they would scour the Internet for videos of villain fights, or switch channels on the TV until it landed on the daily hero news, or pick up the newspaper and try to read about which new threats had been defeated. Katsuki would laugh excitedly, maniacally, whenever the hero managed to overcome the villain, watching their every move and practicing with his own quirk. At age four, Katsuki would envision ways that he could defeat the villain instead, over and over again, until there was no doubt who would win. He had an ingrained battle sense. A natural-born genius. On the other hand, Izuku, having not yet discovered his quirk, would write notes and strategies and special moves and theories until his fingers cramped and there was no room for anything left on the pages of his notebook.

Izuku can’t remember it himself, but his mother insists that the first notebook – Hero Analysis for the Future Vol. 1, as it was now fondly dubbed – was a gift from Kacchan for his fourth birthday, after he got tired of Izuku running to get scrap paper every time they were watching a fight. Irony was like a leaden paint that continued to coat itself over every aspect of Izuku’s life.

The memory may not be his, but Izuku likes to pretend otherwise – it’s a reminder of a time when things were so different. And it serves as a symbol that things could always change again.

Ten years later, neither Izuku nor Kacchan have changed in this aspect, at least. Kacchan is now extremely proficient with his quirk, to the point where Izuku believes any low-rank villain would be unable to face him, and Izuku still writes cramped essays in his notebooks, now having moved to Hero Analysis for the Future Vol. 13, clutching it in his hands as he shuffled to the back of his classroom for his last class of the day.

Taking his seat, he pulled it out, flipping absent-mindedly through his recent pages on Kamui Woods while he waited for the teacher to enter the room and start the lesson. No one seemed to notice him, as usual. His classmates didn’t do much of that, these days.

Finally, Yukimura-sensei trudged into the class, coffee in hand, about a minute before class was due to start. He was a bored-looking man, constantly glancing at his watch or the classroom clock and sighing, as though his greatest highlight of each day was the end of it. He dropped his briefcase onto his desk with a loud bang and stepped in front of the chalkboard, facing the room and clearing his throat.

“Attention, students,” he said. “Applications for high school are due to be handed in today. Please put your forms on my desk in a neat pile.”

Yukimura-sensei sat back down in his chair, sipping his coffee and checking his phone. He evidently wasn’t bothered enough to hound students for their paperwork, even if it happened to be vital for their future careers and lives in general. Slowly, students in the class ambled up to front, chatting with each other about where they were applying and what subjects they wanted to take as they dropped off their papers. Izuku’s hands trembled as he walked up, hesitating for a second before placing down the life-changing package. He was both excited and worried – this was his first step, meaning any rewards and difficulties would be soon to follow.

He spent the remainder of class doodling in his notebook, sketching out Mount Lady for her page, while everyone finished dropping off their forms. Yukimura-sensei finally picked up the stack of applications and began to sort through them while the rest of the class walked around to join their friends, laughing and gossiping. Izuku tried not to look around too longingly, convincing himself that he was just really fascinated by Mount Lady’s mask and hair.

It was really important to get the purple right, he told himself.

Sometimes, in moments like these, it was difficult to breathe. It was so hard to see people around you connect with each other in ways that you never have, and maybe never will. It was so hard to see what you had missed out on, for so many years, while everyone that surrounds you could do it with practiced ease and simple promises to keep in touch.

Whenever Izuku felt like this, he could barely stand to look at his notebook. It felt artificial. His chest tightened and stomach dropped. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the words, reminding him of the older ones he wrote back when Kacchan was around. He couldn’t help but wonder if the memories and times they had together were even real, or if he just imagined every playground game and All Might marathon and all the shared peals of laughter, because he was that lonely. Maybe he just made it all up. Or maybe it all happened, but they were just lies manufactured by Kacchan all along. He didn’t want to believe that it was all true and significant to both of them once, but… just not significant enough to last.

He didn’t want to look at his notebook, but if he stopped, then he would have to look around the room at his laughing classmates again – and that option was infinitely worse.

So Izuku just kept tracing the outline of Mount Lady’s horns, his pencil pressing harder and harder against the page. The tip broke. He slowly reached for his sharpener and placed the pencil tip inside, turning it around sluggishly. He wished he could go home.

“– you going, Bakugou?” a boy asked, leaning over Bakugou’s desk. Izuku glanced over briefly.

“U.A., of course! Like there’s any other school worth a damn. Don’t you dare lump me in with all you extras!” Bakugou declared arrogantly.

“U.A.?” Yukimura-sensei asked, lazily flicking through another page. “Interesting. Isn’t that where Midoriya applied, too?”

For a moment, time seemed to slow down as both Izuku and Bakugou froze. Then it seemed to pick back up, at twice the speed, as Bakugou’s shock slipped back into fury and he whipped his head back a full one-hundred-and-eighty degrees in half a second to glare at Izuku. His palms were already starting to spark up.

“Please refrain from using your quirk in class, Bakugou,” Yukimura-sensei said distractedly.

Bakugou barely glanced back at their teacher. Instead, he tilted his head up to the clock, which indicated that there were only five minutes left of class, and then turned back to Izuku, still seething.

Izuku looked back down at his notebook. He knew what was coming.

In a twisted way, he liked that he had Bakugou’s attention, though. At least someone was paying attention to him.

He didn’t realize how much he would regret that thought.

The bell rang and Izuku’s classmates jumped out of their seats excitedly, racing out of the class without even sparing Yukimura-sensei a second thought, eager to enjoy the rest of the afternoon.

It was bright and sunny outside, that day; the weather was perfectly pleasant and warm. Izuku distinctly remembered this, because it contrasted beautifully with how cold and sombre he was feeling. Of course, it didn’t start off that way. He, too, felt the warmth on his skin at first – it was pleasant and light, then a little too hot and uncomfortable, then strangely blistering, then ohgoditwasburning –

When the bell rang, Izuku got up and tried to quickly make his way to the door with the rest of his class – he may have liked getting his existence acknowledged from time to time, but he wasn’t suicidal. He knew that Kacchan was out for blood, after what he heard.

Unfortunately, he was especially persistent today. As expected. Izuku had barely made it down the corridor on the third floor of their school before an explosion ripped through the air, aimed at his feet, making him stumble and fall forward onto his hands and knees.

Izuku gasped in shock, dropping the notebook in his hands. His backpack slid off his shoulder and hit the ground, his textbooks and pencils spilling out too. He grunted from the impact with the floor, rubbing his wrists gingerly, and cautiously tilted his head up only to see Kacchan’s fiery glare and the amused once-overs from a few other classmates.

“What the fuck, Deku,” Bakugou said. “You’re applying to U.A.? Don’t tell me you still think you can be a hero. All this time, and you’re still challenging me, like you even have a chance.”

Izuku sighed, exhausted. “I’m not even applying for Heroics, Kacchan. I’m applying for General Education. Surely your ego isn’t so massive that even that offends you?”

“What the hell did you just say to me?” Bakugou growled, throwing another small explosion into Izuku’s face. “It doesn’t matter if you’re applying to the department for useless extras. I’m going to be the only one from this school going to U.A. and you’re not going to ruin that for me.”

“My application has nothing to do with you,” Izuku protested, fighting to stop himself from coughing because of the smoke. “This world doesn’t revolve around you, you know. People are allowed to have goals that aren’t about you at all.”

“Bold words for such a damn liar,” Bakugou said, snarling. His gaze fixated slightly to the left of Izuku. Izuku frowned, following his line of sight, and froze when he saw his notebook. Immediately, he lunged to grab it, but Bakugou was much quicker – he picked up the notebook, holding it up high, while Izuku again landed at his feet.

Bakugou snorted when he read the title – Hero Analysis for the Future, Vol. 13.

“Still writing in these useless notebooks, Deku?” he scoffed. “You can’t fool me. I know a challenge when I see one. Your quirkless ass can barely get through a hallway without falling over. How the fuck do you expect to save anyone when you can’t even save yourself?”

“How do you expect to be a hero when all you do is hurt people?” Izuku demanded sharply.

The mood dropped, but Bakugou didn’t snarl or rant or rage again. He didn’t even spark up his fingers. Instead, he just smiled.

It was terrifying.

Still grinning madly, Bakugou crouched down to look Izuku in the eyes, speaking quietly for once.

“It’s good to see that you grew some kind of a backbone over the years, Deku,” Bakugou said softly. “Really, I’m impressed. And don’t think I don’t see other things, too. You’ve bulked up a bit, haven’t you? You’re quicker, you have faster reflexes, you don’t flinch as much. You really have gotten stronger.”

“Yes,” Izuku breathed out heavily, staring at Bakugou.

“Well, then, let me offer you some free advice,” he said.

Bakugou got back up to his feet, standing, all while dangling Izuku’s notebook in front of him, in his left hand. For a moment, Izuku almost thought he would be kind enough to let it go.

He really should have learned to stop getting his hopes up.

With a single, fluid motion of his right arm, Bakugou let loose a large explosion on the notebook – not just burning it, but propelling it straight through the open window in the corridor. The notebook flew outside, falling in a parabolic arc – all the way to the front of the school courtyard, where it landed in one of the fountains.

“No!” Izuku cried out, scrambling to his knees and reaching his hand out limply towards the window, as though he could still save it.

“If you really want to be a hero, Deku, maybe you should take a swan dive off the roof and pray for a quirk in your next life,” Bakugou said, sneering, before turning his back to Izuku and walking away.

Izuku stared at him in shock, his lips beginning to tremble and a familiar stinging sensation erupting in his eyes. His ears were ringing and the lights – the overly yellow hallways lights – were blinding him. He couldn’t see, or hear, or feel, or think.

How… how could he say that?

Izuku knew that things hadn’t been good between them for a long time, but… he was always under the impression that Kacchan didn’t actually hate him. Just misunderstood him, misinterpreted him, misread him, mistook his actions for something else. All very pretty, shiny, ambiguous words. Easily explainable. Understandable.

But this – Izuku couldn’t understand it. He didn’t want to understand it. He didn’t want to be wrong.

Because if he was, then he really – truly – had no one.

“K-Kacchan,” Izuku called out, brokenly and helplessly. He didn’t know why he called out again, what he expected – Bakugou to turn back around and take his words back, preferably? Or maybe some kind of hesitation, some sign of remorse? Perhaps a nod of acknowledgement, a quick glance over the toy he broke to decide whether or not it was worth fixing, so he could ruin it all over again some other time.

But Bakugou did none of these things. Izuku had tears sliding over his cheeks and his hands were too shaky to steady himself on the ground and lift himself up. So he just sat there helplessly, as usual.

Bakugou had already turned and was travelling down the hallway with his nameless shadows traipsing after him clumsily, but when Izuku said his name, he stopped. He didn’t bother to turn around to face Izuku, but his back was ramrod straight and the muscles in his arms were tense. His fingers were twitching sporadically for some reason. Not sparking up, just… twitching. Like there was something he desperately needed to do. Strange.

“Deku,” he said. “If you’ve gotten stronger, then why the fuck are you still sitting uselessly on the ground, like always?”

Izuku said nothing.

This time, Bakugou left, and Izuku didn’t bother to try and stop him. Instead, he stayed on the ground, where he belonged. His uniform was a bit singed, his hands and face slightly red. His knees were stinging a bit, from the fall. His face was marked with tear tracks.

It was like a perfect caricature of himself, six years ago, before he really decided that he could be something. Except he couldn’t protect anyone, this time.

Back then, he slapped some sense into himself and stopped moping about his condition. He eagerly tackled aikido practices at the break of dawn and Krav Maga sessions late into the night. He worked himself to the bone every single day, not even taking breaks on weekends or public holidays. He went through forms and techniques over and over again, until he didn’t even have to think before attacking anymore. Until his arms had to resist going for a chokehold instead of a hug, until his feet were bleeding and his insides ached.

But here he was, six years later, and everything was still the fucking same.

Izuku was still weak. And Bakugou still knew how to break him with just a few words, and walk away.

Walking home was a miserable affair. Having picked up the remnants of his charred notebook from the fountain, he trudged down the sidewalk despondently with the edges of his pants wet and his shoes and socks dripping uncomfortably. The sun was still up, shining brightly and warmly. People in street-side cafés were laughing and the owner of the flower shop was humming while setting out the bright red tulips in bloom.

It was all so off-putting to look at.

He looked at his notebook instead. The cover was half-burned off and the pages inside were barely holding themselves together. Half of the words on Mount Lady’s page were illegible. Izuku could barely make out the outline on the draft of a hero costume that he drew for himself.

It was kind of fitting, Izuku mused, that Kacchan created this series by giving me the first book, and then ended it by burning the last one. Very poetic.

Maybe that’s why he couldn’t do anything, when it came to him. Bakugou had always made him freeze, no matter how much training he did. Something about his face, eager and ready to explode anything and everything, reminded him of the very same four-year-old who just wanted to talk about heroes and win all the time. For all of Izuku’s willingness to talk back to him, he could never bear to throw any punches or flip him over his shoulder or trap him in a chokehold or twist his arm behind his back until he was forced to the ground, or any of the other endless techniques he knew. The very thought of trying to harm his old friend was repellent to him.

Of course, he would never say this to Bakugou. That would probably just make him angrier. And Izuku knew it wouldn’t be like this forever, anyway. He saw no reason to harm Bakugou when there was nothing at stake, when Izuku himself was also barely injured – only a few mild burns and a broken heart, like always, nothing he couldn’t handle. But at the Sports Festival, if – when – Izuku faced Bakugou, there would be no holding back. Holding back, Izuku remembered being told, could be fatal.

Still, Bakugou’s words had hit harder than usual today. There was still an ugly, weak part of Izuku – a part that he hated – that wanted to have a quirk. As if he’d worked for nothing. And maybe he didn’t just want to have a quirk so he could be a hero like All Might – maybe he wanted one because he was still that desperate to be Kacchan’s friend. Sometimes he would imagine what life would be like if he got one of his parents’ quirks – if he could breathe fire, or pull objects toward him. Would he sit with Kacchan every day, laugh along with him and Kacchan’s other friends? Would they strive to be heroes together? And would he push people around on the playground, too – would he laugh at the quirkless, at Takahashi’s useless metal-bending quirk? Would he ever be that callous?

Izuku would like to think that he would never, but the truth was – he didn’t know.

Izuku wanted to be thoughtful, forgiving. He wanted to be a symbol for something important. He wanted to be important. He wanted to be strong. But he didn’t know if he could be, sometimes.

It was these thoughts, swirling around in Izuku’s head like a maelstrom of despair, that perhaps distracted him from his surroundings. Because as he entered the opening to the dark tunnel, it might have been obvious to him, any other day, that something was off. He could almost hear Himura-sensei yelling at him about how he should always be aware of what was happening around him.

But Izuku was so caught up in muttering to himself that he didn’t hear the slime oozing up from the sewer grates behind him, tentacles of sludge coming together to form a huge mass of slippery, wet goo. He didn’t notice the slight hissing or the bubbling of the tendrils of slime. But as he made to leave the tunnel – he did think it was strange that despite the sunlight just outside the opening, there seemed to be this huge, hulking shadow – much bigger than the size of his whole body – right at the exit. Izuku stopped muttering.

Slowly, he turned around, and his eyes widened with shock and fear as he took in some kind of villain – a monster, really – that seemed to be completely made of sludge.

“You’ll make a perfect skin suit for me to hide in, kid,” the sludge monster hissed, sounding menacing and self-satisfied.

For a brief moment, Izuku considering trying to defend himself by fighting the creature. This moment was, indeed, very brief, because it lasted for perhaps two-and-a-half seconds as Izuku took in its ever-changing, gelatinous body, before he changed his mind and turned around to run.

The monster opened its mouth, leaping on Izuku in the same instant. Izuku yelped as he hit the ground for the third time today. His notebook fell to the side.

“Don’t worry,” the monster soothed, grinning with all its sharp teeth visible. “You’ll feel better soon.”

Izuku choked on the tendrils of slime that forced itself into his mouth, eyes watering. More slime oozed around his neck, lifting him up and getting tighter, until his legs could no longer reach the ground and he couldn’t breathe. His hands scrabbled uselessly against the monster, fingers curling and sinking into the sludge ineffectively until they just dropped, too weak to continue.

In the dojo, Izuku had been choked many, many times. Attacked from behind, a leap forward from in front of him, legs locked around his neck – all situations from which he could escape with ease. All it took was a well-placed strike to the inside crease of the elbow or knee, or an elbow jammed into the opponent’s solar plexus, or a fist to the crotch area. But Izuku had never faced an opponent without an actual body. So instead of getting out of this situation with his six years of training and his wits, he dangled helplessly like a puppet on a string, forced to obey its master’s will.

“I didn’t know he was in the city,” the monster snarled, irritated with Izuku’s resistance in spite of how weak it was, “so I’ve got to get out of here fast, before he tracks me down.”

Izuku’s struggling mind managed to piece the words together somehow, becoming even more confused and muddled.

He?

Suddenly, all of Izuku’s air was cut off. He wasn’t even struggling anymore – he was dying.

This can’t be the end, Izuku thought desperately. Somebody… please.

His eyes closed.

As if Fate finally decided to listen to one of Izuku’s prayers, the sewer grate suddenly popped open. The lid banged against the wall of the tunnel. The sludge monster’s eyes widened and it turned around, still holding Izuku in its tentacles.

“Have no fear, you are safe,” a familiar voice called. “Because I am here!”

The sludge monster created a hand out of its slime, pushing it towards the voice, but –

“Texas… SMASH!” the voice shouted, as a huge gust of wind ripped apart the sludge monster entirely. Bits of goo went flying all over the tunnel walls, and Izuku finally took in some oxygen, his eyes weakly fluttering open for a second.

A bright light shone at the entrance of the tunnel, but Izuku wasn’t sure if it was the sun, or –

Is that… All Might?

That was the last thing his mind registered before he passed out in a puddle of slime.

“Wake up! Wake up!” a deep voice insisted, lightly slapping his face, as Izuku struggled to open his eyes.

As he did, his eyes widened in surprise and wonder. In front of him was a very familiar face, one with an ever-present, obnoxiously white-toothed smile and bright, blond hair, with two strands sticking up in front. All Might.

Izuku yelped and leaped backwards, unable to contain his disbelief and excitement.

“Well, it’s good to see that you’re alright!” All Might said, beaming brilliantly. “So sorry it took me so long to get here, but it turns out this city’s sewer system is quite difficult to navigate!”

“All…Might…” he whispered.

“But no need to worry – I have captured the evildoer!” he declared loudly, holding up a soda bottle that was filled to the brim with slime.

Izuku continued to stare, unable to say anything – until he caught sight of his notebook.

“Um,” Izuku began intelligently, “c-could you please sign my notebook?”

All Might let out his signature booming laugh.

“Take a look inside, my boy!”

Izuku picked up the notebook from the ground, flipping to the last page – where All Might had already signed the book, right across two pages.

“Thank you!” Izuku exclaimed. “And… thank you, for saving me, All Might, sir!”

“All in a day’s work for a hero! And I wish you luck in your journey – your notebook is indeed very impressive! Now, then, I must be off. Have to drop off this villain at the police station!” All Might announced, patting his pocket.

“W-Wait!” Izuku shouted, although his heart was still stuttering from the fact that All Might thought his notes were impressive.

All this time, Izuku had fought and struggled. His limbs were almost permanently bruised with the great efforts he took to be strong over the years. The thing that kept him going, his dream of being a hero – All Might was always the shining beacon in the distance that he wanted to reach. He couldn’t miss this golden opportunity.

Kacchan had clearly never thought he could be a hero, nor any of his classmates. His schoolteacher couldn’t care less, assuming Izuku would probably never amount to much. His mother was supportive of his need to defend himself and learn to fight, but even she looked at him with a bit too much anxiety in her eyes. And when Izuku asked Himura-sensei if he thought it was possible, he had not even deigned to answer him.

But none of that mattered – Izuku could deal with all of that. There was only one person who remained a constant in his life, a continuous encouragement for his dream over these years. So Izuku had to ask. He couldn’t just let this go. He needed to hear unwavering belief from someone, just once, that he could do this. And if it was All Might himself?

No one could dispute that, could they?

“All Might,” Izuku said. “Do you think it’s possible for someone quirkless, like me, to be a hero?”

Silence.

No. Not you, too.

Izuku’s eyes were fixed on All Might’s face. Originally encouraging and pleased, Izuku watched as his expression traversed a dangerous path to frozen and awkward and uncomfortable. His heart sunk to the pit of the stomach and the lump in his throat grew bigger, until he felt like maybe he couldn’t breathe again. Or maybe he was breathing too heavily, it was hard to tell. Was part of the sludge monster’s slime still stuck in his throat?

“My boy,” All Might began, looking sorrowful and hesitant as his hand rubbed the back of his neck. “I – I’m sorry.”

Izuku didn’t need to hear any more. But, much like watching a train wreck in action, he couldn’t turn away. Couldn’t take his eyes off the debris, couldn’t stop listening to the unholy screeching of the brakes and pained cries of the passengers. Didn’t dare to stop observing for even a single second. Because this memory would probably be engraved into his brain for the rest of his natural life.

“In this world, there are many villains with powerful quirks,” All Might explained gently, as if Izuku had never heard of a villain before. As if his notebook – his impressive notebook – didn’t cover all the ways that different heroes could take down specific subsets of villains.

Izuku almost didn’t hear the rest of what All Might was saying, his heartbeat was so loud.

“Heroes with incredible quirks still have trouble taking these criminals down – myself included,” All Might continued sadly. “So I just don’t think it’s possible for someone quirkless to face them. It would be too dangerous.”

Dangerous. Dangerous, like Kacchan. Like the sludge monster. Like everyone else you’re not strong enough to beat. If I can’t beat them, will I ever be able to beat anyone else?

Izuku’s gaze never left All Might’s face. He, too, was frozen. He didn’t know what to say, so he just… didn’t try. He wasn’t sure what his face looked like, right then, but it must have been extremely pity-inducing because All Might kept talking, like Izuku when he started his non-stop muttering under his breath.

“I’m sorry,” All Might repeated urgently, clearly struggling to get some kind of response out of him, “but – but if you wish to save people, there are plenty of ways to do so! Policemen, firefighters, paramedics – their jobs may not be glamorous, but we need them. There’s more than one way to save people.”

Izuku continued to stare. If there were a language or medium to express the amount of disappointment he felt in that moment, the amount of confusion and desolation and disturbingly low self-worth, he would write essays upon essays, perhaps filling up another thirteen volumes of notebooks.

But the only language he knew was Japanese.

“Okay,” he uttered simply.

All Might looked unconvinced of Izuku’s placid disposition and composure – rude, because Izuku thought he was doing a fine job of masking his unrelenting pain – but eventually his struggle to beat time seemed to win out.

“I really have to get going,” All Might said apologetically, “but I wish you luck, young citizen!”

With that, All Might took to the skies. Maybe if both parties were a little less shaken, they would have noticed the bottle slipping out of All Might’s pocket as he jumped up a bit too hastily. It rolled to the edge of the curb.

But one of them was flying at the speed of a small airplane, about to lose all energy and troubled by the distraught look he put on a kid’s face. And the other felt like he was overheated, yet again, choking – his world was ending. So neither of them noticed a thing.

Izuku gazed blankly at the space where All Might was standing. What was that last thing he had said?

There’s more than one way to save someone.

Interesting.

There was also more than one way to burn someone, it seemed.

Chapter Text

As if in a trance, Izuku wandered out of the tunnel area, dazed and feeling like he got hit by a cargo truck speeding down the highway. He wasn’t sure where his feet were taking him. Some of the buildings looked familiar, others looked new. He couldn’t be bothered to pay attention anymore.

It shouldn’t have been surprising. No one had ever given him clear, unequivocal approval for his dream. Every one of his proclamations of his determination to be a hero had been met with hesitant faces tinged with unmistakable doubt. He went on ignoring it, pretending they didn’t exist, all while the pit in his stomach grew and grew. They had to be wrong. Everyone else had to be wrong.

This… this was the only thing that Izuku had ever known for sure that he wanted. He didn’t care much for birthday presents or toys or games – technically, he had even gone years without friends, so maybe he didn’t need those either – but the expressions of relief and joy on people’s faces when they were saved, when they knew it wasn’t over for them… that was always what he wanted to do for others. It was just so inspiring. Because maybe if the doctor didn’t look so saddened when he told the Midoriyas about Izuku’s condition, maybe if Inko didn’t apologize to Izuku like it was her fault that such a tragic thing had happened, maybe if Kacchan didn’t look disgusted, and his classmates didn’t look indifferent…

Maybe if someone had shown him that it wasn’t over for himself, then he, too, could feel like there was no danger anymore.

But no one saved him. No, he was treated as though he had some kind of disability, as far as he could remember. Like there was something wrong with him and it couldn’t be fixed. It was bad enough to get that kind of judgement from everyone he knew, but from the number one hero?

If All Might himself, the ultimate paragon of heroism, couldn’t find it within himself to encourage Izuku, then was Izuku’s determination actually determination – or was it just sheer blind stupidity and refusal to see his failings? Because when the whole world is telling you something else, collectively, maybe you’re the one who’s in the wrong.

Bang! Bang!

Izuku jumped in surprise.

A series of explosions and yelling rudely interrupted Izuku’s morose thoughts. He frowned, looking up, but there was a loud crowd of people right in front of him blocking his view.

“That poor kid,” someone murmured.

“I hope the heroes do something soon,” said another man, craning his neck upward.

A villain fight? With a hostage?

Izuku’s fingers instinctively itched to open the cover of his notebook, ready to start taking notes – before he dropped his hands again, because what was the point –

“Die!” an angry voice screeched, followed by more popping and bursting noises. Izuku’s heart skipped a beat.

Kacchan?

Anything on his mind was immediately forgotten as he pushed his way through grumbling civilians with his eyes wide and erratic thumping in his chest. He struggled to get through the uncomfortably large mass of bodies just standing around like they were watching a street performance, feeling both fear and irritation. Finally reaching the front of the crowd, his eyes widened in horror.

Kacchan was being strangled by the sludge monster – the very same one that All Might supposedly captured when Izuku was the one being held in its slimy clutches. And he was struggling. Explosions were popping out of his fists everywhere, with no rhyme or reason. With none of the extraordinary control that Izuku had seen him exhibit so often. The ground was flaming and parts of the surrounding walls and the street were damaged, utterly ripped to shreds, as though they were made of butter instead of reinforced concrete.

Kacchan looked angry, as usual – his eyebrows were furrowed and his eyes were narrowed and his lips were twisted into a menacing snarl – but he also looked scared. He was choking, like Izuku was choking not too long ago, but the difference was that no one was doing a thing about it.

Heroes – so many heroes – were just standing on the sidelines, watching in discomfort and irritation, as if Bakugou’s life was an annoying occurrence to deal with and they wished the whole situation could be over already, so they could head back home to relax. Mount Lady, Kamui Woods, Death Arms, Backdraft – they were all positioned at the front with their teeth gritted and fists clenched, but they kept glancing around at the civilians, at each other, at the sludge monster – why weren’t they looking at Kacchan? – as if someone with a miraculous quirk would suddenly emerge and take care of the whole thing for them.

Well, Izuku couldn’t stand it any longer. He didn’t know how they were doing it, but every second he spent standing here uselessly while Kacchan’s face turned purple made him want to throw up. Slowly, unbidden, his feet starting moving forward – then jogging, then sprinting. Straight past the line of policemen controlling the crowd and the heroes who took notice of him and tried to drag him back.

“Hey! Where do you think you’re going, kid?” one of them yelled, alarmed.

Izuku didn’t bother answering. His attention was only on one thing.

Friendship was not a two-way street, not always. It was okay that Bakugou couldn’t be bothered to think of Izuku, that he felt the need to push Izuku’s head down in rising waters, holding it there and watching him struggle just for kicks. But if you truly care about someone, it didn’t matter how they felt about you. The only thing that mattered was them.

Revenge and vindication and karma were not thoughts that Izuku was even remotely familiar with.

And besides, despite Bakugou being Bakugou, despite the explosions and cutting words, despite what he suggested to Izuku maybe an hour ago – Izuku knew that he could never just stand there, either. He’d throw himself into any fight, kicking and screaming, just to prove that he could win – just to rub it in Izuku’s face that he still wasn’t strong enough, that he needed to be saved like some kind of damsel in distress. But that would still be okay. Bakugou wanted to be a hero. And he would be, a great one – not like any of the other heroes standing around right now.

Izuku neatly leaped over a tentacle of slime whipping its way across the ground, landing on his feet, and continued to run forward. Unfortunately, as he got to the core of the beast – the part that was holding Bakugou hostage – his mind blanked, as his brain finally realized that he never bothered to come up with any kind of plan. His hands scrambled for purchase in the walls of slime that restricted Bakugou’s body, but his fingers dragged through, unable to grip anything let alone rip him out.

“What the hell are you doing, idiot?” Bakugou screeched. Izuku ignored him, dodging another two waves of slime tentacles surging downwards to knock him over. He had to think.

The body was completely viscous and gelatinous, meaning almost any physical attack would be impossible. However, like all sentient creatures, there had to be some kind of core – some place where necessary organs could be stored, even if it was just a brain.

The sludge monster roared, tightening its grip on Bakugou and Izuku panicked as he made unpleasant choking noises. Reaching forward, he tried again to grab Bakugou, but it was still useless. The sludge monster used Izuku’s momentary panic to whip another arm made of slime towards him – one that he was unable to dodge. Izuku hit the ground, his backpack sliding off his shoulders in front of him.

As he got back to his knees, he noticed the sludge monster looking at him triumphantly – looking at him. Eyes.

No matter how many times it reformulated its shape, its eyes always remained in a constant position at the top of the mass of goo. Unchanging. Physical.

Picking up his backpack, Izuku got off the ground and rushed forward again. He weaved through the slime and reached for Bakugou again – this time, not to grab him, but to draw the sludge monster’s attention. Sure enough, it took the bait and roared, leaning downwards and stretching out its body so it could try to capture Izuku as well.

But Izuku stepped back and swung his right arm behind his body first, still holding his backpack. Making a full loop with his arm, he used the momentum to launch it forward with all his strength, hitting the creature directly in the eyes. The sludge monster drew back, roaring – and loosening its grip on Bakugou at the same time.

Bakugou gasped, finally taking in some air. At the same time, he let loose huge explosions from his fists, finally breaking apart the monster’s grip as slime splattered everywhere. He fell forward onto the ground.

But the injury that its eyes suffered was only a momentary distraction – in a flash, the sludge monster was back to normal, and now angrier than before. Izuku panicked again, looking around frantically. He doubted that he and Bakugou could run back to the crowd of civilians in time, so he needed to think of something else. Earlier, All Might destroyed the monster with one smash – a huge burst of wind pressure that blew it apart. Was there anything around that could simulate a blast that strong? Some kind of pressurized air tube used in a store nearby?

As it turned out, he didn’t have to worry anymore.

As his mind worked frantically and the spectators watched on, no one noticed an emaciated, thin blond who was coughing up blood swallow it all back down in favour of moving forward quickly in the crowd. No one noticed until he forcefully bulked up to a much more recognizable form, pushing through the front line.

“Worry not!” All Might declared, grinning brightly. “Because I am here!”

Wasting no time, All Might stepped in front of Izuku and Bakugou, throwing back his arm and pushing it forward again to let loose a scarily destructive, strikingly powerful Detroit Smash. The sludge monster was completely obliterated, for the second time today. The entire back end of the street was painted in greenish-brown slime.

Both Izuku and Bakugou were knocked back to the ground, dazed by the sheer power of All Might. Despite any lingering feelings of disappointment and awkwardness he felt by looking upon the number one hero, Izuku’s inner fanboy couldn’t be quelled by seeing such an impressive display. He rose back to his feet slowly, stumbling a bit, gazing at the mess that took up an entire street and marvelling at the impact that All Might had.

He turned around, only to see All Might handing the sludge monster off to the police and slipping away, while Bakugou was surrounded by the heroes at the front. Some of them were praising his bravery and his quirk.

“Good job, young man! Staying brave out there while the villain had you in its grip, that’s impressive!”

“And such a powerful quirk, too! Making explosions – you don’t see that so often,” another hero gushed.

As Izuku stared over at them, one of the heroes – Death Arms – took note.

“Hey, you’re the reckless kid who ran forward,” Death Arms said, crossing his arms - although he was grinning. “Ah, maybe it was for the best – you really saved your friend, here!”

At this, Bakugou whipped his head back to glare murderously at Izuku, and Izuku looked down at his feet. For a second, he allowed himself to feel this glowing praise. For all the times that he was called useless, was unable to fight back – this time, he really saved someone. And people knew it.

“Yeah, kid - what was your quirk, anyway? I couldn’t tell,” Backdraft asked, slapping him on the back.

“A-Actually, I don’t have a quirk,” Izuku mumbled. At once, all the heroes froze. Their pride turned sour, into pungent fumes of shock and worry and frustration.

“What do you mean, you don’t have a quirk?” Death Arms asked, practically shouting. “You really ran all the way up there with no way of defending yourself?”

Izuku frowned. “I do know how to defend myself, actually – ”

His protest got lost in a litany of rebukes. Kamui Woods was pinching his forehead and Mount Lady was frowning at him reproachfully. Backdraft was beginning to go on about what a liability he was and how he could never do something so stupid again. Death Arms was just shaking his head, mouth open. Izuku couldn’t stand it.

Unable to listen to another word, he turned away and started walking – anywhere. Not home, though – he wasn’t ready to hear yet more exclamations of worry from his mother, once she turned on the news or heard from the neighbours or just took one look at his face. He needed to go somewhere else – somewhere without judgement.

Himura’s dojo.

Ignoring the heroes’ shrieks that were increasing in pitch, asking him to get back here, he headed back the same way he came – but instead of turning right, to go home, he turned left and began to run. He didn’t want to be out here, naked in the sunlight any longer. He felt exposed. He would go somewhere where no one would care enough to look at him.

In his rush, he missed a scarily thin blond man with eerie blue eyes that was desperately looking around. Neither of them saw the other – Izuku ran right by him, while the man stood at the fork in the road, confused and disappointed.

He stumbled into the dojo, out of breath, right in the midst of one of Himura’s karate classes. He must have made quite a sight – his clothes were scuffed and partially ripped from all his close encounters with the pavement, his eyes were most likely tinged with red, his face was blotchy, and he was pretty sure there was slime stuck under his fingernails, in his hair, and all over his uniform.

Himura was never known to show any particular apprehension for anything, but in that moment, Izuku supposed he had looked so pathetic that even the perpetually stone-faced man himself couldn’t hold back his reaction of mild concern.

“Class dismissed,” he said shortly, addressing the other students in the dojo.

“But there are still twenty minutes left for this lesson,” one of the kids said, frowning.

“I can assure you that you were not going to make some kind of ground-breaking achievement in this remaining time, so you may as well head on home,” Himura replied.

The kid scoffed, but picked up his things and turned to leave while grumbling under his breath. The other students were soon to follow. Once everyone had left the main area of the dojo for the changing rooms or the parking lot outside, Himura turned back to Izuku.

“I’m assuming you’re not here to train,” Himura said, sighing. “So what’s wrong this time?”

Izuku opened his mouth. If he were particularly practiced in his eloquence and articulation, he may have been able to calmly explain to Himura the layers upon layers of frustration and disappointment and misery he felt today. He may have separated the different scenarios adding to his current state of anguish – the hurt from hearing Kacchan’s words, the close encounter with death he faced, the pain of hearing All Might’s dismissal, the terror he felt when Kacchan was in danger, the irritation with the pro heroes at the scene. He may have detailed the intricacies of each feeling stirred by each event, until it was perfectly clear why he had shown up to the dojo like this.

But Izuku was not eloquent or articulate. He was a mumbling, overemotional mess who had taken too many hits today, in too many different ways.

So he just burst into tears.

Himura’s eyebrows shot upward.

Despite the fact that Izuku had always found it easy to cry at the drop of a hat, he didn’t do so in the dojo. This was a place he felt at his most powerful, and it’s not like he often dragged his emotional affairs back here. This wasn’t a sight that Himura-sensei would be familiar with.

“It’s – it’s fine,” Himura said gruffly, awkwardly patting Izuku on the back. “It’ll be fine.”

Somehow, between all the wracking sobs and uneven breathing, Izuku managed to get out the whole story. The nerves over his application, his loneliness as he switched schools, the frustration at doing nothing while Bakugou knocked him down yet again, the fight with the sludge villain. All Might. Bakugou struggling to breathe. The pro heroes’ praise souring to admonishments. All of this, Himura-sensei listened to it with patience, his expressions only changing minutely – although he did look worried when Izuku talked about being choked by the sludge villain.

Izuku talked and talked between deep breaths, until he couldn’t talk anymore and both of them just sat there in silence. Himura seemed to be taking it all in.

“First of all, I just need to know – are you okay?” Himura asked seriously.

Izuku stared at him.

“I didn’t mean emotionally,” Himura amended, rolling his eyes, “but you said you’d been burned and kicked to the ground a few times – and more importantly, nearly choked to death.”

“I-I don’t think I’m too injured or anything,” Izuku mumbled, looking down at his hands and body.

“Good,” Himura said. “Now, let’s take a seat. We need to talk.”

At this, Izuku twisted his fingers together anxiously, but nodded and sat down cross-legged on the mats, with Himura sitting in front of him, eyes focused on Izuku and fingers steepled together under his chin. He wasn’t sure what Himura wanted to say – maybe he, too, would reaffirm All Might’s words, or denounce him for his inability to actually use self-defence adequately. Maybe this would be the final nail in the coffin.

“Midoriya Izuku,” Himura began. “Do you remember the first time we met?”

“Of course I do,” Izuku said, eyebrows furrowing.

“What was the last thing I said to you, before we started?”

Izuku thought hard – it was a long time ago, and it was hard to keep all the pieces of dialogue together. But he could always remember having nervously asked Himura-sensei if he could be a hero, to which he didn’t respond, and –

“You said not to disappoint you, or you would have to toss me out,” Izuku said.

“Midoriya, I have to say... you’ve really disappointed me today.”

Izuku’s heart froze. Himura studied his nails.

“W-What?”

“You didn’t hear me? I said you disappointed me,” Himura repeated.

For a moment, Izuku was silent. He swallowed. Very faintly, he could feel the sting of tears again. It was kind of incredible, actually. Surely after so many times, just today, he couldn’t keep crying – and yet –

“Nothing to say?” Himura asked, tilting his head.

“I-I don’t kn-know,” Izuku mumbled, fingers twitching. “I’m not – I know I should have used everything I learned to fight back, I’m sorry for being too weak but please don’t take this away from me, I promise – ”

“Don’t make empty promises,” he interrupted as Izuku flinched, “and don’t apologize for something that was never even the issue.”

“What?”

Himura rolled his eyes. “You really think I would condemn you for being unable to fight off an actual villain – and a villain with a constantly changing body, at that? Even I couldn’t do that. Or for not kicking your childhood friend’s ass and choosing to be kind instead?”

“But if you’re not upset about that, then what – ”

“Seriously, do I have to spell everything out for you?” Himura grumbled. “Why did you ask for All Might’s approval to be a hero?”

Izuku stared at him in confusion.

“W-Well, he’s my idol. And he’s the number one hero, obviously. I just… wanted to hear him say I could do it. Then I would know for sure that it was possible.”

Himura slapped his hand on top of the mats in apparent frustration. Izuku jumped in surprise.

“And therein lies the problem. Why don’t you already know for sure?” Himura questioned, irritated. “I thought you always wanted to be a hero. So why are you constantly doubting yourself?”

“Well, if no one ever believes that I can do it – if I’m the only person telling myself that I can do it – then why wouldn’t I doubt myself?” Izuku asked heatedly, getting a little frustrated himself. “If the whole world is telling me that I’m wrong, how can I believe I’m right? Even you don’t think I can do it. You never said you thought I could be a hero, either.”

“When did I say that to you?” Himura demanded. “All I said to you was that ‘it didn’t matter what I thought,’ don’t you remember?”

“Of course I remember! How could I forget,” Izuku responded, breathing heavily, “that you didn’t even bother to answer me? At least everyone else told me what they thought to my face.”

“I had nothing to tell you, Midoriya,” Himura said, finally sitting back and twisting his expression back into studied nonchalance, “because I didn’t think it was impossible. Strange, yes – I’d never heard of such a thing before. Difficult, definitely. But not impossible.”

Izuku’s indignant rage and stirrings of distress died down almost immediately. He gaped at Himura-sensei, almost disbelieving of what he had heard.

“Y-You really thought I could do it?” Izuku asked quietly, with something resembling hope creating tremors in his voice.

“Back then, there was no way for me to know for sure, of course, but,” Himura paused, hesitating, “as the years went by, I had never seen determination like yours. Your ‘friends,’ as you choose to call them for whatever reason, have put you down for years, but you paid them no mind. You only saw your goal. And that was something admirable.”

Izuku remained quiet, for once, taking in Himura’s words.

“I know I give off the impression that I don’t care about much,” Himura went on, gaze shifting downwards, “and for the most part… that’s true. Students are students. I can’t have the energy to care for all the people who come and go. But you can be… inspiring.”

“Inspiring?” Izuku whispered. Himura nodded.

“In past years, quirklessness was very common. I can’t imagine how difficult it must be for someone of your age group, where all the people you know have some kind of a quirk. And because it’s so difficult, because you wanted so badly to be a hero – I thought it would be important to prepare you adequately.”

“What do you mean?”

“People will always tell you that you can’t do this,” Himura stated bluntly, “and they won’t be saying it because they’re trying to be cruel. They’ll say it because they think they’re being kind. They think it’s the truth. And doesn’t that hurt the most?”

It did hurt the most, Izuku realized. It wasn’t nice to hear the jeers and taunts of schoolyard bullies, but they were just trying to get a reaction out of him. It was much worse to hear the subtle disbelief of adults, their patronizing pity dripping with every expression.

“The reason I was disappointed was because you had bothered to ask for approval, for some kind of affirmation in the first place,” Himura explained. “Even from All Might. Especially from All Might.”

Izuku looked down.

“But… he’s the person I’ve always looked up to. It just – would have meant everything, if – ”

“I know,” Himura said, exhausted and vaguely sympathetic. “I know. But All Might – he’s like your, ah, friend, isn’t he? That explosion boy?”

“Like Kacchan?” Izuku asked, surprised. “Well, they both have great quirks, but Kacchan is nothing like All Might.”

“He is,” Himura disagreed firmly, “because neither of them would ever have the capability to understand you. Born with such powerful quirks, perfect for their paths to becoming heroes – they don’t know what it means to strain themselves. They know how to fight, but they don’t know what it really means to fight.”

“Well – yeah, you could see it that way,” Izuku admitted softly. “Some people… they have all the luck.”

Himura snorted, unamused. “Yes. But do you want that? Would you want to have been born with such luck?”

Izuku remained thoughtful, ruminating carefully over Himura’s words. Did he want luck? Did he need it?

“I don’t know,” Izuku admitted. “I don’t think so, actually. Of course, I would have preferred to have a quirk back then, but now… I don’t want luck. I’ve always had to claw my way up to the top, desperate for approval or recognition. For people to just see me as equal. Desperate to prove myself, to people who don’t even know me. And I think… I think, for better or for worse, that constant struggling and desperation to reach something makes me who I am.”

For the first time that day, Himura graced him with one of his rare smiles.

“Now you’re getting it,” he said, “and perhaps, now, you understand why I didn’t offer you my opinion. Midoriya, it shouldn’t matter what other people tell you – not even me. Everyone will always tell you no. You have to get used to that. You cannot ask people for approval – it opens you up for disappointment. It will stunt your growth.”

“I-I still stand by my decision to ask All Might,” Izuku argued. “I understand what you mean, sensei, and... actually, I agree. But I couldn’t have gone my entire life without knowing what he thought. He’s the one who gave me the courage to even consider doing this… even if he doesn’t agree now.”

“Maybe you’re right on that one,” he conceded, “but now that you’ve heard it, it’s time for you to move on. Stop clinging to the improbability of All Might falling at your feet and praising your hard work. Stop clinging to this idea of validation. It won’t happen. At U.A., kids will quirks will be struggling to make themselves known, and they’re going to mess up. A lot. But that will be okay, because they’re learning, and of course they’re good, if they made it in. But if you mess up when you’re there, it won’t be okay. It’s a sign that you were only taken in for some kind of affirmative action bullshit, it’s a sign that they pitied you, it’s a sign that you were never good enough and they lowered their standards when it came to you.

“Comments like that are inevitable. You have to get used to it. Their perspectives are biased – they’ve been forced to believe that they are their quirks. That’s the reason they made it so far. It’s incomprehensible to them, to think that someone can be more than their quirk. And if they were the ones who were quirkless, they would never even think about being heroes. But your resolve is strong. It has to be, if you want to do this. If you want to be a hero, it doesn’t matter what anyone else believes. The only person who has to believe it is yourself.”

The only person who has to believe it… is myself.

“Don’t ever forget that,” Himura went on, eyes blazing. “Never. Spell it out every day, very neatly, in one of your notebooks. Carve it into the skin of your hands. Tattoo it to your forehead, if you must. But don’t ever forget that.”

Izuku gazed up at Himura-sensei, unblinking and frozen. His chest felt tight, but in a different way from before. His arms were shaking. But he wasn’t scared, or upset – not anymore. He was excited, anticipating.

His eyes began to water. Himura looked alarmed.

“Why are you crying again?” he asked, scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably. “I thought we were past that.”

“It’s – I’m happy,” Izuku managed to get out. “I just – really needed to hear that. Thank you. You’re right. And… even though you said that I shouldn’t need anyone else’s encouragement, I’m glad I have yours.”

“Who said you had my encouragement? I was just saying you shouldn’t rely on other people’s judgements. Someone had to remind you of what your resolve was, brat,” he drawled.

“But sensei,” Izuku said. “You said it yourself. About kids at U.A. and how I have to ignore their comments when I’m there. That means you think that I’ll make it to U.A., and I’ll be fighting to be a hero alongside them. So you do think I can do it.”

Himura scowled, looking away, but he didn’t bother to refute Izuku’s claim. Izuku smiled. Newfound happiness and exhilaration burgeoned forth in his chest, for the first time in a while. As U.A.’s exam deadlines loomed closer, it became easier to lose sight of his goal, as the tall metal gates and looming structures grew more corporeal in his mind, rather than remaining distant, wispy desires. Today, especially, dealt him quite a bit of damage – damage from which he wasn’t sure he could recover – but Himura-sensei made it feel like it was only a fading scar, unnoticeable and sure to disappear with time.

While Himura still had his back turned, Izuku suddenly felt the urge to convey his genuine, earnest appreciation in a more palpable way. Thank you didn’t really cover it. He reached over, closing his eyes and curling his arms around Himura-sensei’s waist in a warm hug, and –

Himura immediately gripped Izuku’s wrists with his right hand, bent forward at an angle, lifting Izuku off his feet, and used his left hand to grab Izuku’s shoulder and flip him straight onto the ground in front of him.

Izuku landed on his back with a thud, groaning.

“What was that for?” Izuku asked grumpily, as he struggled to sit up.

“It wasn’t obvious? You went for a tackle.”

“That was a hug! I was hugging you!”

“Oh,” Himura said eloquently, having the good grace to look mildly embarrassed. “Well, it was very surprising. Unexpected.”

“Clearly,” Izuku huffed. “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t expect it again, from me.”

“In fact, maybe you should have expected some kind of defence,” Himura sniffed, blatantly ignoring Izuku’s protest. “How do you expect to get into U.A. like this?”

“Forgive me for thinking I could have five minutes to relax after being continuously attacked for a full day,” Izuku said, rolling his eyes. “I should have known better.”

“Yes, you should have,” Himura agreed, again disregarding Izuku’s tone, “since we have a lot of work to do over the next ten months. Even if you’re not taking the heroics exam, you still have to stay in shape if you want to keep up. Are you ready?”

Izuku’s lips curled into a smile. His clothes were still torn and dripping with slime, his face still blemished with tear tracks and eyes still red. But he didn’t feel disgusting and ruined anymore. He felt good.

“Yes, I am.”

On his way home, Izuku was sure he attracted many stares, in this state. Maybe some of them even recognized him from the attack; he was probably all over the news, by now. He paid them no mind. Swinging his backpack aimlessly, he turned onto his street, walking slowly towards his home as his mind scrambled for some way to explain everything to his mom. As he was walking, a hand reached out to grab his shoulder from behind.

Instinctively, Izuku shifted his shoulder out of the grip and grabbed the hand at the same time, twisting it backwards roughly.

Bakugou grunted as he was forced to fall downwards, gripping his wrist tightly. Izuku blinked, horrified, and immediately let go.

“K-Kacchan!” Izuku exclaimed. “I – I’m so sorry, I didn’t know it was you – ”

“Save it, nerd,” Bakugou growled, getting back to his feet and looking furious. “I bet you think you’re so much better than me now, huh? Did it make you feel good to think you saved me? Did it feel good to get the upper hand on me, just then?”

“I didn’t get the upper hand on you,” Izuku said, frowning. “I was just surprised – it was an instinctual defence. And no, I don’t think I’m better than you. Why do you always think that I do?”

“It’s obvious,” he said, “when you do shit like making the stupid decision to jump into the middle of that attack, because you thought I needed saving. Because you thought you were strong enough to face the villain, and I wasn’t.”

“That’s not – I wasn’t thinking that at all,” Izuku replied, frustrated. “I wasn’t thinking anything at all. You were choking. I reacted. I just… didn’t want you to be hurt. I didn’t want you to die!”

“You thought I would have died, without you and your useless help?” Bakugou snarled. “I’m not that weak. And I don’t need your help. I never need your help, so don’t fucking bother me with it.”

“It didn’t make me feel good to save you... because I only felt scared. I didn’t want you to be in a situation like that in the first place. Not because I don’t think you can handle it,” he added, seeing Bakugou’s face light up in rage, “but because we’re – we were friends, once. And friends don’t like seeing their friends suffer.”

At least, that’s how it’s supposed to be, Izuku thought, smiling mirthlessly.

“Why do you keep mistaking caring for someone as pity or condescension?” he asked. 

Bakugou was silent. His shoulders were hunched forward and his eyebrows were twitching angrily, fists clenching and unclenching. He looked angry, but also… confused, like he was focusing all of his energy on trying to understand something.

“If someone weaker than you offers their fucking help, that means you’re weak, too,” Bakugou bit back, finally, although the vicious statement seemed to lack its usual bite. “Caring? Don’t make me laugh. If they cared, they’d respect your strength and quit challenging your place.”

“Challenging what place? Sometimes people like to do things for themselves, you know,” Izuku said, frowning, “so it doesn’t mean they’re saying they’re better than you or replacing you. It just means they disagree with you about something. No one can be right all the time.”

At this, Bakugou still looked angry, but also extremely scattered and uncomfortable.

“It’s not brave, or heroic, or whatever the fuck you think it is, to challenge someone stronger than you like that. It’s idiotic. The weak have no place telling people above them what to do. And don’t tell me people aren’t weak – there’s no equality. People either win or lose. If they’re not weak, then why can’t they stop the people they want to?” Bakugou demanded angrily.

For once, however, despite the bitter invective, Izuku got the feeling that Bakugou was asking a genuine question rather than insulting him in some way. The words rung very similar to what Bakugou had said to him a few hours ago, before he left Izuku on the ground. It seemed like he truly didn’t understand how people could keep fighting, if they kept losing. Like they should just accept they had no right to even try, if they couldn’t do anything about a situation themselves. Like there weren’t different types of strength.

“People choose not to fight back for many reasons,” Izuku said, “just like people choose to stand up for their beliefs at other times. It’s because they’re doing what they think is right. Winning and losing doesn’t cross their minds at all. We can choose to fight, or not to fight, based on how we feel. It’s not a reflection of how we think of our opponents.”

It’s not a reflection of how I think of you. I’ve only ever thought you were amazing.

As if he could hear those unspoken words, Bakugou shifted in his spot, his expression of fury dissipating only into mere frustration, which was really the most positive expression Izuku had seen him display in quite some time, especially in relation to him. Izuku allowed himself to feel some hope – perhaps still lingering in his body after his conversation with Himura-sensei – burgeoning once again because it seemed that for the first time in many years, Kacchan was listening.

Of course, this is when Izuku had to mess it all up again. Eager to see that he was getting through to Kacchan, he pressed forward.

“How could I just leave you there? It wasn’t right to just watch you choke,” Izuku said desperately. “It looked bad. The heroes weren’t doing anything to help you, even when your explosions couldn’t break the sludge monster apart, and you looked scared so I just wanted to help – ”

Like a small fire on the verge of dissipating into smoke, only to have a strong wind whip it back up into a frenzy, Bakugou exploded in every sense of the word. His palms were crackling and he let out two large blasts, causing Izuku to flinch and step backward quickly.

“Scared? I wasn’t scared,” Bakugou hissed. “I’m not like you, crying over everything. And why would you even want to help? It’s not like you did anything. It’s like they said, you were a liability. You were stupid. Useless. You distracted it, but All Might did all the work. And that’s how it will always be. That’s all I came to tell you. I don’t owe you anything, because you could never do anything in the first place. Don’t think you can still come to U.A. They would never want someone like you. And never try to help me again, Deku.”

With that, he threw another crackling explosion at Izuku’s face while Izuku raised his arms to block out the damage. When he cautiously brought his arms back down, he could see Bakugou stalking off into the distance, not bothered to listen to Izuku anymore.

Izuku exhaled exasperatedly, kicking at the ground, hard. It was always one step forward and two steps back, with Bakugou. Every phrase out of his mouth had to be cautiously and intricately crafted, smooth words wrapped up in underlying praise and respect. Painstakingly constructed so that it wouldn’t hurt Bakugou’s immense pride, so enormous yet so fragile. Careful not to imply that he felt regular human emotions on the same level as everyone else. And Izuku was so tired of it.

But regardless of what he thought, Izuku knew he had helped, if only for that brief pocket of time where Kacchan broke free because of the distraction Izuku provided. And again, Izuku now knew better than to expect appreciation. He didn’t need it.

“Sorry, Kacchan,” Izuku whispered to the empty space around him. “Looks like you’ll still be seeing me in ten months.”

Time passes quickly when you have no one else to spend it with, except for yourself and your instructor. Izuku worked harder than ever, knowing he wouldn’t have much time to train once he entered U.A. and wanting to completely master his skills. Himura-sensei worked him to the bone, but by the end of it, Izuku was as proud as he was exhausted. Thinking back to so long ago and seeing where he was now – it was such a stark improvement, in both the physical and mental departments. Instead of feeling like an overwhelming urge messily patched together by stray hopes and slowly-growing confidence, he began to feel like a person.

His mother seemed to notice, as well. After the sludge monster incident, Inko had been so worried. She ran her hands over his body multiple times, crying her worries out and hugging him close to her chest. Izuku had almost been annoyed, exasperated with her constant concern over him, before he immediately felt ashamed. Hadn’t he reprimanded Kacchan for the same thing? Caring for someone was not the same as thinking that they’re weak – not everything had to be about his quirklessness, despite his determination to martyr himself that way. His mother was worried because she loved him. While it was true that over the years, she had always seemed uneasy of his strong resolve to be a hero, she had never once tried to stop him or discourage him. And after the incident, Izuku’s resolve had only grown stronger. But Izuku caught his mother smiling at him more often, less uncomfortable by the idea. Maybe it was because she, too, had seen the immense change in his confidence. Maybe she had seen how this determination made him healthier. Stronger. Happier.

On the other hand, school had been going as well as it could have been. For the ten months between the sludge monster incident and the entrance exam, Bakugou seemed content to ignore Izuku, determined to distance himself from the boy who stepped in to “save” him. And Izuku was content to let it happen. Their relationship still made Izuku uneasy, and there would always be that part of him still yearning for Kacchan’s friendship, but he could also tell when something was hurting him. Seeking out Kacchan and continually trying to explain his thoughts until he was blue in the face would have no effect, and he knew it. In due time, though...

In due time, Izuku would let his actions speak for him. Maybe, then, something could change.

So, with trepidation and excitement in equal parts, Izuku finally stood in front of U.A.’s large metal gates blocking off the main building to the school. He wandered through the opening, gazing up at the tall buildings sheathed in pristine blue glass windows. Dazed, he looked around, eventually spotting some signs pointing towards the orientation rooms and written exam area. He entered a building on the left, eventually coming to an assembly hall where potential students were milling about in seats, chatting with each other and waiting for the orientation to start. Izuku stared at the faces. There were many friendly-looking ones; a kid with spikes coming out of his head, a blonde girl smiling as she showed everyone how she could create clouds of mist, a tall boy with his arms around two others – presumably his friends. He wished he could join them. It couldn’t be so hard, could it? He would just have to walk up and introduce himself, compliment them on their quirks, and then they’d ask about his –

Izuku immediately turned away, discarding the idea, and took a seat at the end, by himself. He looked down at an information package he picked up and sighed in relief as a man with heavily slicked-back blond hair and a moustache, as well as shiny glasses, took a spot at the front.

Present Mic, Izuku thought excitedly as his fingers twitched toward his backpack for his notebook.

“GOOD MORNING, POTENTIAL STUDENTS!” Present Mic practically screeched across the room.

Izuku winced, restraining himself from slapping his hands over his ears.

“Sorry, maybe that was a bit loud,” Present Mic said, a bit sheepishly, as he lowered his voice a bit. “Welcome to U.A.’s entrance exam orientation session! The morning will be used for written exams for all departments, and if there are some of you in this room interested in taking the exam for Heroics, there will be another orientation session in the afternoon before you take the additional Heroics exam.”

For a brief moment, Izuku allowed himself to think of the possibility of taking the Heroics exam anyway.

It couldn’t hurt, could it?

Izuku shook his head. It would be humiliating. He had researched information about U.A.’s entrance exam for Heroics countless times, and it was always something ridiculously biased towards destructive quirks. He tuned back in to Present Mic’s introduction.

“Anyway, that’s that. Each of you will be assigned a room number in which you will write the written exam. If you’re going into Heroics, stick around for the afternoon session. If you’re going into Support, remember to submit your portfolio. General Education students and Business students only need to write the written exam,” Present Mic concluded, still grinning madly. With that, he gestured all the kids to the set of tables at the back, where everyone could find their room number.

Everyone rose, hurrying towards the back to see the list of names. Some of the kids who came here with friends high-fived each other when they saw that they were in the same room, others in different rooms sighed disappointedly but made promises to meet up after the exam. A common factor, however, was that everyone looked excited. Izuku felt a faint smile threatening to erupt on his lips, as well. Just being here was making him enthusiastic. As he finally found his name and room number – Room 302 – he turned to leave the orientation room and immediately bumped into someone.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there,” Izuku said, smiling apologetically up at a boy with unruly purple hair and deep bags under his eyes.

The boy’s expression didn’t change. He merely sighed, scowling slightly, and walked past Izuku to look at the list. Izuku froze in place, a bit confused. He didn’t even do anything yet – why did the boy already seem to dislike him?

“Well, good luck on the exam!” Izuku exclaimed, smiling at him again. The boy glanced back briefly and rolled his eyes, turning back to look at the list.

“Right,” he responded flatly.

Izuku deflated. He turned away, giving up on continuing the conversation, and headed toward his exam room. Some people – namely, him – just weren’t good at making friends. It must have been something in his attitude, his personality. Maybe people could just tell he was quirkless and tried to avoid him. Maybe they heard him muttering to himself, or saw his twitchy fingers and unnecessarily nervous disposition, and decided it was best to steer clear. Maybe they just knew they wouldn’t like him.

Trying not to dwell on it for too long, he entered Room 302 and took a seat at the back. Eventually, everyone must have arrived and taken their seats, because the proctor cleared his throat and went over the usual exam rules – no cheating, no phones turned on, no talking, and so on. Finally –

“You may begin,” the proctor said, taking a seat at the front desk.

Izuku released a deep breath to let go of his nerves. He flipped his paper up, filling out his name and personal information and finally took a look at the first question. Izuku smiled and began to write.

“How did it go? What did you get for the first question in the second section? God, I’m so bad at math,” a girl moaned, complaining to one of her friends as they left the exam room. Izuku trailed behind quietly.

“Forget that. What about the entire last section? This is supposed to be applicable to Gen Ed and Business, too! Why did they have a whole essay question about hero analysis? A bunch of people here aren’t even interested in that!” the boy grumbled back.

Izuku smiled. That part was his favourite. The limit had been three pages, but Izuku had made it up to five before he finally forced himself to stop writing. That part, at the very least, he was sure he did quite well on.

Kacchan must have done really well, too, Izuku thought to himself suddenly. He considered looking around to wish him luck on the practical exam, but changed his mind and decided that he didn’t really feel like dying just yet.

As he exited the building, he turned onto the main path so he could head out of the U.A. complex, but got distracted by a loud voice as he passed by a large dome-shaped building with a crowd of prospective Heroics students surrounding it. This must have been one of the practical examination centres.

“Please, everyone! It is necessary that we organize ourselves in an orderly fashion so that we can be better prepared when the exam starts!” a tall boy with glasses was yelling, arms making strange slashing movements. A few kids snorted and rolled their eyes, ignoring him, while some smiled and stayed quiet.

The boy looked… familiar. Like Izuku had seen him before. Or maybe he had seen someone similar to him before…

As Izuku stared at him, trying to place the face to a memory – or perhaps another figure – he didn’t notice the bump on the ground in front of him and yelped as he tripped forward, right into another Heroics candidate, who... slapped his back?

Izuku suddenly stopped falling, floating in midair.

“Sorry!” a brown-haired girl said anxiously, helping him back to his feet and releasing him. “I didn’t mean to use my quirk on you – but I figured it would be better than falling.”

Izuku stared at her. A girl was talking to him. This had never happened before. Well, people in general didn’t tend to talk to him, but this was entirely unprecedented.

“Uh,” Izuku choked out unintelligibly. “I – it’s fine. It was an accident. Sorry for bumping into you. Thank you.”

“No problem!” she said cheerfully.

“So… your quirk must be object manipulation of some sort. It could be touch-based object control, in which you can control the direction or movement of something once you touch it, but that’s probably not it, because you had to physically help me back to my feet. You were able to stop me from falling, though, so it’s likely zero gravity-related because I felt the sensation of my stomach lifting upwards as well. Yeah, that must be it,” Izuku mumbled, muttering up a storm. He froze, suddenly realizing that he must have said this all out loud, in earshot of the girl who no doubt thought he was extremely strange by now.

He looked up to the girl’s face, and in affirmation of his thoughts, her mouth was open in shock. But she didn’t look put off by him.

“That… was really cool!” she exclaimed. Izuku blinked in surprise.

“Uh… you really think so?”

“Yeah! No one has figured it out so quickly! Is that related to your quirk, or something?” she asked, curious.

“…or something,” Izuku said in response, not bothering to elaborate more. It wasn’t likely he’d see her again, anyway. She was here for the Heroics exam. She frowned in confusion, but must have accepted he didn’t want to talk about it and didn’t bother to pursue the topic.

“Are you ready for the exam?” she asked.

“What? Oh, n-no – I’m not – I’m not taking the Heroics exam,” Izuku explained, feeling embarrassed for some reason. Probably because there was a whole horde of kids with undoubtedly powerful quirks right in front of him, all with good chances of becoming heroes, and he was just… there.

“Oh!” the girl said in surprise, blushing. “Sorry, I just thought you were one of us.”

Izuku smiled ruefully. I will be one of you, very soon. I promise. But not today.

“No, I’m trying to get into Gen Ed. But, ah, good luck! I’m sure you can do it,” he encouraged.

“Thanks,” she replied, beaming. “Well, see you around!”

With that, she turned away and joined the crowd of kids again. Izuku smiled. His first successful interaction with someone else. That was nice. She didn’t seem to mind his muttering, either.

Maybe if she ever found out about his condition, she, too, would be judging and doubtful. But for now, it was nice to be on the receiving end of some kindness and pretend it wasn’t conditional. She seemed confident that they would both make it in. He let himself soak up that positivity for a moment.

Their exam seemed to be starting soon, so Izuku took one last glance at the group of kids, wondering which ones would be powerful enough to make it in, and turned to leave. At the very last second, though, another person caught his eye.

“Damn, I can’t believe U.A. constructed giant robots for us to destroy!” a boy was saying, eagerly rubbing his hands together.

“I guess that’s what happens when you have a basically unlimited budget. You’re right, it does sound exciting though. You don’t have to hold back at all,” another boy replied in response, grinning.

Giant robots?

Izuku shuddered just thinking about it. Yeah, there was no way he could take apart ten-foot-tall structures made of metal with just his bare hands and his resolve. He had definitely made the right call.

Despite his relief at knowing he made the right choice, he couldn’t help but feel indignant. There were so many useful quirks that would never stand a chance against giant robots but would be so useful in the field. U.A.’s entire Heroics exam was a stunningly accurate example of quirk discrimination. They would be losing out on so many potential heroes because they were unwilling to accept non-offensive quirks in the first place. Instead, so many people had to struggle through the rigmarole of going the long way around instead of being recognized for their skill right away. No wonder prospective hero students like Kacchan got so offended at the thought of the weak usurping their places and telling them off. They were all so used to instant gratification, automatic praise. Himura-sensei was right. They never had to struggle, not in the same way others did. Everything was made in their favour.

The news about the robots certainly caught his attention, but those two boys weren’t the people who caught his eye. No, it was the purple-haired boy from the orientation who Izuku focused his gaze on. He didn’t realize the boy also wanted to join Heroics. Earlier, he had given off a great impression of being reserved, distant. Uninterested in his surroundings. But now…

While the other boys were eagerly talking about the robots, the purple-haired one seemed to pale very slightly. His eyebrows were knit together. He still hung back on the edges of the group, aloof, but he also looked… uneasy. Troubled. Like he needed reassurance. Help.

Izuku wasn’t sure why it got to him – maybe the boy just had the normal nerves that one felt before an exam – but he got the feeling that it was more than that. He hesitated, thinking about walking up to the purple-haired boy and offering him some luck, some encouragement. Some kind words could go a long way.

But then Izuku scanned the group again, spotting the missing face. Kacchan wasn’t in this group, but he could still hear his voice screeching somewhere in the recesses of Izuku’s head, telling him how useless he was and how he could never help anyone. His kindness wasn’t appreciated, nor was it wanted or needed.

Kind words could go a long way. They could travel from your mouth to someone’s ears, curling through the nerves of their brain and sending warm, fuzzy signals straight to their heart. Sometimes they could even travel from that someone’s heart to the hearts of millions of other people, spreading through miles and miles of distance across cities and countries like dandelion seeds blowing in the wind to plant themselves firmly in new locations.

But sometimes they fell short. Sometimes they couldn’t even leave your mouth - and other times they did, only to splatter on the ground in front of you, crushed by all the people walking over the mess, and warping into something rotten.

So Izuku stopped hesitating, and turned away, decision made. Maybe it was a bit cowardly, too, but confidence was not something constant. It was a muscle that atrophied with time, when you didn’t bother to exercise it enough.

Izuku had been exercising it for years, but it tended to take quite a beating, for various reasons, time and again. There was only so much he had to spare.

Izuku left the group behind and walked out the gates of U.A., trying not give him a second thought as he made his way home.

The boy would probably be fine. Not everyone needed his help.

Chapter Text

Objectively, Izuku knew he must have gotten into U.A. – he had no particular trouble on the exam, in spite of all his overthinking and constant worrying. Still, nerves crawled up from his stomach and remained lodged in his throat as he held the envelope that U.A. had sent to his home with his name written on the front. His fingers rubbed over the seal, nails nipping the edges until he slowly pushed the front of the envelope open.

Taking a deep breath, he pulled out the letter and unfolded the page.

To Midoriya Izuku:

Thank you for expressing an interest in joining U.A. High School. Your score on the written entrance exam was: 97%. Congratulations on achieving one of the highest scores this year! We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into the General Education department…

Izuku exhaled loudly, flopping backwards onto his bed and laughing disbelievingly. He closed his eyes and smiled. He did it. Of course, this was supposed to be the easy part – but moving even one step forward was a huge relief. He aimlessly read over the rest of the letter, stomach turning in excitement and anticipation, when he heard a knock on the door.

“Izuku?” Inko called, as she waited outside the door. “It’s time for dinner.”

“Mom!” Izuku exclaimed, throwing himself off the bed and racing toward the door. “I got in!”

Inko’s eyes lit up and she smiled widely as she reached forward to hug Izuku.

“That’s great!” she exclaimed, arms wrapped tight around his shoulders and face resting on top of his head. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Now I’m even closer,” Izuku whispered against his mom’s neck. Inko frowned slightly at this, her eyebrows furrowing, but she didn’t let go.

“You are,” she agreed a bit less enthusiastically. They stayed like that for a few more moments before Inko drew back, still smiling.

“I guess it’s a good thing I made katsudon to celebrate, isn’t it?” she said cheerfully, “so let’s go eat.”

Dinner was as quiet of an affair as usual – that is to say, not at all, with Izuku rambling about U.A. and his future classes and how he was excited to meet his new teachers and classmates and learn about their quirks.

“Well, you’ll already know someone there,” Inko cut in.

“Really? Who?” Izuku asked.

“Katsuki, of course – Mitsuki told me just today that he got into the Heroics department. Top scorer, as usual,” Inko said, sighing.

She wasn’t oblivious – she was obviously somewhat aware of the broken relationship between Izuku and Katsuki, but she didn’t know the whole story. That was something that could only be understood between two people, something that could only shared between quiet cries and numerous sparks and empty spaces and tears hastily wiped away.

“Oh,” Izuku said simply, smiling very slightly. A part of him was excited and proud – he never had any doubts that Kacchan wouldn’t get in, after all. Izuku already knew how impressive Kacchan was, that he was the best from their school and their whole neighbourhood.

But first place? In a whole generation of children from across the city – and from other cities, too? U.A. was the place to be for any potential hero in Japan.

Izuku looked down at his plate, feeling conflicted. One part of him was thrilled, yes – but another part of him was worried, disbelieving, anxious. Was this always how it would be?

Bakugou was often first in their middle school for academics, always first for athletics. He was first in track-and-field games, first in every schoolwide competition, first in every race with other kids in the neighbourhood. He just… wins, and wins, and keeps winning.

Bakugou always wins.

Izuku walked through the gates of U.A. – as a student, this time, not just an applicant. It felt good, walking through the fresh grass and sparse flowers sprouting from cracks in the sidewalk. It felt good entering the main building and seeing hordes of students chattering excitedly, walking to their new classes. It felt good turning the corner and seeing the doors to 1-A and 1-B, the first-year classes of the Heroics department.

It would feel even better when he could finally step through the doors, but today wasn’t that day.

Still, unbidden, his feet moved towards the doorway of 1-A, his gaze focused on what was inside. He hadn’t even realized he stopped in front of it until he heard a vaguely familiar voice snap him out of it.

“Oh! It’s you!” the brown-haired girl from the Heroics entrance exam area said, surprised.

Izuku stumbled back.

“I – yes. Yeah, I was just – I just – I’m going to my class now, I just got distracted,” Izuku said, his tongue tripping over the words.

“Right, you went for Gen Ed, didn’t you?” she asked. “Congratulations on getting in!”

Izuku smiled.

“Thank you,” he said, finally managing to say something coherent, “you, too – and, ah, what about you? I mean, you’re here, so I assume you got into Heroics, but maybe you were also just walking through this hallway because you were curious, I wouldn’t know, not that I think you couldn’t get in – ”

“I did get in, I’m in 1-A,” she said, lips twitching while cutting him off.

“That’s great,” Izuku said, genuinely happy for her, “I’m sure you’ll do well.”

The girl smiled at him, her expression turning a bit softer.

“I – thanks. I hope so,” she said quietly, “the entrance exam didn’t go so great for me, you know?”

She laughed a bit nervously, shifting the weight off her right leg.

“I thought I was going to be crushed by a giant robot, but I guess it was stupid to assume that U.A. would just let their applicants get killed, so it stopped right before it reached me,” she said. Her lips were pursed upward, as though she was amused, but she kept shifting her weight uncomfortably.

“It sounds scary to me,” Izuku admitted, “I probably couldn’t have dealt with it. I wouldn’t worry too much about it, though – you got in, so now you learn how to deal with things like that.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she agreed a bit reluctantly, “thanks, um…?”

“Oh! My name’s Midoriya Izuku,” Izuku said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well, thank you, Midoriya Izuku,” she exclaimed, back to her usual cheer, “I’m Uraraka Ochako – maybe I’ll see you around. Have a good first day!”

With that, Uraraka turned and entered the room. Izuku stared after her longingly, into the room he so desperately wanted to be in, but he sighed and turned away. He had to get to class 1-C before he was marked late.

Wandering through two more hallways, he finally found a door with 1-C plated across the top. He could hear the sounds of laughter, loud banter, and chairs scraping across the floor – it was clear that the teacher hadn’t arrived yet. Nervously, he stepped inside to survey the room and its occupants.

A large group of people were sitting on desks near the back window, laughing loudly – three boys and two girls were clearly engaged in some discussion about a TV show. Izuku stared, fidgeting. Did they know each other beforehand? No, that wasn’t likely – it would be strange for five members of the same middle school to end up in the same high school class at U.A., of all places. Were they really just that sociable? How did they already know what to talk about?

He almost considered joining them for a moment, before immediately discarding that thought on account of the fact that he had never watched a single episode of the show they were discussing. And also because he was just socially incompetent in general, and immediately entering a large group of outgoing soon-to-be friends would probably kill him.

Looking elsewhere around the room also proved to be somewhat futile – some smaller groups lingered in different clusters, while others just sat alone at their desk, playing on their phones. He sighed, resigning himself to just finding a seat for himself somewhere, and scanned for a friendly-looking face or a non-occupied desk, until –

In the back-right corner of the room sat the same purple-haired boy that Izuku had bumped into during the entrance exam. He was staring listlessly out the window, fingers tapping his desk impatiently, clearly uninterested in joining any of the chatty students around him. By all means, he should have been off-putting – he had deep bags under his eyes and a light scowl on his face, but Izuku had never had any sense of self-preservation before. If the purple-haired boy was here, that meant… he didn’t get through the Heroics exam. But it did mean he wanted to be a hero. Glancing around at the happy faces, it was clear that a great majority of the room didn’t have that goal in mind – so didn’t it make sense for him to find someone who he had something in common with?

Hesitantly, he stepped forward and began to walk in the boy’s direction, intent on sitting at the desk next to him. He nervously played with the straps on his backpack as he stopped in front of the desk, head tilted slightly in the boy’s direction.

“Um, hi, is – is it alright if I sit here?” Izuku asked uncertainly.

The boy glanced over and rolled his eyes, waving his hand impatiently to signal that he didn’t care. Izuku dropped his backpack on top of the desk and took a seat, hesitantly glancing over a few times.

“What’s your name?” Izuku asked suddenly.

The other boy sighed.

“What does it matter?” he responded in a bored tone.

“Well, it doesn’t,” Izuku began, before widening his eyes, “I-I didn’t mean it like that! I only meant that it didn’t matter what exactly your name was – it’s just a name – not that you don’t matter! And well, I wanted to know because we’re classmates now? So I guess it would be a good idea to get to know each other? And – ”

“Do you stop talking?” the boy asked, one eyebrow raised in mild interest as he rested his chin on his hand.

Izuku flushed.

“Sorry, I’ve been told that I ramble a lot, but it’s really unintentional!”

“Whatever,” he said, rolling his eyes, “and it’s Shinsou. Hitoshi. Not that it matters, like you said. I won’t be here for long, so I’m not around to make friends.”

At this dramatic pronouncement, Izuku merely blinked, unsure of how to respond to such a statement. If he was being honest, Shinsou sounded a bit like one of those troubled main character protagonists of a teen-oriented coming-of-age movie. Maybe Shinsou would fit in better with those kids at the back. But, likelier, Shinsou was probably just not used to having friends, either – maybe in a different way than Izuku. It was in the way he seemed to purposely turn away from new people entering the room, a careful veneer of indifference resting on his face while his fingers drummed impatiently on the wooden desk in front of him.

“I’m Midoriya Izuku,” Izuku began, “and I don’t see why you can’t achieve your goals while having friends at the same time! In fact, I think it makes it easier. Well, I wouldn’t know for sure, I guess… but it makes sense to me. Besides, I won’t be here for long, either.”

“Why’s that?” Shinsou asked, seeming to humour him as he studied his nails, a single note of curiosity hidden somewhere in his bored drawl.

“I have the same goal as you – I want to be a hero!” Izuku said, smiling, “so maybe we can help each other out.”

Immediately, Shinsou scowled as he turned, finally looking Izuku in the eyes.

“How do you know I want to be a hero?” Shinsou demanded, eyes narrowed suspiciously. Izuku’s eyes widened in response as he frantically waved his hands in the air, as if in some gesture of supplication.

“I didn’t mean to sound creepy! It’s just that – you bumped into me, on the day of the entrance exam! And then I saw you again in front of one of the hero exam centres, with the other prospective hero students. So I figure you must want to be a hero, too, but just didn’t get in…”

At this, Shinsou’s eyes remained narrowed, although one of them appeared to twitch a little. Izuku noted this with unease, already reprimanding himself for reminding Shinsou of something he already knew, something that undoubtedly stung. It was really no wonder why he didn’t have friends – clearly, no one had ever taught him how to actually hold a conversation.

“Not that I’m saying you can’t be, just because you didn’t get past the physical exam! The hero exam is extremely difficult, and they never accept more than forty students per year. And there’s still a chance to transfer over, if we show promise in Gen Ed. That’s my plan, at least,” Izuku admitted.

Shinsou continued to stare at him.

“If we both want the same thing, that makes you my competition,” Shinsou spoke finally, his voice cold, “so I don’t see why we would help each other. I don’t need your help, nor do I want it. I will get into the hero program on my own, and if you’re any good, then you should be able to do the same. In fact, it’s easier if you just stay out of my way. I don’t plan on falling behind.”

With that, Shinsou turned away from Izuku, fingers knitted together and eyebrows twitching in apparent frustration. He didn’t seem very receptive to Izuku anymore – not that he appeared very receptive in the first place, but at least there had been something more than the cumbersome woolen blanket of silence that was now scratching at Izuku’s eyes and smothering him in uncomfortable warmth.

Izuku’s eyes simply drifted downward, to his desk. More people flooded into the room – some laughing, some muttering quietly amongst themselves, some shyly taking their places without saying a word. Izuku did not bother lifting his head to speak to any of them.

Any remaining words he wished to say were trapped somewhere between his quickly-beating heart and the tight, sticky tunnel of space in his throat. Anything that managed to make its way out would undoubtedly be garbled and deformed. In less than a few sentences, he had already managed to antagonize someone he hoped could be his friend.

Somehow, somewhere deep in his mind, Izuku recognized that it couldn’t be his fault – he had truly tried to be kind and inoffensive, and Shinsou was clearly not any kind of social butterfly.

But maybe if he was more interesting, more likeable, more restrained, more calm, more, more, more –

The ever-present sting of rejection was still there, buzzing around his face like a common pest and constant reminder of what he lacked. For once, Izuku sat quietly, hands folded together, and eyes blankly directed towards the chalkboard. Maybe Shinsou was right – he needed to focus. It was almost time for class to start.

“Attention, students,” a distinctive voice drawled amongst the chatter, “class has begun.”

With a slightly bow-legged gait, the pro hero Snipe entered the room and stepped in front of the chalkboard to face the class of General Education students. Although his face was covered by his characteristic gas mask, eyes barely visible through the triangular holes, it was clear he was making a point to survey the room. His dark purple dreadlocks flowed outward behind him, mostly covered by the cowboy hat but stark against the red of his cloak.

Izuku was shaking in his seat.

Snipe. Right in front of them.

“My name is Snipe, for those of you that don’t know,” Snipe spoke, finally, “and I will be your homeroom teacher this year.”

Animated bursts of whispering broke out across the room as students mumbled to each other. Izuku was no exception, muttering under his breath about how cool it was that he was going to be taught by Snipe and how he wondered if he could ask Snipe some questions about his quirk. Shinsou shot him a look from the seat beside him and Izuku quickly shut up, trying to restrain his excitement.

“Some of you may be wondering why a pro hero is teaching you, the General Education students, but despite the fact that U.A. is known to be a hero-oriented school, all the teachers here also have educational degrees. Further than that, it takes a trained eye to see which of you are cut out for the hero program – which I know some of you will want to transfer into,” he said, with Izuku nodding absently in response.

“General Education is not just about going to college, or other pursuits – heroism is an important part of our society now, so U.A. teaches their students from the perspective of someone who’s been through it all. You’ll have to learn the ins and outs of hero studies as well, just like the hero students. That being said, it’s perfectly fine if you aren’t interested in being a hero.”

“However,” Snipe continued, with a faint smirk audible in his voice, “that doesn’t mean it’ll be easy. People know U.A. because of the reputation, not just the hero alumni. Every student in every department here is expected to be a high performer. U.A. is about success.”

With that, Snipe ended his little speech and turned to collect some papers off his desk. The class, enraptured by his words, appeared to break out of their trance as faint mumbles of curiosity began to echo within the room. Snipe began to hand out the papers to each student.

“These are a series of evaluations,” he said, ignoring a series of shocked complaints about how they thought the testing was already over, “you will have until lunch to finish them. They cover all the basic information from English, mathematics, science, literature, the arts, and heroics. I would like to see where you are with all of this material.”

After he finished handing out the sheets, Snipe trailed back to his desk, sitting in his chair and putting his legs up on the table, crossing them one on top of the other. He pulled his gun free from its holster and began cleaning, seeming utterly relaxed. For a few moments, some of the students merely looked at each other in shock. Others gaped at the sheer number of sheets, frantically working and apparently discovering new ways to give themselves whiplash, with how frequently they were looking at the clock. Shinsou sighed, slowly picking up his pencil with half-lidded eyes, appearing to go through the material at his own leisurely pace.

Izuku pressed his lips together and held his pencil tightly in his grip, eyeing the questions. They didn’t look too bad – they mostly covered the material from the exams, with some extra information that they hadn’t learned yet, but Izuku could probably make a few educated guesses to get a decent mark. He breezed through the math and science sections easily enough, managed his way through English and literature, and stumbled a bit when it came to the arts and art history.

Soon enough, hours had passed. There were only about twenty minutes remaining, and Izuku still had the heroics section left. But this was always his strong suit – he was sure that he could manage it, even given the short time limit. When he turned the page, he noted with relief that there was only one question for the whole section, but an entire page was given as the potential space for a response. Nervously, he read the question to himself:

If you were in public and you saw that someone was getting hurt at the hands of another, what would you do?

Izuku stared. His pencil paused above the page.

By all means, it should have been a very simple question. Something bad was happening to someone – obviously, a hero would take it upon themselves to stop it. But Izuku was not a hero, no matter how much he wanted to be. This was a fact hammered into his skull by various classmates, by his own teachers, and especially by pro heroes at the scene of Bakugou’s abduction by the slime villain. Wasn’t that an exact mirror of this question?

If your childhood friend is being strangled at the hands of a villain in the middle of a public street, and the passers-by and pro heroes are doing nothing to stop it, would you do the same?

Izuku knew the answer that the pro heroes wanted to hear – the answer that Snipe, too, would likely want to hear.

But how could he write that down when Kacchan was still out there, alive, breathing?

Wait for the pro heroes to arrive.

But what if they do nothing?

Don’t get involved, you’ll only get yourself hurt.

But what if he can help?

Alert the authorities and escape the situation if you can.

But what if he couldn’t live with himself if he just let them struggle in that fleeting period where he played the waiting game? What if they died, alone and scared?

Izuku hesitated, before pressing the tip of his pencil to the paper and writing a single sentence down on the large expanse of the page. Snipe would no doubt be scouting for transfers to the hero program, like he said, and this could ruin his chances if he didn’t answer the way he was supposed to answer. But just this once, Izuku thought that maybe the way he was supposed to answer wasn’t the way he should.

With that, Izuku rose from his seat to hand in his papers to the front of the room. Snipe tilted his head up as he accepted the package.

“Done already?” he asked rhetorically, as Izuku looked up at the clock where only a few minutes remained before lunch.

“Finished with time to spare,” Izuku replied, his lips twisting upward wryly. Snipe chuckled in response. There was a beat of silence as Izuku looked at his shoes, fingers twitching nervously. Finally, he looked back up at Snipe, determined.

“Snipe-sensei,” Izuku burst out, “I was just wondering if I could ask you a question about your quirk? I know you can control the trajectory of your bullets with perfect precision, but I was thinking about their reflective abilities. For example, when you shoot a bullet and it ricochets off another object, can you control the second-hand trajectory as well? I’ve noticed in some of your fights that when the villains wear armour and your shots bounce off, it still doesn’t seem to cause trouble for anyone else around who may need to dodge.”

Snipe blinked, clearly taken aback by the overload of words flooding his ears.

“Interesting question. Can’t say anyone has ever asked me that one before. No, I can’t entirely control the second-hand trajectory, but there is an element of physics involved when I aim – the bullets automatically take the most perfect path to my target, meaning that they are also reflected with a perfectly elastic collision, as per what my quirk allows. This means that the path of the reflected shot is easily predictable. There is a reason even us pro heroes have to learn science, instead of just training our quirks,” he drawled, “one often leads into another.”

“Wow, you can really figure all that out in the middle of a fight?” Izuku asked excitedly.

Snipe shrugged.

“You get used to it, kid,” he said modestly, “so, are you a fan, or something?”

Izuku’s cheeks reddened.

“Ah, well, of course! I do admire you, it must have taken a lot of work to be able to use your quirk so well, and it’s really cool how you can aim for weak points in different environments, like last year in your fight against Polaris when he used his attractive magnetic field on you to attract all those sharp, metallic objects to you, while keeping himself in the repulsive field, but you took advantage of it by shooting bullets at the base of the old glass statue above the building doorway, and the metal of the bullets lodged in the base was attracted to you, so it moved, but the heavy glass fell right on his head – ”

Seeing how Snipe’s eyes widened, Izuku immediately tried to backtrack.

“N-Not that I was trying to keep a weirdly close eye on you, or anything! I just really like heroes – all of them! Quirks are really interesting to learn about because of how different they can be, and so many of them seem limitless, so I try to analyze them as much as I can by watching villain fights,” Izuku babbled, breathless and slightly embarrassed at having rambled on in front of his new teacher, on his first day. He probably thought Izuku was one of those obsessive fanboys now.

Not that he wasn’t. He was, but he definitely could have been a little more low-key about it.

“…Right,” Snipe said, after a brief pause. Izuku couldn’t see his expression behind the mask, but he could imagine.

“Well, I’m flattered – I think – and truly, I’d love to keep having this conversation, but I’m afraid it’s time for lunch,” he said, just as the bell rang. He got up, clearly intending to collect the remaining papers from some of the other students.

“Right! Sorry for taking up your time,” Izuku said, bowing slightly, before exiting the room in a rush.

Behind the mask, Snipe let out a faint smile. It was always nice to have a fan.

He collected the papers from the other students in the room, watching as they trailed out of the class slowly, all while complaining about the evaluations. A few of them looked worried.

He wondered why – didn’t he tell them that these weren’t being marked for grades? They were obviously just assessments, so he knew which topics the class was more confident in, and which ones needed some improvement, as well as which students were ahead of middle school material. They were called evaluations for a reason.

Shaking his head, he sat down at his desk and sorted the papers into a pile. He then picked up the one given to him just before the bell rang.

Midoriya Izuku, read the name at the top of the page. He was certainly an interesting one, to say the least. Skimming over the booklet, Snipe noted that Midoriya was definitely ahead of the middle school standard, although he could stand to pay a little more attention to art history and literature. He arrived at the last section – the section he was most curious about. If Midoriya was so interested in heroes, why, then, was he here – in the General Education department?

The last question was a classic – truly, there was no right answer, even if it seemed that one of them was more obvious than the other. Students always answered in long, rambling paragraphs that could be summed up by either the passive – find a pro hero – or the active – jump right in and help. But depending on the situation, both actions could be deadly. In society as it was right now, finding a pro hero was always the better option – using your quirk without a license against someone else was a crime. However, this did not take self-defence into account, nor defence-of-others. So long as you didn’t seek out the danger, it was permitted to use your quirk in a dangerous situation.

Over the years, most students responded passively, likely knowing this was the response a pro hero would want to hear. They weren’t wrong. But at some point, there was a question – how long could you remain a bystander? Would you just watch someone die?

Because the truth of the matter was that contacting a pro hero, or finding a member of the authorities, or searching for someone else to help – it took time, it took so many valuable seconds that could determine life or death.

If you were in public and you saw that someone was getting hurt at the hands of another, what would you do?

Snipe almost smiled at the reckless, bold answer. Vague, but definitely got the point across. Aizawa would be a bit disappointed at the carelessness, but grudgingly approving of the determination. All Might would indubitably be pleased.

It was clear that Midoriya thought any kind of injustice was his problem, too – not just the victim’s.

Whatever it takes to keep us safe, the page read.

Us. Not them.

In the cafeteria, Izuku nervously glanced around for somewhere to sit. He noticed some of his classmates sitting together at a table near the entrance, already laughing and chatting with each other. Gazing at an empty seat at their table with barely concealed longing, he shook his head and headed towards a few empty tables at the side of the room. He almost stopped in his tracks when he noticed Shinsou sitting alone at one of them, a light scowl permanently etched into his face as usual.

Swallowing slightly, Izuku made sure to walk around him and simply took a seat a few tables away. He took out his lunch and began to pick at his food, inconspicuously glancing over at Shinsou from time to time.

He would like to join him – but Shinsou made it clear that he wasn’t interested in any kind of friendship. The way he said it, though…

He said it like it was inevitable, as though friends were never an option for him. He sounded guarded – lonely, almost. Chewing thoughtfully on his noodles, Izuku replayed the scenario in his head. The dialogue – it was eerily similar to Kacchan’s, if he was being honest. Not here to make friends, don’t need any help, this is a competition – it was as if they were both cut from the same cloth.

But sometimes Izuku thought Kacchan was lonely in some way, too. He’d never say it to his face, of course, wouldn’t even dare to mention it – but sometimes Katsuki seemed angrier when Tsubasa and his other friends gathered around him, gushing over his talents. Sometimes he sought Izuku out for the fun of knocking him down – maybe because he didn’t know who else to turn to. Sometimes he grew bored, restless with his usual company – maybe restless with his own company, too. Just – alone with his irrational temper, and alone, even with his sycophants surrounding him, because it’s not like they’d understand him, anyway.

Shinsou seemed a bit angry in his solitude, too. Not in the same way – no one was like Kacchan – but close enough that Izuku could spot the similarities. He, too, was alone by choice – by some self-inflicted, perceived choice – that prevented him from interacting with the people around him.

Either way, there was an appropriate time for a proper intervention. With Kacchan, Izuku never learned. He blindly followed Katsuki for years, heedless to his unholy screeching and ear-shattering demands to be left alone. Like a drowning man grasping for a single hand to drag him back to the surface, ears muffled to the sounds of pity, not realizing no one else wanted to be dragged down with him. He just kept grasping, and grasping. He didn’t understand – didn’t want to understand – the death of a friendship, the final flames being extinguished. And with each determined attempt to keep it alive, Kacchan grew more and more frustrated, more unwilling to listen, more desperate for an end.

Izuku wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. Shinsou didn’t want his company at the moment – and that was alright. And if he still didn’t want it in the future, that would be alright, too. But clearly, he did need help, and as much as Izuku wanted to respect his wishes to be left alone, he couldn’t sit here quietly, knowing someone else was suffering in some way and he didn’t even try to do something. Didn’t it hurt when people glanced over him, back in middle school, and just looked the other way, assuming he would be as fine as ever? It didn’t really matter if Shinsou didn’t want to be saved – sometimes, he learned, people wouldn’t ask for help, even when their whole personality was practically begging for it. With time, Shinsou’s opinions could change and he could grow more receptive. That’s what Izuku always liked to believe, always found admirable about people. That they could always change, given the chance.

“The rest of this table is empty,” a voice said matter-of-factly, rudely interrupting his stream of thoughts – or was it mutterings?

Izuku glanced up, seeing a girl with long, flowing, white hair and distant-looking hazel eyes. He stared, for a few moments – not just at her appearance, which would have been quite rude, but in response to her statement. He knew he wasn’t the most sociable person around, but almost anyone would be at a loss for how to respond to such a – question? Statement of fact? He wasn’t sure what she was going for.

“Yes,” he replied intelligently.

The girl smiled, sitting down in front of him. She aimlessly played with a few locks of her hair for a few moments, before tucking them behind her ear. She then reached into her backpack and pulled out a small bag of grapes.

“Do you want some?” she asked earnestly.

Izuku continued to stare.

“N-No, I’m fine, thank you,” he managed, still baffled.

She nodded, popping two more grapes in her mouth. A few more moments passed, before –

“Hirai Usagi,” she said.

“What?”

“That’s my name, in case you were confused,” she explained, as if that perfectly well cleared up the situation for him.

“Midoriya Izuku,” he responded, figuring she seemed nice enough.

“You sit two places behind me and one to the right,” Hirai said, eating another grape.

“Oh! I’m sorry, there were a lot of new faces in class, so I couldn’t remember them all,” Izuku said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously as he let out a quiet laugh.

“That’s true,” she conceded, “you were already fixated on the purple-haired one, so I’d be surprised if you noticed many others.”

Izuku choked on his own spit. Hirai placidly ate two more grapes while gazing intently at the blank, white walls behind them, as if they held some kind of mysterious secrets.

“I-I wasn’t fixated on him! I was just – a little curious, because he doesn’t talk much and seems to like being alone, but I thought we had… something in common,” Izuku explained. For some reason, he leaves out their shared ambition of being a hero. Maybe that was something that was only meant to be shared within the spaces of their competition.

Apparently, it was all for nought anyway.

“Oh, you mean how you both want to be heroes? Yes, I suppose not many in the class share that goal,” Hirai agreed, as Izuku choked, again.

“How do you know that?” he demanded.

Hirai shrugged.

“There’s no trick. It’s just kind of obvious,” she said, back to twirling a white strand of hair, “you both have the same pinched expression whenever someone even mentions we’re in General Education. Neither of you wants to be here.”

Izuku looked down at the table, frowning. He didn’t want people to think he was ungrateful.

“It’s not that I think Gen Ed is a bad option, or anything,” he tried to explain, “it’s just… not where I want to be. I have a goal – I’ve had it for a long time, actually – and I don’t think I should have to change it just because – ”

Izuku cut himself off, glancing up at Hirai warily. Hirai, for her part, didn’t seem to notice the awkward self-interruption, or was perhaps just ignoring it. Her gaze seemed strangely focused above his head… or was it on him?

“Your hair kind of looks like a bush,” she stated. For the umpteenth time, Izuku merely stared. Hirai smiled, then waved her hand, and –

Gorgeous blue butterflies suddenly started flitting about around him, some resting in his hair as if they were in search of pollen. Izuku gaped at the sight, mouth open as his hand mindlessly wandered out to touch their delicate wings.

“Pretty butterflies,” a new, deeper voice said, as a tray slammed down on the table, startling Izuku. A girl with shoulder-length black hair and brown eyes took the seat next to Izuku, her sharp chin jutting out towards the creatures. Hirai, for her part, seemed entirely unfazed.

“Thank you, Sasaki-chan,” she said, smiling, “I can make more, if you’d like.” Izuku, still confused, watched as more butterflies began to materialize around the new girl’s – Sasaki’s – head. Sasaki sighed.

“I appreciate the view, but it would be nice to be able to see my own food, you know? And for the millionth time, you can just call me Yumi,” she said, tilting her head and glancing lazily over at Hirai.

“I suppose so, Sasaki-chan,” Hirai agreed, blatantly ignoring her as some of the butterflies disappeared.

“You can make butterflies? Or other creatures?” Izuku blurted out, finally verbalizing his thoughts after being distracted by the continuous wing movements blurring his field of vision.

“Of course not,” Hirai said, as Izuku let out a yelp when his hand went straight through a butterfly’s wing, “life can only be created in one way. Didn’t your parents have this discussion with you?”

Hirai looked at him with an expression of the utmost seriousness, apparently waiting for an answer. Izuku sputtered as his face turned the same colour as Hirai’s red grapes, while Sasaki snorted into her lunch.

“I-I,” Izuku stuttered, “that’s not – I was just – ”

“Want an explanation? Demonstration?” Sasaki asked, leaning towards Izuku and batting her eyelashes. Izuku yelped, immediately sliding himself a seat over. He didn’t even know who this was, or what was happening, but he was already out of his depth.

“N-No, I’m good, I was only asking if that was her quirk,” Izuku somehow managed to force out while he tried desperately to dull the red in his cheeks.

“Where’d you find this kid, Usagi?” Sasaki asked, snickering.

“He sits two places behind me, and one to the right,” Hirai answered promptly, “and you sit two places in front of him. Also, he is our age, I presume.”

Sasaki rolled her eyes.

“Thanks, next time I’ll ask you for the latitude and longitude, just for the extra challenge,” Sasaki said, then immediately held her hand up as Hirai’s mouth opened again, “actually, let me just stop you right there, I’m sure you’d still have an answer.”

Hirai frowned.

“I’m Midoriya Izuku,” Izuku said, after a brief moment of silence.

“Yes, you told me that already,” Hirai responded, looking at Izuku.

“Uh – I know that, but I figured – Sasaki-kun didn’t know, probably,” Izuku stammered out.

“Oh! Good thinking.”

“Hmmm,” Sasaki cut in, studying Izuku, “not used to talking to people, are you?”

Was it that obvious?

“Well, I guess not,” Izuku laughed nervously, “but that’s not because I dislike talking to other people, or anything…”

“So other people dislike talking to you?”

He froze.

“I’d hope not, but… it seems that way sometimes,” he admitted. A beat of silence echoed around their table, while Izuku was already kicking himself in his head for making himself seem so pathetic. He may as well have spilled his life story to them to garner some more pity, while he was at it. He opened his mouth, trying to think of a way to backtrack, but –

Sasaki shrugged.

“Weird, you seem pretty harmless to me,” she replied, taking another bite and appearing to drop the subject. Hirai nodded absently, crafting more butterflies of different colours – pink and yellow mixing with the blue. Izuku’s attention was yet again caught by the sight.

“What is your quirk, then?” Izuku asked, enraptured by the beauty. “You can make butterflies… but they disappear when you touch them… so it’s some kind of mirage-type quirk? Illusions?”

“Illusions,” Hirai agreed. Izuku’s eyes lit up.

“That’s amazing – the things you can do with a quirk like that can be almost limitless! Is there any restriction on what you can make people see? I’m sure you can create regular, inanimate objects, but it’s amazing that you can create realistic-looking living creatures, too! Can you only do that with simple, small animals, or is it possible with humans and large land mammals as well? Is there a time limit on your creations?” he asked excitedly.

Hirai blinked at him. Izuku almost deflated.

“S-Sorry, was that too much? I – ”

“It can’t be too big – the biggest thing I’ve made is the size of our classroom, and it took up most of my energy. Simple animals are easiest to make, especially when they don’t make noises and don’t have a wide range of movements, like butterflies. Bigger animals, like elephants or giraffes, and complex creatures, like humans, would take up too much energy because of their countless complications, habits, and behaviours – I might be able to make a general image of them, but they probably wouldn’t move properly, or talk. There is no time limit – once I expend energy into making a creation, the energy already exists in it, so it will not dissipate unless I want it to go away, or unless someone touches it,” she recited, answering every one of Izuku’s questions in order.

Although he was the one who asked, Izuku was shocked – most people just stared, or laughed, or looked confused, whenever Izuku spouted out a barrage of questions about their quirk. Even Sasaki had an eyebrow raised in his direction when he began his tirade. Hirai simply seemed to take it in stride, like it was regular conversation. Maybe it was, to her. He almost felt the sting of happy tears in his eyes – he was so grateful that she just responded to him, like – like it was normal. Even now, she turned back to making her butterflies with some dragonflies included in the mix as she hummed quietly to herself.

He looked down at the table, smiling slightly. Maybe things would be okay here. Hirai was a bit strange – in a good way – and Sasaki was more on the abrasive side, but they didn’t seem to mind sitting here with him.

“What’s your quirk, Sasaki-kun?” he questioned boldly, “If you don’t mind my asking, that is.”

“Why would I mind your asking?” Sasaki asked, leaning back and tilting her head to squint at him, “That’s, like, the first question anyone bothers to ask around here.”

“Neither of you asked what my quirk is,” he pointed out quietly.

“Oh, good, so it was obvious that I don’t care,” Sasaki stated plainly. “I mean, does it matter? It’s not like it says anything about you or your personality.”

Izuku’s head jerked up. He twisted his fingers nervously.

“I – you’re right,” he agreed, “and I hope you don’t think I was asking you because I thought it defined you, or something. I just really like learning about quirks.”

“Yeah, I got that before I even started talking to you,” Sasaki snorted. Izuku blushed slightly in response.

“You want to know about my quirk, huh?” Sasaki went on, thoughtful. “I think it’s best experienced firsthand.”

Izuku gazed at her intently, suddenly nervous as she grinned amusedly and reached out her arm, and – grasped his hand. Immediately, his face went from just-returned-to-its-normal-complexion to blazing-fire-at-two-hundred-degrees. A girl was holding his hand.

However, just as suddenly, he couldn’t feel the heat on his face anymore? He felt numb – his face, his fingers, and just his whole body, actually, like when his legs were all pins-and-needles after they fell asleep. Colours blurred together in front of his face, vague sounds drifted in and out of his eardrums, his mouth was dry and tasteless – it was like he was submerged into half-emptiness and couldn’t feel anything properly at all.

Sasaki let go of his hand, and Izuku let out a gasp as everything in his surroundings came together again. He took a few moments to get his bearings together as he whipped his head back and forth frantically, making sure he could take everything in properly again.

“Fun experience?” Sasaki asked, smirking.

“You could say that,” Izuku breathed out, “what just happened?”

Unbeknownst to himself, he began muttering up a storm again.

“Maybe it’s some kind of brain-stunting quirk, it obviously affected my mind. But only some parts of the brain, how I perceived things. Vision and hearing were both muddled, as well as touch and taste. Now that I think about it, I couldn’t smell properly either. It must be a sensory deprivation quirk – or, no, a sensory distortion quirk, that’s it. It distorted my sense of current conditions; it didn’t just remove them entirely. I wonder if it could focus on only one sense while ignoring the others? Or only some combination of the five?”

Izuku looked up, where Sasaki looked surprised, and Hirai looked… how she usually did.

“Ah, I – ”

“Please, stop apologizing, it’s getting old and I’ve barely known you for longer than fifteen minutes,” Sasaki interrupted. “I don’t know why you would apologize, anyway, it’s kind of impressive that you figured that out so quickly. My quirk is usually a little tricky to understand. Good to know you do have a brain under that twitchiness.”

Izuku looked at Sasaki for a moment, marvelling at receiving that reaction for the second time. Uraraka, too, had seemed impressed when he did it. Then again, they didn’t have to hear him do it five times a day, thirty-five times a week, several hundred times a year… irritation would probably come in due time. Kacchan and the rest of his old classmates had proven that much.

Speaking of which… the first-year hero classes would be eating in here too, wouldn’t they? Izuku lifted his head to survey the room, craning his neck for any sign of Kacchan, or Uraraka, or anyone else that seemed like a hero-in-training. He couldn’t seem to spot any of them at the tables close to him, but…

There – at the back of the room, he saw a familiar bob of brown hair. Uraraka was sitting at a table next to a few boys and another girl, eating her lunch quietly. Izuku frowned. They all seemed pretty quiet, actually. He was aware that the hero program was a serious affair, but he would have thought there would be a few cheerful people floating around – Uraraka included.

“Noticed the quiet, too?” Sasaki asked, nudging him. She seemed to revel in the yelp he let out, smirking at his flustered face. “Class 1-A has just realized how serious you need to be if you want to be a hero.”

“What do you mean?” Izuku asked, confused.

“You haven’t heard? Aizawa – Class 1-A’s homeroom teacher – has already expelled a student. Some tiny grape-looking kid, from what I heard. Didn’t seem like a great loss.”

Shocked, Izuku glanced back over at the table Uraraka was sitting at. The mood wasn’t necessarily sombre, but they definitely looked a little less carefree than everyone else in the cafeteria. Izuku couldn’t imagine it – struggling past the entrance exams, pushing through the practical hero exam, feeling the relief and joy of an acceptance to U.A.’s famed heroics program – only to lose it all in a single day. That would crush him, maybe even more than a flat-out rejection. At least that wouldn’t involve leading you on, like you were following a trail of candy and gumdrops to a house made of chocolate, only to find out you were going to be eaten alive once inside.

“What did he do?” Izuku whispered.

“Absolutely nothing,” Sasaki sighed, “they had some evaluation, and that kid was last. He wasn’t good enough, so they threw him out. Think it shocked them all, really. No one would have expected a teacher to be serious about that, but that’s just who Aizawa is.”

Izuku swallowed.

Not good enough.

Words that would forever ring through his head, reverberating around and pounding his skull in, no matter how hard he tried to tell himself that he could do it. What if it all was for nothing? What if he ended up like that kid, whatever his name was? Working so hard to get in, sweating and bleeding and crying every step of the way, only to face reality once he was in – only to see that everyone else was just levels above him? Only for this Aizawa to decide he wasn’t worth it?

“Breathe, would you?” Sasaki said to him, her eyebrows knitted together, “it’s not like you’re expelled. Aizawa is kind of known for being a hardass around here, anyway – he’s expelled a full class before.”

Izuku felt like he was beginning to turn green, a lovely shade to match his hair and eyes. More butterflies materialized around his head, as well as little birds who seemed to open their beaks to chirp but wouldn’t make any sound. He blinked at the sudden distractions.

“I don’t think you’re making him feel better,” Hirai said matter-of-factly, “it’s probably because he wants to be a hero, too, and he’s getting worried because you implied the standards would be too high.”

Izuku coughed. Hirai was weirdly perceptive, even when she seemed spaced-out half of the time.

“Oh,” Sasaki commented unapologetically, “Didn’t know you wanted to be a hero. Doesn’t change what I said, though – that much was the truth.”

“I-I know,” Izuku sighed, resigned, “it’s just – hard to hear. I know it won’t be easy.”

“It might be okay, if you’re impressive enough in class and in the Sports Festival. Although you seemed weirdly evasive when asking about our quirks earlier, so… what? Don’t think yours is good enough? Hard to believe from someone as confident as you,” Sasaki said dryly, studying her nails.

“You could say that,” Izuku replied softly, steeling himself, “because I don’t have one.”

Hirai tilted her head at him, frowning. Sasaki, too, remained silent for once, eyes narrowed.

“Oh,” Sasaki said simply.

“Oh,” Izuku agreed.

“Oh!” Hirai added thoughtfully. “That explains a lot. Mostly why you look like you’re having a heart attack whenever the topic of quirks comes up. And also why you cut yourself off a lot.”

“And why you look like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders,” Sasaki announced, almost sounding bored, “seriously, chill. You look like you’re going to spontaneously combust.”

“You don’t think I’m stupid?” Izuku asked quietly.

“Oh, I’m sure you’re kind of stupid,” Sasaki said flatly, “but everyone is, so, whatever. I don’t know. It’s not really my problem, is it? I admit that I’m having trouble seeing it, but I guess there are some heroes out there who don’t really have offense-type quirks. Don’t expect any encouragement from me, though. I don’t want to be the reason you get your hopes up for nothing. If you think you can do it, prove me wrong.”

Hirai hummed.

“It seemed like you didn’t want to tell us,” Hirai said suddenly.

“Well – it’s not that I’m ashamed of it, exactly,” Izuku muttered, shuffling his feet, “but it doesn’t exactly garner the best of reactions, either.”

“What, people are mean to you because of how you were born? Sounds like some bullshit,” Sasaki remarked, “or was it just because your goal sounds like a pipe dream? Either way, no one else should be able to say anything about it. Fail or succeed, it’s your choice. Your life to mess up. No point in not letting you try – who knows what we might find out?”

Izuku’s eyes welled up a bit.

Sometimes, when new people approach him, he just stops and can’t do anything but stare. No matter what they look like or sound like, he can somehow taste ash in his mouth and smell the fading smoke. Phantom bangs rupture his ears and the aftershocks are so obvious in the tremors of his hands; he tries to hide them. His cheeks feel blotchy and wet and he is frozen in time, with his breath caught in his chest.

This time, he only smells the delicious cafeteria food and feels warmth without being thrown face-first into the flames; sees the peaceful blue butterflies, and hears the soothing calm of a low, agreeable voice.

“T-Thanks,” he managed to get out, “it really means a lot – I’ve been trying, recently, to only focus on my own opinion, but it’s still hard to do that right away, so I appreciate that you aren’t just telling me it’s impossible – ”

“Well, don’t cry,” Sasaki muttered, awkwardly tugging her fingers through the ends of her hair and looking away, “aren’t heroes supposed to be strong, or calm, or something like that?”

“I think heroes are allowed to be happy sometimes, though,” Hirai said seriously, “Those looked like happy tears.”

“They were,” Izuku said, head tilted down towards the table, lips very slightly upturned, “I don’t usually get that reaction.”

Their table was silent again.

Clearly, there was a lot to unpack from that statement, but none of it was worth the time and painstaking efforts of unpacking – not now, at least. It was as if pest control had managed to trap a multitude of various types of vermin – there were containers and cages filled with an eclectic amalgam of venomous snakes and blind rats and headless cockroaches. It would be simple enough to release them out in the wild, but what followed would no doubt be ugly and unpleasant. Extermination was a service for a reason, and self-pity wasn’t a good look on anyone.

“I’m sorry,” Sasaki offered lowly, seeming surprisingly genuine for once, “it’s never nice to be treated like that.”

Hirai closed her palm and opened it again, revealing a single white stargazer lily. Izuku smiled, a bit sad but also a bit hopeful, and unthinkingly reached out to touch her creation again. The flower dissipated at the touch of his hand.

Chapter Text

“Ah, good, I think that’s everyone,” Snipe declared, eyes roving over the room. “Now that we’re all back from lunch, it’s time for another evaluation.”

Mutters rose up throughout the room again, many of them disbelieving and shocked. Was the six-page evaluation from the morning not enough to satisfy his apparent sadism? Snipe, seeming to note their outrage, chuckled lightly in response.

“Relax, relax, I never said what kind of evaluation it was,” he said. “Some of you might like this one better. Others… well, I’m sure you’ll manage.”

Yet more glances were thrown around at the suspicious way Snipe had concluded.

“Although you are not heroes, it is important that children of your age remain physically fit. Like most schools, U.A. does not just consist of academic courses, but a physical education course as well. We will now be doing physical evaluations,” Snipe finished. At this, people generally seemed more relieved at the prospect of not having to use their brains for once, although a few still looked nervous – probably wondering if U.A. had different standards than their middle schools. Izuku, on the other hand, was a bit relieved too – after sitting around, he was itching to get up and move a little.

“Follow me to the P.E. Grounds,” Snipe said, gesturing for everyone to get up as he walked to the door. Slowly, everyone arose from their seats, some gathering in groups to chat with their friends on their way over. Izuku felt someone poke his shoulder, and turned to see Sasaki catching up with him, with Hirai just behind her.

“You don’t look disappointed,” she commented, “don’t tell me physicals are your strong suit?”

Izuku smiled.

“I’m a little better at them than I might look,” he answered modestly as they reached the grounds.

True to his word, the rest of the afternoon definitely resulted in Izuku changing a few minds, he was sure of it. Much like in middle school, quirks were not allowed in the physical tests – although it wasn’t like a great majority of the students here had physical quirks that would help in these evaluations. With Izuku’s training, he consistently came out on top of most of the tests, from the 50-metre dash to the long jump. He struggled a bit more when they arrived at the pitching circle, as most of his training came from redirecting strength rather than growing excessive bulk of his own. Overall, however, it was clear that Izuku had an edge over many of his classmates.

Sasaki panted next to him after the last test.

“You really weren’t lying, huh?” she observed, breathing heavily.

Izuku shrugged.

“I’ve just done some training,” he admitted, “after all, I needed it, if I wanted to be a hero with no other advantage behind me.”

A few drops landed on Izuku’s cheeks. He looked up, touching his hand to his skin to feel the wetness on his face. The clouds hanging overhead had finally burst and it was lightly drizzling over the grounds.

Snipe, standing a few metres away, frowned at the weather and gestured for everyone to come together.

“We’ve finished most of the tests,” he stated, “only the grip strength test is left, but we can do that one inside. Let’s head over to the indoor gymnasiums.”

With that, everyone rushed back inside to avoid being pelted by raindrops, some shivering and pulling up their hoods. Finally, they reached the inside, where the final test began. Izuku was one of the first to be evaluated, so he looked around, letting his mind wander as he waited for everyone else to finish up.

As the time passed, he walked the length of the gym, looking curiously at the opposite side where mats were placed all over the floor and lined the walls. It reminded him of his dojo. He reached over, aimlessly running his hand over the padding.

“Alright, that’s everything. Nice work for your first day, and remember – it only gets harder from here,” Snipe declared, amused at the mixed reactions of the class at the simultaneous praise and promise for future difficulties.

“Now, let’s – ” he started, before cutting himself off while surveying the whole gym, “Midoriya, the tests are over.”

Izuku immediately whirled around in surprise, blushing slightly when he noticed that every pair of eyes in the room was fixed on him.

“Sorry, Snipe-sensei – I just got distracted,” he mumbled out, scratching the back of his head. He began to walk over very quickly, intent on ensuring that he didn’t drag this incident on for longer than necessary. It was already bad enough that he had caught everyone’s attention.

“That’s fine,” Snipe said, head tilted in interest.

“Why are those mats over there, sensei?” a voice called out from the class.

“This gym is used by the hero students as well, sometimes,” he answered, “so the mats help during simple hand-to-hand training exercises.”

“So, we don’t have to do that, too?” a boy with a large chin and pompadour hairstyle asked.

Snipe shook his head.

“There was a time when General Education students also had sparring involved as part of the curriculum, but it is no longer required. Many students study here for the pre-college path only, so self-defence isn’t required when it’s barely used by a majority of people in this program.”

A few of the students made understanding noises, but a number of them still seemed confused.

“Self-defence sounds kind of useful to me,” a girl with stern eyes and small pigtails noted. Some of the people around her nodded in agreement.

Snipe seemed a bit surprised by their reactions.

“Most high schools don’t involve this element in their physical programs – knowing that the students meet certain physical standards, as displayed though the physical evaluations, are enough. However…” he said, trailing off and tilting his head curiously, “there is a bit of time left before the end of the day. Since you all seem intent on it, we can do some sparring – only for those that want to, that is. The others can just enjoy their break.”

Some people let out sighs, seeming bored and already moving to the side of the room where they would be out of Snipe’s line of sight. Hirai wandered off, too, much to Izuku’s surprise. He supposed he shouldn’t be, though – she didn’t seem very interested in fighting. Sasaki stayed, looking indifferent. Shinsou shifted a bit, but didn’t make any move to leave. About half of the class remained, some looking nervous and some looking eager. Izuku stood near the back, though he, too, was itching to spar with new people. At the dojo, it was always training with Himura-sensei or some of the other students. But training for years with the same people made him very susceptible to specific styles – it would be a good experience to try fighting different people, all while having no background knowledge about their abilities.

“Okay, let’s pick two pairs of students at a time – you’ll both be sparring, and I’ll offer tips to both parties as you go. I’m afraid this won’t be much of a lesson, both because of the lack of time and the lack of focus in the curriculum, but at least you’ll know what your strengths and weaknesses are, and what kind of tricks you might want to employ in dangerous situations. Outside of today, there won’t be much time for this, but if you’re still interested, I can speak to some of my colleagues about where you can find good training. Hand-to-hand combat is hardly my main style,” Snipe admitted.

With that, Snipe picked out a girl and a boy from the middle of the crowd, as well as two boys near the back. Izuku didn’t really recognize any of them. Anxiously, he watched as the fights began, scanning for their various skills and drawbacks.

And he found… nothing.

The fights were what Himura-sensei would call pathetic. Of course, it was hardly their faults that they didn’t undergo intensive training, and many didn’t want to be heroes or anything similar, but… if they were so interested in self-defence, why didn’t they bother trying it until now? Maybe they never had the opportunity – or maybe they were used to being the biggest fish in a very small pond. Maybe a single well-thrown punch was enough, back in middle school. Maybe they could always win because they were bigger, and that’s why they still seemed unfazed now. Not realizing how unrefined their moves were.

The boy from the second pairing swiped at the other, his elbow drawing back almost fully to land a punch. Despite the obvious trajectory of the movement, the second boy went down pretty easily, after making a weak attempt to cover his face. Snipe hurried over to make sure he was alright, and then seemed to be advising both of them – the first boy, for being too predictable by making a too-wide arc with his arm, and the second boy, for not dodging and instead trying to stand his ground in some show of fortitude.

The other fight had ended already, the boy apparently a little wary of hurting the girl, who took advantage of this to kick him in the shin and knock him off-balance. It was fairly quick and didn’t make use of many skills, but to be honest, the girl made the best out of the fight. Those were viable strategies for shorter, smaller people to use against larger opponents, as Izuku had learned. Snipe, too, seemed to appreciate this, as he complimented her abilities and simply advised them both not to underestimate their opponents.

“Anyone interested in taking on a winner from these fights?” Snipe called to the students. His eyes roved the crowd, picking Sasaki to face the girl, and then his eyes landed on –

“Midoriya, how about you face Furuya?” he asked, gesturing to the boy from the first fight. Izuku startled a little at being called, but nodded, stepping forward onto the mats. He noticed that Furuya looked a little skeptical.

“Ever been in a fight before?” he asked, eyes roaming up and down Izuku’s slight frame – slight, in comparison to his bulk – with no small measure of condescension.

“You’d be surprised,” Izuku said, a ghost of a smile appearing over his face. Furuya raised an eyebrow but nodded.

“Your funeral,” he said, moving back to take a more solid stance. The stance itself wasn’t too bad, actually – Izuku suspected Furuya could make a decent fighter if he was willing to keep up the work. Snipe gave the signal to start.

Izuku suddenly felt the urge to look over at Sasaki to see how she was doing, but it turned out there was no time as Furuya immediately rushed forward. An impulsive type, evidently. Like the first fight, Furuya let his arm go back wide – not as wide as the first time, as he had clearly listened to Snipe-sensei – but still too wide, enough for Izuku to have ample time to move a step back, out of the way. The punch cleanly cut through the air.

For a moment, everyone just stared. Furuya frowned, perhaps a bit surprised. He threw a punch again, this time with his left hand – which Izuku ducked under – and finishing with a right upper cut – which Izuku spun his body around to dodge.

“Quit dodging,” Furuya said through gritted teeth, leaning forward with both hands to grab Izuku by the shoulders, presumably to throw him to the ground. Izuku immediately used the sides of his hands to cut into the creases of Furuya’s elbows, forcing Furuya to remove the grip from his neck. He took another step back, still breathing quite steadily.

The same could not be said for Furuya. He made a few more wild swings, with Izuku cleanly dodging all of them, and then, frustrated, he rushed forward, perhaps intending to knock Izuku right off his feet and tackle him to the ground. Instead, Izuku stood his ground until the last second, where he grabbed Furuya’s left arm, and pulled it forward, using Furuya’s own momentum to bring him off-balance. Furuya’s eyes widened as he stumbled a bit ahead of Izuku, allowing Izuku to knock the side of his elbow into Furuya’s upper back while his right foot was strategically placed in front of his legs. Furuya tripped, falling to the ground face-first.

Izuku stood above him, glad enough that he won, but he hovered awkwardly with his hand slightly outstretched as if to make sure Furuya was okay.

Furuya got to his knees and scowled, slowly turning around to face Izuku.

“You hardly did anything,” he stated gruffly, “you just kept dodging.”

“A valid technique,” Snipe cut in, looking at Izuku appraisingly, “and one very well-suited to this fight. You’ve clearly had formal training.”

“Yes, Snipe-sensei,” Izuku agreed, not bothering to hide it.

“How does dodging count as fighting?” Furuya argued. “He didn’t even throw a punch.”

“He didn’t have to, Furuya,” Snipe said, “again, you made the mistake of using wide movements. It makes you predictable and easy to dodge. Furthermore, smaller opponents tend to dodge and use their opponent’s momentum against them. This is common in formal self-defence.”

Snipe turned, off to give advice to the other pair. Izuku craned his neck, and smiled a little to see that Sasaki had won. He didn’t get the chance to watch, but maybe she knew a thing or two about sparring, too.

“I still don’t see it,” Furuya insisted lowly, as Izuku turned his head back to look at him, “you just got lucky this time.”

Furuya narrowed his eyes at him, then turned to walk back into the crowd of spectators. Izuku gazed after him.

Lucky. There it was, that word again. Each dodge, each duck, each spin. Done consecutively, in order, for a number of minutes. Just luck. A word burned into his skin, no matter how many times he won, no matter who he fought against, no matter what he did. He was intimately familiar with luck.

After his match with Furuya, Izuku faced a few others, defeating them soundly each time. Still, he didn’t bother to employ any offensive techniques – despite Furuya’s words, dodging was more than enough. It continued to be a lucky day for him, evidently.

“And how about you? Would you like to face Midoriya?” Snipe called to the back of the group, to – Shinsou. Shinsou’s indifferent gaze roamed up the room to meet Izuku’s eyes. His lips pursed.

“Sure,” he said.

Shinsou meandered forward slowly, taking his time to reach the front. His eyes met Izuku’s when he stepped onto the mats, seemingly unwilling to break his stare.

“Shall we begin?” Shinsou asked. Izuku, surprised that he spoke first – and perhaps more surprised that his words were not necessarily hostile – merely nodded in response.

Shinsou took a step back, adopting a steady defensive stance. He made no move to come toward Izuku. Interested, Izuku stepped forward – clearly, Shinsou was intent on making him go on the offensive. Perhaps he thought offense was Izuku’s weakness.

Izuku strolled toward Shinsou and narrowed his eyes calculatingly, throwing a simple punch from his right hand and aiming for his head. Shinsou ducked the blow, moving his leg back to steady himself, then shifted back into the same position. Izuku caught the movement.

This time, Izuku faked a punch from the left side. As Shinsou tried to take a step back to dodge, Izuku lifted his right hand to throw a right cross. He caught Shinsou’s eyes widening, and was somewhat surprised to see that Shinsou managed to block the hit. Good reflexes.

But Izuku was used to blocks. Immediately after the right cross, Izuku aimed a right jab up at Shinsou’s chin. Caught off guard, Shinsou grunted and was pushed back, shaking his head as if his ears were ringing.

Using this moment of disorientation to his advantage, Izuku grabbed Shinsou’s right shoulder and twisted himself backward, pivoting on his right foot. His left leg extended into a back kick as he spun around, letting it land right into Shinsou’s side. Shinsou crumpled to the floor, letting out another heavy exhale.

After a few moments, he got back up, still looking at the ground. An uncomfortable silence blanketed the two of them, despite the fact that the rest of the people in the gym were either having their own conversations, or whispering and looking over at them. Izuku glanced over to the other pair, seeing that Snipe was still talking to them. Hesitantly, he directed his eyes up at Shinsou, who had his arms crossed and wasn’t even looking in his direction. Izuku looked back at Snipe. He seemed to be taking a little longer to advise the other two, for some reason. Izuku cleared his throat. Maybe this would be a good time to clear the air?

“I hope I didn’t use too much force,” Izuku said carefully. Did that sound offensive? Did he sound too condescending, like he was holding back and restraining himself? Well, he was, given the fact that no one else seemed to have undergone intensive training, but a lot of people – namely, people like Kacchan – might have taken it the wrong way.

“You were fine,” Shinsou said shortly. Izuku breathed out a small sigh of relief, for more than one reason. He smiled a bit, taking the response as a sign of brief respite in the tumultuous tension that had previously been developed between them. Tentatively, he went on.

“You have good reflexes,” he offered, “it’s hard to react so quickly to a fake.”

“Mmmm,” Shinsou remarked through closed lips. The lack of complete hostility encouraged him to fix whatever it was that happened earlier in the day. Maybe it was just a misunderstanding.

Izuku looked across to the other mats. Snipe was still engaged in conversation.

“You had a steady position, but I think you would fare better if you were a bit less stiff,” Izuku added, “I noticed you moved back to the same stance, but it’s good to be adaptable. I really struggled with that when I was learning, too.”

“Did I ask?” Shinsou questioned monotonously, finally turning his head slightly to the left to narrow his eyes at Izuku. Izuku’s slight smile slipped off his face and his stomach dropped a little. He averted his gaze.

“Ah, no,” Izuku responded nervously, “sorry – if I came across as patronizing, or something. I swear I wasn’t trying to be. It’s just that – Snipe-sensei looked busy, and he’s right, I do have some experience, so I thought I could offer some tips.”

“I can wait, thanks,” Shinsou said, not sounding very grateful, “like I said earlier, I’d rather you not be involved.”

Izuku frowned. Why were people so insistent on crippling levels of independence? Would they rather die than let someone lend a hand? It’s not like Izuku would have gotten so far without Himura-sensei’s help, either. No matter where you’re from, or who you are, someone gives you the chance or motivation or opportunity to rocket upwards. Everyone is made from the efforts of other people, in one way or another.

He opened his mouth to argue – regardless of how receptive or not Shinsou would be, he needed to speak his mind – but Snipe-sensei finally walked over to comment on their fight. Izuku sighed internally as he mentioned to Shinsou what Izuku had already said, as well as a few more tips. He simply nodded at Izuku, commending him on his skill and reminding him not to exercise too much force. With that, Shinsou walked away immediately. Snipe turned to address the class.

“Alright, that’s all for today – good work, and I appreciated the initiative of those of you who tried to spar. Still interested?” he asked curiously.

A majority of the class mumbled and looked down, clearly a bit discouraged upon realizing the difficulty of a real fight. Snipe chuckled a bit.

“That’s alright – there’s a reason training is left to the hero programs! At any rate, I hope you learned something today, and I’ll see you tomorrow. Class is dismissed.”

Students rushed out of the gym, eager to get out of school and be able to enjoy the rest of their day. As Izuku stepped out, he noted that Furuya still had his eyes fixed in his direction. Izuku tilted his head at him, curious. Upon noticing that he had garnered Izuku’s attention, Furuya simply narrowed his eyes, but nodded at him before walking away. Interesting. He didn’t seem so malicious anymore, just… suspicious and contemplative. Shaking his head, he continued walking down the hall.

“Leaving without saying goodbye?” a low voice called behind him. Izuku almost turned, but Sasaki had already reached him, throwing an arm around his shoulders with her eyes widened in mock sadness and lips twisted into a pout. As always, Hirai wasn’t too far behind. Izuku immediately blushed at her proximity, trying to subtly remove himself from under her arm. Sasaki merely smiled at him with exaggerated innocence.

“I hope I’m not making you uncomfortable? I thought we were friends, but here you are, racing out the doors,” she sighed, looking gloomy.

“I-I’m not, I – ” Izuku started, already stammering, “I – ”

“Really? Your cheeks are all red,” Hirai observed, roaming up to them, “I don’t think anyone around here has a quirk that can do that.” She looked very solemn at this proclamation, eyebrows knitted in true confusion.

“I just – no one has really – we’re friends?” he finally blurted out, skipping all sense of decorum. Immediately, he wished he had just said nothing – he always managed to turn every conversation back around to his own self-inflicted pity.

It was said that one shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, but Izuku constantly and reflexively pried open the jaws of any and all horses, afraid of what might be lurking in their teeth.

Sasaki, too, had apparently noticed and had enough.

“Would we bother talking to someone we weren’t friends with? Seriously, I thought that purple-haired kid was already Class 1-C’s designated brooding loner,” Sasaki drawled, twirling a strand of her hair. Despite himself, Izuku couldn’t help but laugh at her assessment, which matched what he had originally thought when he talked to Shinsou for the first time this morning.

“He’s not that bad,” Izuku said, somehow still feeling compelled to defend Shinsou despite his lack of general courtesy towards others. He was just… extremely focused on his goals.

“He always looks like a cross between wanting to strangle you and wanting to strangle himself,” Sasaki said flatly, “seriously, I have no idea how he pulls it off, but I’m actually kind of impressed. At least you can hold your own, though – I had no idea, to be honest – but I guess I was wrong, back at lunch. You’re not so harmless after all.”

Izuku looked away, a bit embarrassed by her appraising look.

“I don’t think he’s suicidal or homicidal,” Hirai said suddenly, “just guarded.”

Sasaki rolled her eyes.

“I know he’s not actually – you know what, whatever,” she sighed, “guarded is one word for it, I guess.”

“I can think of synonyms,” Hirai offered earnestly, “wary, reluctant, cagey, standoffish, reticent – ”

“I swear you do this on purpose,” Sasaki said. Izuku laughed again – Sasaki and Hirai truly made a unique pair, but they were obviously fond of each other. They seemed to have known each other for a long time. Sasaki did call Hirai by her first name, after all, and he didn’t often see one without the other.

“Did you both grow up together?” Izuku asked curiously as he opened the door that led outside the building. All three of them exited, and Izuku looked up at the sky, grateful that it finally stopped raining.

Sasaki shrugged.

“We went to the same middle school – this loser was always floating around in her own head like she never knew what was going on, wandering on and off school property – I figured that someone needed to prevent a child neglect lawsuit, so I graciously took pity on her and let her stick by me,” she announced, sounding dreadfully exasperated, “Usagi should be grateful.”

“Thank you, Sasaki-chan,” Hirai said genuinely, smiling at her.

“Whatever,” she replied, rolling her eyes even as her lips twitched a bit, “anyways, we’re off in that direction, so we’ll see you tomorrow, Midoriya.”

“Bye, Midoriya-kun,” Hirai called, as she was dragged off into the distance by Sasaki.

“Bye!” he called back, watching them trudge down the path on the other side of the school. He smiled, noticing that they were still bickering as they walked away – well, Sasaki was bickering, Hirai seemed unfazed as ever. Still, even as Sasaki griped as she tugged on a strand of Hirai’s wavy, white hair, while Hirai appeared distracted by everything on their path, there was a sense of underlying fondness that was impossible to conceal.

Just staring at the childhood friends – one abrasive and brash, one placid and calm – tugged at Izuku’s heartstrings. He felt the ache of familiarity in his bones, as two heads of pale, long hair and dark, messy hair moved forward together, side-by-side. It was like looking into a distorted funhouse mirror of the past, except – the unnecessarily tall reflections, the strangely fat and unnervingly skinny depictions, the compressed images and the upside-down likenesses – those were all preferable to the reality, somehow prettier than the authentic truth. No warped image in a curved carnival mirror could ever distort anything enough to match up to that age-old twistedness with which Izuku was so familiar, where the vague vestiges of childish excitement about heroes and the familiar crackle of explosive sparks could be heard echoing somewhere in his mind.

“Careful, Midoriya-kun – wouldn’t want to bump into each other for the third time, would we?”

Izuku jumped in surprise, turning around to see the girl from Class 1-A – Uraraka – walking down the same route, stopping before him curiously.

“A-Ah, Uraraka-kun! Sorry, I didn’t mean to block the path, I just… got distracted,” he said, moving to the right. He began to walk down the path with Uraraka falling into step next to him. Evidently, she lived in the same direction that he did.

“So, how was your day?” Uraraka asked cheerfully. Izuku thought about it, probably more carefully than Uraraka would have expected – the lingering pains and reminders of middle school in Shinsou and Furuya, but also the newfound simple joys in friendly banter with Sasaki and Hirai, and genuine respect from Snipe-sensei. Uraraka, too, when he thought about it – her honest enthusiasm and cheer, despite them both being from different programs, was quite refreshing.

“It was alright,” Izuku said softly, with a small smile.

“Mine was alright, too,” she claimed, but her face was twisted into a half-grimace. Uraraka clearly had a different definition of “alright” in mind. Izuku hesitated, not wanting to delve too much into her business – for once – but couldn’t help his natural curiosity. Especially when considering that she was in the hero class.

“Are you sure? It’s okay if you didn’t,” he remarked, “it doesn’t mean they’ll all be bad.”

Uraraka looked at the ground.

“I wasn’t lying – it wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t great, either,” she admitted, “I guess I just expected more. I was really excited and determined this morning.”

“I could tell,” Izuku added, amused, “I guess it makes sense, though. I’d be on edge after someone was expelled on the first day, too.”

“Ah, you heard about that?” she asked, though it seemed rhetorical. “If I’m being honest, I’m not upset about Mineta being expelled. He was kind of a pervert – always talking about girls and how excited he was to touch them, especially when he became a hero and ‘could get anyone he wanted'.”

Izuku frowned.

“Doesn’t sound like much of a hero to me,” he acknowledged. Uraraka nodded in agreement.

“Still, I think it was just shocking how quickly he was let go. We were just doing a quirk apprehension test – you know all those physical tests we did back in middle school? I’m sure you did them today, too,” she suggested, while Izuku nodded in affirmation.

“Well, we were allowed to do them using our quirks, this time – doesn’t that sound cool? We were all so excited.”

Izuku smiled politely, gesturing for her to continue. Internally, however, he felt the bitter irony clawing up at him. Even if he somehow managed to pass the Heroics exam, he probably would have been let go on the first day, instead of this Mineta. Years of training and exercising his muscles would never compare to, say, the ability to throw the softball pitch while having an anti-gravity quirk. Even internally, U.A. seemed to be rife with unfair advantages for powerful quirks. What was their homeroom teacher’s name? Aizawa? He probably had a powerful quirk of his own, unable to see just how… prejudiced the tests were. Not all quirks were physical. Or existent, for that matter.

“It went downhill pretty quickly, though. Aizawa-sensei – our homeroom teacher – told us that the person who performed the worst would be expelled. At first, none of us could believe it – when we finished the tests, I think we were expecting him to tell us it was all a joke. Even the top scorer, Yaoyorozu – a recommended student – was certain it was some kind of logical ruse, so that we would all perform our best. But we were all wrong,” Uraraka finished, nervously playing with the pads on her fingers.

“That sounds kind of terrifying,” Izuku admitted, “even if you didn’t like him, it must have been scary to see someone losing their chance at being a hero right away.”

Uraraka nodded in agreement.

“The afternoon was much better, but I still can’t help but feel a bit disappointed,” she huffed.

“What happened?” Izuku asked. Uraraka smiled widely again, looking cheered up and… starstruck?

“You’ll never believe it – we had Heroics in the afternoon, and we were all wondering who would be teaching us. Guess who it was!” she exclaimed. Just as suddenly, looking at the gleam in her eyes, Izuku felt something like a pit grow in his stomach. His excitement at her regained delight began to mix with waves of mounting dread and nervousness, pulled in by tides of awe and despair and childish glee – a volatile combination of feelings that could only be associated with one individual. But there was no way…

It can’t possibly be him…

Apparently taking Izuku’s expression of shock and suspicion and anticipation as a signal to go on, she answered her own question.

“Everyone’s jaws must have hit the floor when All Might himself walked in!” she gushed, “He looks and acts just like he does on TV!”

Does he?

Izuku remained silent, unsure how to feel or how to think or what to say. Uraraka noticed his silence but seemed to mistake his reaction for something else.

“Oh, I’m sorry! Are you a fan? I didn’t mean to brag about how the hero classes get to have him as a teacher – I was just really excited! If it makes you feel better, we don’t get to see him too often, either. I think he has to leave right after class to go save the day in a thousand different places,” she sighed.

“Ah, n-no, don’t worry about me, I’m glad you get to have such a great hero as a teacher,” Izuku finally managed to say, smiling, “besides, I might see him around the school sometime.”

Uraraka nodded in agreement, then prattled on about everyone getting their hero costumes and being paired up as heroes or villains for battle trials, while All Might judged their strategic abilities – although apparently the great All Might was quite inexperienced as a teacher, unsure how to deal with kids and constantly carrying around a script and notes on what to say.

Unsurprising.

Normally, Izuku would be listening raptly, but he was still stuck on the tiny little fact that he would be walking around U.A., still desperately trying his best to get into the hero program that his favourite hero had graduated from, after that hero already told him he couldn’t do it.

Would it be considered disrespectful for him to stay, just disregarding the number-one-hero’s opinion? Would All Might immediately refuse to let him transfer, no matter how well he did in class or in the Sports Festival?

Would he even remember who Izuku was?

That would kill him the most – if that one earth-shattering incident, those few moments that broke apart and redefined Izuku’s entire world, just… didn’t cross his mind at all.

Izuku jerked back into the conversation as Uraraka was describing the battle trials, when yet another familiar name was brought up. Two, in fact.

“ – won pretty easily, he just covered everything in ice and froze the villains in place, then boiled it back into hot water. I was paired with Yaoyorozu-kun, and we were the heroes – this strict boy named Iida and another boy with a temper, Bakugou, were the villains. We – ”

“Wait,” Izuku interrupted, even though he really wanted to hear about how this one went, “did you say Iida? As in, a relative of the hero Ingenium?”

Uraraka frowned.

“I’m not sure. I never really got much of a chance to talk to him, and he seemed so strait-laced,” she said. “You really are a fan, aren’t you?”

Izuku blushed and ran a hand through his hair.

“Sorry, I just recognized the name,” he answered sheepishly, “please go on, though.”

“Well, I hate to say it, but we were basically destroyed,” she confessed. Uraraka had a slight smile on her face, clearly trying to be a good sport, but her frustration was evident.

“I thought it wouldn’t be so bad – Yaoyorozu-kun had gotten first place during Aizawa-sensei’s test, and she seemed so smart, and she got in on recommendation! But I guess book-smarts and knowing your quirk aren’t everything. We really underestimated the hot-tempered one, Bakugou…”

Izuku frowned, already knowing where this was going. It was easy to pretend Bakugou wasn’t smart, that he was just another playground bully with an anger management problem and an unfairly destructive quirk and no intellect to show for his violence. Then, he could sit down and wallow in his own self-pity, how he was only picked on because Kacchan was jealous of his brains, that he was just an average mindless brute. But the truth of the matter was that he was a genius, smart in a way that almost no one could match. Not just in school, but about people and quirks and fights and just… everything.

People often made the mistake of thinking Bakugou was uncontrollable. His temper, his quirk, his personality – everything about him seemed wild, untamed, and lacking any kind of forethought and planning. Izuku looked down at his arms, where burns and blisters of pink and red were once rife, but had now faded away to faint, barely-visible wisps of white lines that you could only see if you were looking for it. No, he knew better than most –

Bakugou’s control was impeccable.

“– she made this whole plan, where she would create these shields of shock-proof glass to withstand his explosions and I made them float above our heads. We figured Bakugou would be the one to come after us while Iida patrolled the floor that the bomb was on, since he had an offense-type quirk. I would throw the shields in his face that he wouldn’t be able to explode away, and then run forward to face Iida, while Yaoyorozu would create a bucket of water to throw at him and douse out his sparks, and then try to capture him while he couldn’t spark up his fingers again. It seemed like the perfect idea, but –”

But there’s no accounting for Kacchan.

“– he just exploded the ceiling above our heads and the concrete knocked the flying shields out of the way! I don’t know how he managed to do it in a way that none of us were hit, but after that he blasted us into submission pretty quickly and captured us both. Iida didn’t even have to do a thing,” Uraraka remarked, lips twisting as she just stared at the ground.

Izuku wanted to console her, but what could he say?

Some people are so powerful that their quirks can just overcome any strategy you make. Some people are so intelligent that their strategies outsmart the range of your quirk’s abilities. And some people…

Some people were lucky. They just had both.

“The most frustrating part was that we were right – he came after us, and Iida stayed with the bomb, and he was throwing explosions at us right away, like we thought he would. But still – it just… wasn’t enough,” she finished quietly, reiterating Izuku’s thoughts. Izuku glanced back at her, his hands fidgeting with each other. He couldn’t just leave it like this.

“Like I said this morning,” Izuku stated with as much confidence as he could muster, “you’re here to learn. We might be used to being the best back at our old schools, but in a place where everyone excels… there’s going to be a new hierarchy. But there’s also a new learning curve. You might not be at the top anymore, but that all depends on how you respond to that – how well you can adapt and how willing you are to work hard to develop new skills. So there’s no reason to think this is you at your peak performance.”

At the end of his impromptu speech, Uraraka simply stared at him, mouth opened slightly in shock. Izuku looked back at her for a few moments, before looking uncertainly at the ground – the extended eye contact was making him a bit nervous. Did he say something wrong? Was it presumptuous of him to assume how she was feeling? It just sounded so familiar, and he knew better than anyone how it felt to be at Kacchan’s mercy. So, he just put together a combination of various things that Himura-sensei had beat into his skull over the years, any time he whined when someone easily defeated him in a spar – and it all came stumbling out of his mouth now.

“Thank you,” Uraraka said, cutting off any apologies Izuku was about to make. She was clearly still surprised but sincerely looked grateful.

“I think I really needed to hear that,” she admitted, “it was a rougher day than I let on.”

They stopped walking, having reached the train station – where Izuku would turn right and keep walking. Uraraka apparently lived further away, as she stepped forward to enter the station. She turned, hesitating.

“Our class was tense all day – the expulsion really threw us off, and half of us losing battle trials didn’t make the mood any better,” she began softly, “so I didn’t really get to know a lot of people today. So, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for rambling for so long… but thanks for listening. I hope we can be friends, even if we’re not in the same class.”

With that, she let a large grin bloom on her face, cheeks pink, and looked at Izuku expectantly.

Izuku was in shock – for more than one reason, if he was honest. First, there was a strange sort of irony in the fact that someone else was apologizing to him for rambling for too long. Second, and more importantly – she actually wanted to talk to him more often?

It was hard to get out of the mindset he was stuck in before U.A. – the mindset he was still stuck in today up until lunch, actually, if he was being honest – without drawing out the issues of self-deprecation and anxiety and constant paranoia that they would just leave. As socially unaware as he was, even Izuku knew that if he kept questioning the motives of every person who wanted to be his friend, they too would eventually tire of his watery eyes and feel the sting of irritation at his ever-present doubts. This time, he bit his tongue. Uraraka was a nice person, who obviously enjoyed his company regardless of any other aspect of who he was – regardless of what she would eventually find out. He took a deep breath.

“Of course,” he said, smiling, “I hope so, too.”

Uraraka smiled back and entered the train station while Izuku turned the other way, trekking down the street on his right to make his way home. His heart was light as he thought about everything Uraraka had told him, turning over every little detail in his head, but still – his mind couldn’t help but fixate on one thing.

She had said that another girl – Yaoyorozu – had placed first in their quirk apprehension test, as she called it. Not Kacchan. He was a bit too distracted by the news of All Might’s new teaching career to truly understand what that meant – that Bakugou, for once, did not achieve first place. This made him feel anxious and excited in equal measure, and yet –

When it came to the battle trial, Kacchan had blown both of them away with ease, without even requiring the help of his partner. They had come up with a plan – a solid plan – and still, like every other time before, he had breezed through the challenge with seemingly zero effort, not even registering the supposed difficulty of the trial.

What does this mean? I don’t know what this means.

It was bittersweet. Izuku felt the inklings of pride for his old friend – still excelling, like he always did. He was glad. He was. But he also felt the pangs of apprehension, and distant nerves, slowly burgeoning up in his chest until his heart was beating out of time with his steps. Like a mantra – like some kind of ancient chant – he heard that familiar self-learned phrase with every footstep, with every shout from a street vendor, with every bark from a stray dog. He heard it wrapping itself around his brain, weaving in and out of his head until it was etched between every synapse, whispering to every neuron.

It was always destined to be true, wasn’t it?

Bakugou always wins.

Chapter Text

Gravity, like other forces of nature, is inevitable.

When things fly up, they must come down eventually.

And when two massive objects exhibit gravitational force, the smaller one will end up orbiting the larger. This relationship is displayed with the forces between the sun and Earth.

Earth will continue to safely orbit the sun despite the sun’s enormous gravitational pull, because of the acceleration that aimlessly drags it sideways while trying to escape the sun’s grasp. However, a day will come when the sun burns brighter than ever before, when this gentle balance of power shifts and the energy will cause it to expand into a red giant. And, inevitably, the Earth will be engulfed, falling into the sun.

In comparison to an eventful and tiring first day, the following days seemed to fly by in comparison. The sights of people falling asleep in the back of the room, of panicked students cracking open their notebooks fifteen minutes before a test, of laughter and roughhousing and Snipe’s reprimands – they soon grew to be commonplace. Not so commonplace was the idea of Hirai and Sasaki making continued attempts to sit by Izuku, following him around and distracting him in class with their chatter and making a game of pulling flustered reactions out of him.

Izuku had never been more grateful.

The choice of class representatives in the morning went by with little drama – their main representative was Togeike Chikuchi, and the deputy representative was Machi Dai. Some in the class seemed a bit disappointed at not having been chosen, but Izuku was fine with it – he never much liked attention, anyway. He didn’t think he’d really make for a confident leader.

Because they had chosen so quickly, Snipe had given them an in-class English assignment afterward which they were allowed to work on together. Naturally, Sasaki and Hirai wandered over to join him without giving him much say in the matter. Not that he had anyone else in mind – in these cases, he usually worked alone, anyway.

“Yeah, I don’t really what this means,” Sasaki said, squinting at the paper, “but whatever. We have enough for the other questions already, so it doesn’t matter.”

Hirai hummed, seeming uninterested and choosing neither to argue nor to agree.

Izuku sighed. Maybe there were a few reasons to be a little less grateful.

“We should still try to answer it,” Izuku tried to insist, “if we know how to answer it now, we’ll be more prepared for the exam.”

“This isn’t even worth that many marks,” Sasaki complained, “and the exam is, like, three light-years away.”

“The light-year is a measure of distance,” Hirai pointed out.

“Yeah, maybe you’d know that if you bothered studying for tests more than twelve hours in advance,” Izuku muttered. Sasaki, overhearing him, laughed. Izuku flushed a bit.

“No, no, don’t apologize,” Sasaki cut in before Izuku even opened his mouth, “I would hate it if your own anxiety got in the way of you actually having a sense of humour.”

“I wasn’t joking.”

Sasaki laughed again.

“There it is,” she said, smiling, as she rested her chin in her hands. Izuku’s lips twitched a bit in response.

“Besides,” she went on, “if I can learn all the material within twelve hours of a test, and still get decent grades, why should I waste my time studying longer? Might as well enjoy myself and lessen the amount of time that I spend suffering.”

“You’d get even better grades if you studied longer,” Izuku argued. Sasaki merely shrugged.

“Probably,” she admitted, “but my grades aren’t bad – still above average, in fact. I don’t need to be the best. Just good enough.”

Izuku frowned. He never thought of it that way…

With him, it was always about devoting everything he had – with grades, sparring, competitions, anything. Then, if he failed, he would know there was absolutely nothing else he could have done. He could still be content with the fact that he tried. He’d never even considered anything else.

But Sasaki wasn’t necessarily wrong for being more relaxed about it – in fact, it was probably healthy not to be so competitive all the time. She was definitely more confident for it. She didn’t seem to be very insecure at all.

Suddenly, he blinked rapidly a few times in a row as he noticed a hand waving in front of his face.

“Are you having some kind of absence seizure?” Hirai asked intently. “I’ve never seen it happen to someone before – how did it feel?”

“What? No,” he exclaimed, “I was just distracted.”

“In the middle of our assignment? You should be ashamed for wasting our time,” Sasaki said disapprovingly, making a point to look over at the clock and sigh loudly. Izuku’s mouth dropped open indignantly.

“I was the only one who – ”

“Sorry, there’s no time to argue,” Sasaki went on, interrupting Izuku’s protests, “maybe someday we’ll be able to look past this, but for now I’d like to finish this question, thanks.”

Sasaki’s expression was impressively blank. Izuku sputtered.

“Fine,” he huffed.

“I think you should finish this question for us as repayment,” Sasaki sniffed. Izuku glared at her.

“Somehow I doubt you could do it yourself, anyway,” he shot back, picking up his pencil. He tensed, wondering if that was maybe a bit too rude, and almost apologized again – but Sasaki simply laughed, so he forced himself to calm down.

Grumbling, Izuku struggled to write down the correct translation for the last question. Hirai leaned over his shoulder.

“Wires,” she said. Izuku’s eyebrows shot up.

“Is that what that word means?” he asked, grabbing his eraser.

“No, your handwriting is just kind of messy and clumped together. It looks like a bundle of wires. This can sometimes indicate that the writer has a rushed mental state,” she informed him earnestly. Izuku stared.

“Okay.”

“Also, if you wanted to know, I think that word is from the same family as the one in the first question – the root is the same,” she added after a pause. Izuku blinked, then suddenly realized what she meant.

“I did want to know – you couldn’t have started with that?” he asked, somewhat amused as he changed his answer. Hirai shrugged.

“You seemed to be engaged in discussion with Sasaki-chan, so I didn’t want to bother you,” she replied. Sasaki snorted.

“See, you really were delaying our progress,” Sasaki teased. Izuku huffed, refusing to respond, and got up to hand in the sheets to Snipe. He glanced up at the clock – there was still about ten minutes of free time left until lunch. As he walked back to his seat, his eyes caught on Shinsou’s desk, free of any papers. He seemed to have already finished.

If he had been doing this assignment alone – like Shinsou – he would have unquestionably finished it much sooner. But it definitely wouldn’t have been as enjoyable without the other two around. And despite Shinsou’s claims of wanting to be alone, Izuku couldn’t help but feel that he would change his mind, too, if he had the chance to experience the same thing.

“Still obsessed with Eyebags?” Sasaki asked mildly, following Izuku’s gaze. Izuku flushed, dropping his notebooks on the floor in the midst of transferring them to his backpack. He leaned down to pick them up.

“For the last time, I’m not obsessed with him,” Izuku told her indignantly, “I just think he could use a friend; he’s obviously isolating himself on purpose. What makes him and I so different?”

“Your quirks – or lack thereof – I assume,” Sasaki said.

“Your personalities,” Hirai added thoughtfully.

“Your hair colours.”

“Your heights!”

“Actually, I’m having a harder time thinking of what you do have in common,” Sasaki remarked. Izuku frowned.

“We have lots of things in common! We both want to be heroes, and… and…” Izuku faltered, unable to think of anything else. Sasaki raised an eyebrow.

“Do you even know anything about him past, like, the two whole conversations you’ve had?” Sasaki prodded.

“Well… no, not really… but that’s only because he doesn’t seem to want to talk to anyone! That doesn’t mean we’re so different!” Izuku insisted.

“But you do want to talk to people. So that is different,” Hirai mused.

“Maybe just leave him to himself? Some people like to be alone,” Sasaki said, aimlessly tugging on her hair.

Izuku huffed.

“Alright, fine, we’re not that similar. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t need someone. I know some people like to be alone, but… I can just tell it’s kind of different with him,” he said vaguely, “he acts like he has to be alone. I don’t have to be the person he talks to, but I really don’t think we can just leave him like that.”

“You,” Sasaki corrected.

“What?”

“You don’t think you can just leave him like that – I don’t know where this “we” is coming from.”

“Well, don’t you think he should have friends, too?”

“Sure, if he wants them. Which doesn’t seem to be the case!” Sasaki argued.

“I don’t know if I believe that,” Izuku said, contemplative.

“Fine,” Sasaki groaned, sounding extremely put-out, “I’ll give you some tips on how to get him to talk to you, since you’re insisting.”

Izuku blinked.

“I didn’t even ask you to – well, thank you, I guess. Are you sure you’re good at getting people to talk to you?” he questioned, hesitant.

“Did you just imply that you doubt my social abilities?” Sasaki asked, gasping in offense, “You, of all people?”

“I-I wasn’t saying that I thought you couldn’t,” Izuku told her nervously, immediately backtracking, “I was just – surprised. You don’t seem to talk to many people, either.”

“So, what I’m hearing is that you think I’m incompetent,” she said, sighing, “a few weeks with someone, and you really think you know how they feel about you.”

“That’s not what I’m saying, I swear,” Izuku said desperately, waving his arms about, “You just didn’t seem interested – ”

“Relax, relax,” Sasaki interrupted, exasperated, “I see you still haven’t completely learned to loosen up. You seriously do need help. Even Usagi can stumble her way through a conversation better.”

“Well, what do you think I should do?” Izuku asked.

“Compliments make people feel good! You should say something about his hair,” Hirai chimed in.

“Really?”

“No, you’re both useless at this,” Sasaki said, rolling her eyes.

“But I said Midoriya-kun’s hair looked like a bush when I first met him, and we’re friends now, so it must have worked,” Hirai stated with confidence.

“That was a compliment?” Izuku asked.

“God, just stop,” Sasaki begged, holding her hands up in front of them, “this is like watching a train wreck, but somehow worse.”

She took a deep breath.

“Okay, first of all – that’s not a compliment. Midoriya definitely thought you were strange, Usagi. Probably because you are. But Midoriya has the personality of someone who’s just been tasked with dismantling the world’s most dangerous bomb, so of course it worked on him.

“Second of all, compliments are nice, yes. But they don’t really help the flow of a conversation, and it’s kind of out-of-place to compliment someone you don’t know very well – you can come across as artificial, or desperate.”

“But Midoriya-kun is desperate,” Hirai piped up. Izuku winced.

“Ouch,” Sasaki snorted, patting Izuku’s back in exaggerated consolation, “well, that’s true. But he doesn’t want to seem that way.”

Hirai nodded seriously, looking extremely attentive. Izuku sighed for the millionth time.

“Anyway, where was I? Right, compliments. It’s better to use them sparingly – the more often you compliment someone, the less it means. And if you compliment someone you don’t even know too well, it means even less. In other words, it’s not a great way to introduce yourself to someone, especially after two botched conversations already.”

“I didn’t think they went that badly,” Izuku mumbled, looking down. Sasaki rolled her eyes and ignored him.

“Third of all, I find the best way to get someone to tolerate you is to ask them for help,” Sasaki finished triumphantly, looking at Hirai and Izuku expectantly. They looked back at her with blank expressions.

Sasaki covered her face with her hands. Izuku couldn’t see what kind of expression she was making, but he was sure it was dripping with exasperation. She opened her mouth and –

“You’re dismissed,” Snipe called out as the bell rang, “go enjoy your lunch, and don’t be late back to class!”

At that, Sasaki grabbed her backpack and tapped her foot while standing next to Izuku, huffing impatiently.

“Hurry up,” she said, “I don’t want to wait in a long line.”

“You can just go on ahead without me,” Izuku suggested as he rushed to stuff his notebooks in his bag.

“Don’t be ridiculous, I’m not done hammering my advice through your thick skull,” Sasaki grumbled, “so you’re coming with us.”

Sasaki grabbed his shirt sleeve and began to drag him out of the room. Izuku yelped, holding onto his backpack and zipping it up as he was pulled through the doorway. In Sasaki’s haste to get him out the door, he didn’t notice that he had left a single notebook on the ground. Hero Analysis for the Future Vol. 13 lay forgotten on his classroom floor, and a pair of tan gloves picked it up to inspect it. Snipe’s curious eyes roved over the cover and he cracked the book open.

“Just look at him,” Sasaki said, swallowing around a mouthful of rice. “What do you see on his face?”

“A pair of indigo-coloured eyes with bags underneath, a small nose, a flat mouth – ”

“Yes, I know the general facial features of a human, thank you, Usagi,” Sasaki drawled, rolling her eyes, “I meant his expression.”

Izuku was sitting at a table in the cafeteria with Sasaki and Hirai, picking at his noodles, while Sasaki took it upon herself to continue their earlier conversation.

“He looks just the same to me – bored, tired, closed-off,” Izuku said, shrugging.

“His eyebrows are pinched, though – don’t you think he does that often? It’s like he’s always tense, defensive,” Sasaki insisted.

“I suppose,” Izuku said slowly, “but what does that mean?”

“Do you know why he rebuffed your poor attempts at conversation? Other than the obvious, I mean.”

“I can be kind of annoying, I guess. I mutter a lot. I mentioned the hero exam, which probably ruined his mood. I’m not very good at making myself sound interesting. I – ”

“Stop,” Sasaki cut in. She took this opportunity to just stare at him.

“Your self-esteem is alarmingly low and that is another issue that needs to be addressed,” she announced, “but for now, I will state the obvious for you. It’s because you offered to help him.”

Izuku frowned.

“I’m not entirely clueless, you know,” Izuku said, gazing off in the direction of Shinsou’s table, “I know there are people out there who are too proud to accept help, who think that it makes them weak.”

“But you never understood how to help them in a way that didn’t hurt their pride, did you?”

Izuku tilted his head, curious and eager.

Was there a way that he could have changed things all along, and he was just too blind to see it?

“Have you ever tried asking for someone else’s help?” Sasaki asked mildly, looking down and poking her chopsticks into her rice.

“Well – no – asking people for favours without offering them anything in return just annoys them, doesn’t it? And…” Izuku hesitated, “I’m sure a lot of them thought I was kind of helpless anyway. I wanted people to know I could do things for myself.”

“Isn’t that what Shinsou said to you, too?” Hirai asked curiously.

“Why is it different with you?” Sasaki probed.

“It’s obvious why it’s different, isn’t it?” Izuku muttered, confused, “I didn’t want to prove them right about me.”

Sasaki sighed.

“You’re a strange one, Midoriya. Here I thought you didn’t want people to think you were special.”

Those words were jarring. They echoed around in the recesses of Izuku’s mind. He never liked it when people pitied him, or thought he was weak… but was he being hypocritical, too? Whenever someone offered him help, he would often assume it was because they knew he didn’t have a quirk. But maybe some were being genuinely kind and Izuku was so caught up in his own conviction that he merely thought of it as further proof of inequality.

“The truth is that we all react badly to offers of help, no matter how we justify it to ourselves. Sure, it’s fine if a friend helps you up when you trip or offers some money when you have none. But other times, they can offer their guidance with a homework question, or carry something heavy for you without asking, and you’ll be grateful – but something niggling at the back of your mind will wonder, do they think I can’t do this on my own?

“That’s why it’s better to ask someone else for help. It can be something small, it can be something that takes up time – but it won’t annoy them. It appeals to a person’s ego. People like to feel useful. Don’t you agree?” Sasaki finished, tilting her head at him.

Izuku’s eyes glazed over. He thought about it, thought of all the times that people had knelt down next to him and asked him if he needed help tying his shoes or doing his homework or walking out to the schoolyard, as if he had a disability. If they had asked him for help, instead… well, he would have been happy to do so. He would have felt normal.

“You’re right,” Izuku breathed out, still stunned by something that seemed so simple.

“I usually am,” Sasaki said, with a false air of modesty.

“Sasaki-chan, you could be a public speaker!” Hirai exclaimed. “That was impressive. I almost considered taking notes.”

Izuku nodded quickly in agreement, already pondering over his next encounter with Shinsou.

“I’m sorry if I sounded surprised when you first offered your advice. You don’t talk much to the others, but clearly you understand people on a much better level than I do,” Izuku admitted. “Thank you – even if this doesn’t help with Shinsou, you really helped me put things into perspective.”

Sasaki shrugged, looking genuinely embarrassed at Hirai and Izuku’s praise. She rubbed the back of her neck with her right hand and looked down.

“Like I said, some people like to be alone. I’m usually one of them. Doesn’t mean that I can’t talk to people when I have to, though,” she said. Izuku smiled at her.

If I just looked at it this way, earlier, would Shinsou have responded differently?

Would Kacchan?

Unbidden, Izuku’s eyes searched the cafeteria for those familiar spikes of ash-blond hair. His gaze wandered the room, searching carefully through the heads at every table, but Izuku could not find him. Frowning, he turned back to his lunch – maybe Bakugou liked to eat somewhere else?

No, the familiar sounds of snarling and growling filled the room as the door on the other side of the cafeteria was pushed open and an angry Bakugou stepped through. He collected his food quickly enough and seemed to be in search of an empty table. A few boys – one with spiky, red hair and another with blond hair – seemed to be beckoning him over, huge smiles on their faces. Naturally, Bakugou scowled and turned to walk in the completely opposite direction.

Unfortunately, the completely opposite direction happened to have Izuku directly in its path. And when Bakugou scanned the other side of the room, their eyes met. Izuku froze.

In a single instant, Bakugou’s eyes narrowed. Izuku couldn’t tell you how, but Bakugou seemed to fly across the room, landing directly in front of his table.

“Deku,” he seethed, “what do you think you’re doing here?”

“Are you referring to Midoriya-kun? I believe his first name is actually Izuku,” Hirai informed Bakugou pleasantly, “and he’s eating his lunch.”

Izuku had to try very, very hard to reign in his snort. Bakugou’s expression was almost comical in his confused rage.

“I fucking know that,” he spat at her, “I meant he has no place at this school. I thought I told you not to bother showing up.”

“I thought I made it obvious enough that I wasn’t going to listen,” Izuku responded calmly.

“You’ll regret it,” Bakugou said angrily as his hands shot out their telltale sparks, “you’ll regret it when everything stays exactly the same. When will you finally fucking understand?”

“As lovely of a friend as you seem to be, I’m going to have to ask you to leave, on account of the fact that I’d rather not listen to your grating voice any longer,” Sasaki said, eyes narrowing.

“What did you just say to me?” Bakugou growled.

“Would you like me to repeat it to you, slower?” Sasaki mocked. Bakugou’s tray exploded out of his hands, food splattering all over the floor in front of him and partially on Izuku’s table.

“Sasaki-kun, it’s fine,” Izuku said to her quietly, “you don’t have to say anything.”

He turned back to Bakugou.

“Kacchan, it shouldn’t matter to you at all that I’m here. You can’t honestly tell me you’re surprised. We’re not even in the same program,” Izuku said. Bakugou scowled.

“Don’t pretend you’re satisfied here,” he said, disdainful, “I’m warning you again, don’t even try. You can’t do it.”

It was odd – every time Kacchan told him that he couldn’t do something, it only made Izuku want to do it even more. He’d like to think he wasn’t a very spiteful person, but this reaction was inevitable.

“I won’t lie – of course I’m trying to get into the hero program,” Izuku admitted, “and I will do it, regardless of what you think. I’m not as weak as you think I am.”

Time seemed to slow for the next few moments, as Bakugou reared back, slight traces of triumph visible at the edges of his mouth as he began to speak.

“Of course you are, Deku,” he growled, loudly, “you’re fucking quirkless.”

It was strange how certain parts of your life, specific memories, could come to the forefront of your mind and haunt you for days, months, maybe even years. To anyone in the background it would barely qualify as a passing thought, and yet – for you, it could be one of the most significant events in your life.

Izuku swallowed and looked around, and he could see kids laughing and chatting all across the cafeteria, their endless stream of babble pounding in his eardrums. But he also saw the people at the tables around him tilt their heads with interest. He saw the girl with pigtails look over at him, and lean in to whisper to the boy with the large chin. He saw two other girls laughing behind their hands (was it about him?) and another three gazing at him with pity. He saw a few boys from his class leaning forward in disbelief. He saw Furuya snorting, and he saw Shinsou staring. He saw it all, and he would undoubtedly remember it all.

But the rest of the cafeteria remained just the same as he remembered it. He knows this isn’t so dramatic, but he feels like things should be more different, now. How was it that the kids laughing at the back of the room could be so unchanged by this, continuing their day with the same merriment with which it began? How were they so unbroken and unaffected by this paradigm shift beneath their feet?

Bakugou narrowed his eyes, still scowling through the rather victorious expression he was wearing – as if Izuku had forced him to do this, as if he had to prove some point. Izuku struggled to meet his eyes. But he did. He refused to look away, to let him think that he had won.

The strangest part of it all was that Izuku was not ashamed, and he knew everyone would learn this about him eventually. But he wanted it to be on his own terms, and he didn’t exactly want it to be aired out to half the school through an attack on his person that he refused to escalate. It was supposed to be his choice, it was supposed to happen when he had already established some sort of foundation with his class – and it was taken away from him.

And now he just sits there, people still looking over at him like he’s some sort of spectacle.

“Have you considered anger management classes?” Hirai questioned placidly.

Almost immediately, Izuku went from feeling a whirling torrent of confusion and dismay at his newly-acquired unwanted attention to struggling to hold back a laugh. Hirai really piped up at the best times, and he was inclined to believe that she was doing it on purpose, because nothing else could have made Bakugou’s veins pop out as much or his teeth gnash together so loudly. Sasaki didn’t even bother to pretend she wasn’t amused, laughing loudly at Hirai’s comment.

“Are you done?” Sasaki asked, wiping a stray tear from her eye. “Because we are.”

Bakugou snorted and turned, apparently refusing to respond. But Izuku didn’t want to let him walk away so easily, not this time. He sobered and looked at him.

“If you think this changes anything, Kacchan,” Izuku said quietly, “you’re wrong.”

He whipped back around and fumed, reaching over the table with his sparking hands –

“Bakugou! Bakugou, I insist you stop this at once!” A tall boy with glasses demanded, apparently having rushed over to drag Bakugou back. Bakugou scowled and shoved him off.

“Fuck off, Glasses! This doesn’t concern you,” he said angrily.

“An attack on any member of this school is unbefitting of a student aspiring to become a hero! It is punishable by detention, perhaps even suspension or expulsion! You must apologize to this student immediately!” The other boy argued, his hands making chopping motions rather wildly.

“No fucking chance,” Bakugou said roughly, turning on his heel and abruptly leaving before he could be lectured any further. Despite the tall boy’s shouts for him to return, Bakugou simply exited the cafeteria, apparently forgoing his need for food. The boy sighed loudly, then stepped in front of Izuku and bowed deeply.

“My name is Iida Tenya, of Soumei Academy. Please accept my sincerest apologies on my classmate’s behalf!” he declared, hands open in front of him.

“Are you always like this?” Sasaki muttered, looking stunned at his formality.

“Ah, there’s no need,” Izuku said, trying to convince him to stand up again, “I know Kacchan is just like that.”

Iida’s eyebrows shot up and he looked immediately curious.

“I’ve known him for a long time – since I was four, actually,” Izuku said, answering his unasked question, “we’re, ah, childhood friends, of a sort. Maybe friends isn’t exactly the right word to use.”

Iida nodded solemnly.

“Indeed, I would reconsider such vocabulary based upon his recent attack,” he said. Izuku snorted – if only the attacks were just recent.

“In any case, he had no right to do such a thing. I hope you will not view the rest of the hero classes in such a light!” Iida declared.

Izuku smiled at him.

“Of course not – you all seem nice. Not that I would know personally, I suppose – but Uraraka-kun has been very pleasant to me, at least.”

“You know of Uraraka-kun?” Iida asked, surprised.

“Yes, we’ve spoken a few times,” Izuku replied, distracted as he noticed the girl in question hesitantly making her way over to them as they spoke.

“Hi, Midoriya-kun, Iida-kun” Uraraka said nervously, “I couldn’t help but overhear.”

Izuku’s eyebrows rose.

About what? That I knew you? That I’m “friends” with Kacchan? That I’m quirkless?

No, Uraraka was too far away to have heard the last part.

“I didn’t hear much about what Bakugou said, but he seemed like he was ready to attack you, so I wanted to make sure you were okay,” she went on. Izuku smiled.

“I’m fine, thanks,” he said, waving his hands in the air reassuringly, “I swear I’m used to him.”

“Your nickname for him is cute,” she said wryly, “I can’t believe he lets you use it.”

“Clearly it’s not because he likes me better, so it’s not much of a victory,” he said, smiling faintly. Uraraka laughed, and then shifted on the balls of her feet.

“So… why was he so angry with you?” she asked cautiously.

“I, too, am wondering,” Iida agreed.

Izuku hesitated. It really shouldn’t be so difficult, after it was already revealed to everyone on his side of the room, but still – the words got stuck coming out of his throat. He didn’t want to see how their expressions would change, or if he was ready for it.

It would have been easy to lie, conjure up some common excuse, but… it was much harder to be honest, so that's why he was.

“He’s always been angry at me, since we were younger and we found out I was quirkless,” Izuku admitted, “but I still wanted to be a hero.”

A moment of silence abruptly enveloped all who were present.

“Nothing to say? No great loss if you both leave, then,” Sasaki said, studying her fingernails.

“N-No, I was just surprised!” Uraraka exclaimed, “Actually, I think it’s kind of cool that you want to be a hero, in spite of that! Like you’re going to prove everyone wrong!”

Iida frowned thoughtfully.

“I am unsure of your abilities and goals,” he said honestly, “but it is not my place to dissuade or judge you. You are free to try, if that is your wish.”

Sasaki rolled her eyes.

“God, just say you don’t think he’s weak or pathetic, and sit down. I’m sure we’re all tired of craning our necks to try and decipher if you’re decent people.”

Uraraka and Iida stood awkwardly by their table, glancing at each other. Uraraka shrugged and sat down in front of Izuku, with Iida hesitantly taking the seat next to her. Sasaki squinted at them curiously and Hirai seemed to be focusing on something in her hands.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Iida said to Sasaki and Hirai, “I am glad to meet any members of this school.”

“Me, too,” Hirai said, smiling and opening her hands in front of him, “this toy I used to have reminds me of you.”

Iida merely gaped at her as Hirai revealed a small, blue robot. Sasaki and Izuku snorted, and Uraraka laughed behind her hands.

Like that, the minor tension was broken. Sasaki and Uraraka poked fun at Iida and Hirai talked about her quirk and Izuku finally asked Iida about his family connection to Ingenium, as time went on. It was as if the entire lunchtime incident hadn’t occurred, as if it was easily forgotten because – maybe quirks didn’t matter so much to everyone.

Suddenly, the tension came flaring back as deafening alarms interrupted their conversation. Izuku looked around in confusion and shock.

“U.A.’s defensive barrier has been bypassed,” a third-year student called out nearby, “someone must have infiltrated the school grounds.”

At once, all students in the cafeteria began to panic – there was shouting, and shoving, and a huge traffic jam simply to get through the doors. Sasaki immediately got up and dragged Hirai and Izuku with her through the crowd, but they soon broke away from Iida and Uraraka in the struggle.

People… there were so many people pressed up against him everywhere, hands brushing his sides and his arms, elbows moving above his head. It was so hot, and Izuku couldn’t breathe. The sounds of distress smothered him as much as the taller, larger bodies surrounding him from all sides. Dimly, he was aware that he shouldn’t let go of Sasaki’s hand, but even that was burning him. He forced himself to inhale, trying to calm himself down – when, unexpectedly, Iida came flying out of the crowd.

“Everyone, everything is fine! It is just the media! There is nothing panic about! Everything is fine – this is U.A., after all. Let us act in a way befitting the best of the best! The police are already here!” Iida announced loudly, hovering near the emergency exit sign.

People began to murmur again, but this time, it was much less turbulent. The crowds began to thin out, exiting the main hallway outside the cafeteria and calmly making their way back to their classes. Izuku heaved out a sigh of relief, grateful for Iida’s timely intervention. He watched as Uraraka helped to lower him to the ground, and let go of Sasaki’s hand to walk over.

“Thanks, Iida-kun,” Izuku said appreciatively, “it was getting hard to breathe in there. You really know how to defuse a situation.”

“It was simply my duty, Midoriya-kun! I am honoured to have served this school!” Iida declared, while Uraraka looked to be holding back a laugh again.

“My only regret is that our conversation was interrupted, but perhaps we will speak at lunch some other time!”

“Yeah, we’ll make sure to bother you again the next time we see you,” Uraraka said, eyes glittering with amusement. Izuku smiled at them as they left for their classroom.

The last time Bakugou announced to a group of people that Izuku was quirkless, they all banded around Bakugou and joined in on the fun. They would use their quirks on him, trip him in the hallways, laugh at him, and make a game of mocking him. But this time…

Some people may have reacted similarly, but no one got up to shove him around or spit in his face. It was just the latest gossip to them. There was no crowd to smother him (well, for the reason of his lack of a quirk), no loud voices for him to ignore, no legs to step over – and more importantly, no Bakugou at the forefront of it all. He was the one who had left the room, alone, while Izuku sat there with his friends.

It was true that Izuku had yet to experience any of the actual effects of Bakugou’s declaration – it had only been about ten minutes, after all – but no matter what happened next, he knew it wouldn’t end up the same as before. No matter what Bakugou said, he was different now.

After all, when the sun expands into a red giant, and then a planetary nebula – after it’s done wreaking its havoc and swallowing up the planets – the sun then retreats into a small white dwarf. Nowhere near the size or brightness that it used to be.

Somehow, Izuku got the feeling that the lunchtime encounter had been spread around, these past few days. No one had come up to him to shove him or insult him or confront him in any way, but he could hear the way people were whispering, even if it wasn’t in front of him.

Maybe it wasn’t necessarily bad – certainly, no one truly seemed to turn their noses up at him – but it made him uncomfortable to know people were talking about him. If they had questions, they could have simply asked him to his face. It’s not like he was very intimidating. Instead, they whispered and whispered, and turned their heads away when Izuku glanced back. Sasaki was visibly irritated with how they were acting and made no attempts to quiet down about it.

“Honestly, do they think you don’t have ears? You’re quirkless, not deaf,” she grumbled as they stood on the field, waiting for Snipe’s instructions about their physical activity of the day.

“His ears are covered by his hair, but I think they’ve noticed,” Hirai said. Sasaki just sighed in response.

Snipe clapped his hands together to get everyone’s attention, and naturally, everyone kept chatting. He shook his head, popped one of his guns out of its holster, and fired up in the air. The class jumped collectively, a few of them staring at him in disbelief.

“That’s how it’s done in the West,” he drawled, “so glad to finally have your attention.”

A few members of the class grumbled in response.

“Anyway,” he said, pointedly, “today, we’re going to be doing something a little different. Usually, we just do a physical exercise, but there is yet another aspect of general education that students often fail to realize. The board of education has brought this up, time and again, and U.A. is one of the few high schools that have taken note.

“Academic testing often teaches students basic knowledge and work habits, and physical education teaches them to stay physically fit and healthy. But nowadays, there is something else that industries look for in their future workers – creativity. It’s simple enough to read something so often that you’ve memorized it by heart, but it’s much harder to set yourself apart from the pack. So, today is all about strategy, and critical thinking – the tools of the future.”

Izuku perked up, letting out an excited breath. This sounded like it could be fun.

“We will be playing a game of sorts,” Snipe went on, as the class murmured eagerly, “a twist on a Western game, Capture the Flag. The grounds will be split into two halves, separated by the long footpath from the main building to the gate. There will be two teams of ten. Each team will hide their flag on their side of the grounds – keeping at least some of it partially visible – and work to retrieve the other team’s flag to bring it back to their own. However, if anyone on the other team sees you on their side and manages to tag you, you are out of the game. If neither team captures the other flag by the end of class, it’s a draw. Clear?”

The class nodded, some of them already chattering about their plans and where they wanted to hide the flags.

“Good,” Snipe said, chuckling behind his mask, “but I’m not done yet. The winning team will receive the gift of not having homework for the next week.”

At this, the level of noise only grew. Heedless to the enthusiasm, Snipe kept talking.

“And did I mention the most important part? Like I said, this is about creativity. Heroes aren’t the only ones allowed to use their quirks for their careers – plenty of people with Emitter-type quirks enter manufacturing and technological industries, and those with Transformation-type quirks enter construction and energy industries because of their ability to withstand demanding conditions, and the remainder with Mutant-type quirks tend to become specialists. You must learn how to use your gifts to the best of your abilities, too – merely in a different way than the hero classes. So, feel free to use whatever advantages you have to win.”

Izuku’s steadily growing smile froze abruptly on his face, much in contrast to the cheers and laughs he heard all around. Of course, it was no wonder everyone else would be ecstatic – it wasn’t very often they got to use their quirks. But it only made sense – people other than heroes used their quirks to advance and better society, too – merely in different ways. Obviously, U.A. would attempt to teach other students how to work with their quirks as well.

Still, it stung. Snipe spoke as if everything came down to fatalistic threads of time – that the quirks you were born with decided who you were, what you would become. That you were your quirk. And Izuku was sure Snipe didn’t intend to sound that way – but the more he heard people talk about their lives and careers and everything, the more he was uneasily aware of how quirks simply permeated all walks of modern civilization. They created new social classes altogether – those with, say, an intelligence quirk would always have an inherent advantage over ones who didn’t, when it came to jobs that required a lot of thinking. Those with enhanced strength would tower over those who could barely lift their groceries, when it came to manual labour. And those were the ones who would always be favoured.

This is why so many people criticize society – it has evaluated regular human life, and found it to be worthless.

“Furuya, you’ll be captain of Team A, and Togeike, you’ll lead Team B,” Snipe concluded, oblivious to Izuku’s struggle, “I trust you know your classmates by now, so take your picks and then we’ll begin. Furuya, you can pick first.”

Izuku began to sweat. Captains, who were going to pick members of each team? This was even worse than he thought.

Furuya stepped forward, his firm gaze roving over the class. His eyes met Izuku’s at some point, but almost immediately, he turned his head away in search of better options. Any kind of leverage Izuku had gained earlier, during sparring, was undoubtedly forgotten in the stead of this new knowledge. Izuku and his quirklessness would be nothing but useless to him.

“Hattori,” he said, decisively. The boy in question stepped forward, chest puffed up, no doubt honoured at being the first pick.

“Agoyamato,” Togeike said immediately, nodding at her friend.

“Machi.”

“Sasaki.”

Furuya went on, picking some of the students who had more physical quirks – no doubt useful in terms of running away with the flag – while Togeike seemed to be aiming for variety. Shinsou ended up on Furuya’s team somewhere near the end, too.

Izuku sighed, accepting his fate. Like this, the names went on until only he was left, and Togeike breathed out slowly, calling out his name with an air of reluctance that she desperately tried to hide. Sasaki scowled at her, instead bumping Izuku’s shoulder and half-smiling at him. At least he had someone on his side.

Izuku didn’t like the situation, the assumptions that were being made, and he didn’t like all the unknowns, or the various ways that things could go wrong.

But a challenge? That, he lived for.

Hirai was over on the other team, blissfully unaware of Furuya’s intense glaring at his surroundings, the other team, and even his own team members. Izuku almost smiled, certain that Hirai would surely make Furuya’s leadership experience an interesting one.

“Alright, Team A will be on the left side of the path, Team B on the right,” Snipe said, handing them red and green flags, respectively, “hide your flags, and you then you may begin. Go!”

Team B, Izuku included, rushed to their side of the path and immediately formed a huddle. Several voices began to speak up at once, offering ideas on where to hide the flag.

“I think we should put it up on the roof! It doesn’t matter if they see it, I doubt anyone could get up there!”

“How would we even get up there, genius? No, we should hide it under a footstone on the path. They’d never suspect us of putting it so close to their side!”

“The flag still needs to be partially visible! They’d definitely notice something green on the completely-grey footpath. But I have an even better idea – our flag is green, right? We should just hide it in the middle of all the grass on the lawn! They’ll never notice it,” a short boy, Nakano, said eagerly.

At Nakano’s suggestion, the group began to murmur, most of them nodding in agreement and smiling at his idea. Izuku hesitated, nervous to speak out in front of the crowd, but he coughed in an attempt to get everyone’s attention. Everyone continued to talk over each other. Sasaki frowned, noting Izuku’s awkward shifting, and stepped forward, stomping her foot on the ground. At the loud noise, most of the group stopped talking to stare at her.

“I think Midoriya wants to say something,” she announced. Izuku stepped forward uncertainly.

“It’s a good thought, but I’m not sure it would work out so well,” Izuku admitted, “after all, we wouldn’t notice it either. That means if someone on the other team manages to take it, none of us would know and be able to stop them.”

A few others nodded, seeming to agree, but Nakano frowned.

“But we can just put it next to a rock, or something, so we remember where it is,” he argued.

Izuku glanced around. He got the feeling that Nakano was seriously underestimating the number of rocks, plants, and other general landmarks in the area. Seriously, it was basically a natural garden. In a rush, it would be difficult to locate the flag, no matter what landmark they used as an identifier.

“I still think it would be difficult,” he said, “and even so, leaving it on the ground makes it easier for them, if they find out where it is – they just need to pick it up and run, using any path to get back to their side.”

Nakano folded his arms.

“Well, do you have any bright ideas?” he asked defensively.

“I think we should tie it onto a tree branch of one of the cherry blossoms. That way, we can easily locate it amidst the pink, but it’s still hidden amongst the cluster of green trees that surround them. It would take a while for someone on their team to climb the tree – long enough for us to notice and stop them. And the cherry blossoms are right next to the administrative building – meaning they would almost certainly run right through the building, exiting out the side door nearest to the path, because that’s the shortest way back to their side,” Izuku rattled off.

The entirety of Team B stared at him, in silence. Izuku blushed.

“Not that I’m trying to tell you what to do! I just thought that would be the most strategic approach,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. Sasaki snorted and slapped him on the back, clearly trying to offer him friendly encouragement, but only succeeding in causing him to stumble forward a bit more.

“Huh,” Togeike said, raising an eyebrow, “sounds like a solid plan. I’m impressed.”

On one hand, Izuku should have been happy that his ideas were accepted by the team. On the other…

He couldn’t help but feel a bit irritated that he’d been expected to prove himself, as if his lack of a quirk meant a complete disadvantage for their team. After all, plenty of them would no doubt have difficulty using their quirks in a useful way, yet he’d been the only one singled out. He blew out a frustrated exhale, forcing himself to forget about it and just be grateful that they were listening.

“We’ll go with Midoriya’s idea,” Togeike announced, “let’s just go put it up for now and then come up with a game plan.”

Everyone nodded and walked over to the cluster of trees, searching for a good place to tie up their flag. Finally, Agoyamato spotted a good, sturdy branch that was somewhat high up and took a few minutes to climb it, tying their flag there and jumping down with relative ease. Everyone gathered at the base of the tree.

“Okay, any ideas on who stays to defend and who leaves to capture their flag?” Togeike asked.

“I think I should stay,” a girl – Okuda – said, “my quirk is Bird’s-Eye View, so I can see the whole area from above and spot if anyone is coming. I can’t see the whole grounds, but I can see most of our side.”

“Perfect,” Togeike said, smiling, “you can be the lookout.”

“I’ll stay, too,” Sasaki piped up, “let’s just say that if I end up tagging someone, they won’t be calling out to their teammates about where the flag is because they’ll be a little too disoriented to remember.”

“Alright,” Togeike agreed readily, “any attackers?”

“I can go,” Nakano said, determined, “my quirk is Off-Balance – my balance will be perfect, but the people around me will be stumbling to the ground if they get too close.”

Like this, everyone went on, explaining their quirks and making a decision about which side they should be on. Finally, it rolled back around to Izuku. He hesitated for a moment.

“I’m good at dodging,” he said simply, “so I think I should help with capturing the flag.”

Togeike shifted on her feet and exchanged an uncomfortable glance with Agoyamato and Nakano, as well as two others on the ‘attacking’ team.

“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, Midoriya,” she said, frowning, “Furuya has an elasticity quirk, and Saito has a form of plant manipulation. They’ll be defending for sure. It would be hard for you to get past them without having a way to defend yourself.”

Izuku forced himself to take a deep breath, trying not to remind someone else, for the millionth time, that he was perfectly capable of defending himself and would not necessarily have a harder time than the others.

“Alright,” he said, stiffly, “so you’d rather I defend the flag?”

Togeike hesitated again.

“We can’t have too many people near the flag or they’ll know where it is. Just two people should be around the area, and I think Sasaki and Tanabe would be better defenders,” she admitted, “their quirks are more suited to that. Maybe you can join Okuda on lookout duty? Just yell out if you see Team A and someone on our team will tag them.”

Izuku stared at her, disbelieving.

Did she forget who came up with the idea of where to hide the flag in the first place?

There wasn’t anything wrong with being a lookout – Okuda was well-suited for that, after all, and it would be very useful – but there was something wrong with being delegated to an essentially redundant role, purely because he had no specific evolutionary advantage that would undoubtedly let them succeed on either front.

This is exactly what he was afraid of, when Kacchan decided to reveal the truth to everyone. Not cruelty or victimization in the traditional sense – no, not at a prestigious school like U.A. – but the vague condescension that accompanied such a status difference. Kacchan took away his opportunity to prove himself before they knew, took away his chance for people to see him before they judged him. But it was too late now, and Izuku had no leg to stand on, nothing to say to them that could change their opinions. Their minds were already made. He gritted his teeth.

He couldn’t control his feelings, the ache and slight bitterness crawling through his veins, but he could control his actions.

“Fine,” he said, perfectly amiably. Sasaki looked at him, a small measure of concern in her eyes.

“Don’t you think…” Sasaki began, no doubt trying to defend Izuku, so that he could at least try. Because that’s what he always did. Tried.

“No, it’s fine, Sasaki-kun,” Izuku said breezily, crossing his arms and leaning back against the tree to hide the fact that it was most certainly not fine. Togeike smiled at him, relief present in her expression. She leaned forward and touched his shoulder.

“It’s good that you’re not upset, Midoriya-kun,” she said, tone as kind as it was patronizing, “this is just how things are. It’s not your fault. I’m glad you understand.”

“Of course,” Izuku said, “I understand perfectly.”

Chapter Text

It didn’t take too long for things to go south. Perhaps ten minutes later, only Tsuji and Nakano had returned from their expedition to the other side, gasping for breath.

“They tagged the others,” Tsuji said, “it’s just us now, so we need more people for another trip.”

“I can come,” Izuku offered. Tsuji looked at the ground, and Izuku fought the urge to roll his eyes.

“We – ”

“Or Yano,” Izuku said, already cutting him off before he could begin his undoubtedly poorly-structured pretext of explaining why anyone else would make a better choice.

“Yano and Tanabe,” Nakano decided, “the more of us, the better. If two of us manage to distract the main defenders, the other two can go for the flag.”

“I feel like that’s kind of an oversimplified plan,” Izuku admitted, “their team is more than just a few people. And we haven’t even seen their attackers yet. I think this is some sort of trick or distraction from their real plan.”

Nakano shook his head.

“You weren’t there,” he insisted, “Saito and Furuya already have a great defense system in place. They don’t need to pull any tricks. We need Yano and Tanabe – with more quirks, we have a better chance at holding them off.”

Izuku felt the sting of that comment directed towards him, but he simply sighed and watched as the four of them left, leaving only Sasaki, Okuda, and himself on their side. Sasaki lightly kicked her leg against the side of his. He turned to look at her.

“Ignore it,” she muttered, “I know I said that I wasn’t too sure of you, either, but they’re not even giving you a chance to try. The next time they come back, they’ll have to listen to you. There’s not many of us left.”

As it turns out, Sasaki was wrong. Because none of them came back.

“Do you seriously think they’ve all been tagged?” Okuda asked worriedly. “I guess this game is over.”

Izuku frowned.

“No, it’s not,” he said, “there’s still three of us, and we still have our flag.”

“You can’t be serious,” Okuda said, shocked, “there’s no way we can win if they have seven more people than us.”

“Sure, we can,” Izuku said, smiling, “it’s just unlikely. But not impossible.”

“Oh, really?” Sasaki asked, eyes sparkling with interest, “Then what do you suggest we do?”

“Can I trust that you and Okuda-kun keep this place safe from Team A?” Izuku asked in response.

“Of course,” Okuda said.

“Yeah, we’re not incompetent – that’s just everyone else who was on our team,” Sasaki said, smirking.

“Well, I have an idea of what might be going on,” Izuku said slowly, “and I think you both need to combine your quirks to stop it. In the meantime, I’ll get their flag – so you just need to stall for long enough.”

“Sounds good,” Sasaki said, frowning, “but what do you mean by combining our quirks?”

“Sasaki-kun, your quirk is sensory distortion, isn’t it?” Izuku asked, as Sasaki nodded, “Well, does that mean you can enhance Okuda’s ability to see in Bird’s-Eye View? It’s okay if you end up dulling her other senses.”

“I think I can do that,” Sasaki said slowly, “she should be able to see sharper images, but she won’t be able to hear or touch that well.”

“That’s good, because she needs to look for the slightest differences in the environment on our side,” Izuku said, “I think Hirai is setting up a negative illusion around some of their team members, so they can’t be seen when they come over here. After all, they know about your quirk, don’t they, Okuda-kun?”

“Not all of them, but a few definitely know,” she admitted. Izuku nodded.

“Then they’re taking measures to stop you from noticing them,” Izuku declared, “but Hirai-kun said it herself – she’s not good at making larger illusions. Making a perfect illusion of camouflage against the school backdrop would be incredibly difficult, so she most likely just made some kind of green cloud for everyone to hide behind as they walk over the lawn. If you can see better, you should be able to notice a large, green fog and maybe glimpses of what’s underneath. Use that, and tag them out before they surprise you.”

Sasaki’s eyebrows rose.

“I never even thought of that,” she said, “Usagi doesn’t usually like to participate so much in things like this. But she would if someone asked her to.”

Izuku nodded.

“So, do you think you can do it?” he asked. Okuda smiled.

“Sure! But do you really think you can get the flag alone?” she asked worriedly.

“They must have sent at least five or six people with Hirai-kun – there’s only us three left, so they must think we’re all focusing on defense and getting paranoid, standing near the flag. That means alongside Furuya and Saito, there’s only one or two people left on their side,” Izuku deduced, “I think I can handle that much.”

Okuda looked at him with slight awe.

“You’re really good at this,” she said, clearly surprised. Izuku got the sense that she wasn’t necessarily shocked he actually had something to offer, just rather impressed, so he simply smiled at her gently.

“Yeah, you’re terrible at actually talking to people, but pretty good at predicting what they’ll do, strangely enough,” Sasaki said, her head tilted with interest.

“Well, I don’t know if I’m right yet,” Izuku said modestly, looking down, “but that’s the only thing I can think of. I’ll go now.”

“Good luck,” Sasaki said, squinting at him, “you’ll need it.”

Izuku nodded, ignoring the twisting in his stomach, and ran toward the left side of the path. The word ‘luck’ rattled around in his head like a coin in a piggybank.

Approaching the path, he surveyed the situation from a cluster of trees. Team A’s side appeared to be empty. But if his other teammates were right about Furuya’s elasticity and Saito’s plant manipulation, it meant that neither of them would have to be out in the open to tag people – they could just hide and catch him by surprise.

But where would they be hiding?

He scanned the area. There was a huge expanse of field, bounded by the first years’ building on the left and the second years’ building on the right. If he were on the attacking team with his teammates, he would stick close to one of the buildings to avoid being noticed and dodge the majority of the plant life.

But all his teammates were tagged out.

Furuya and Saito must have known what they would be thinking. But which building would they be closest to?

He hesitantly walked closer to the first years’ building, all while staying on his side of the path. No one would have actually entered the building for fear of getting in trouble for disrupting other classes. Narrowing his eyes and squinting at the walkway next to it, he noticed some broken stems littering the sidewalk. Izuku smiled. This was undoubtedly where Saito was, at least.

But with Furuya at one building and Saito at the other, this couldn’t be an effective strategy. The plants near the first years’ building were merely grass and weeds, easy enough to rip away your ankles from. But if Saito held down Team B while Furuya reached out quickly to tag them…

That must mean that Furuya and Saito were still together. Would they really leave the other building unguarded? Izuku glanced over at the second years’ building, wondering why they assumed Team B would simply pick the first year’s building. The only reason they would was if the first years’ building looked like a safer option.

His eyes widened as he suddenly realized what must have happened.

Team A’s plan must have been to be completely on defense until enough of Team B was out. Hirai’s attacking group was probably originally guarding the second years’ building, out in the open, and Team B, assuming that they were guarding the flag, planned to creep by the first years’ building. This way, they could run through the cluster of trees through the field and surprise them from their own side. But they got tagged out by Furuya and Saito. And now that Hirai’s group was gone…

They still wouldn’t leave the flag unguarded, on principle. So, the flag was probably never there in the first place. It was either by the first years’ building, or out on the field. But there were probably still a few other Team A members left on this side, and if Izuku was right…

He took a deep breath, praying that he thought everything out correctly, and he ran straight through the middle of the field, making no attempt to hide himself. As he sprinted, he thought he could vaguely hear a shout from the first years’ building, and he pushed himself even further until he was finally hidden by the cluster of trees.

Resting his hand on one of the trees, he gasped out and fought to catch his breath. He couldn’t hear footsteps behind him just yet, so he probably still had a head-start. He looked around frantically, cursing himself for not planning ahead from here. He needed to hurry before Furuya and Saito caught up to him.

Their flag was red, so they had the disadvantage of not being able to properly camouflage it. This likely meant that they would have just put it in a place that was hard to reach, not too worried about hiding it well since it would be easily spotted anyway. Where could that be? Looking around at the trees, he didn’t see it anywhere on the branches. It definitely wasn’t in this area – if it was, the remaining members would no doubt be here, too. He simply needed to find them… but how?

Suddenly, footsteps and shouting grew closer to where he was standing. He began to panic, but then –

Weren’t they panicking, too?

And when people panic, they do anything to reassure themselves. Izuku smiled, heartbeat finally slowing down as he thought of a plan. He began to climb the tree that he stopped in front of, pulling himself upward until he was hidden amongst the higher branches. Peering down, he watched as Furuya and Saito ran into the clearing.

“Where’d he go?” Saito cried, looking to the left and right. Furuya was bent over, breathing heavily.

“He had a head-start,” he growled, “but he can’t have gotten that far.”

“But what if he found the flag?” Saito asked nervously, “Midoriya seems pretty smart. He ran straight through here for a reason. He must have figured it out.”

“Shinsou and Anzai are still there,” Furuya said, sounding doubtful, “and it’s not like he has any quirk that would let him reach it. He’d have to get past the two of them at the same time as reaching for the flag. It’s almost impossible.”

There was a beat of silence. And just as Izuku thought, they glanced at each other, suddenly paranoid.

“I guess we might as well check it out, to make sure,” Furuya said slowly, “on the off-chance that he might have actually made it there, four is better than two.”

Saito nodded in agreement, and they both rushed off through the left side of the fork. Izuku dropped down from the tree, quietly, and began to follow them from a distance. Hiding behind trees every now and then, he finally watched as they entered another section of open field with one of the school fountains in front of them.

There, tied to the statue in the centre of the fountain, was the red flag.

He frowned, suddenly understanding what Furuya meant. It would be extremely difficult to avoid being tagged while stepping into the fountain and stretching up to untie the flag.

“What are you doing here?” a girl – likely Anzai – asked.

“Midoriya ran through the field,” Saito said, looking around, “so you haven’t seen him?”

“Of course not,” Anzai said, “how would he get past us?”

Saito shrugged.

“He got past us,” he admitted. Shinsou rolled his eyes.

“Well, the two of you aren’t exactly strategic masterminds,” he drawled. Furuya puffed up.

“Neither are you!” he argued.

“Really? Because I feel like it’s generally bad strategy for all four of us to be in the same place, shouting about where the flag is. While none of us knows where Midoriya is. You don’t agree?” Shinsou asked, raising an eyebrow.

Saito and Furuya glanced at each other.

“We’ll go back and look for him,” Saito said, defeated. Furuya scowled at Shinsou, but he turned to leave with Saito without saying another word. Izuku let out another breath.

And now there were only two obstacles left. He needed to get rid of at least one of them.

Grabbing a rock from the ground, he tossed it as far away as he could, to the other side of the clearing. The resounding noise caused the bushes to rustle. Anzai and Shinsou immediately whipped their heads around.

“He must be over there,” Anzai whispered, “I’ll go tag him. You stay here, in case.”

Shinsou frowned but didn’t try to argue. Anzai crept over to where she thought Izuku was hiding, while Shinsou gazed after her, curious. Taking a deep breath, Izuku quietly broke a small branch off the tree he was hiding behind and ran forward. About three steps away from the fountain, Shinsou turned and his eyes widened.

“Anzai!” he called, as he immediately reached out to tag Izuku. Izuku jerked backward, just barely missing his hand, and brought the branch up in front of him like some sort of makeshift bō staff. He took several steps back to try and distance himself. Surprisingly, Shinsou didn’t move towards him, instead simply scrutinizing him with a neutral expression. Perhaps he assumed Izuku had experience with a weapon like that, given his martial arts training. He wouldn’t be wrong.

Anzai had heard his call and was jogging over to them.

“So, you made it this far,” Shinsou said, “more than I expected.”

Izuku narrowed his eyes at him, but he didn’t bother to respond. His mind was working frantically, trying to figure out a way to get the flag and run before Anzai caught up. He just needed to get past Shinsou for a few seconds. Strangely enough, Shinsou’s eyes narrowed, too, as if he was annoyed that Izuku ignored his taunt. Weird – he didn’t strike Izuku as the harassing type.

Anzai was only around ten metres away, and her hands were spread out, palms open. A thin, grey mist began to emanate from her fingertips, soon filling the air with thick fog. Izuku’s eyes widened.

A gas generation quirk. Was it like Midnight’s? Would it incapacitate him?

No, he concluded, as a few more seconds passed with nothing happening. Only the sounds of Anzai’s breathing could be heard as she finally approached them. It was likely just a regular mist, obscuring the vision of everyone but Anzai.

Everyone but Anzai…

Izuku immediately ran toward the fountain, straight into the mist, and dropped his branch. He was desperate to reach it before Anzai did. He reached out blindly for the fountain’s edge, struggling to climb over it into the water. He grimaced as the water filled his shoes, his socks dripping wet, but he forced himself to ignore it as he felt around the statue for the flag.

With only Anzai able to see, that rendered Shinsou essentially powerless as well. He wouldn’t risk running into the fog and hindering Anzai, as he likely didn’t have any kind of quirk that would let him combat it. He probably had a non-physical quirk, given that his first instinct wasn’t to run at Izuku.

Izuku’s heart jumped in excitement as his hands finally grasped the fabric, hurriedly untying it as his fingers trembled and twisted at the knot. Unfortunately, it was a moment too late – he heard a splash as Anzai jumped into the fountain, too. He immediately dropped the flag in the pool at the bottom and ducked, feeling a breeze rush over his head as her hand swiped the spot where he was standing a second ago. He tried to reach out for where the flag was, but Anzai swiped again, and he was forced to launch himself backwards out of the fountain to avoid her.

He landed on the ground with a grunt.

But as Izuku stumbled back, trying to get to his feet, his hands grasped onto the branch again. He held his breath, pulling at the branch and clutching it behind his back – and as he heard Anzai stepping out of the fountain, her hand probably a few inches from his face – he whipped the branch out, hitting the side of her legs. Anzai yelped and fell to the ground. The mist began to thin out.

Izuku jumped up and stepped into the fountain again, hastily checking for the flag.

“Don’t know what’s happening in there, but it sounds like it’s not over yet. Found the flag? Are you that lucky?” Shinsou called, sounding half-amused. Izuku gritted his teeth as, finally, he felt the fabric again. He pulled at it gleefully and jumped out of the fountain.

Unable to resist responding to the gibe before he left, he glanced back to where he thought he saw Shinsou’s looming figure in the retreating fog.

“Luck had nothing to do with it,” he said firmly, as he turned and elatedly sprinted forward toward the trees, step after step and –

“Clearly not, because I think you’re all out, now,” Shinsou agreed complacently, “Stop, toss the flag back towards me, and walk back here.”

Izuku froze in his tracks as his legs stopped moving. A forced sense of calm overcame his mind and he threw the flag back in front of the fountain. He turned around, eyes glazed, and began to amble over to Shinsou pleasantly. Shinsou looked rather self-satisfied.

What’s happening? Why can’t I control myself?

His mind was still screeching at him, turning over theory after theory and begging his legs to stop moving. And yet, it was inevitable.

The mist was nearly all gone.

No matter how he tried, he walked closer to the end with every step. He couldn’t even move his fingers. Shinsou clearly had some kind of brainwashing quirk, and given by the expression on his face, he was confident that Izuku couldn’t break out of it by sheer will.

He was mere steps away from both Shinsou and Anzai, now.

Izuku tried not to let himself drown in waves of disappointment and anger at himself – why had he responded to Shinsou’s taunt? He already had the flag. It was clear to him now that Shinsou’s quirk had to be voice-activated – that’s why he looked irritated when Izuku didn’t respond earlier, and that’s why Izuku had even gotten as far as he did. And now his team would lose, miserably, and he doubted anyone in his class would even recognize the measures he took to get this far.

Everything will stay exactly the same, Deku.

Anzai looked relieved as she sat on the ledge of the fountain. She didn’t even bother running over to tag him – Izuku assumed he wasn’t worth it at this point. Shinsou clearly had the situation under control.

“That was a close one,” Anzai said. Shinsou merely nodded.

“I guess you’ve got this,” she sighed, looking at Shinsou a bit nervously before moving her eyes down to look at her legs, “I’m going to wash this blood off. I scraped my knees when I fell.”

Izuku felt a twinge of guilt as he walked right by her, watching her hands reach into the pool of water. He would have to remember to apologize to her afterward. She cupped the water with her hands and poured some of it onto her legs. A few droplets splashed off and flew into the air. Izuku felt some wetness against his hand and instinctively wiped it off against his pants.

Wait.

He wiped it off against his pants. He could move his fingers again.

Izuku almost stopped in his tracks. Was it because of a time limit? Was it because hearing Anzai talk had distracted Shinsou? Was it because of the water?

Whatever the reason, he was in control of his own limbs again – and neither Shinsou nor Anzai seemed to realize it. He paused for perhaps a second when it hit him, but forced himself to keep walking, slowly, at Shinsou’s suspicious gaze. He needed to get the flag, after all. Anxious and revived with fresh excitement, Izuku inched closer. He was almost directly in front of the flag.

And then, several things happened at once.

Izuku leapt forward and picked up the flag. Shinsou looked shocked and made a noise of disbelief. Anzai whipped her head around to look at them and stood up.

All three of them started running.

Izuku reached the copse of trees a few seconds before they did, sprinting back the way he came. Shinsou and Anzai were hot on his heels. Everywhere he could, he grabbed branches of some of the trees and let them slingshot backwards, hoping to stop them. He didn’t bother glancing back to see if it had worked, but he heard the grunts of annoyance from time to time.

“You’ll never make it,” Shinsou said loudly, his voice echoing around the clearing through his heavy breathing, “it’s not enough.”

Izuku knew better than to respond to the taunt this time. He burst out of the trees and could see the path separating both sides in the distance. Another noise of alarm caught his attention to his right – Saito and Furuya weren’t too far away. Suddenly, he felt the grass nipping and biting at his ankles, struggling to keep them in place – but at the speed Izuku was going, he simply ripped through them. Saito’s quirk must have been less effective from a distance.

He was only a few metres away, now.

A long, long arm stretched out in front of him, blocking his straight path to the other side. Izuku’s eyes widened. He was running too fast to stop himself – so he just didn’t.

Letting the momentum push him, he tumbled forward onto the ground, rolled under Furuya’s arm, and crawled onto the path. No sooner had he dragged himself onto the grass on his side, collapsing in exhaustion, than Furuya’s arm caught up and slapped his leg. A faint smile came over Izuku’s face. If Furuya had tagged Izuku while he was on his own side, did that mean Furuya was out?

The faint smile soon turned to laughter as Izuku’s hands came up to cover his face, struggling to contain himself. He couldn’t believe it had actually worked.

The sound of quiet footsteps running towards him thudded in his skull. He opened his eyes to see Sasaki kneeling next to him, looking excited.

“You have the flag? We won?” she asked. Izuku just nodded, smiling hugely and offering her the red cloth. Sasaki started laughing, too.

“I can’t believe you utterly destroyed ten people without even having a quirk,” she exclaimed, “damn, I’m sorry for even kind of doubting you. I’m going to rub this in Usagi’s face for eternity.”

“Would she even care?” Izuku asked, half-amused as he sat up.

“Probably not, but will that stop me? I don’t think so,” she declared, “and you were right about the illusion thing, by the way. We spotted the group pretty quick once we knew what we were looking for and I managed to tag most of them out.”

“Most of them?” Izuku asked, suddenly concerned he came back too late. Sasaki shook her head at his unasked question.

“Don’t worry,” she said, “we remembered what you said about the shortcut through the administrative building, and Okuda was there to tag the last person.”

Izuku sighed in relief, and then suddenly jumped when the sound of a gunshot echoed in the air. Snipe really needed to stop doing that, was it even legal? He stood at the beginning of the footpath, in front of the main building.

“Gather round,” Snipe called, beckoning everyone over. All the students that were tagged out stood behind him, and everyone remaining from the two teams walked over.

“The game is over. Congratulations, Team B,” he announced.

“Team B?” someone called out, confused, “How is that even possible? I know a lot of us were tagged out, but there’s no way someone got our flag.”

Snipe raised an eyebrow and gestured to where Izuku was standing, holding the red flag. The boy’s jaw dropped.

“No way,” he said, “that’s not possible.”

“Clearly, it was possible,” Sasaki said, smug as she dropped an arm around Izuku’s shoulders, ignoring his blush, “I guess you just weren’t good enough.”

Izuku smiled faintly, appreciating Sasaki’s defense, but he felt a bit bad on the boy’s behalf. It was never nice to hear those words.

“Midoriya, perhaps you could explain everything that happened?” Snipe asked. Izuku looked down – he knew he managed to pull off his plans fairly well, and yes, maybe some of it was dependent on luck, but it all worked out, didn’t it? He did his best to explain his thought process and his strategies, watching as the class’ reactions varied from disbelieving to impressed. And although Izuku couldn’t really see Snipe’s face behind the mask, the way he was standing with his arms crossed, leaning against a tree – it seemed that maybe he was impressed, too. For a moment, he let himself feel the glow of pride in the pit of his stomach. He really did it.

“I have to say,” Snipe began, “that you have shown an incredible amount of ingenuity. Impressive, Midoriya. Class, take note – please don’t ever tell me that a situation is not well-suited to your quirk, or that you never had the chance to employ some creativity. As you have just seen, it's always possible to do something.

“At the beginning, you may have remembered what I said about people with certain quirks choosing particular careers. But I want you to know that you’re not here because your quirk determines who you are – you’re here to use your quirk to help you achieve whatever it is that you want, even if it’s related to something entirely different. Midoriya, I apologize for the deception – I wanted everyone to realize that quirks could be used in the most improbable ways. I’m sure you must have had a few negative thoughts, back then.”

Izuku blushed slightly. He didn’t deny it, but he nodded at Snipe and smiled to indicate that it was fine.

“So… would you like to try again?” Snipe asked, addressing the full class. Many of his classmates looked at each other, confused.

“Now that you understand what I meant, I’d like to give everyone a second chance to show me what else they can think of,” Snipe said, “the reward is still on the table, of course.”

Togeike and Agoyamato started whispering to each other excitedly, and Nakano puffed out his chest. Furuya simply nodded, standing tall to show his agreement. Shinsou looked as bored as usual, but even he had his eyebrows furrowed with determination. Everyone seemed to be on board.

“Perfect,” Snipe announced, satisfied, “Furuya, you can have a second chance at team captain and first pick, now that you’ve seen the game. Togeike, your team won, so maybe someone else should get a chance to lead – Nakano, how about you?”

Nakano nodded, looking determined.

“Go ahead, then,” Snipe said, gesturing to Furuya.

Furuya hesitated, looking conflicted as he surveyed the class again. This time, his gaze lingered longer on Izuku – their eyes met, twice.

“Hattori,” Furuya said.

Nakano didn’t seem like he needed to look around. He looked down instead, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

“Yano,” he said quietly.

Izuku felt his burgeoning hope erupt in his chest, vanishing into thin air until it was barely noticeable in the stark grey, much like Anzai’s mist. He might have heard Sasaki’s exhale, heavier than several tonnes of steel, if not for the sound of the other names being called, traitorously traipsing into his ears.

An open secret, though not well-known: equality cannot exist within this society.

Izuku wasn’t even surprised. He allowed himself to hope, for a moment – foolish – but deep down, he knew. People were mainly concerned with the existence of an advantage and ignored alternative ways of thinking. Instead of admitting they had problems and prejudices that needed to be addressed, it was much easier for them to pick an arbitrary reason to invalidate their loss.

Too distracted, didn’t think of a strategy beforehand, never got the chance to use my quirk –

Some people never learned their lesson. They were undoubtedly impressed by the events of the first round, but there was always an unheard tagline that followed:

Impressive, strategic, adaptable – for someone like him, that is.

Are you that lucky?

Did it matter? Everyone else seemed to have decided for him.

“Aizawa,” Snipe called, casually strutting over to Aizawa’s desk in the teacher’s lounge. He sat down in his own chair, across from Aizawa, and put his legs up on his desk while Aizawa appeared to resolutely ignore him.

“Aizawa,” he tried again, drawing out the name with a stronger cadence of his accent, “I think I know something that would interest you.”

“Doubt it,” Aizawa muttered, looking particularly annoyed at his paperwork. Or maybe it was Snipe. It was hard to tell – it could also just have been his usual facial expression.

“It has to do with a student of mine,” Snipe coaxed, “I know for a fact that he has your potential, or whatever it is you call it. Maybe even more than some of your regular students.”

Present Mic, sitting at the desk next to Aizawa, grinned hugely and dropped his stack of papers in favour of leaning forward to listen.

“Ooh, sounds interesting, doesn’t it? That’s a bold statement,” he said excitedly, nudging Aizawa. Aizawa grunted in response. Snipe frowned at him, catching Present Mic’s gaze. They both rolled their eyes.

“I guess you don’t want to read his notebook,” Snipe sighed, “that’s a real shame – he wrote the most fascinating things about you. Well, about all of us, but I’m sure you only care about yourself.”

Ignoring Snipe’s gibe, Aizawa finally looked up at him and frowned.

“He wrote about me?” Aizawa asked, confused. Snipe nodded.

“Well, not about you,” Snipe amended, “he wrote about Eraserhead, of course – your more interesting alter ego.”

Present Mic snickered while Aizawa glared at them both, simply opening his hand, palm up, waiting for the notebook expectantly. Snipe rolled his eyes and handed it over. He watched as Aizawa flipped through Hero Analysis for the Future Vol. 13, eyebrows rising higher and higher. Finally, he reached his own page, reading the section thoroughly. Present Mic leaned over his shoulder, looking impressed.

“Huh,” Aizawa said simply. Present Mic looked at Aizawa, and then back at Snipe.

“Well, what does that mean?” he urged.

“He got a lot right about my quirk,” Aizawa admitted begrudgingly, “hard to do, when most people don’t even know who I am. So, the kid’s good at research and analysis. Is that all?”

Present Mic sputtered.

“Is that all? I’m sure some of the staff haven’t even considered half of the stuff he’s written. That point about you wearing red-coloured contacts behind your goggles is a good idea, and there’s also a lot of great tricks for keeping your eyes open in there,” he exclaimed passionately.

“Those are good ideas,” Aizawa conceded, “but why can he only apply this knowledge to others, and not himself? If he has potential, he should have been able to pass the hero exam.”

“He couldn’t have,” Snipe cut in, leaning forward and looking a bit more serious, “because he’s quirkless. He never would have made the cut. I thought maybe that would resonate with you, Aizawa.”

Aizawa blinked, looking mildly surprised.

“And you still think he can be a hero?” Aizawa challenged. Snipe nodded, showing no hint of uncertainty.

“I’m sure of it,” Snipe said firmly, “he answers every question about heroics with ease. He’s always eager to lend a hand. He even seems to meddle with other students, just because he wants to help them. He’s clearly skilled with martial arts. And just today, we did the Capture the Flag exercise, to test their creativity. And thanks to him, his team won, twice. He’s so determined, Aizawa. I think he deserves a chance.”

“Hell,” Aizawa groaned, listening to Snipe’s impassioned speech, “why is this already reminding me of someone else I know?”

Present Mic snickered.

“All Might’s not so bad,” he said, grinning, “in fact, I’m pretty sure you’re the only one who thinks so.”

“Then I’m the only one with eyes,” Aizawa shot back, “that man understands nothing about teaching.”

“Give him a break,” Snipe said, “he’s probably saved half the planet.”

“And yet he can’t save me from wanting to rip my ears off,” Aizawa grumbled. Both Present Mic and Snipe laughed again.

“I swear you won’t find the kid as, ah, intolerable,” Snipe promised, “he’s actually kind of cute.”

“Do I look like I’m particularly weak for things that are cute?” Aizawa deadpanned.

“Don’t you have, like, four cats?” Present Mic asked, laughing. Snipe joined him, snorting so loudly that the mask couldn’t muffle it. Aizawa glared at them for the millionth time.

“Did he really contribute that much to the games today?” Aizawa asked, bringing them back on track and squinting at the floor curiously. Snipe sobered up and calmed himself down.

“I swear I’m not exaggerating when I say this – he essentially won the first round for his team single-handedly, since almost all of them were tagged out. He simply outsmarted them all, in terms of strategy. And in the second round, it took a few failed attempts for them to finally listen to him again – he managed to get a few to follow him, and came up with a way for them to use their quirks that would guarantee a win,” Snipe said firmly.

“Why didn’t they just listen to him the first time, if he was the sole saviour of the first game?” Aizawa asked, a single eyebrow raised.

“Why do you think?” Snipe retorted. Aizawa simply nodded, acknowledging the obvious answer and sighing. Present Mic seemed to lose a bit of his cheer, too.

“They’ll realize it soon enough,” Present Mic said, “they’re just kids.”

“So is he,” Aizawa muttered. Snipe smiled – it seemed that Aizawa was already a bit attached to the situation.

“They picked him last during the first round, so I assume they already knew,” Snipe said, quietly, “and even after he did so well… they picked him last during the second round, too. You should have seen his face, Aizawa. He didn’t even look that upset – he looked like he expected it.”

Everyone was silent for a moment.

Aizawa flipped back to read the first page of the notebook. He then turned to the computer on his desk, opening up the school software.

“Midoriya Izuku, huh?” he muttered, “I guess I’ll have to keep an eye out during the Sports Festival.”

“Midoriya,” a voice called out to him as he was leaving the building at the end of the day. Izuku looked up from the floor and turned around – and nearly stumbled when he realized who it was.

“Shinsou?” he asked, confused. He looked around, as if there was someone else named ‘Midoriya’ in the nearby vicinity. Shinsou seemed to notice this too and rolled his eyes as he stepped in front of Izuku.

“Yes, I’m addressing you,” he said, “I wanted to talk to you.”

Izuku stared at him.

“Why?”

Now it was Shinsou’s turn to look around, kicking the floor awkwardly.

“I get that you probably don’t want to, but I need to know – how did you do it?” he asked suddenly, “How did you break free from my quirk?”

Shinsou looked extremely conflicted, like he didn’t want to be there – he probably didn’t, to be fair – but also curious, and non-hostile, for once. Izuku simply looked back at him for a few moments.

“I don’t know,” Izuku admitted. He immediately raised his hands up at Shinsou’s disbelieving look, signalling that he was going to continue.

“I know your quirk must be voice-activated,” he said, as Shinsou lowered his eyes, “but I was entirely under your control, no matter how much I willed myself to stop. At one point, I was walking over, in a daze, and the next second, I had control over my limbs again. I thought it might be a time limit or something, but I guess not.”

“There’s no time limit,” Shinsou confirmed. The hallway went silent again as they avoided each other’s gazes.

“Well, thanks for nothing, I guess,” Shinsou muttered, turning around to head the other way. Izuku stared after him. After many, many conversations with Kacchan, he knew that there was a certain point when he needed to stop and just leave things be. But that was when Kacchan became Bakugou, unwilling to talk and even more unwilling to listen. As much as he liked to conflate the two in his head, Shinsou was not the same person.

“Wait,” Izuku burst out. To his surprise, Shinsou stopped in his tracks and turned around, waiting patiently for him to say something.

“Why were you – why did you think I wouldn’t want to talk to you?” Izuku asked, stumbling. Shinsou raised an eyebrow at him.

“It’s not obvious? I used my quirk on you just today, you can’t have forgotten already,” Shinsou said, huffing out a breath. Izuku frowned at him.

“Well, no, but – that was part of the exercise? Why would I be upset about it?” he asked, genuinely confused. Shinsou’s expression seemed to be twisting to match his own.

“Why wouldn’t you be? I controlled you,” Shinsou said, enunciating clearly. Izuku continued to stare at him.

“Yes,” he said, slowly, “for the exercise.”

Shinsou looked like he was chewing on something particularly disgusting – his confusion and irritation seemed to meld together to form a new emotion entirely.

“There’s no need to pretend,” he insisted, narrowing his eyes, “I know what you must be thinking – that I have a villain’s quirk.”

“I was not thinking that at any point today, or ever, for that matter,” Izuku protested, “it’s just a quirk. You were using it to help your team, just like everyone else was.”

At first, Izuku couldn’t fathom where Shinsou had pulled out such a wild accusation – did Shinsou think that Izuku was looking down on him in some way, too? Maybe he really was like Kacchan. But no, looking at him now – looking at his genuinely baffled expression – a few more pieces were beginning to fall into place in his head. Why he was determined to do things on his own, why he sounded like he wasn’t allowed to have friends – even why Anzai, today, had looked upon him nervously when Izuku was under his control.

A villain’s quirk. Those couldn’t be his own words.

Izuku glanced back at him, where he was still clearly struggling to respond.

“I wouldn’t deign to say I understand, exactly,” Izuku said, cutting him off before he started, “but I think we both know I may understand better than most others.”

Shinsou pressed his lips together, staring at Izuku. It emboldened him to go on.

“I don’t want to throw a whole sob story at you,” Izuku continued, “so I’ll just say this – there’s nothing wrong with your quirk. You – you should be glad to have it. It’s so powerful, and like Snipe-sensei was saying, your quirk can be used for so many things. Interrogations, hostage situations – this is just off the top of my head. And even if other people assume things, or think you can’t do it, well… the only person that needs to believe it is yourself.”

Shinsou didn’t say anything for a few moments.

“That last bit was a little much, don’t you think?” he muttered. Izuku let out a laugh, surprising even himself.

“It was just something I needed to hear, not too long ago,” Izuku admitted. Shinsou nodded at him, seeming to understand.

“I never said it was a bad thing,” he concurred. The hallways went quiet again. Shinsou hesitated, looking back behind his shoulder.

Izuku suddenly felt the urge to act on the advice Sasaki gave him a few days ago, before Shinsou inevitably left – what better time would there be than now? This was the most receptive he had ever been.

“Actually, now that you’re here,” he began hurriedly, as Shinsou turned back to look at him with interest, “I was wondering if I could ask you for a favour?”

“A favour?” Shinsou asked, sounding confused and suspicious again. Izuku nodded frantically.

“Yeah – kind of a coincidence that you mentioned your quirk, because, well, that’s what it’s about,” Izuku said, “I was wondering if you would let me study it.”

“Study it… like, test its limits and see what it can do?” Shinsou asked slowly.

Izuku nodded.

“No one would agree to be a test subject for that,” Shinsou scoffed, crossing his arms.

“I would!” Izuku exclaimed, smiling. Shinsou squinted at him.

“How does this even benefit you?” he asked, “It seems like it would benefit me more.”

Izuku shrugged.

“I don’t have a quirk,” he said, “so I focus on analyzing the ones that other people have. It’s good practice for me – the more quirks I analyze, the quicker I get at doing it, and the better chances I’ll have as a hero. It would be great if I could study everyone’s quirks, but for now, I’ll settle for yours – you’re the only other person I know who wants to get into Heroics, after all. And neither of us knows how I broke free.”

Shinsou still seemed to be scrutinizing him doubtfully, but eventually, he nodded, accepting Izuku’s explanation. Izuku let out an inner sigh of relief.

“Alright,” he agreed, “but you have to do something for me in return, then.”

“What’s that?” Izuku asked, curious.

“Spar with me – I need someone to practice with,” Shinsou demanded. Izuku blinked, surprised.

“Everyone else in the class is terrible,” Shinsou went on, “and if today was any indication, most of them are also morons who can’t recognize skill when they see it. But I can – and I want to be the best, at the Sports Festival.”

…can’t recognize skill when they see it.

A slight smile began to bloom on Izuku’s face.

“Okay,” Izuku agreed. Shinsou scowled a bit, seeming to mull over what he had just said.

“Don’t think this makes us friends, or anything,” he said roughly, “it’s just a deal.”

Izuku pursed his lips together and nodded. Shinsou squinted at him.

“No, no, I understand,” Izuku said earnestly, holding back a smile.

“I’m going to do this on my own,” Shinsou said seriously.

“Me, too,” Izuku said.

Shinsou turned the other way. When he finally left the corridor, Izuku let out his smile.

Evidently, things really could change. Ironic that the thing that usually kept him from having friends actually seemed to help him, in this case. Perhaps Shinsou didn’t realize it yet, but he was less alone than he thought.

And regardless of things changing, one thing stayed the same – his goal was still in sight.

Elsewhere, another deal wasn’t going so well.

Yagi Toshinori paced about the floor, frazzled by the sheer amounts of paperwork piling up in his apartment and the growing list of things he needed to complete for the following week and the ringing of the phone that he was trying to ignore. Who knew being a teacher could be more difficult than being a hero? Well, Aizawa probably did – Toshinori could already hear Aizawa berating him for his lack of foresight. Fairly ironic, Toshinori mused, as he checked his phone despite already knowing the caller. Someone else with too much foresight to see what was in front of him.

“Sir Nighteye,” Toshinori addressed politely as he picked up the phone, “how are you doing?”

Toshinori could practically hear him scowling through the phone.

“All Might,” Nighteye responded in kind, “you know why I’m calling.”

Toshinori sighed.

“I told you – I haven’t decided yet,” Toshinori said.

“It has to be done quickly,” Nighteye insisted, “you don’t have much time left.”

Toshinori winced at the reminder.

“I know that, but this is an important decision for me,” Toshinori argued, “I have to be completely sure.”

“And you’re not?” Nighteye asked, scoffing, “What’s wrong with Mirio?”

“Nothing!” he exclaimed, “He has all the makings of a great hero.”

“Then why not offer him One For All?” Nighteye questioned, softer, “He could do great things with it.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Toshinori said, sighing, “but…”

“Is there someone else?”

Silence reigned over the phone for a moment.

“Who is it? Some student of yours? You’ve only known them for a few weeks – ”

“It’s not a student,” Toshinori cut in, “it’s not – anyone. Just forget about it.”

“How am I supposed to forget – ”

“Just trust me,” Toshinori interrupted again, “please. I know you did before.”

“…I still do,” Nighteye admitted with little reluctance. Toshinori breathed out heavily.

“Thank you, I appreciate it,” Toshinori said quietly, “and – I promise that by the end of this school year, you’ll have your answer.”

Nighteye sighed loud enough for Toshinori to hear him through the phone.

“Fine,” he said, begrudgingly, “I still think you’re postponing it too late – but I’ll trust you. I will hold you to this promise, though.”

“I know you will,” Toshinori said, “until next time, then, Sir Nighteye.”

“Goodbye, All Might.”

The dial tone echoed in Toshinori’s ear for a while, even as he finally hung up the phone. Just one more year – that was the time limit he would give himself.

He knew it was a half-baked hope – the chance that he would stumble across that same plain-looking boy again was minimal. But every time Nighteye brought up the issue of finding his successor, he couldn’t help that his thoughts strayed to that determined face hidden under a bush of green hair. A boy who, despite everything, was the first and only person to help someone in need when the tensions were running high.

Young Toogata had a powerful quirk, and he was smart, strong, enthusiastic, determined – the list of his good attributes never ended. But still – it took a special kind of bravery, a raw and unadulterated selflessness, to run into a life-threatening situation with no real plan or bodily defense – just to rip away the look of fear on someone’s face with no promise of personal safety or glory. His name hadn’t shown up in the news, later, and it had never even entered the police reports – instead, All Might’s presence overtook everything, just as it always did.

As much as he knew he should let the whole thing go, cast that terrible day and stumbling speech aside – it still seemed to cling to his brain like a limpet. He wanted to move on and allow someone to succeed him – and it would be no bad thing for that successor to be Nighteye’s prodigy – but a lone face still haunted his thoughts.

That boy, with a quirk like One For All at his fingertips?

Then, he didn’t doubt that the boy could keep his goals of being a hero in sight.

Chapter Text

Izuku sat on the bench in the gymnasium and heaved a large sigh, picking up his towel and wiping the sweat off the back of his neck. In front of him, Shinsou had merely collapsed onto the mats, lying with his face up and staring at the ceiling as he caught his breath.

“Someday,” Shinsou said, still staring at the ceiling. Izuku glanced over at him.

“Someday, I’ll win,” he vowed.

“If you keep practicing, maybe,” Izuku said, smiling. Shinsou merely grunted at him.

“Don’t feel bad – it’s hard to catch up on seven years of training in, well, three training sessions. But you’ve done an admirable job so far!”

“Are you mocking me?” Shinsou asked, lifting his head up and narrowing his eyes.

Izuku laughed nervously.

“O-Of course not! I just meant all those years really made a difference. You do have good reflexes, though – I’m sure if we started at the same time, we’d be at the same level, at least,” Izuku insisted.

Shinsou sighed.

“But I didn’t – so, I’m not.”

“No,” Izuku agreed, “but I understand – it’s easy to get caught up in your quirk. At least you’re starting now.”

Shinsou hummed in agreement and dropped his head back onto the mats.

“We can stop with the sparring for today,” Izuku offered, “we’ve already been at it for over two hours.”

“Don’t offer me concessions because you feel bad for throwing me onto the mats for the fifth time.”

“It’s not a concession! I just think we shouldn’t tire ourselves out before class.”

“You mean I shouldn’t tire myself out by trying so hard.”

“Why does everyone take everything I say the wrong way?”

“You make it too easy,” Shinsou said. Izuku squinted at him. He couldn’t exactly tell from where he was sitting, but it almost seemed like Shinsou was cracking a small smile.

He relaxed his shoulders and leaned back on the bench.

“We could try something new with your quirk – there’s only forty minutes until class starts, anyway,” Izuku said, “and I have another idea.”

“Another? We’ve already tried seven, at least – how is it that you come up with the strangest thoughts about my quirk?”

Izuku shrugged.

It was true – over the past few sessions, Izuku had tested a few different theories, all of them seeming more outlandish than the last. Some turned out successful, while others… well, at least they didn’t have to wonder about those ones, anymore. It was, in fact, in this manner, that they had discovered the reason Izuku had broken free during the game. Shinsou was already aware that a sufficiently strong physical jolt would break someone free – and once Izuku learned of this weakness, it was clear that the water Anzai had unknowingly splashed on him had been his saving grace. While a few droplets of water were not necessarily strong, the sensation of sudden coldness on his hand was a startling enough physical impression for his mind to break free. A few drops of hot water produced the same effect, while lukewarm water did nothing. Izuku had then concluded that other such effects – an electric shock, for example – would also be enough.

“It’s a gift – and a curse, I suppose,” Izuku said, “it’s like whenever I learn something, I feel like I can’t go on if I don’t consider all the most niche fringe cases. And then I’ll only stop when I have no more questions.”

“I’ve never seen you not have more questions.”

“It’s an ongoing battle.”

Shinsou huffed out a small laugh. Izuku’s head jerked up at the sound, eyes widening in surprise. Had he actually made Shinsou, of all people, laugh? He had never been very funny, but spending time in these training sessions with Shinsou was shockingly comfortable. Maybe it was because sparring reminded him of his own confidence and success in Himura’s dojo, or maybe it was just Shinsou in general. Either way, Shinsou was nowhere near as cold as Izuku had thought.

“So, what’s the idea?” Shinsou asked, interrupting his thoughts. He finally lifted himself off the mats and stretched, walking over to Izuku.

“Oh! Do you think you can command someone to perform an involuntary brain function?” Izuku asked, “I know you can’t order anyone to do anything too advanced, like thinking or talking, but that’s still voluntary. Could you tap into the unconscious?”

Shinsou frowned.

“I’m pretty sure that would still fall into the category of advanced brain activity – because it’s something the human mind doesn’t exactly know – but I can try. You mean something like sleeping, right?”

“Yeah, that’s a good example,” Izuku agreed, “try ordering me to – ”

“Sleep,” Shinsou said. Izuku sat there in a daze, still staring at Shinsou. Shinsou sighed and nudged Izuku’s shoulder, bringing him back to reality. Izuku blinked.

“So, that didn’t work. I guess you’re right – it was too advanced.”

“Figures,” Shinsou sighed, “you know, it’s ironic that this was supposed to help you and me both. I feel like you’ve just done a good job of pointing out the weaknesses of my quirk. There’s so much I can’t do.”

“But it’s good to know your limitations,” Izuku argued, “and let’s not forget what you can do – just because you can’t automatically order a complicated or involuntary function, it doesn’t mean you can’t instigate one.”

“What do you mean?”

“Try setting up the mood. Tell me to lie back on the floor, close my eyes, and anything else that you think will help.”

“Lie on the floor,” Shinsou ordered, “and close your eyes. Relax all your muscles. Breathe in and out, very slowly.”

In a few minutes, Izuku was fast asleep on the ground, lost to the world. Shinsou smirked and kicked at his ankle. Izuku jerked awake, immediately sitting up so fast that it startled Shinsou.

“I – what – did I fall asleep?” Izuku asked excitedly. Shinsou raised an eyebrow at him.

“You know, there’s no need for you to be so thrilled about this,” he drawled, “but yes, you did.”

“Are you joking? That’s incredible,” Izuku exclaimed, “you do realize that there’s a good proportion of people with insomnia, right? You’ve basically eliminated the need for the sleeping pill for people who get too tense or distracted at night. This could really help!”

Shinsou blinked.

“I never thought of using my quirk in a medical way,” he said thoughtfully, “but you’re right – it’s good to know.”

“It should also tell you more about your quirk in general, Shinsou-kun,” Izuku advised, “you were complaining earlier about the weaknesses of your quirk, but I think you just need to think of other ways to use it. See, you can incite something as advanced as an involuntary brain function – you just need to be very specific with the physical commands you give.”

Shinsou nodded slowly.

“More specific,” he mused, “I think that would have solved my problem in Capture the Flag the other day, too.”

“Definitely,” Izuku conceded, “just think what would have happened if you told me to run over, instead of walking.”

Shinsou’s lips twisted upward in a half-smile.

“You would have lost, and our class would have never recognized your talent – oh, wait, I can’t really tell the difference between that timeline and this one,” he commented dryly.

Izuku winced but laughed nervously. He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly tense.

“Well, your team would have won the game, so that would have been good!”

“Not for you,” Shinsou said, thoughtful, “but like I said, I guess that didn’t really matter.”

Izuku stayed quiet.

“Doesn’t it bother you?”

“What you said? No, that’s just the truth,” Izuku admitted. Shinsou rolled his eyes.

“I know that,” he said, exasperated and sounding uncannily similar to Sasaki, “I meant, doesn’t it bother you how the class treats you?”

Izuku shifted on his feet.

“It’s not new,” he mumbled, “it’s – fine. They weren’t exactly rude, or anything.”

Shinsou huffed.

“Yeah – in fact, I think they were a lot worse. How can you bear people being so condescending?” he demanded.

“The same way you bear it when people tell you that you have a villain’s quirk, maybe?” Izuku shot back, suddenly frustrated. He wasn’t sure why it bothered him – it’s not like Shinsou was insulting him – but it sounded strangely accusatory. Did he expect Izuku to fight back, preach his own strength? Did he expect him to rub his victory in everyone’s faces? Did he expect that to solve everything?

Shinsou scowled at him in response. Izuku felt his stomach sink and heat rise to his cheeks simultaneously. He didn't want to ruin this tenuous hold on their not-friendship so soon, but it was like he couldn’t control his own thoughts or emotions in Shinsou’s presence, even when Shinsou wasn’t using his quirk. Why was his mouth still moving? Why was he going back, so keen on retracing the steps he already took to get here?

“I don’t bear it,” Shinsou said, narrowing his eyes, “I make sure to tell them exactly what I think. Hardly my fault what they choose to do in response.”

“And it’s not mine, either,” Izuku said.

“Did I say it was?”

“No, you just implied – never mind,” Izuku huffed, forcing a small smile on his face, “class starts soon, let’s gather our things.”

Shinsou didn’t remove his gaze from Izuku’s face for a long moment, but eventually he picked up his backpack and shoved some of his belongings inside. Izuku walked over to the changerooms, eyes averted, and quickly changed into his uniform. Shinsou came in soon afterward. In silence, he did the same while Izuku put away his towel and training clothes.

Izuku exited the locker area and walked across the gym floor, his squeaky shoes echoing in the large room. He hesitated by the gym doors. It would be rude to just leave without him, wouldn’t it? But the situation just felt so much more tense, now. His fingers twitched forward and closed around the handle, but he looked back for a mere second and saw Shinsou leaving the changeroom.

Their eyes met.

Izuku sighed internally. He definitely couldn’t just leave now. Awkwardly, he waited by the doors as Shinsou seemed to stroll across the gym with all the ease and unlimited time of an evening walk on the beach. Finally, Shinsou reached Izuku’s side – his eyes landed on Izuku’s hand, hovering near the handle, and he tilted his head at Izuku’s face, raising an eyebrow.

Izuku nodded absently in response to nothing and opened the door. They both left the gym, the empty space between them still steeped in silence.

As they exited the building in the physical training area and entered U.A.’s courtyard, Izuku’s mind began to relax a bit and wander as he took in the sounds of chirping birds and the quiet murmurs of other early students. The pale blue sky had a calming effect on him as he breathed in the fresh morning air. Glancing discreetly up at Shinsou, Izuku noted that he, too, seemed less tense. His shoulders were lax and the grip on his bag less rigid.

He breathed out a small sigh of relief. It was just a misunderstanding, a conversational misstep – Izuku had dealt with plenty of those in the past. It would be fine.

Naturally, this cautious tranquility was the exact moment when a bomb had to go off on their path – quite literally.

“Deku,” Bakugou seethed as he stopped in front of Shinsou and Izuku, eyes flitting behind them.

“Kacchan,” Izuku greeted in kind.

“Coming from the Physical Education Centre?” Bakugou asked, scoffing.

“Yes,” Izuku replied honestly, finding no reason to lie.

Bakugou’s lips twisted into a snarl.

“Doing what, training?”

“What else would anyone be doing at the gym on a Tuesday morning?” Shinsou asked dryly, cutting in. Izuku glanced at him in surprise.

Bakugou scowled at him and returned his gaze to Izuku.

“Who’s this, a new friend?” he scoffed. Shinsou’s eyes narrowed at him.

“I can speak for myself – in fact, I prefer it,” Shinsou said, “and no, we’re not friends.”

Izuku winced at his reminder. Bakugou seemed to catch the movement and snorted.

“Don’t know what else I expected,” he muttered, “just stay out of my way, Deku.”

“You’re the one who stopped in front of us on the path,” Izuku pointed out, rolling his eyes, “you could have just walked around us.”

Like a peacock with its feathers ruffled, Bakugou’s hair seemed to suddenly spike up even more and stand on end.

“Don’t think you can look down on me! You expect me to move out of the way for you?” he growled. “What, do you think you’re so great now because you found a few extras to spend time with you? A few losers who pity you enough to pretend throwing a punch is the same as having a quirk? You’re not better than me – don’t even try – ”

“Okay, can we move along?” Shinsou interrupted, looking incredibly bored. Bakugou blinked at him, clearly shocked.

“I – ”

“ – wasn’t done talking,” Shinsou cut in again. Bakugou’s nostrils flared.

“Don’t interrupt me, you – ”

“Loser, extra, whatever – we get it. We got it when you were screeching across the cafeteria the other day, and when we dared to breathe in your presence right now. I suspect we’ll get it again in the near future. Yeah, okay, you think he’s useless and stupid for trying to be a hero – everyone already knows you think that. Do you have anything new to add?”

Bakugou gaped at him, his expression a strange mixture of its usual rage along with burgeoning confusion. Izuku’s face almost matched his in that regard.

“No? Then goodbye,” Shinsou said, rolling his eyes and moving to step around him. Bakugou fumed and turned to face him.

“Listen – ” he began angrily.

“No,” Shinsou cut in, interrupting again, to Bakugou’s increasing rage, “no, I won’t listen, because you clearly don’t have anything I’d like to hear. So, just shut up and go on your way, because right now, you’re not worth my time.”

With that, Shinsou stepped forward, walking past Bakugou. He glanced back to where Izuku was frozen with shock and Bakugou was frozen in fury, and he tilted his head to the side. He raised an eyebrow at Izuku and gestured him forward.

Unbidden, Izuku’s feet moved past the spot where Bakugou was standing. He caught a glimpse of Bakugou – whose eyes were alight with rage – but Bakugou made no attempt to stop him. He simply stood there, hands trembling.

For a moment, Izuku almost wanted to go back and reassure him, make sure Bakugou was okay. He had never seen him so shocked and confused, and he was just standing there – not threatening anyone, not letting small sparks fly from his fingertips, not doing anything. Bakugou, in that moment, must have felt vaguely similar to how Izuku had felt so often. To have someone tell you that you’re not worth something, that you’re essentially insignificant to them – it was a unique feeling, one that Izuku didn’t truly want anyone else to understand. It must have been quite a paradigm shift for Bakugou, a blow to his massive ego that he, too, could be on the receiving end of such thoughts.

But time passed, and Shinsou was waiting – and Bakugou?

He didn’t need anyone’s help. That’s what he always said, right?

Hesitantly, Izuku looked back once more. Bakugou’s hands had stopped trembling and his shoulders were hunched forward. Izuku sighed and turned away.

Slowly and almost unwillingly, he walked forward with Shinsou, until they reached the main building’s doors and Bakugou was but a distant silhouette in the background. They entered the building in silence.

“Thank you,” Izuku said suddenly, feeling that it needed to be said. Shinsou glanced down at him.

“Don’t mention it,” he muttered, “seriously – don’t. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just part of the deal.”

“Defending me is part of the deal?” Izuku asked, truly confused at what logical leap Shinsou made to arrive at that conclusion.

“Deals require civility,” Shinsou said stiffly, “so, yes.”

“If you say so,” Izuku said, shrugging. They kept walking to the classroom, the tensions still somehow hanging heavily in the air.

“Besides, someone had to do it,” Shinsou added, studying his nails.

“Do what? Insult him?” Izuku asked, slightly frustrated.

“Why do you ask that like he doesn’t deserve it?” Shinsou questioned in return, voice hardening again.

“Because – maybe he doesn’t fully deserve it.”

“He insults you constantly and always seems to be five seconds away from physically assaulting you,” Shinsou said flatly.

“But that doesn’t mean – ” Izuku sighed, cutting himself off for a second, “look, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but you’re taking this in the wrong direction. When you think of a hero, what do you think of?”

Shinsou shrugged.

“Flashy displays of quirks, saving hundreds of people, comforting the citizens – ”

“Exactly,” Izuku said definitively, “comforting people. Heroes need to be warm and comforting.”

Shinsou stared at him.

“And how, exactly, is the ticking time-bomb on the path comforting?”

“He’s not,” Izuku admitted, “but he could be. And telling him off and screeching about how he’s the worthless one won’t do it.”

“But it does mean you have a backbone,” Shinsou said mildly. Izuku sighed.

“There are other ways to show courage,” Izuku said firmly, “like giving people the space to improve, even if you really don’t want to. Kacchan… he isn’t very nice to me, but I think he could be nice – to other people, at least. But he won’t ever be nice to people with lesser quirks, or people with no quirks, if they’re that disparaging to him in return. I don’t like it – and I’m not exactly the kindest to him, either – but I draw the line somewhere. If I go too far, I know it’ll justify his own narrative.”

“So you think you have to be the bigger person to get him to change?” Shinsou asked, raising an eyebrow. Izuku simply looked at him in return.

“Do you think he would do it otherwise?” Izuku asked. Shinsou huffed in response and looked away, his metaphorical hackles no longer up. The tense line of his shoulders seemed to drop, and Izuku relaxed in return.

“Heroism… is a lot more complicated with you,” Shinsou mused.

“It’s a complicated thing in general, as I’m sure you already know – even if you don’t realize it,” Izuku remarked, “after all… you’re here, aren’t you?”

“And?”

“I don’t know how exactly how people treated you before – like a villain, I suppose – but you’re here, at U.A., and you’re still trying to be a hero, despite all the reasons they gave you to be a bad person. So when you do it – when you become a hero – you’ll be changing them too, won’t you? They’ll see you, and they’ll have to change their minds. It’s a gradual process, but it will happen.”

“You say that like it’s a sure thing.”

Izuku smiled.

“Isn’t it?”

The school day was ticking by, excruciatingly slow.

Izuku sighed, gazing up at the clock in the classroom with bleary eyes. The day was already over half-done, but it still seemed like there was too much time left. He yawned, surreptitiously glancing to the front of the room at Snipe, who was still endlessly writing notes on the board. He cleared his throat and raised his hand.

“Snipe-sensei, may I use the washroom?” Izuku asked. Snipe glanced over and nodded distractedly.

Izuku breathed out a sigh of relief and got up to leave, exiting the room quickly to head to the nearest washroom. Inside, he splashed his face with cold water multiple times, hoping to wake himself up before he returned to class. He wiped his hands off with a paper towel and tossed in the garbage, opening the door to leave. As he entered the hallway, he hesitantly glanced toward the left – the direction his classroom was in – before turning right, instead. He could use a short walk before he returned to another hour or so of lecturing.

He wandered through the hallways for a few minutes, simply giving himself a bit of a break, before overhearing loud voices near the nurse’s office. He frowned. He couldn’t exactly hear what was being said – he crept a bit closer, not exactly intending to eavesdrop, but merely wanting to satisfy his curiosity, when –

Bang!

The door slammed open, and All Might himself stepped out, looking as huge and immensely powerful as he always had. But this time, his face was tense and his mouth wasn’t knit into its usual smile. He seemed upset, even anxious.

Izuku immediately ducked behind a corner – it was awkward enough seeing All Might again. He had rattled around different situations in his head – bumping into All Might in the hallways, coming across him in the teacher’s lounge when he was asking Snipe-sensei a question, seeing him in the cafeteria or P.E. grounds – but now that it was happening, his mind went blank. He looked at the ground, twisting his fingers together, and already felt the uneasiness settling around him even if All Might hadn’t seen him yet. Everything he had carefully crafted and planned to say upon the possibility of meeting him again simply slipped out of his mind. Though, to be fair, All Might didn’t look so receptive to a conversation this time around.

He watched as All Might stalked through the hallway, rushing right by Izuku, not noticing him.

Or perhaps not remembering him.

No – All Might looked like he was in a hurry. Perhaps he was needed for some villain attack? Izuku sighed and removed himself from his hiding spot. There was no point in speculation. It didn’t really concern him, anyway. No matter the small bubbles of anxiety and excitement and aching that Izuku felt every time he saw All Might’s form, he had to let this go.

He trudged back through the hallways, entering his classroom once again. Snipe didn’t seem to notice, still writing on the board as aggressively as he had been when Izuku had left. Hirai cocked her head at him when he passed by her desk, perhaps noting his different demeanor, but she said nothing.

He sat at his desk, forcing himself to take notes again and resigning himself to another hour of listening to lengthy explanations of scientific concepts, when Snipe’s phone buzzed. Snipe frowned, putting down the chalk, and picked it up to open the message.

It was hard to tell, but Snipe seemed to freeze. He quickly typed something in and held the phone up to his ear.

“One moment, everyone,” he said, rushing his words, “I have to deal with something.”

He stepped out of the room. Everyone immediately starting buzzing with confusion and chattering with each other. Izuku’s eyes were still fixed on Snipe, however. If he squinted really hard, he could almost see Snipe’s eyes widen behind the mask.

Snipe didn’t step back in for another five minutes, still urgently whispering into the phone. Finally, he re-entered – only to grab something from his desk and face the class.

“Sorry, class – we’ll have to continue this some other time. I’m needed elsewhere. You’re dismissed early today.”

He immediately left the room, not bothering to clarify. Izuku could already hear the heavy steps of his boots echoing down the halls.

All his classmates seemed relieved and overjoyed, gushing about a shorter day and not being forced to hear about electron orbits anymore. Shinsou was leaning back in his seat, stretching his hands over his head, a slight smile present on his face. Sasaki had jumped up in excitement, already packing her things. Hirai – like Izuku – still had her head tilted towards the door, frowning.

But looking around at everyone’s eagerness and enthusiasm to leave, it wasn’t too long before Izuku gave in. He couldn’t deny that it was nice to have the rest of the day to himself. He cleared out of the room quickly, musing on the strange events of the afternoon.

On his way home from school, Izuku hesitated for a second at the fork in the road. He had extra time today, didn’t he? There was something he had been meaning to do, as the days kept passing by.

He took a different path than usual, meandering down small roads and looking at the stalls on the streets, before finally stopping in front of a familiar building. But as soon as Izuku opened the door to the dojo and Himura took a single look at him, he was almost immediately ushered out the door again.

“Out,” Himura told him firmly. Izuku’s mouth dropped open in protest.

“Why? I just got here,” Izuku argued.

“You’ve obviously already trained for hours today, I can spot all your sore muscles from the other side of the room,” Himura said flatly, “I understand that you have a lack of self-preservation and some strange kind of willingness to work yourself into exhaustion, but I won’t enable it. Go home.”

“It was early in the morning! I had all day in class to rest,” Izuku said insistently. Himura rolled his eyes.

“That’s not how exercise works, and you know it,” Himura said, “and if you don’t – maybe I should make good on my promise to throw you out.”

“You wouldn’t do that,” Izuku said sullenly, kicking the ground, “I thought I was an inspiration.”

“Yes, it’s truly inspiring how little you take care of your own body. It reminds me that in this grand universe, no matter how foolish I might feel at times, there are always people like you to make me feel better about myself. Goodbye.”

Izuku stumbled as he was pushed back out of the dojo. The door slammed in his face, with the bells tied to the top rattling from the force. Izuku stared inside through the glass, but Himura-sensei had already turned his back on him to face his other students. He sighed. He really shouldn’t have expected any less.

The question he had intended to ask Himura-sensei would have to wait for some other time. Even if Himura-sensei was as indifferent as ever, and even if Izuku didn’t show up to the dojo as often as he usually did – he would still want to watch Izuku at the Sports Festival, right?

He looked back one last time before turning away, the invitation already dried up in his mouth. Maybe next week.

“Izuku!” Inko called worriedly, as soon as Izuku stepped through the front door of his house. It seemed today was full of people reacting strangely to Izuku’s presence. She rushed over to where he was standing by the entrance, removing his shoes and jacket.

“I thought you might have gone to see Katsuki,” Inko said, nervously straightening and tugging at his uniform out of habit. Izuku’s brow wrinkled in confusion.

“Kacchan? Why would I see him?” he asked, bewildered, “No, I was at the dojo, but Himura-sensei made me leave.”

“So you haven’t heard the news then?” Inko asked.

“What news?”

Inko sighed, pulling him into the living room, where the television was on. The afternoon news channel was running, as per usual, but - was that Uraraka and Iida and Kacchan in the background? It seemed to be all of Class 1-A, actually, as well as quite a few of the U.A. teachers – including Snipe-sensei.

This must be why school was dismissed early, Izuku realized.

“We are at U.A. High School, outside the Unforeseen Simulation Joint – also known as the U.S.J. – with quite a few Pro Heroes and the students of Class 1-A,” a man with a microphone was saying, “where the first-year hero class has just been attacked by villains.”

Izuku’s heart dropped. Villains?

He immediately grabbed the remote, turning up the volume.

“The attack happened late in the morning. A number of low-level villains suddenly appeared in the middle of the U.S.J., led by a man whose name and goals have not yet been disclosed. Details surrounding the attack remain confidential, as mentioned in a statement by the police, but the public can rest easy knowing that all of the children are safe. Evidently, the future of Japan is in good hands, seeing that not a single student sustained major injuries.”

Izuku breathed out a sigh of relief. Kacchan and Uraraka and Iida… despite the attack, it seemed that all of them were okay.

“Unfortunately, Pro Hero Thirteen and Class 1-A’s homeroom teacher, Aizawa Shouta, were both critically injured in their attempts to protect the class. Their injuries are not life-threatening and both should recover in due time. We thank them for their bravery. And yet, we must ask, how did U.A. allow this to happen? How did the villains breach U.A. grounds? How were they able to trap everyone and prevent outside communication?”

Izuku scowled and turned off the television. Reporters were always quick to place blame for dangerous events at the feet of everyone but the villains actually responsible. It was true that U.A. should have been protected, but this event should be cause to find out how their barriers were breached, rather than a way to take out frustrations on a school with an excellent reputation. And maybe Izuku was somewhat biased, thinking of Snipe-sensei and the obvious role he played – but from what he’d seen so far, this was a place where teachers genuinely cared about their students. And this incident at the U.S.J. only seemed to cement his theory – not a single student was injured, only the Pro Heroes. Couldn’t the media give them the space to recover before pointing fingers?

Thirteen, the Space Hero…

Izuku didn’t even know they were on the U.A. staff – and now, Izuku doubted he would see them for quite some time.

And despite the reassurance that none of the students were injured, Izuku couldn’t help the anxiety that clawed up his throat. No major injuries, the man had said. Major could be very subjective. He drummed his fingers against his leg nervously.

“Izuku? Is everything alright?” Inko asked, putting her hand on his shoulder from behind.

“Y-Yes,” Izuku replied, “everything’s fine. Everyone’s fine.”

Inko smiled at him sympathetically, clearly able to sense his persisting distress. She rubbed his upper back and neck, then lifted her hand to ruffle his hair.

“Let’s go eat, okay? You’ll feel better.”

Izuku nodded and walked over to the dinner table in silence. He sat down in the chair across from his mother, and quietly picked up his chopsticks to pick at his food. His mom’s cooking was always delicious, and yet…

The taste of cardboard filled his mouth with every bite.

“How was school, Izuku? It’s been going well for you recently, hasn’t it?” Inko prodded kindly.

Good, before I watched the news.

Izuku swallowed around a mouthful of rice.

“It was fine,” he said shortly. Inko frowned at him, and Izuku immediately felt bad for taking out his worry on her.

“It was good,” he amended, “I trained with Shinsou-kun in the morning.”

Inko smiled nervously, dropping her eyes to look at the table rather than Izuku.

“Right, the other boy who wanted to be a hero,” she said softly, “it’s good that you have someone else who… shares your goals.”

Izuku gazed at her in silence. He cleared his throat, and she looked back up.

“I think he’s getting friendlier, he just needed someone to talk to him,” Izuku said.

“That’s good,” Inko said, smiling again, “and how about your other friends, those girls? Sasaki-kun and Hirai-kun?”

“They’re doing fine,” Izuku muttered, “they’re not the ones who just got attacked.”

Inko sighed. Izuku pursed his lips together guiltily, but eventually put down his chopsticks.

“Sorry, Mom,” Izuku mumbled, “I don’t think I can eat this. Do you think… I can go check on Kacchan?”

“Is that a good idea?” Inko asked him, gazing at him intently. Her eyes burned a hole in his face.

“I’m not sure,” Izuku admitted, “but I don’t think I’ll relax until I do.”

Finally, Inko nodded.

“Just… be careful,” Inko said, resigned, “I know you’re not seven years old anymore, with pink arms and bruises, and I know you’re different. But I’m not so sure about Katsuki.”

Izuku carefully averted his gaze, even as his heart thrummed rapidly in his chest. This was probably the closest his mother had ever come to acknowledging what had been shattered. And as much as Izuku pretended everything was fine, that it was just a friendship that gradually broke apart – there was always that unspoken knowledge of the truth that neither of them really wanted to address. After all, it’s not like Inko could put a stop to anything as long as Izuku never confirmed it. It’s not like she could stop anything that she didn’t want to be the truth, either.

He opened his mouth to refute her statement, to tell her there was nothing for her to worry about, to completely deny her implied accusation.

But he looked into her doleful eyes, and couldn’t.

“Okay,” he said quietly, the closest thing to a confirmation he had given in years.

Izuku stood on the front steps to Kacchan’s house, hand raised in the air to knock. This was a bad time to hesitate, he knew. Out here, in the open, where all the neighbours looking out their windows could see that he had already walked all this way. It would just be awkward to turn around now. And yet…

As he glanced back to the sidewalk, where the air was free of smoke and oncoming explosions, he couldn’t help but see the appeal.

He shook his head. No. No matter what, he wouldn’t rest easy until he did this. Although he knew logically that Bakugou was fine, his mind still flashed back to this morning, where his shoulders were hunched and his head lowered. That could have been the last time Izuku had seen him – and even if it wasn’t Izuku himself who said the words, the last thing Bakugou would have associated with Izuku might have been the feeling of insignificance. He didn’t want that to happen again.

Some people talk about meeting “the one” – but Izuku thinks he might believe in the opposite of that. Some people are just destined to meet that one anchor, dragging them back and pulling them down and for some reason, they’re just never able to let go.

Taking his leap of faith, Izuku knocked on the door, already reciting a speech in his head that he had prepared for Bakugou Mitsuki – or, better yet, Bakugou Masaru.

Unfortunately, he miscalculated – he heard thudding down the steps, and soon, the door was wrenched open by none other than Katsuki himself. Immediately, like it was some sort of instinct, Katsuki’s eyes narrowed upon seeing Izuku.

“Deku.”

“Kacchan,” Izuku responded, mirroring their conversation from this morning. He threw his half-prepared speech out the metaphorical window. It would be useless now.

“What are you doing here?”

“I saw the news,” Izuku admitted, “I just…”

His eyes roved over Bakugou, taking in the few bruises over his arms and a mark just under his jawline. It seemed he had been in nothing more than a common schoolyard brawl, and yet…

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” he finished quietly. Predictably, Bakugou fumed.

“If you saw the news, then you must have seen that no students were hurt,” Bakugou growled, “so why the fuck did you still come?”

Izuku looked down.

“I-I know there were no major injuries,” Izuku said, “but… I wanted to see for myself.”

“You didn’t think I could take them?” Bakugou snarled, “Didn’t think I could handle a few low-level villains, like everyone else in the class did? Everyone in Heroics is there for a reason, Deku – the same reason that you aren’t.”

Bakugou’s comment stung, but Izuku tried not to let it deter him. Maybe it was stupid of him to come, knowing how Bakugou would respond, but... how could he not?

“I know you’re strong – I know everyone in your class is strong,” Izuku reassured, “but that doesn’t stop me from wondering what happened, or what could have happened. Your mom must have been worried, too – wasn’t she?”

Bakugou scowled.

“That old hag slapped me on the back and told me she didn’t expect me to get hurt anyway.”

Izuku sighed. Yeah, that sounded like Bakugou Mitsuki.

“Well, I expected you to be fine, too. But it doesn’t mean I don’t care, Kacchan – I still wanted to check, on principle.”

“Why?” Bakugou growled out. “Why do you keep doing this?”

“I just told you,” Izuku said, frustrated, “I care. Maybe it’s stupid, I know – I know it’s not the same for you, I know things between us haven’t been good for so long, but – I can’t just turn it off. I can’t just stop, like you can. I’m sorry.”

Bakugou didn’t say anything. His narrowed eyes still smouldered into Izuku’s as the sun began to set behind them. His fingers twitched erratically at his sides. Izuku heard him exhale heavily, his furrowed brows twitching for a moment before relaxing into mere irritation – an improvement from its usual ‘rage’. He looked a bit like Izuku had just presented him with a stick of dynamite – there was really no other way to label his expression. But whether it was necessarily a good or bad thing? That was impossible to tell. If someone handed Izuku a stick of dynamite, he would probably suffer three panic attacks in under a minute. But Bakugou is Bakugou, and he probably swallows his own nitroglycerin for breakfast, so – is this good? Is he touched? Is he struggling?

“You’re looking at me now, aren’t you?” he snapped. Izuku tilted his head, confused. Bakugou clicked his tongue at him.

“I’m fine, obviously – I’ve had worse falling off the swing-set when I was five,” he said, looking away.

“I – yeah, I can see you’re not too hurt. I’m glad,” Izuku said, still somewhat bewildered and cautious. Bakugou rolled his eyes.

“Then we’re done here. What the fuck are you still standing on my doorstep for?”

“I-I don’t know,” Izuku stammered. Still, he didn’t move his feet – it felt like they were glued in place, slowly melting into the concrete step like it had been crafted with quicksand instead of asphalt. Maybe he was doomed to be stuck here forever, waiting at Kacchan’s door and tilting his head up to look into his eyes while he slowly sank into the ground, swallowed whole.

The silence was near-unbearable – but Bakugou didn’t step inside and close the door, either.

“Kacchan,” Izuku said suddenly, “I’m sorry for what Shinsou-kun said to you this morning.”

“Who?”

“The person from this morning, who I was leaving the Physical Education Centre with,” Izuku said, sighing, “I know I’ve said my fair share of rude things to you, but I didn’t like what he said.”

“Don’t apologize to me on someone else’s behalf,” Bakugou fumed, “what, do you think that extra hurt my feelings?”

Izuku hesitated. In a way, that was, in fact, exactly what he thought. Bakugou was too used to approval, and while he’d undoubtedly heard insults before, Izuku doubted he’d often heard indifference of that kind. Izuku didn’t think he would be able to stand it, someone as proud as he was. But there was no way he’d say that to Bakugou’s face. Or even behind his back. It wasn’t the kind of thing he would dare to say out loud. He wasn’t even sure if it was safe inside his mind.

“I just think it was between us,” Izuku said evasively, “there was no need for him to assume anything.”

Bakugou snorted.

“Yeah? Maybe you should tell that to all your little friends, or whoever they are,” he sneered.

“They are my friends,” Izuku murmured, “and I do tell them they don’t need to say anything.”

Izuku received a scoff in response, and nothing else. He looked toward the sidewalk, tired. It was exhausting, apologizing to someone who he knew could never do the same. But he also knew that it had to be done if he wanted even the slightest chance for things to change. He gritted his teeth and reminded himself, take the high road.

“Well, that was all, Kacchan,” Izuku remarked, looking down, “thanks for your time, and sorry, again.”

“Stop apologizing,” Bakugou said frustratedly, just as sudden, “it’s fucking annoying.”

Izuku stared at him. It wasn’t exactly pleasant on his part, either.

“Okay.”

“And – ” Bakugou looked like he was struggling to continue, “and next time something like this happens, don’t come. No matter how injured you think I am.”

“I think even if you weren’t injured at all, I would still come,” Izuku muttered half-miserably and half-resignedly, mostly to himself. It was just a natural response. No matter how many times Bakugou Katsuki knocked him down, there was still something that tied Izuku to him. Some kind of industrial-strength metal chain that clanged and tugged at him every time Kacchan even made a move. And he wanted to saw through it, to cut it off, to melt the links apart – just as much as he didn’t want that at all. Because Kacchan frustrated him, angered him, upset him, broke him – but he also drove him to be who he was, and unknowingly or not, kept pushing him. At every turn, Kacchan was there to jeer at him or taunt him or spark up his hands, and it was unbearable. But while Izuku desperately wished for it to stop, he also realized – he wouldn’t know what to do if, one day, he looked up and Kacchan wasn’t there to screech in his face.

And maybe it wasn’t right, or even healthy, but it was the truth.

Izuku glanced back up, where he found Bakugou simply staring at him. Perhaps Bakugou had heard that last part – he always did have a tendency to mutter louder than he expected. Did it change anything? Did that part get through to him? Did he understand?

Izuku simply stood there, waiting with urgency and anticipation and vague hope.

“Get lost, Deku,” Bakugou said finally, shutting the door in Izuku’s face.

The entire school was buzzing with gossip and whispers and rumours, the next day. Izuku wasn’t a part of Heroics – obviously – but even he had heard a great majority of the story by lunchtime. How much of it was true? Well, that part remained to be seen – luckily, Uraraka and Iida were there to provide Izuku with his much-needed information. Most of Class 1-A seemed to be sticking together after the incident – they were clustered together at tables near the back, avoiding the intense gazes and whispers of the other classes – no doubt keen on keeping to themselves. Iida had seemed intent on joining them at first, but Uraraka had glanced in Izuku’s direction and tugged at Iida’s sleeve, pulling him over to join Izuku, Sasaki, and Hirai once again.

Uraraka dropped her lunch tray on the table, taking her seat, while Iida stiffly sat down next to her. He mechanically began to chew on some of the vegetables, stacked in the corner of his plate. Sasaki stared at his robotic movements for a few seconds, then shrugged and casually continued to survey the cafeteria like before. Iida glanced up at her, then narrowed his gaze on both Hirai and Izuku.

“Aren’t you going to ask?” he burst out.

“No,” Izuku said simply.

“Well – why not? Don’t you want to know?” Iida asked, baffled.

Izuku shrugged.

“Of course I do. But I understand if you don’t want to talk about it. It’s not nice to feel like a spectacle. I’m just glad you’re both fine – I was worried, when I first heard,” he admitted.

Iida looked surprised, surveying both Hirai and Sasaki for their reactions – only to see Sasaki with a mildly bored look on her face, and Hirai concentrating on little flowers in her hands, as per usual. He looked down again, seeming grateful.

“My apologies if I sounded accusatory – ”

“Yes, yes, we get it, already,” Sasaki said impatiently. Uraraka laughed at the affronted look on Iida’s face.

“Oh, don’t be so harsh, Iida-kun!” Uraraka exclaimed with cheer, nudging his side with her elbow. Iida stiffened further under her touch, which Izuku didn’t even know was possible. She leaned over the table towards Izuku conspiratorially.

“He’s just being modest,” she whispered, “because he’s the one who saved us all!”

“Uraraka-kun!” Iida gasped.

“Relax, it’s just Midoriya-kun and his friends – they’re nice!” Uraraka said, “Don’t you think so?”

“I – of course I do, I have the utmost respect – ”

“Great! Then we can tell them the whole story! Don’t worry, I’ll make you sound good.”

Iida sputtered at Uraraka’s rapid-fire chatter, unable to say anything in response. She winked at him.

“I’m glad you agree! So, it’s like this…”

Izuku listened in awe at every little detail – Iida-kun was very polite, but Izuku was extraordinarily appreciative that Uraraka-kun was so laid-back about everything. He couldn’t deny that he would have been disappointed if he wasn’t able to hear about what truly happened.

And it was incredible – a man with hands all over his body and a villain with a portal quirk, appearing out of nowhere, and scattering the students all over the U.S.J. where they had to fight for their lives against so many villains – and they still came out on top. He was particularly impressed at Uraraka’s efforts – alongside her classmates and the Space Hero, of course – in getting Iida out the exit to call for backup. Despite Iida’s protests to the contrary, it was clear that they would have suffered without help from the other Pro Heroes.

But most of all, he sat in wonder when hearing about All Might’s role against the villain’s bio-engineered monster, the Noumu. A creature designed to match All Might himself, and still – All Might went beyond his one-hundred-percent, went beyond all known levels of strength, to catapult the Noumu straight out of the U.S.J. with three hundred blows.

It sounded like something out of a movie – or something that might have happened over ten years ago, back when All Might was in his prime. He was almost jealous he wasn’t there to witness it, before he reminded himself that it was a good thing he wasn’t involved in a villain attack. Still, he couldn’t help his excitement – that part of his brain that itched to analyze the upper bound on such a strong quirk was in complete unison with the part that shrieked with delight over his childhood idol defeating an unbeatable villain in such an inspiring way.

“I think you broke him,” Sasaki said, amused, as she elbowed Izuku’s side. Izuku closed his mouth – which had been slightly open in all his shock – and blushed, looking down at the table.

“Really?” Hirai asked, poking him on the other side as he yelped, “He still looks intact to me.”

“Sorry!” he said, running his hand through his hair, “I was just picturing it – I can’t even imagine seeing All Might do that firsthand, it must have been incredible.”

Iida nodded solemnly.

“It was truly something to behold,” he agreed, smiling as he gazed off into the distance, “I can only hope to be so inspiring one day!”

“Well, you did great, too – you know that, right, Iida-kun?” Izuku said, turning to fix his attention on Iida, who was now looking down.

“Running doesn’t mean you’re a coward – it means you’re smart and know when you need help. That’s something not a lot of people can say about themselves,” Izuku told him firmly.

“Thank you, Midoriya-kun,” Iida responded gratefully, “I hope to feel the same way at some point, but I am thankful for your encouragement nevertheless.”

“What, I don’t get any praise?” Uraraka sighed, resting her chin in her hands.

“Y-You did well, too, Uraraka-kun!” Izuku insisted. “I thought that was implied!”

“Sitting at this table is good for my ego,” Uraraka said, smiling.

“Like you heroes need any help with that,” Sasaki replied, rolling her eyes.

“Hey, we’re not all like Bakugou,” she defended.

“I would be very concerned if everyone acted like Midoriya-kun’s childhood friend,” Hirai said, apparently worried, “increased anger creates excessive problems with blood pressure.”

“Yeah, because blood pressure is his biggest problem,” Sasaki snorted.

Izuku cracked a smile at that.

“No one is like Kacchan,” he agreed.

“Thankfully,” Uraraka and Sasaki said in unison. They looked at each other with surprise.

“Wow, that was impressively synchronized,” Hirai exclaimed, “have you been practicing?”

Uraraka snorted.

“No, Bakugou just has that effect on people – brings us all together, you know?” she said, laughing. Sasaki joined her, and even Iida let out a smile. Izuku smiled, too – not just at the joke, but the truth behind it. In a strange way, Kacchan really did bring them together – didn’t he?

The bell rang, and everyone rushed out of the class with Izuku following behind at a slower pace.

He sighed as two books fell out of his backpack. He was outside the classroom, struggling to remove the textbooks that he didn’t need for homework, so he could simply leave them at school – but naturally, even when trying to do something this simple, he still had all the grace of a newborn fawn. He leaned down to pick them up.

Hero Analysis for the Future Vol. 13 was scrawled across one of the covers.

Izuku frowned. That was strange – he could have sworn that his notebook wasn’t in his bag, just a few days ago. He had been looking for it frantically – in his backpack, at his desk, in his room – but to no avail. He shook his head and sighed again. Obviously, he hadn’t been searching hard enough. No wonder his mom refused to buy him more merchandise – she was probably convinced that he would lose everything anyway. He was always missing what was right in front of him.

Caught up in his struggle of trying to zip his backpack closed, he barely heard the thundering footsteps coming at him from the right side of the hall. Finally, he looked up in shock upon hearing a very familiar laugh.

“Not to worry, Aizawa!” All Might was saying brightly, “I can surely take over for a bit! You deserve your rest.”

Izuku stared at the heavily-bandaged man on the other side of the conversation – no doubt Class 1-A’s homeroom teacher, injured from the attack – as he muttered something in response. All Might’s booming laugh filled the hallway again.

“Alright, alright – I’ll see you tomorrow,” All Might said, grinning hugely and turning in Izuku’s direction. The light glinted off All Might’s pearly-white teeth and made his face glow golden. Walking through the sunlight, he looked almost ethereal – truly not a mere man like everyone else. His huge arms and imposing figure seemed only to grow larger and more daunting – more impressive – as he continued to walk down the hallway.

Izuku felt his breath catch – his heart picked up speed and his palms grew sweaty. He wasn’t sure what to do. All Might was getting closer, and there was so much he wanted to say, but even more that he wanted to keep to himself. Izuku stared at All Might’s hands, clenched together in huge fists moving up and down as he walked – the same ones that had put the Noumu through the roof in three hundred blows, the same ones that had destroyed the Sludge Villain in only one. The same ones that had opened up and waved around awkwardly as he took Izuku’s dream apart.

Izuku swallowed and looked at All Might once more, in childish awe and recent pains and heavy uncertainty. He was only a few steps away.

Izuku turned left.

Chapter Text

“The Sports Festival is nearly upon us,” Snipe announced to the class. Izuku immediately sat up straighter, but everyone else only seemed to slump down in their seats. He even heard a few groans and complaints at the back of the room.

“For a while, we weren’t too certain if we’d be running it, given what happened to Class 1-A,” Snipe went on, ignoring the noises, “but we’ve decided to continue with it, as a show of U.A.’s strength in difficult times. The U.S.J. incident will not happen again. We promise you that.”

Izuku felt almost guilty at the rush of relief that flooded his veins. The League of Villains, as they had dubbed themselves according to Uraraka, was an organization of dangerous individuals that no doubt took pride in hurting others. It would have been entirely understandable if U.A. had cancelled the Sports Festival – and some part of him even thought it was a good decision. After villains had so easily infiltrated U.A. without anyone knowing how, it would be easy enough for them to do it again. He couldn’t help but be nervous.

He didn’t want anyone to be hurt – not Kacchan, not Uraraka, not Iida. His heart beat quicker just thinking about it. But he also really wanted to prove himself, and he didn’t want to wait until the following year – so, selfishly, he wouldn't speak a word in complaint.

“Why do we even have to participate?” Nakano complained.

“There’s no point,” Tsuji said quietly, “everyone knows we’re just there to make the hero classes look good.”

Murmurs of agreements travelled throughout the room – Izuku wasn’t surprised to see that Hirai wasn’t paying attention, but he noted that even Sasaki had her head tilted away in disinterest. This was clearly an opinion shared by the majority – and it was reasonable, wasn’t it? The General Education students were, in most part, not interested in becoming heroes – so it was strange that U.A. had made participation a requirement for them.

Snipe sighed.

“I know many of you don’t like doing this, but the Sports Festival counts as a major physical activity – just like the middle school races you all did,” he said, “so as long as you participate, you should be fine.”

“Fine,” Nakano grumbled.

“But for the record – it can benefit you, too. Some Gen Ed students have used the Sports Festival to transfer into Heroics, if they do well enough. Others showcase their creativity and it can still help them with connections to various industries. It’s a popular event – civilians and heroes alike are watching, you know. Anyone can still reach out if they see something that catches their interest.”

Izuku was surprised to hear this – he, too, believed that the Sports Festival was majorly for heroes, given the strong focus on strategy and fighting techniques. But – like with other facets of the Gen Ed program – he could see how this event would give students the space to be creative with their quirk. And it was true – everyone was watching.

Snipe’s words seemed to inspire a few of his more defeated classmates, too. Tanabe and Togeike had perked up, with the latter already muttering away to Agoyamato about what she could try to show off in front of the crowds. Curious, he craned his neck and tilted his ears up in an attempt to listen.

“…during the first round,” she was saying, “even if we don’t make it any further, the first round is never one-on-one, so we could definitely find a way to show off a little.”

“Just have to hope our quirks are compatible with the event,” Agoyamato said.

“Well, it’s not like we’re the worst off,” Togeike said, smiling as she shot an inconspicuous glance toward Izuku. Izuku immediately brought his head back down to study the papers on his desk, pretending to read intensely.

“I just feel bad, you know?” she whispered loudly enough for Izuku to hear, though perhaps she didn’t realize it. “Imagine having to face off with students from all the programs without even having a quirk. It’s not his fault, or anything, but how does he expect to succeed? It’d be a miracle if he wasn’t one of the first few out.”

“He did fine during Capture the Flag, but that was just a game and it was only against us. He just doesn’t have anything he can use to help himself out against the hero students,” Agoyamato agreed.

Izuku tilted his head back up at them slowly. Togeike’s eyes flashed back towards him as she continued talking, but she stopped upon noticing his gaze, looking surprised. To his shock, she simply smiled at him as if she had been lobbing praise and adulation at his feet. Didn’t she know that Izuku had overheard them talking? Was she just putting on a front and pretending she hadn’t said a word all along?

Or maybe…

They won’t be saying it because they’re trying to be cruel. They’ll say it because they think they’re being kind.

Maybe she just didn’t think what she said was wrong. Maybe she thought it was the truth.

Izuku frowned down at his desk. He could feel Shinsou’s gaze burning into his face from the seat next to him.

He didn’t look up until the bell rang.

“Class is dismissed,” Snipe said cheerfully. Everyone began to clear out, but Snipe walked forward amidst the chaos and placed a hand on Izuku’s shoulder. Izuku looked up at him in surprise.

“Did you need something, Snipe-sensei?” he asked.

“No,” Snipe said thoughtfully, “but I thought you might.”

“What do you mean?”

“Midoriya – you’ll be aiming pretty high at the Sports Festival, am I right? For a victory, no doubt.”

Izuku flushed.

“I – yes, I want to win – if possible.”

“So that you can be transferred to Heroics,” Snipe concluded.

“Y-Yes – but that’s not because I don’t like it here!” Izuku said quickly, waving his hands in the air placatingly, “Your class is great! But I – ”

“ – want to be a hero,” Snipe finished for him. Izuku flushed again.

“Yes,” he said quietly, half-heartedly peering up at Snipe through his eyelashes. Snipe tilted his head and slapped Izuku on the back. Izuku jumped, startled.

“Well, I’m sure you have a real fighting chance!”

“Really? And you’re not offended?” Izuku asked nervously.

“Oh, I’m extremely offended,” Snipe said solemnly, “all the work I did to make this a welcoming environment, and you still want to leave.”

“I’m sorry, it has nothing to do with you!” Izuku insisted, “I – ”

“Kid, you really need to relax,” Snipe said with an amused huff, “I know. I get it. And yeah, with a little help, you can really make your mark out there.”

“With help?” Izuku asked, suddenly feeling slightly disappointed again. Did Snipe think he couldn’t do it on his own, that he had to rely on his classmates and friends? Did he think it was impossible for him to do anything independently?

“Yeah – you know where the Support Department is, right?” Snipe asked. Izuku blinked, confused.

“Y-Yes, I think so,” he replied cautiously.

“Well, be sure to request any weapons and gadgets before the Sports Festival, alright? The earlier you request them, the earlier you’ll get them – and you’ll want them at least a day or so before, so you can get familiar with them.”

“We’re allowed to bring in support devices to help? I thought that was just for the Support Department,” Izuku asked, confused.

“Students always think that, but the reason the Support Department is allowed to use devices is because it levels the playing field with the hero classes. By that logic, General Education should be allowed to use them too, don’t you think?”

“Well – of course – but I didn’t know we could! I can’t recall a year when Gen Ed students have done that,” Izuku admitted. Snipe sighed.

“Most of them forgo devices in the earlier rounds,” Snipe said, “and – well – most Gen Ed students don’t make it past the first round. So it makes sense that you wouldn’t have seen them.”

“Oh,” Izuku said intelligently.

“Never underestimate the importance of a support device,” Snipe said, patting the guns in his holster, “science has developed to a radical degree this past century and we shouldn’t be ashamed to take advantage of it. A lot of people out there will be relying on quirks, but in the field, you’re allowed to use any gadgets you want, too. Might as well make it fair.”

Izuku smiled and restrained happy tears, warmed by Snipe’s advice and encouragement. It was so nice to have clear, unadulterated support from an authority figure – from a Pro Hero, at that. If Snipe wasn’t doubting him, if he was giving Izuku this chance – then his goal wasn’t too out-there, was it? It was reasonable. Snipe thought it was reasonable.

“Thank you for reminding me,” Izuku said gratefully, “I’ll be sure to do it today.”

With that, he bowed slightly and grabbed his backpack to head for the door.

“And remind your friend, too,” Snipe added before Izuku left. Izuku turned back around and tilted his head curiously.

“Shinsou,” Snipe clarified, “Shinsou will probably rely on his quirk, I know, but feel free to remind him that support devices are available to him, too, as long as it’s cleared beforehand.”

“Oh! Okay, I will – thank you, Sensei,” Izuku repeated.

“Good luck to you both,” Snipe called as Izuku left the room.

Izuku smiled, eyes sparkling as he headed outside the building. Snipe had really been paying close attention, hadn’t he? Shinsou would be glad to know that someone else was on their side. Approval was a hard thing to come by.

“Hello? Is anyone here?” Izuku called, peering through the doors of the main lab in the Support Department. He heard power tools roaring and the rhythmic banging noises of various pieces of equipment, so he assumed someone had to be inside. The noises suddenly faded away and he heard stomping towards the doors coming from his left. He turned and gasped.

“What do you want, kid?” a man with a large, yellow excavator claw helmet protruding over his head asked him.

“Power Loader!” Izuku blurted out. Power Loader raised an eyebrow at him.

“That’s me. Did you need something?” he asked, glancing back towards the lab.

“Ah, yes, I did – I do, I mean,” Izuku said, stumbling over his words, “I – wait, before that, can I just say that I’m a fan of your work? Your quirk is so useful; I wonder if you can use it on different materials, not just compacted dirt… and it’s really cool that you’re a licensed developer and work on hero costumes as well! You must know a lot about helping people maximize the use of their quirks! I’m interested in that, too, but more-so on a theoretical basis of the quirk’s elementary abilities rather than technological enhancement of a quirk.”

Power Loader blinked at him.

“Ah – yes,” he replied uncertainly and with no small amount of confusion, “thank you…?”

“Midoriya Izuku,” Izuku finished for him, “from 1-C.”

“Right,” Power Loader said, “…you remind me of one of my students.”

Izuku blinked.

“Oh! Well, thanks? If that was a compliment,” Izuku said, rushing his words out.

“Even I’m not sure if it’s a compliment,” Power Loader muttered, shaking his head. “Anyway, I appreciate your words – and yes, I do use my quirk on other materials, but it’s not as effective. Now, did you interrupt me purely for this, or was there actually something you needed?”

Izuku flushed.

“Ah, sorry,” he said sheepishly, “I was wondering if I could make a request for some equipment for the Sports Festival.”

“Oh, of course,” Power Loader said, “what do you have in mind?”

“Um – well – I just need some general weapons, I guess? I know any type of armour isn’t really allowed, since everyone has to wear their uniforms…” he mumbled.

Power Loader stared at him. Izuku met his eyes for a second before looking down, mildly embarrassed.

“What is your quirk?” Power Loader asked, clearly trying to garner a clearer response, “Do you need to enhance it? Do you need something that will alleviate the negative effects of your quirk?”

“N-No, I don’t have a quirk,” Izuku said quickly, “so I just need other weapons I can use instead.”

Izuku could see Power Loader’s eyes widen slightly behind his helmet, how the orange, L-shaped tips on each finger twitched up and down in response.

“I see,” he said finally, “are there any weapons you wish to use? Any special effects or abilities you want?”

Izuku swallowed, his mind suddenly running through thirteen notebooks’ worth of hero costumes, and childish wishes for over-powered gadgets that would make him fly, and huge guns and swords and spears. All invented in his fantasies – nothing he could use even if they existed and he was given permission to utilize them to their full potential. Because even if he requested support items like those ones, he would never be able to learn how to use them in time.

“I can use a bō staff,” Izuku said quietly.

“That’s impressive,” Power Loader said, nodding, “would you like a simple wooden one, or…?”

“No,” Izuku said decisively, “it should be at least partially metallic. But also heat-resistant – and capable of withstanding large expulsions of force… if that’s possible, I mean!”

“Yeah, shouldn’t be too difficult,” Power Loader said thoughtfully.

“And – maybe a grappling hook? With a mechanical claw that grips onto the target,” Izuku added quickly, his mind flashing through some of the gadgets he had seen other heroes use.

Power Loader raised an eyebrow at him.

“You know how to use one of those?”

Izuku winced at his tone.

“I can learn?”

“In a few days?”

“I’m a fast learner!” Izuku insisted. Power Loader sighed and looked at him for a moment, contemplatively.

“Well, it’s not too difficult, I suppose,” he admitted begrudgingly, “but when it’s ready, I insist that you come back here so I can teach you how to use it properly. I don’t want any lawsuits.”

“I would never – ”

“Yeah, but parents tend to see things quite differently,” Power Loader cut in, “so, agreed?”

“Agreed,” Izuku said happily, “and thank you for helping me.”

Power Loader waved one of his huge hands in the air rather flippantly.

“Don’t mention it – it’s just my job,” he said, disappearing back into the lab. The sounds of grinding and cutting filled the air once again, and Izuku, realizing that the conversation had come to an end, turned around and left, renewed with excitement.

“Gadgets, huh?” Shinsou asked as he ducked, avoiding Izuku’s fist approaching his face.

“Yeah,” Izuku said, panting as he stepped back to avoid Shinsou’s kick.

Shinsou reached forward to shove Izuku’s shoulder as he placed his leg behind Izuku’s. Izuku jumped to avoid it and narrowly missed Shinsou’s other hand flying towards his face. He jabbed his hand forward into Shinsou’s chest, forcing him to remain stunned on the spot and kicked at the back of his knees. Shinsou crumpled forward – but reached up and grabbed Izuku’s shirt, much to his surprise. Izuku lost his balance with a yelp and landed somewhat on top of Shinsou, limbs tangled together.

“Does this count as a win? Or a tie, at least?” Shinsou asked, breathless. Izuku laughed.

“Sure, if it’s that important to you,” he said. Shinsou sighed, dragging himself away from the mess of limbs, and sat on the mat with his knees up. Izuku got up from his recumbent position and sat next to Shinsou, joining him in silence.

“I don’t want to use gadgets,” Shinsou said, “it’ll draw attention away from my quirk.”

“Yeah, I figured you’d say that,” Izuku said, sighing.

“Most students don’t use support items to help them – they just use their quirks,” Shinsou continued, “so I will, too. I want to show that I’m at the same level as them.”

Izuku said nothing, merely dropping his gaze down to the mats. Shinsou gave him a sidelong glance.

“Well, of course you’re using support items,” Shinsou said, rolling his eyes, “it’s obviously different for you.”

“Obviously,” Izuku repeated.

“Yeah,” Shinsou replied, narrowing his eyes, “what are you planning on using, anyway?”

“Just a bō staff and a grappling hook,” Izuku said. Shinsou’s eyebrows shot upwards.

“That’s all?" he asked incredulously, “No explosives or jetpacks or flamethrowers or speed-boots?”

“I don’t want to use too many gadgets,” Izuku replied wryly, with a hint of amusement, “it’ll draw attention away from my lack of quirk.”

Shinsou stared at him.

“Okay, this whole repetition thing is getting on my nerves,” Shinsou said, scowling, “how is it a bad thing for you to use too many gadgets?”

Izuku shrugged.

“For one thing, I don’t know how to use those items you mentioned. For another – the more gadgets I use, the more excuses people make to explain why I win,” he said simply, “I don’t want to get so far, only to have people say that my support items were the only reason for it.”

Shinsou lowered his eyes again.

“I never thought of it like that,” he admitted begrudgingly, “but won’t it be obvious that you, you know, have experience with martial arts and strategic thinking during the competition?”

“You would think so, but you’ll find that people are content to ignore what’s right in front of them in favour of believing in their own world view,” Izuku replied placidly.

Shinsou sighed.

“They were saying those things again, in class,” he said suddenly, “about how you’d be lucky to go on any further.”

“I know,” Izuku acknowledged, “I heard them.”

“Why don’t you say anything to them?” Shinsou demanded, “I know you’re all about trying to change people diplomatically, but I’ve seen how you talk to that other friend of yours. Bakugou, was it? You’re not afraid to tell him the truth, but a couple of kids in Gen Ed scare you?”

“They don’t scare me,” Izuku said, narrowing his eyes.

“Then why? I still don’t understand it, and it irritates me,” Shinsou stated plainly. “I don’t like it when people let other people walk all over them and then complain about it. It’s like they haven’t even tried to solve their problems. Like they’re waiting in vain for something to change but too afraid to speak and make it worse. Saying nothing is good, sometimes. Other times, it just means that they never will.”

Izuku didn’t say anything for a few moments.

“Why do you always get so wound up about this?” Izuku asked, finally. “I’m just dealing with things in a different way than you are. It’s not personal.”

Shinsou scowled and said nothing in response, tapping his foot against the mats and staring up at the ceiling.

“I knew this boy in middle school,” Shinsou remarked out of the blue. Izuku’s head shot up.

“He would always get picked on for the dumbest reasons – because he was smaller than the rest of them, because his notebook was pink, because he was so quiet and awkward, just… anything the other kids thought was strange.”

Izuku was listening raptly, his heart picking up speed.

“The thing is – he would always complain about it to anyone who would listen. And most of the time, that person was me. He didn’t think my quirk was so terrible either, you know? Sure, it freaked him out at first, but after a conversation or two, he figured out that I wasn’t going to use it on him. But sometimes I was the one complaining about how I was treated, and he wasn’t really willing to listen.

“Anyway, I understood. I understood why he was upset – really, I did. And I even understood why he didn’t confront them – he just wasn’t that kind of person. So, I offered to do it for him.”

Shinsou’s eyes were focused into hardened chips as he glared at the mats. Izuku held his breath, tense, as he waited for Shinsou to regain his bearings and finish the story.

“I confronted them. I told them to leave him alone. But naturally, once they saw that I was involved, they were convinced I played a… different role. Suddenly, he wasn’t that strange, awkward kid anymore. He was a victim. Of me. It made sense, didn’t it? After all, the boy was so nervous and quiet all the time, and he never spoke a word against anyone who would push him around. He was a saint – not like me, who always spoke out. So they banded around him and took him in, and do you know what he said?”

Shinsou removed his gaze from the mats to look at Izuku, quite intensely. Izuku swallowed, almost afraid to ask.

“W-What?”

“Nothing,” Shinsou hissed, “he was as passive and quiet as ever. He just played the martyr for long enough to get his problem solved by someone else. Why would he help me out? He couldn’t even speak for himself.”

Izuku exhaled heavily, removing his gaze from Shinsou’s for a moment to look anywhere else. His fingers twitched, twisting the fabric of his shirt into knots.

“That’s terrible,” Izuku said after a long period of silence, glancing back at Shinsou. Shinsou said nothing.

“But…” Izuku began, hesitating, “I hope you know not everyone is like that. There are plenty of people who will defend their friends, if not themselves.”

“But that’s part of my point,” Shinsou said, frustrated, “if you aren’t willing to defend yourself, how are people supposed to take you seriously about anything else? If he stood up for me, I doubt anything would have really changed. They knew he had no self-confidence, and standing up for me would probably be more proof to them that I was brainwashing him into being my friend, even though that’s impossible. And even if he stood up for anyone else, they still would have laughed in his face. You know why? Because all they would need to do is utter a single rude word about him, and he would crumble. Just like that.”

“Well - if you knew that, then why are you still angry?” Izuku asked quietly. Shinsou shook his head.

“It didn’t matter that he didn’t defend me,” Shinsou said, “it mattered that he didn’t try.”

The story revealed many things – not just about Shinsou’s attitude, but also about Shinsou in general. Friends clearly didn’t work out well, in his experience. And Izuku was certain that every day he spent with Shinsou only served to remind him of that boy. The descriptions were uncannily similar.

But the actions, and the intentions… Izuku knew they were different. Did Shinsou know?

Izuku’s thoughts wavered, his voice faltering in his throat. He promised himself that he’d be quiet about his own middle school experience – he didn’t want to play the martyr, after all. He never liked attention and was always self-conscious about making things about him. But something about today prodded at him to bare his soul, after seeing Shinsou with his shoulders hunched over to his knees while resolutely looking away from him. Shinsou disclosed something private, something he kept close to his chest, and – and it was only fair if Izuku did the same. He took a deep breath.

“Can I – may I say something?” Izuku asked nervously.

“Well, I’m not going to stop you,” Shinsou grumbled into his knees.

“I understand where you’re coming from, and why my choices would irritate you,” Izuku said quietly, “but everyone has a different perspective on things.”

Shinsou looked up and turned to face Izuku, his expression still impassive.

“When I was in middle school, I was pretty vocal about everything I felt,” Izuku admitted, “I know – that might be surprising. And everyone knew who I was, they knew I wouldn’t hesitate to speak up for myself or anyone else who was getting picked on.”

Izuku trailed off for a second as the last part registered to him, and he blushed slightly.

“Not that I’m trying to brag or, you know, make myself sound like a saint,” he babbled, “that’s just – the truth. That’s what I did – I couldn’t really help it.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Shinsou said, rolling his eyes and gesturing for Izuku to continue.

“Well, my point was – even if everyone knew how nervous I could get, no one ever thought I lacked confidence. Because I grew up with every one of them, and any time they tried to pick on someone – even if that someone was me – I would get up and tell them to stop. But Shinsou-kun – they just laughed. Don’t you see?” Izuku asked with some measure of desperation in his eyes. “They never stopped.”

Shinsou opened his mouth – but it was like some switch had been flipped. Now that Izuku had started, he felt the need to prattle on and say everything before he could be interrupted.

“This one girl in elementary school – she had a quirk that let her change the colours of the objects she touched. I-I don’t mean to be rude about anyone’s quirk – just having a quirk is beyond me, clearly – but her quirk was essentially something I could do with paint and a little extra time. But – but every day that I sat next to her in class, she would wrinkle her nose and look away. Every time that I bumped into her, she would move over, as if I was contagious. And every time some of the kids would taunt me, she would laugh or even join in,” Izuku burst out hurriedly, suddenly not having enough air in his lungs for all of the things he wanted – needed – to say, “she – she still thought she was better than me, just because she had a quirk – even if it was a simple one. Just because I didn’t have one.”

“I – ”

“And I did speak up, I swear!” Izuku said frantically, before Shinsou could accuse him of pervasive silence, “I told her it made no sense – that the other kids who used to make fun of her for her quirk were doing the same to me. They just switched targets because there was someone on a lower rung of the ladder, but – it only meant that she was one step higher, not that she was at the top. I told her, and told her, and told her, that I was just the same as her – as everyone else, even – and that the only difference was this one thing I was born with, this one joint in my pinky toe. And she still laughed.”

Shinsou’s eyes were much wider than his usual half-lidded stare, now. His back was ramrod-straight and his gaze was intent. His lips were parted but nothing seemed to come out. He was simply speechless, completely taken back by Izuku’s tirade. And Izuku could have stopped there, he supposed, but – but he couldn’t, actually, not really.

“This other time, Tsubasa – this boy in our class with wings – he grabbed all my books and flew up to this part of the roof that students didn’t have access to. I tried to get them back – I took the stairs and tried to climb over the obstructions and reach for them – but the teachers saw me and I got in trouble, and I think – I think they knew that I didn’t put them there, that I was just trying to get them back, but – I still got in trouble, and I didn’t try to argue that time. The teachers – they were there to help the good students, the ones with successful futures. And I wasn’t one of them – never would be, not in their eyes.

“You’re right, I’m sorry, I should have – I said nothing, that time, and I shouldn’t have, but no one likes a tattler, right? I mean, they didn’t like me anyway, but I didn’t want to make it worse. I wanted them to stop, so I yelled at them and stood up for myself, but I wanted them to like me, so I was quiet, too.

“And Tsubasa’s friend – later on, he started a new game, where everyone would just ignore me and pretend I wasn’t there, like I was a ghost. Like I would have no tangible effect on anything that ever happened. I don’t know why – maybe it was more convenient for them, to pretend that I didn’t exist. I liked that game, at first… and then, a day later, I didn’t like it at all.”

Izuku went on and on – he truly wasn’t sure for how long, his mouth just kept on moving, filling up the empty space with fun, memorable anecdotes from middle school. Some part of his brain, somewhere at the back of his skull – his inner voice was screeching at him to shut up, to stop spilling out every one of his deepest thoughts like he was some kind of overflowing sink with a drainage problem. He wanted to stop the longer he looked at Shinsou’s wide eyes and open mouth, but no matter how hard he dug his fingernails into his arm, his mouth would not shut off.

“And Kacchan,” Izuku stopped for a second to take a deep, shuddering breath – why were his eyes wet? – before he continued, “I’ve known him since before I knew I was quirkless. Sometimes I wish that was the only time I knew him. Because every time after that – every time I ever said anything – he never stopped to listen. One day, we went out to play for the last time, and I never even knew it. Everyone just kept building him up into this great concept, never stopping to consider that he was just a person - and eventually, I think he began to believe it, too. See, everyone always gushed about him and his talents – his athleticism, his intelligence, his power – it never stopped. He was… extraordinary, and everyone else was only ordinary, so I was just nothing.”

Shinsou swallowed.

“Do you think it went on because I never tried to hit any of them? Do you think I should have used all my training on them, just once? Shinsou-kun, when those kids would say such terrible things about you, did you ever use your quirk on them to make them go away?”

Izuku leaned forward, his fingers now digging into the mats on the floor. His eyes were wide open and very red; he was blinking much more rapidly than usual. His breaths were out of rhythm and strangely ragged. In contrast, Shinsou’s face looked much paler and his lips were now tightly pressed together as he leaned back.

“I – ” Shinsou began for a second before his voice cracked and he cleared his throat.

“N-No,” he said shakily, stuttering for the first time Izuku had ever heard, “I thought about it, but I d-didn’t ever use my quirk on them. I didn’t want to prove them right.”

Izuku smiled, but it was too wide and strangely hollow.

“Me neither,” he pressed on, nodding his head frenetically, his eyes frenzied, “but I think it was for a different reason. See, it’s like I said – no one ever thought I lacked confidence after I started with martial arts. They just thought I held back. I didn’t want to hurt them – well, sometimes I did – but I told myself that it was wrong, that they were just mean kids on the playground, that they would change. They used to be my friends, too – not just Kacchan’s, you know.

“And that is true – I really didn’t want to hurt them. But it was also a lie. I didn’t want to fight them – I didn’t want to fight Kacchan – because I didn’t want to see them win. I didn’t want to find out if everything I had ever done was for nothing, and I didn’t want them to find out if I was every bit as weak as they had always thought. I-I didn’t want to prove them right, either.

“But it wasn’t because I was doing the right thing, like you,” Izuku said softly, “it was because I wasn’t confident, not at all, no matter how much everyone thought I was.”

Shinsou stared at him. His face was unreadable, and Izuku was too scared to take a proper look at his eyes to glean the truth. The weight of everything he had just said came crashing down on him, and all he felt was –

Unyielding humiliation.

What was he thinking? Did he seriously tell Shinsou, of all people, every thought and insecurity he had ever had over the past ten years of his life? What spirit possessed him to vomit out his feelings onto someone who he had hoped would be his friend? What point was he even trying to make anymore?

“Sorry,” Izuku said suddenly, standing up on the mat and swiping harshly at his eyes. He immediately picked up his bag on the bench. He could shower later. Forgoing a post-workout clean-up for one day wouldn’t hurt anyone.

“Sorry,” he repeated, as he tightened the laces on his shoes and straightened his pants, “I don’t know where I was going with that. I had a point at the beginning, I swear, but I guess it just got lost along the way.”

He laughed at himself, a bit manically. He was still steadfastly avoiding Shinsou’s eyes, but he could imagine the look of alarm.

“Midoriya – ”

“I’m just going to leave now,” Izuku announced, “The monologuing probably made you uncomfortable – I don’t even know what set me off. I didn’t mean to play the martyr or anything. You know, it’s really strange – I began this rant trying to convince you that I wasn’t like your middle school friend, but I think I ended up convincing myself that I was. You’re right – maybe I am just waiting in vain for people to change, afraid of making this place worse, like my middle school. I’ll try to be better.”

Izuku speed-walked out the gym door, his heart thudding so loudly that he wasn’t sure if Shinsou called back for him or not. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

Outside the gymnasium, Izuku just kept walking. He didn’t know where he was going, just that he couldn’t stop in case someone saw him. He walked and walked all over the campus, until he found a nice, abandoned section of wall attached to a building where he couldn’t see any students wandering around. He walked off to the side, out of a passer-by’s line of sight, and leaned against the wall. He simply stood against the side as his hands came up to cover his face. He gasped as tears began to flow and pressed, hard, against his eyes – to no avail. The tears kept coming.

God, why was he so stupid?

Up until then, he had been totally in control of every interaction he had with Shinsou. Everything had been fine, he was saying the right things and avoiding the right topics – until today, that is. Then, of course, he had to blabber on about his oh-so-painful past – as if Shinsou didn’t understand what that was like – making everything about himself, yet again, after he promised himself things would be different here. After he told himself he would remain quiet about every self-deprecating thought, project confidence like Himura-sensei always told him to, and perfect his image. He would keep the friends he had miraculously made, he wouldn’t incite any trouble, and he would be kind to everyone, because that’s what heroes did.

But instead, he went and did this. Shinsou would be glad to be rid of another anxiety-ridden mess who just wanted to be his friend – after all, he was just like the other boy Shinsou had known. Why did he ruin things for himself, yet again? Why did he even start talking? Why did he continue? There was no explanation for it, and yet…

Izuku took a deep breath for a moment and tried to clear his head.

No, that wasn’t completely right. He knew exactly where things went wrong and he knew how he felt and how Shinsou probably felt.

He started ranting because Shinsou’s story was a sharp accusation that directly breached his gut, even if Shinsou didn’t intend for that. A boy who was quiet and awkward and different, who refused to say a thing to people picking on him? Even if Togeike and the others weren’t exactly picking on him, every part of Shinsou’s story rung uncomfortably true to Izuku’s own demeanour. He, too, was content to wait, wait, and keep waiting, all while saying nothing because he was too afraid of ruining everything he had here. He wasn’t even trying to change their minds – he was just hoping they would, and that was a world of difference. When did he become afraid of his own opinions? When did taking the high road become the same as cowering down and saying nothing?

He kept ranting because… maybe keeping all his truths so close to his chest wasn’t working. It was hard to move on from everything that happened because he never really acknowledged it. Who would he tell? His mother, who would no doubt raise hell at school and call up the Bakugou family and lock him in his room for eternity to keep him safe? Himura, who could barely stand his first breakdown? Kacchan, who would blast him through a window after the first sentence? Sasaki, who couldn’t understand the term “low self-confidence”, or Hirai, who wouldn’t really connect with anything he said?

Izuku sighed, trying to clear his throat and dislodge the tears that stuck halfway through. He placed a hand on his pounding head. Himura-sensei would be disappointed in him if he knew how confused and dispirited he felt, yet again, after everything Himura had said to him.

And now – he was too embarrassed to look Shinsou in the eyes. At this point, he essentially knew everything. And whether Shinsou would or wouldn’t judge him – it didn’t really matter, because he had almost completely broken down in front of him and Izuku was sure he couldn’t pretend to be confident in front of Shinsou again. It was just mortifying to completely bare your soul to someone like that - and every time he thought back on his words, his shaky and high-pitched voice, and the burgeoning of tears in his eyes, he could feel the blazing fire of humiliation burning deep in his stomach.

Maybe he would talk to Shinsou later, maybe not. Right now, he just wanted to forget everything even existed.

He got up, back on his wobbly feet, and took a few unsteady steps away from the side of the building. He stepped back out into the open and closed his eyes to breathe in the fresh air. He just needed to go home. His mom was probably wondering why he was so late.

He opened his eyes again – and was shocked to see blue eyes meet his, for just a second, from perhaps twenty metres away. He immediately turned around and walked in the other direction, cursing himself upon realizing he had been having his meltdown right next to the main staff building. He was walking in the opposite direction of his house, but it was already late, so how could another detour really matter?

God, he wasn’t even ready to face All Might on a good day. Now, he just hoped All Might didn’t recognize him at all, amidst the tears on his face.

Toshinori blinked at the flash of green that came upon his field of vision.

Was that – ?

He rushed forward, placing his large hand on the side of the building and turning the corner sharply. He looked everywhere – through the trees, past the path, into the crowd of students coming from the other direction. Nothing. He squinted into the distance, but as far as he could see, there was no one else around. He sighed deeply, pressing his hand against his face. It was probably just a bush, or something.

What would that kid be doing at U.A., anyway? He was just being ridiculous at this point – or maybe just looking for any excuse to avoid his meeting with Nedzu. He pushed open the doors reluctantly and entered the staff building.

“Ah, All Might!” Nedzu exclaimed, already gesturing for him to come into his office. Silently, he followed Nedzu up the stairs, only half-listening to all of Nedzu’s animated rambling. Eventually, they reached his office, where Nedzu took his seat and clasped his paws together on his desk, still smiling brightly. In contrast, Toshinori dropped into the seat across from him and allowed himself to “deflate” to his civilian form.

“All Might, I’m certain you must know why you’re here,” Nedzu said brightly.

“I do,” Toshinori replied hesitantly.

“It’s almost like you’re the one with my quirk,” Nedzu went on, laughing, “now, tell me, what is it that you plan to do?”

The smile suddenly dropped off Nedzu’s face and was immediately replaced with an intense stare. Toshinori swallowed.

“I know the incident at the U.S.J. was a close call,” Toshinori began guiltily, “but I… I’m still not sure.”

“Sir Nighteye has been quite vocal in his praise of Toogata,” Nedzu said, studying his nails, “do you disagree?”

His eyes held genuine concern and curiosity, as though he didn’t know what Toshinori felt about Toogata in the slightest. As if he had never even ruminated over the topic, despite its extreme relevance for the decades to come. In that moment, it seemed Nedzu existed only to hear Toshinori speak.

“Of course I don’t,” Toshinori said quietly, “he seems like a fine young man. And…”

“You probably would not have minded giving him One For All, had he been introduced to you in a more natural fashion,” Nedzu finished. Toshinori played with his fingers, looking down.

“The idea of passing on One For All… it shouldn’t be an interview process,” he said, “because if it were – I’m sure I could find any number of deserving applicants. It should be something that comes to me, when I meet someone – it should be a feeling, rather than a pre-planned or manufactured thought.”

Nedzu didn’t say anything, didn’t even gesture for him to continue. He simply sipped out of a cup of tea that Toshinori hadn’t even noticed on his desk, leaning back in his chair like it was a pleasant get-together between friends. Maybe that is what this meeting was, to him. It was impossible to understand Nedzu’s thoughts, and he had given up on trying many years ago.

Toshinori stared at Nedzu’s desk, taking in the sounds of slow, long sips.

“If the Pros had shown up even a moment later, I may have been done for,” Toshinori admitted suddenly, bowing his head. Nedzu hummed in agreement.

“A lucky affair indeed,” he agreed, “how do you propose to counter it?”

Toshinori took a deep breath.

“I promised Nighteye that I would decide by the end of this year.”

“A year is a long time, All Might – ”

“I know,” Toshinori cut in, “so I’ve been thinking about calling him…”

At Nedzu’s look, Toshinori rushed to explain himself again.

“At the end of the semester – not now, not yet. It’s not the right time,” he insisted, “but it needs to be soon. I can’t… I can’t let this happen again.”

Nedzu smiled at him charmingly.

“There’s no need to explain yourself to me,” he said, sipping his tea, “I’m not the one on a deadline. Do whatever you wish, but the perfect candidate will not fall out of the sky. You already have someone else in mind, clearly – but for some reason, you haven’t offered yet. I suspect it is less out of apprehension, and more out of situational purposes.”

Toshinori fidgeted, neither confirming nor rejecting Nedzu’s theory – there wasn’t really a point, at any rate. Nedzu only posited a theory when he was entirely certain of it.

“But I’m afraid the world will not wait for things to fall into place for you. Take all the time you need, All Might – we want you to make the best decision with your quirk. However, we also have the right to grow concerned as the nascent presence of the League of Villains comes into the spotlight. They created a creature with the potential to destroy you – and they did so under the assumption that you had some weakness, and they would win. They will do it again – but better, faster, stronger. None of us will stop you from doing what you want, but someone else might.”

Toshinori swallowed.

Leaving those ominous words hanging in the air, Nedzu finally put down his cup and brought his paws together cheerfully.

“Now that that’s cleared up, allow me to say that it was so very nice to catch up with you again,” Nedzu exclaimed, “I’m glad we could sit down and have a long conversation, like old times.”

“Me, too,” Toshinori said quietly, running his fingers through his tangled hair. Nedzu perked up.

“Oh, you feel the same? I’m glad to hear it! I have so much to say – as well as some more advice for you, on balancing your heavy burdens of both instructor and prominent hero! It occurs to me that I tend to go on for a length of time… so I took the liberty of finding a notepad for you, in case you were having trouble remembering some of the more salient points of educational theory. Do you have a pen?” Nedzu asked earnestly, leaning forward with a manic glint in his eye. Toshinori leaned back in response, instantly alarmed and cursing himself internally.

“Ah, no,” he said, startled, “s-sorry, it appears I’ll have to listen another time.”

He immediately got up to try to leave, but was stopped by Nedzu’s laughter.

“Nonsense! What kind of school principal would I be if I didn’t carry all the tools of learning with me? Not to worry – I have a copious amount of spares!”

He opened a drawer and pulled out a full box of pens, dropping it on the desk in front of Toshinori with a clattering sound and an eager look on his face.

“I really must get going – ”

“But All Might, you’re all out of energy! Weren’t you just saying you were glad to catch up?” Nedzu asked with wide eyes.

Toshinori pressed his lips together and sat back down, accepting his fate.

“Go on,” he sighed, resigned to spending the next hour trying not to fall asleep.

Sasaki coughed loudly into her sleeve, immediately rummaging through her bag for a box of tissues. Hirai patted her on the back sympathetically.

“I’m not that sick,” she insisted, “I can’t believe Snipe-sensei is making me go home.”

“You’re coughing up mucus,” Hirai pointed out helpfully, “generally, people who are healthy don’t do that.”

“You’re the worst.”

Hirai merely blinked at her in response.

“It’s probably for the best,” Izuku said, immediately wincing a little at Sasaki’s glare, “sorry, but – you should just focus on getting better. Do you even like coming to school?”

“Who likes coming to school?” Sasaki asked, placing a hand on her forehead, “I don’t. But I don’t like missing out on things for unnecessary reasons.”

“I didn’t realize maintaining personal health was unnecessary,” Hirai observed.

“You’re the worst,” Sasaki repeated, her rough words somewhat mitigated by red eyes and a scratchy voice.

“I’m honestly surprised your parents let you leave home this morning,” Izuku admitted. Sasaki shrugged.

“Well, yeah, they wouldn’t have liked it, so obviously I slipped out without them noticing,” she huffed unapologetically. “That’s why my mom sounded so surprised on the phone when Snipe-sensei called her. I can’t believe he noticed within, like, twenty minutes of class starting. His face is literally covered all the time.”

“He’s a Pro Hero,” Izuku reminded her, amused, “I’m sure he’s used to noticing everything.”

“Still.”

Snipe re-entered the classroom and gestured for everyone to be quiet.

“We’ll start class in a few minutes,” he said, “just give me a moment to sort things out with Sasaki and her parents.”

“Thanks for giving us more free time, Sasaki!” Nakano called out gleefully. Sasaki scowled at him.

Snipe beckoned for Sasaki to come over to his desk. She sighed and got up, dragging herself to the front of the room. Much to Izuku’s surprise, Hirai got up and made to follow her.

“You’re going up there, too?” he asked.

“I want to hear what’s happening,” Hirai explained, “Sasaki-chan won’t tell me to leave.”

“Snipe-sensei might,” Izuku pointed out. Hirai shrugged and continued to walk to the front. Izuku stared after her for a second before getting up to follow as well.

“Now, Sasaki – ” Snipe was saying, before he cut himself off in surprise upon seeing Hirai and Izuku.

“May I help you both?” he asked.

“No, not really,” Hirai remarked, standing next to Sasaki. Izuku held back a laugh as Snipe fell silent in confusion. Sasaki snorted into her sleeve – before it immediately devolved into a volley of coughs. Snipe winced and passed her the box of tissues.

“It’s alright, Sensei,” she said, sniffling, “I don’t care if they hear. You’re just telling me not to come back to school until I’m better, and that my parents are here to pick me up, right?”

“Well, yes, but I also wanted to mention your role in the Sports Festival,” he said hesitantly. “To be more specific – I don’t think you can participate, as it is.”

“What?” Izuku blurted out before Sasaki could say anything. Snipe looked at him, and Izuku immediately looked down, mildly embarrassed.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“The Sports Festival is in two days – somehow, I doubt you’ll be in good shape,” Snipe said, shifting his attention back to Sasaki and eyeing her face. “If you can get me a doctor’s note by then, it should be fine, but otherwise – I’m sorry.”

Sasaki shrugged and waved a hand at him flippantly.

“That’s okay. It’s not graded or anything, right?”

Snipe shook his head in response.

“Then it doesn’t matter.”

“Don’t you want to take part with the rest of us?” Izuku entreated with wide eyes.

“I’m good,” she said, tilting her head back, “I’m not as interested in it as you are. Somehow, I doubt anyone really is.”

“O-Oh,” Izuku managed, still confused. “Alright, if you’re okay with it.”

Sasaki rolled her eyes.

“Thanks for your permission,” she said, “I guess I should leave now?”

“You can go gather your things and meet your parents at the front office,” Snipe confirmed. Sasaki sighed and nodded, heading back to her seat. Hirai and Izuku trailed behind her.

“You really don’t care about the Sports Festival?” Izuku tried again, blinking at her in bewilderment. Sasaki sighed.

“Look, I get that it’s your biggest fantasy to win. It’s like that for a lot of people. But showing off my quirk in front of thousands of viewers is not my thing – I’m just not interested. Trust me, I won’t be crying into my pillow in frustration tonight. So don’t do it on my behalf,” she warned. Izuku sighed.

“Alright… get better soon, though,” Izuku said, resigned.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Sasaki responded immediately.

“I think Midoriya-kun was simply wishing you well,” Hirai said. Sasaki rolled her eyes, then winced, clutching at her forehead.

“I think the fact that none of you understand humour is causing me physical pain,” she grumbled. “Well, I’m going now. You’ll just have to talk to Shinsou about the Sports Festival since you both love it so much.”

Izuku cringed slightly, eyes automatically flitting towards Shinsou. Shinsou’s gaze was boring a hole in his head and he immediately looked down.

“Did you have a fight?” Hirai asked curiously.

“W-What? No, of course not,” Izuku said, nervous. Sasaki turned to look at him.

“Even I caught that,” she stated, “you’ve been acting stranger than usual these past few days, and you’ve stopped talking to him as much.”

“We didn’t talk that much in the first place,” he said quickly. “Don’t you have to go home now?”

Sasaki scowled as she noticed Snipe waiting by the door.

“This isn’t over,” she stressed, with narrowed eyes. She turned to Hirai.

“Usagi – interrogate him for me,” she commanded. “I’ll be back soon.”

She trudged out of the room without a backwards glance, leaving both Hirai and Izuku staring at her back. Hirai looked over at Izuku.

“Why are you acting so strangely around Shinsou-kun?” she questioned politely.

“Ah, n-no reason,” he said, fidgeting, “I just – I said some things that I’m a little embarrassed about, so I don’t really want to talk to him right now.”

Hirai stared at him for a moment.

“Okay,” she accepted, shrugging, “that was all the interrogation I had to do.”

She walked back to her desk and picked up her book, calmly beginning to read. Izuku blinked in surprise, then sighed and went back to his own desk. As he sat, drumming his fingers on the wood and waiting for Snipe to begin the lesson, he could still feel eyes on him from his right side and the sound of someone clearing their throat. He looked down at his backpack, and following Hirai’s lead, he grabbed his things from inside and quietly opened a book.

Izuku picked at his dinner, both too nervous and too excited to eat.

“So Himura-san agreed to come tomorrow?” Inko asked, lips slightly upturned. Izuku jerked his head up and nodded enthusiastically.

“Yeah, he said that he may as well see the fruits of his effort somehow, since I don’t have enough time to participate in tournaments anymore. He said he still wanted people to know he runs the best dojo in the city.”

“That man really avoids kindness like the plague,” Inko said, shaking her head.

“I think it was nice of him to agree to come in the first place! I didn’t know if he would,” Izuku admitted. Inko’s lips twitched as if there was some inside joke only she understood. “He said he would reconsider keeping me as a student if I didn’t do so well, though. That part wasn’t very nice.”

“Somehow, I feel like that won’t happen,” Inko mumbled. “At any rate, I’m glad he’ll be watching it in-person. Maybe he’ll stop you from being so reckless. I’m so sorry I couldn’t come myself – tickets are expensive, and I have some errands to run in the morning anyway. But I promise you I will watch every second of it on TV.”

“That’s okay, Mom,” he said softly.

The conversation dropped into silence, and soon enough, Izuku began to pick at his food again.

“Is something the matter, Izuku?” Inko asked him gently. Izuku shook his head and smiled a bit anxiously.

“N-No,” he said, “I’m just – excited. And worried. I wish the Sports Festival was happening right now, but… I also kind of wish it was still months away. Tomorrow is going to be one of the most important days of my life.”

He contemplated this in silence, still gazing intently at his rice. Inko smiled at him nervously.

“I know – but no matter what happens tomorrow, it will all be okay. You know that, right? Izuku?” she fretted.

“Yes, I know, Mom,” he sighed. Inko looked down, her eyes suddenly glistening.

“It will be really tough,” she said softly, “please be careful.”

“I can do it,” Izuku insisted, frowning a bit.

“I know you believe that,” Inko murmured, sniffing a little as a few tears fell out of her eyes. “But I just get so worried.”

“I don’t just believe it – I can do it,” Izuku asserted, feeling simultaneously indignant at her phrasing and guilty for not comforting her. His stomach was roiling in confusion.

“Mothers will always worry,” Inko remarked, a bit firmer, “so like I said – be careful.”

“I will,” Izuku huffed. “I’m always careful.”

Chapter Text

Izuku sat by himself in the Class 1-C waiting room, nervously fidgeting as he subtly watched his classmates milling about around him. They all looked mostly excited or indifferent, entirely oblivious to – or perhaps just ignoring – Izuku’s internal struggle. He glanced at Shinsou, on the other end of the room, and met his eyes for a second as Shinsou angled his face upwards – but Shinsou looked away before he did. Izuku frowned and looked back down.

“Alright, the ceremony is beginning soon,” Snipe called. “Everyone, start heading out to the stadium.”

Izuku got up slowly, trudging towards the door with his nerves high and thoughts tangled up like a never-ending thread in a ball of yarn. As he exited, he was surprised to see Hirai chatting with Sasaki a bit down the hallway. He walked over to them.

“I was wondering where you were,” Izuku said to Hirai, before turning to Sasaki. “And what are you doing here? You’re still sick, aren’t you?”

The question was quite useless, seeing that Sasaki was sniffling every five seconds with puffed-up and reddened cheeks.

“No,” she retorted, “this is me in peak condition. If you must know, I came here to be supportive. You’re welcome.” 

“I feel like you should still be at home,” Izuku admitted, warily taking in her appearance. Sasaki scowled.

“See if I ever try to be encouraging again,” she huffed. “The doctor didn’t say I had to be forced into solitary confinement, you know. Just that I couldn’t participate in strenuous physical activity. Sitting down in the stands isn’t very strenuous, unless you count all the facial expressions I make at the loud, annoying spectators around me.”

“But – ”

“I’ll be fine,” she insisted, flapping her hand at him impatiently, “I have a box of tissues and I’m not going to cough on anyone. Now hurry along. The ceremony’s starting, isn’t it?”

Izuku nodded and glanced at Hirai. Seeming to sense his unspoken question, she smiled at him.

“Punctuality is an admirable trait,” she said. “I will be outside when it starts, too.”

“Alright,” he said, glancing between them, “I’ll just – go now, I guess.”

He shook his head and walked away, wondering what they needed to speak about. He pushed back his hair in mild frustration, suddenly annoyed by the strands that had fallen on his face. As he turned the corner, he hesitated for a second. It wasn’t a good thing to eavesdrop on his friends – he knew privacy was important and he should respect that, and Hirai and Sasaki were obviously friends much before he came along – it wasn’t his business. But…

Why did he need to go? What was so private that he couldn’t hear about? Did they just not think he was very trustworthy, or that he wasn’t a close friend just yet – or was it about him in general?

Despite his mind slowly filling with voracious anxieties, Izuku tried to force himself to keep walking – if it was about him, he wouldn’t be doing his own character any favours by eavesdropping on them. They would only think worse of him if they knew. But before he could actually leave – the sound of his other classmates froze him to the ground behind the wall where he stood.

“Sasaki!” Togeike called out in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“Having a tea party,” she said flatly, and Izuku struggled to hold back his snort. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“It kind of looks like you’re having a secret conversation with Hirai in the hallways,” Tsuji said quietly.

“It’s not a secret.”

“Are you just here to cheer her on?” Nakano asked. “What about your other friend – Midoriya? Decided you didn’t want to give him false hope, huh?”

Izuku’s heart beat quickly in his chest. Was this the real reason? Did Sasaki just send him away to snicker with Hirai about how they couldn’t believe Izuku was still adamant on reaching his goal?

“What do you mean by that?” Sasaki asked, sounding defensive.

Togeike laughed and answered for him. 

“Come on – you’re realistic, aren’t you? It’s just us here. I know you don’t like to lie to people, so you’re just not going out of your way to say anything to him before the festival. It makes sense – he’s a nice guy, and really smart. There’s no need to crush his spirits. The hero students will do that, anyway.”

“He obviously wants to be a hero,” Furuya’s gruff voice interjected, “and we all know it. But I don’t know if it’s possible. This competition is something else entirely.”

“It seems you’re a bit afraid of the hero classes,” Hirai expressed with concern. “Perhaps you all need to work on improving your self-confidence? It might be a bit of an issue in the future.”

“We’re not trying to be rude,” Nakano insisted, sighing, “it’s just what we think. We’re all entitled to our own opinions.”

“Funny,” Sasaki said, finally, “it sounds like you’re saying, ‘we’re all entitled to our opinions’, but what you’re really saying comes across more like ‘fuck off’.”

Izuku, who was staring aimlessly at the ground as the conversation went on, furrowed his eyebrows at the shift in tone. His head shot back up at Sasaki’s voice.

“Look – ”

“No,” Sasaki interrupted, her usually powerful voice no less dampened by the hoarse quality introduced by her sickness, “the only reason Midoriya isn’t here at this moment is because he doesn’t need us to tell him we support him. He should know that he’s good.”

“I was just saying – ”

“Well, don’t,” she cut in again, “because we don’t want to hear it. I guarantee he’ll fare a lot better than you think.”

“He did very well against all of you in class,” Hirai chimed in thoughtfully, “so it can’t be too strange for it to happen again.”

Izuku pursed his lips together tightly as he leaned back against the wall. He felt a rush of gratefulness flood his body, warmed by his friends’ praise – but along with it, there was mild guilt that prickled at his conscience. What was he thinking, standing here eavesdropping? He was so suspicious and paranoid of people who had been nothing but kind to him, when Sasaki and Hirai clearly thought so highly of him and even defended him against his other classmates. Why couldn’t he think the same of them?

He pressed himself against the wall as he heard Nakano, Furuya, Tsuji, and Togeike walk down the other hallway that led to the stadium. Sasaki’s voice started up again, and unwittingly, Izuku’s ears pricked up. He wanted to leave, but they would no doubt see him in the space between hallways if he tried to walk by. He was stuck here now, until they left for the stadium as well – for better or for worse.

“ – do your best,” Sasaki was saying.

“Of course I will,” Hirai reassured her. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Sasaki sighed.

“I know how you can get about these things, Usagi,” she remarked. “Try not to give in so easily. You’ll only end up feeling worse.”

“You don’t know how my feelings work,” Hirai replied, sounding strangely frustrated, “true knowledge of brain function is one of science’s greater mysteries.”

Izuku had never heard her like that – she was always so calm and, well, removed from everything.

“I know you, though,” Sasaki claimed firmly, “so just give it a shot. And Midoriya would be glad to see you move on, too, you know.”

“I’m aware,” Hirai said quietly.

“He seems like he needs someone on his side,” Sasaki said. Hirai must have nodded in agreement, or maybe just said nothing, because Sasaki went on, changing the subject – perhaps in an attempt to make Hirai more comfortable again.

“I still don’t really understand what’s going on between him and Shinsou, but I guess it must have been pretty important for Midoriya to just stop trying to talk to him. He used to be near-fanatical about it.”

“He said he was embarrassed,” Hirai said. “But he gets embarrassed about many things.”

Sasaki snorted.

“Yeah, I know – I can barely elbow him in the side without him turning red. It must be something big.”

Ironically, Izuku couldn’t help but flush a little at this.

“I presume it has to do with some of his previous experiences,” Hirai theorized. “He wants to be friends with Shinsou-kun because they both want to be heroes, but I think it’s also because he sees something similar in Shinsou-kun. He must have said something more to him.”

Izuku’s heart started hammering in his chest again. Hirai didn’t know how close she was to the truth.

“I guess so,” Sasaki said. “Well, I don’t want to stand here and gossip about him, or start pulling out the pitchforks just yet. It’s his life, so he can tell whoever he wants.”

“That’s a mature outlook.”

“Did you just imply that I would be immature about this?”

“Of course not.”

“Good, because I am not a child.”

“You certainly don’t look like one.”

“I’m done with this,” Sasaki finally sighed, exasperated. Izuku was surprised to find himself smiling lightly, again, at their banter. For just a brief moment, his anxieties were shunted to the side.

“It’s just – strange. He can’t shut off his own mouth, but this is something entirely different.”

“Midoriya-kun knows how to be quiet,” Hirai said softly. “He talks a lot, but he can end up not saying very much. Do you understand?”

The only sound Izuku could hear was his own thundering heartbeat. Sasaki was silent for a long moment, and for a second, Izuku thought that she had simply left.

“Yeah,” she said, finally, “I think I do.”

There are so many Pro Heroes here, Izuku noted with wonder. Midnight was standing atop the stage in front of the freshmen classes who had already gathered, and while she was garnering a fair bit of attention – Izuku’s eyes couldn’t help but be drawn toward the sidelines, where he observed Mount Lady, Kamui Woods, and Death Arms chatting with each other. He cracked his knuckles and stretched out his hands, fingers absently tugging at his shirt as he regarded them. Would they appreciate him being here? They probably didn’t even remember. But – Izuku glanced to the side and noticed Class 1-A finally stepping into the festival stadium, Bakugou leading the pack with his head held high – Izuku knew that he would never forget, at least.

It looked like they had called in Pro Heroes from all over the country, actually – there were a lot of them roaming around and eyeing the students with interest. Izuku rubbed his sweaty palms against his pants. In one way, he would certainly be getting a lot of attention – but on the other hand, he knew the security was likely stepped up because of the recent villain attack on U.A.’s students and the suspicion that it might happen again.

The other classes parted in a near-perfect line as the various hero students stepped through – even the members of Class 1-B, although a few looked quite disgruntled. Class 1-A was like the vaunted, ideal older sibling that no one could remove their eyes from – they were destined to be steeped in glory and praise while the others could only rest in their looming shadow with bitter envy. Even the crowds seemed to hush for a moment as these favoured few walked along in the open, before letting loose raucous cheers that were entirely incomparable to the ones before they had arrived. Present Mic’s voice as he hyped up the audience was barely audible over the roars – and that, in itself, was quite a feat. His words of commendation and approval only seemed to excite the spectators even more.

Some of the class seemed to puff up at the praise, while others shied away and looked down, embarrassed. Some, like the boy with the red-and-white hair and Bakugou, merely looked indifferent. In spite of the varied reactions, it didn’t stop the irritated glances from being thrown around between the other students, nor the muttered curses.

Izuku allowed his eyes to fall away from them and looked around. He gulped at the mass of spectators – there were so many more people than he thought there would be – and again tried to focus on the other students around him. Looking at his own class didn’t help much – every time he glanced over to Hirai, directly on his right, he could feel the vague compunctions of guilt poking at his heart over the conversation he had overheard. He tried not to look over too often – she would undoubtedly glean what he was feeling if he was too obvious.

“Time for the player pledge!” Midnight finally shouted from her place on the stage, waving her whip, as it became clear the crowd’s cheers would not die down. Immediately, she caught everyone’s attention – in fact, it suddenly seemed rather difficult for a good many people to take their eyes off of her, as she flipped her hair over her shoulder and smiled widely.

“What is she wearing?” Izuku heard someone mumble from close to him, while another group of boys in front of him appeared too entranced to say anything at all or only mumbled their whole-hearted approval.

“Quiet, everyone!” she called again, putting a stop to the whispers. “Now, representing the students is Bakugou Katsuki from Class 1-A!”

Izuku jerked his head to Bakugou in surprise, before lowering his eyes in realization. He had almost forgotten that the top scorer from the Heroics entrance exam was given the opportunity to open the festival with a short speech.

Bakugou’s loud, slow footsteps echoed around the stadium as he lazily made his way up to the podium. His ever-present slouch and hands shoved deep into his pockets only served to further the languid, bored impression he was giving off. As he stepped in front of the microphone, he finally leaned back and tilted his head up high, his narrowed eyes only looking up at the audience. He didn’t spare a glance for the students below him.

“I pledge,” he began loudly, perfectly blasé, “that I’ll be number one.”

At least no one could ever accuse him of grandstanding.

The entirety of the first years burst into uproar – even the rest of Class 1-A itself. They seemed both painfully mortified and utterly resigned by Bakugou’s bold claim, though they still waved their fists at him in fury and indignation. For good reason, too – Bakugou had just made enemies for his whole class, not just himself. To the rest of the students gathered here, there was no difference in attitudes. Arrogance was nearly synonymous with being a hero.

Izuku simply sighed as the cries of “Stop messing around!” and “Don’t be so full of yourselves!” hammered into his eardrums. Anyone who had met Bakugou could not be surprised at his conduct, and yet…

He spotted Iida approaching the side of the platform, frantically waving his arms as he sharply reprimanded Bakugou for his disgraceful behaviour.

“At least you’ll make a nice, bouncy step for me to jump off of,” Bakugou replied calmly – for once – not even sparing a glance back before turning away again and dismounting from the stage.

“How overconfident can you get!?” a boy from Class 1-B was shouting. Bakugou didn’t even tilt his head in that direction while passing by.

Izuku squinted at the relaxed expression on his face – this was something different. Bakugou always laughed and boasted about his superiority in the same breath. The fact that he was handling this with even one degree of placidity was suspicious. And as he hunched his shoulders and stepped away from the crowd, it became clear – he was backing himself into a corner on purpose. If the other students weren’t throwing everything they had at Bakugou – every ounce of their unrefined rage – then it wasn’t a fight that was worth anything to him at all.  

That’s fine, Kacchan – I won’t hold back this time. Not in the slightest. I need this more than anyone.

The stadium’s wide-screen televisions blinked into existence, with “First Game” appearing on the monitors.

“Let’s get started right away,” Midnight announced, choosing not to address Bakugou’s words and the rather boisterous response. “The first round is a qualifier. Every year, this round alone can crush the dreams of many! Let’s see what we have this time.”

The words on the screen behind her began to scroll up rapidly, colourful lines blurring together too quickly for anyone to understand. Finally, after what seemed like centuries of waiting and Izuku anxiously biting his lip, it stopped on –

Obstacle course.

What did that mean? What did it include?

“All eleven classes will participate in this race,” Midnight went on without a hitch. “The course will be the outer circumference of this stadium – four kilometres!”

Midnight licked her lips and leaned in, as if sharing a secret.

“Our school’s selling point is freedom, though,” she said with a wicked smile, “so as long as you stay on-course, it doesn’t matter what you do. Take your places, everyone!”

The three green lights above the door at the other end of the stadium lit up, signalling the students to move and get into position. Izuku inhaled sharply as the students rushed forward, jostling and shoving each other to reach the front of the pack – clearly desperate for any chance they had to stay ahead, even if it was only for a few fateful seconds. In contrast, Izuku stepped off the side and hesitated as he watched the seemingly endless number of bodies pass him. He dropped his staff on the sidelines, near one of the entrances to the inner hallways.

“Why are you leaving your staff here?” Hirai questioned immediately, having followed him outside of the throngs of countless heads. One of the three lights above the door blinked out of existence.

“It’s an obstacle course – I don’t need it just yet,” he said as confidently as he could muster, despite his heart beating wildly. “Besides, I have my grappling hook.”

“It doesn’t make you worse to have it,” Hirai countered, as they both walked forward at a leisurely pace despite the overwhelming tension hanging over all their fellow first-years. Izuku was surprised to note that almost everyone in his class was looking quite determined – perhaps fired up by Bakugou’s words, he mused, as he saw Shinsou narrowing his eyes in Bakugou’s direction.

“No, but I don’t know that it will make me better,” he responded. “It’s really only meant to be used against other people. Having it could slow me down; it’s very long and awkward to run with.”

The second light above the door faded.

“And I want to be the best,” he said, much more quietly as they both stood near the back of the pack, “even if it takes me longer than everyone else.”  

Hirai gazed at him intently.

“Why?” she asked, her voice cracking slightly. Izuku looked back at her in surprise.

“Why?” he repeated, confused. “What do you mean? I have to give everything I have, because that’s all I can do. Even if I’m not good at something, it won’t stop me from trying. Because I can be, one day. It might not be today, or tomorrow, or next week, or even the following year. But it will happen. I will make it happen.”

He swallowed in anticipation as he saw everyone clench their fists a bit more, lean forward, and bend their knees. A few students were still pushing their way to the front desperately and Izuku smiled a bit. Maybe that would have been him, but…

He glanced around, where he was standing much more to the back. Almost no one was around him. He didn’t feel suffocated, and he didn’t feel watched. No one was looking at him, not really. Their eyes were all on 1-A. And usually, that was fine. He didn’t like attention. He was used to starting at the back, so he would stay here until the race started.

“I will make them look at me,” he vowed, speaking again very suddenly. Hirai jerked her head back to look at him.  

“They won’t be able to keep their eyes off of me by the end of today,” he promised urgently, his eyes wide and crazed with determination. He could hear Hirai swallow. He took his eyes off the lights for a second and looked over at her, but she was looking into the crowd – right above the doors to the stadium – rather wistfully. When Izuku squinted, he thought he could make out Sasaki leaning forward on the rails. He frowned and turned back, but Hirai was already looking at the ground, her long, white hair fluttering in the breeze like wispy strands of cobwebs. He got the feeling that he had missed something – and he wanted to ask – but there was no time left, as he glanced back up at the door. He had just one second left to gather himself into a cohesive state.

The third and final green light flickered away.

“Start!” Midnight called, her voice echoing around the whole stadium. Rumbling and grunting surrounded Izuku as he ran forward, avoiding the sharp elbows and forgetting everything that had previously been on his mind. There was only one thing to think about right now.

“This is too narrow!” someone shouted as all of the hundreds of students were trapped in the tiny passage behind the door, bottlenecked into the thin corridor like packed sardines in a can.  

“Move over!” a girl screeched into his ear. Izuku jerked his head away and narrowly ducked a few flying elbows. He stood up on the tips of his toes and squinted – far down the passage, he could see a very slight strip of light, wide enough for only a few students to pass through at a time. Surely there wouldn’t be enough time for all of them to make it out immediately, or even right behind each other. The ones at the back – like him – would have to wait much longer.

That had to mean… this was already the first sifting. And he couldn’t have been the only one to realize it. He saw Bakugou leaping forward, using his explosions to get himself off the ground. He saw a tall girl with black hair in a long ponytail vault up with a pole. He saw a careless-looking blond boy shoot a laser and lift himself up.

And he felt, rather than saw, the intense cold suddenly coming down the hallway.

Now was as important a time as any, he realized, to make use of what he had. He immediately pulled off the grappling hook from the side of his waist and, using the shoulders of two of the people beside him, he pushed down and leaped up as high as he could go, ignoring the yelps of pain and surprise. He shoved down the twinge of guilt – that could come later. Right now, the only thing on his mind was victory.

In the air, he aimed the grappling hook forward, toward the cluster of trees in the distance, and shot it without time to spare. Thankfully, there were a good number of them lining the obstacle course, so he didn’t have to be too accurate – as long as it hooked onto something, he would be fine. And sure enough, he felt the tug and the subsequent pull as he was suddenly flying over the heads of students who were screeching in indignation, with their feet completely encased in ice.

But he was going too fast – the trees were lining the outer walls of the course, and he would be disqualified immediately if he left the boundaries. With shaking hands and wind whipping through his face and hair so rapidly that tears were ripped free from his eyes, he could barely think – but somehow, with fumbling fingers and desperation gnarling into his mind, Izuku managed to trigger the grappling hook again.

The claw immediately released itself from the branch of the tree – in response, Izuku fell forward, crashing into the ground at high speeds and narrowly avoiding bashing his skull open against the side of the obstacle course walls.

He gasped for air, feeling his lungs shudder at the sudden change in pressure. He groaned, lifting himself off the ground with wobbly knees, and looked around.

Already there were countless students passing him. Whoever had released that blast of ice – they had likely planned for more people to be trapped than this, and for a moment, Izuku wished that most of them were – it would certainly make things easier for him.

Things have never been easy for you, he reminded himself as he gritted his teeth, and it doesn’t matter – you can do this by yourself.

He forced himself to keep moving forward, running as fast as he could in spite of his throbbing head and scraped knees. He kept running, and running, paying no mind to the people around him using their quirks on other unsuspecting contestants. For once, it was probably a good thing that he didn’t garner much attention.

Izuku kept going until he hit a wall – almost quite literally. There was a line of students ahead of him, stopped in their paths by something ahead. He looked up and almost drew back in shock.

“Obstacles have shown up suddenly!” Present Mic’s voice boomed through the loudspeakers. “Starting with… the first barrier! Robot villains!”

“Aren’t those the zero-point villains from the entrance exam?” a boy with a lightning bolt streak through his hair cried out nearby.

The hero course had to fight these robots to get in?

Izuku could only watch with no small amount of fear as the unquestionably huge robots lined up in front of the nervous crowd of students. Many were already retreating to the back in distress.

But not everyone.

The robots took a step forward, and a boy with red-and-white hair at the front of the pack ran ahead. He released a veritable iceberg from his fingertips, huge spires and spikes coating their metallic bodies, and immediately stopped the first line of robots in place. Izuku’s jaw was slack as he watched.

This is what he had to compete with?

“H-Hey,” a boy called nervously – Izuku turned as he recognized the voice as Nakano’s – to the students behind him. “Now that they’re frozen in place, we can just go around them, right?”

No, Izuku thought as his eyes narrowed. This was the same person who froze half the competition in place. He wouldn’t make it that easy.

And sure enough, as the eager people around him rushed forward, he noticed a strange wobbling and creaking. That boy – he had waited until the robots were taking a step. He waited until they were off-balance.

Immediately, the sounds of groaning metal and shrieking burst into the air as the robots came crashing down, trapping a good number of the students and knocking others out of the way.

“Todoroki from Class 1-A! He attacked and defended in one hit! How elegant!” Present Mic proclaimed with unrestrained glee, as if watching children scarcely dodge sharp bits of metal was his favourite sporting event. “He’s the first one through! It’s almost unfair.”

“His actions were logical and strategic,” another voice sounded through the speakers, almost bored. Present Mic had introduced him as Mummy Man, which led Izuku to believe it was the Class 1-A homeroom teacher, Aizawa – who was wrapped in bandages, the last time Izuku saw him.

“This is what the hero class is meant to be,” Present Mic went on with pride, “a student who was recommended – who had never even seen such things before – still got past them with ease!”

Todoroki – as in, Endeavor’s son? No wonder he was so much further ahead.

Ignoring Present Mic’s gushing praise, Izuku lowered his eyes and stepped back. His knees began to tremble again, as the pulsing red light of the second line of the robots flashed over his body. He covered his face with his hands and closed his eyes. He just needed time to think. He needed to think.

He tried to ignore the red-haired boy and the metal-covered boy as they burst out from underneath the robots – Kirishima and Tetsutestu, both from the hero course, apparently – although he couldn’t deny that he’d almost had a heart attack upon seeing people underneath the robots. Someone else might have been seriously injured – or dead.

He tried not to think about Bakugou and the triumphant expression smeared on his face as he exploded his way into the sky, leaping above the robots, with two other Heroics students – Sero and Tokoyami, Present Mic had said – following behind. He didn’t stare at Iida, who jumped forward, using his engine-powered legs to kick the robots into submission, nor Uraraka, who levitated the gigantic pieces of machinery without looking distressed in the slightest. A girl with earphone jacks sent out vibrations to destroy a few of them, while the boy with the lightning bolt streak in his hair released high-voltage electricity from his fingertips. Another boy with a tail smashed straight through a robot’s head. The major thing most of them had in common was also the reason the crowd had been so deafening at a mere First Years’ Sports Festival – they were in Class 1-A.

And it made sense – while Izuku was glancing at the sidelines during the opening ceremony, wondering if the Pro Heroes employed would be enough to prevent another villain attack, Class 1-A had only been looking forward. It was all so normal – like nothing had even happened. People who had experienced danger in real life – who caught a glimpse of true villainy at the U.S.J., who felt life-threatening fear put a chokehold around their necks, who dealt with threats and made it through – they would never hesitate.

But Izuku had seen villains before, too – he had even been attacked by one. And when it mattered the most, when it came to someone else – he hadn’t hesitated. So he wouldn’t do it now.

Izuku may not have been with Class 1-A during the U.S.J. incident, and he would never know the experience of having to fight off dozens of real villains in order to survive - at only age fifteen.  

But he knew danger, and he knew fear. It never stopped him before.

He ran forward, not wasting another second. A giant green robot claw reached towards him, and he jumped up, leaping off the side of it and landing on his feet. His eyes locked onto a scrap of green metal in the distance – a piece of armour that had fallen off another robot, clearly. He glanced back up at the robot flanking his side. Its red-eyed gaze was locking on to various students – it must have been activated by some kind of motion sensor, tracking body movements in order to target the students. He took a deep breath and ran towards the piece of metal, hoping he reached it quicker than the robot. He picked it up and continued to run, sensing the robot’s gaze locking onto his back. And sure enough, it raced forward to stop him, and – 

Izuku whipped back around, taking advantage of the robot’s lack of balance and forward momentum, and stepped to the side. As it leaned forward in the space where Izuku had been only a second ago, teetering precipitously on its legs, Izuku bashed the piece of metal into the robot’s side as hard as he could. He gaped and jumped back as the entire arm fell off, electricity crackling around the robot’s body. Even he didn’t expect that much damage.

Shaking his head, he continued to run before more robots targeted him, still clutching onto the piece of metal as some sort of lifeline.

“Oh, was the first stage too easy?” Present Mic teased. “I’m sure you’ll all have different opinions on the second stage!”

No sooner had Present Mic finished his sentence had Izuku come upon the gaping chasm with various pillars of rock situated throughout the space. He paused, breath caught somewhere between his stomach and his throat, too tired to even be shocked at this point.

“Finally, my time to shine!” a girl with pink hair laughed manically. Izuku glanced up at her as she kept talking – and was surprised to find her laden with all kinds of equipment. She could have been in another General Education class, or perhaps even Heroics – but no, Snipe had pointed out something obvious to him. No one else would dare to don so much gear if they weren’t in the Support Department. She obviously wanted people to notice what she was wearing.

The girl used a spear-like grappling hook of her own – in unison with boots that hovered off the ground – to launch herself right off the edge. She flew up the side of a pillar, skyrocketing up in the air with the grappling hook already released and thrown to the next pillar. And she said she developed everything herself?

Izuku almost felt like he was frozen this time – but mostly just in awe. Here he was, struggling to use a basic grappling hook even after the practice Power Loader had pushed on him, and here was someone else entirely – designing their own grappling hooks and using them with ease, as if she was born to travel this way. He let out a deep sigh, finally understanding Power Loader’s insistence on training, but determinedly made his way to the edge and peered down uncertainly.

“The first of the pack is the first across!” Present Mic declared excitedly. Izuku didn’t look up. It was impossible to miss Bakugou’s explosions in the sky directly after his statement, however. He doubted it would be long before Todoroki and Bakugou were neck-and-neck.

But he had to admit to himself that he felt some small measure of relief and apprehension that someone was actually beating Bakugou, for once. It meant that Bakugou wasn’t undefeatable – but it also meant that there was someone else – another pillar to take down, who was potentially even stronger.

He inhaled and looked forward, and without hesitating again – he pulled out his grappling hook and released some of the rope, wrapping it around the rectangular piece of metal he was still holding, so that a small length of rope with the claw was hanging from one side, while the other end with the gun was hanging from the other. He made his way to the tightrope leading across the chasm to one of the pillars – and around the tightrope, he loosely finished tying up the claw to the gun.

The metal plate was now in contact with the tightrope, while a loose rope triangle hung underneath it – looped around the tightrope as well. Taking a deep breath and promising himself not to look down, Izuku held onto the grappling claw and the gun for dear life, using them as handholds as he dropped into the chasm – ziplining across the tightrope.

“What’s this?” Present Mic cried. “It looks like someone is using this competition to have some fun! Does anyone out here in the crowd want to have a go at ziplining?”

Izuku couldn’t hear the crowd roar, but he smiled at the shout-out – they were definitely noticing him now.

“It’s not for fun,” Aizawa cut in, annoyed. “It’s actually a decent decision, considering the circumstances. If you don’t have a quirk that will allow you to balance yourself or fly across, the only other option is to climb across. This requires a lot of arm strength, and if you don’t have that – well, you’re essentially done. A makeshift zipline is not only quicker, but also lessens the amount of time you have to carry yourself – all while preventing rope burn. The toughest part is pulling yourself back up at the end, so we’ll have to see if he thought that one through.”

Sure enough, just as Izuku reached the end of the zipline, he positioned his feet to face the stone pillar and bent his knees to prevent a harsh impact. He bounced off the side, and slowly came teetering back at a lower speed. Struggling, he reached up with one hand and gripped the tightrope, heaving himself upwards with all his might. He dragged himself onto the surface of the pillar and lay back, panting. Not a second later, he got back up, untied his makeshift zipline device, and moved to the other side to do it again.

He was grateful for the Aizawa’s approval of his strategy, but honestly, he was questioning it himself. Frankly, it was terrifying to just lower himself into the pit, trusting that his device would hold. His mother was probably simultaneously shrieking and crying at the television screen.

It was painstaking work, untying and retying his ropes all while moving from pillar to pillar – but it was also the only thing he could do, and eventually – he made it across.

The second Izuku reached solid ground, his wobbly knees gave out on him and he gave himself a second to merely take in a deep breath of relief. 

“At last, the third and final barrier!” Present Mic thundered into the speakers. “The reality here is that… it’s a minefield! If you look carefully, you can tell where all the mines are – but will you have time to look carefully?”

The first person – Todoroki, probably – was already there? Izuku was instantly back on his feet. This was no time to feel exhausted – he could rest after he had won.

“You’ll have to be careful! Of course, these landmines are for games, so they’re not that powerful… but that doesn’t mean they won’t scare you straight! I guarantee they’ll leave an impact strong enough that you might just wet your pants!” Present Mic cackled loudly.

On those pleasant parting words, Izuku continued to dart forward, resolute on being as quick as possible while also still gripping onto the metal plate – it had proven to be useful before, and it was likely to be useful again. He only had to think of a way.

Telltale explosions dotted the edge of his field of vision just as he reached the beginning of minefield.

“We have someone new in the lead!” Present Mic cried. “Bakugou Katsuki, of Class 1-A! Rejoice, mass media – it’s the kind of development you all love!”

Even in the distance, the thundering roars and howls of the crowd could be heard. But Izuku paid them no mind.

In front of him was the entire minefield, splayed out in all its glory. It was longer than he had imagined, and a very far distance to the finish line. Perhaps a hundred metres ahead, he could vaguely make out the shapes of Bakugou and Todoroki grappling and blasting their quirks at each other, not too far from the finish line and the obvious two in contention for the lead. But coming in close from behind was Iida, racing fast enough that the detonation of the landmines almost didn’t matter, as well as some of the members of Class 1-B who looked as unwavering and undaunted as ever.

Where he was standing, there were other students milling about, hesitating – too nervous to put their feet out and step close to a landmine, only to be blasted back.

It was almost funny – here he was, so close to the end, but also far enough away that it was still a problem. With the resounding, amusing, painful familiarity that had always followed him, Bakugou was in the lead – so far ahead that running to catch up would only look pathetic. This was a situation that was not new to him in the slightest. He would only look ridiculous in comparison – in comparison to him, but also in comparison to all the other competitors, who had such flashy quirks to launch them up or pull them across or speed them through.

But as Present Mic’s elated, shrill shrieks of wonder and praise at Todoroki and Bakugou echoed throughout the minefield, one more thing was obvious.

He could make it. No matter what, he could make it to the next round. They didn’t say how many competitors would go through – but based on previous years, it would have to be a fairly large number in order to make the elimination of the second round worth watching and still leave enough students for the third round. At this rate, if he ran through the minefield as he normally would, he would still probably rank within the top twenty.

But the top twenty was not the same thing as number one. Despite the fact that it didn’t matter to his overall tournament standing – despite Sasaki’s words reverberating through his head on occasion and saying “I don’t need to be the best – just good enough” – despite the fact that he was exhausted and being in the top twenty was still impressive – it still wasn’t enough.

If Bakugou had one thing right, it was that striving to be number one required an entirely different mindset. You could never stop to think “I’ll just coast through this round and make it up in the next” or only give half your efforts, or you would always lose to someone who wanted it more.

Izuku wanted to be enough. He wanted to be more than enough. He wanted to be great – and this next move would ensure that everyone would be looking at him. An unequivocal cry for attention that could not be ignored.

He dug his plate into the ground with all his strength, right on top of a cluster of landmines. Present Mic said they weren’t life-threatening, right? He kept digging, paying no heed to the startled cries of newly approaching students. A ghost of a smile flickered on his face as he heard the bangs and shouts around him – loud explosions might scare the others, but they didn’t scare him.

Not again. Not anymore.

Thank you, Kacchan, Izuku thought as a euphoric grin spread itself onto his face, his eyes wide with frenzied delight, thank you setting me free of this fear and letting me fly.

With that, Izuku held the metal plate in front of him and tossed himself bodily onto the pile of landmines he had dug up. A large shockwave shook the earth and the explosion launched him into the air, hurtling him forward at air speeds even the grappling hook hadn’t reached. His eyes were watering, and the sharp wind felt like it was cutting his face open, but he barely felt any of it as he saw himself passing over the minefield in mere seconds.

“There’s a huge explosion at the back!?” Present Mic shouted in confusion and shock. “So much force! And – WHAT!? Is that – is that a student in the air?”

“Not just a nameless student,” Aizawa added sharply, sounding as if he’d leaned forward very suddenly, “that appears to be Midoriya Izuku, of Class 1-C.”

“A General Education student? Was this an accident, or did he do it on purpose? Either way – he’s in hot pursuit of the lead with that blast! This could be the first time a General Education student has won an event in years!”

Being named over the loudspeakers barely registered to Izuku – now, he was plummeting towards the earth at terminal velocity with no way out. Still, he couldn’t get rid of the smile on his lips as Bakugou’s priceless expression of shocked disbelief and Todoroki’s confusion only grew clearer on his way down. And the smile turned into a full-blown laugh as he travelled right over their heads to take the lead.

“I can’t believe it – Class 1-C’s Midoriya Izuku is now in the lead!” Present Mic shouted. Izuku could hear the crowds cheer in response. But again, he couldn’t properly focus – he now had an entirely different problem in his hands. What was he supposed to do about landing? There was so much force.

“Deku,” he heard seething from behind him, as always, “don’t you dare go ahead of me!”

Bakugou was now ignoring Todoroki and had his razor-sharp focus on Izuku alone – his disbelief had made its way to desperate fury and he was mere metres behind. Todoroki, apparently not one to be left in the dust, had given up on isolating those behind him and was now simply covering the ground in ice to catch up.

“The two formerly in the lead have stopped trying to slow each other down and are chasing behind Midoriya, now that they have a common enemy!” Present Mic announced excitedly. “The fight’s not over yet – who will win?”

In the time it would take me to land, they’ll overtake me instantly. I can’t let it end like this – I can’t let it end here, not when I’m so close. I have a chance. I can’t lose it. I won’t!

Only a few metres from the ground, with Bakugou and Todoroki inches ahead of him, Izuku used all his strength to turn a half-somersault in the air. His back was to the ground, with the plate above him. Mustering all the energy he had left, he grunted as he pushed his upper body forward and pulled the plate back so that the edge was in his hands.

I won’t be left behind while everyone else moves ahead – not this time.

He whipped the plate back down to the ground where Todoroki and Bakugou were running and pushed his body forward through the air, one more time.

The resulting explosion propelled him forward at breakneck speeds and knocked both Bakugou and Todoroki off-balance, right into the ground where more landmines were planted. There was a sense of bittersweet irony in the fact that he was the one letting loose an explosion in Bakugou’s face, this time, and it was likely just as painful in the same way that it used to be for Izuku – not because the explosions necessarily hurt him that much, but because with the explosions came the feeling of not being good enough.

Unfortunately, being propelled forward also meant Izuku faceplanted into the ground – albeit several metres ahead of the other two, and outside of the minefield. He got back to his feet quicker than he ever had before, the throbbing pains in his back and knees fading away in the face of the adrenaline that coursed through his veins. Izuku sprinted forward like his life depended on it, not bothering to look behind him to see what had come of Todoroki and Bakugou.

This was it – no more tricks, no more gadgets, no more plans. It was just him and the finish line.

“Midoriya has swiftly blocked those behind him! Can you believe it? He cleared the minefield in an instant! Snipe, your student is really something – being able to leave the hero students in the dust like that! Where did he get that determination?”

“I doubt it came from school,” Aizawa commented dryly, “it seems he’s getting fired up all on his own.”

The sunlight of the stadium was mere metres in front of him, through the dark and narrow tunnel, and Izuku could hear the footsteps of Bakugou and Todoroki directly behind him. Cold ice was creeping up behind him, catching up to the burn of his stomach and in his lungs.

“U.A. Sports Festival – the first years’ first stage! Who could have thought this would happen? And… the first person back in the stadium is none other than…”

Izuku threw himself forward and gasped as he felt himself blinded by the overwhelming lights and noises. He stumbled forward on shaky legs, finally slowing down and beginning to pant.

“MIDORIYA IZUKU, OF CLASS 1-C! The underdog, the General Education student who has managed to capture our hearts! The first General Education student to win an event in six years, and the first one to win the first stage in twenty-five years! Let’s give it up for the student who is making history as we watch!”

The crowd cheered so loudly that Izuku couldn’t hear his own heartbeat thudding in his chest.

Izuku barely heard Todoroki and Bakugou running in behind him. He barely spared them a cursory glance to see who had come in second and third – as ashamed as he was to admit his bad sportsmanship. For ten years, he had heard nothing but derisive jeers and demeaning pity for his plight. And now…

And now, the only thing he could hear was applause. Praise. Encouragement. Admiration.

His eyes watered even more than they had during his inadvertent stint of skydiving without a parachute. They brimmed with tears that pooled heavily, glimmering for only a moment before spilling onto his cheeks as he let out loud gasps, struggling to cover his mouth to prevent himself from making too much noise. He scrunched up his nose and buried his head in his hands as an unbidden smile nearly split his face in half.

His face was sticky and wet and blotchy and red – he looked terrible, and he didn’t want the cameras to pick it up – but he knew it was already futile. Not everyone else had arrived yet, so the media would be sure to milk everything they could out of this moment. He had always hated attention, but for this moment… he didn’t feel the usual pit in his stomach upon surveying a large crowd. He felt pride, and joy, and he honestly didn’t care what they saw on his face.

He desperately looked over from one set of stands to another, gaping at the thousands of people before him – Pro Heroes were whispering to each other in the front rows, and the Management students seemed to be discussing marketing plans for him. His eyes caught onto a familiar pair of nearly-black eyes in the audience, in the third row to the front – just where he said he’d be standing. Himura had his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed – likely at Izuku’s recklessness – but when their eyes met, his thin lips curled up into a genuine smile and a nod.

Izuku grinned back at him, finally swiping at his eyes and facing the world. That alone meant more to him than Himura could ever know. This was vindication; the knowledge that all the time Himura had invested in him – it had been worth it.

Nature does not know extinction; all it knows is transformation.

This was a quote from a nearly-ancient scientist – back before quirks began to populate, and much before nearly everyone in the world was in possession of one. And yet there was still something to be learned from it.

Maybe one day, Dr. Tsubasa and the other scientists would be right. Maybe everyone quirkless would be extinct. But that didn’t necessarily mean they wouldn’t exist. It was more of a state of mind than a state of being. Quirklessness might go away, but the feelings of worthlessness and superiority will always persist. It exists in the girl with the weather quirk, crackling lightning and rain down on the other girl with only a music quirk. It exists in the boy with the fire, swirling his flames around the screaming girl with the paper quirk. It exists in the boy with the wings, flying far above the world and cackling in delight at everyone still crumpled on the ground. It exists in far-away, remote places and anywhere just down the street; it exists in people on another continent but also someone standing right next to you, or maybe it just exists in you, yourself. This victory is for Izuku, and for everyone else that is quirkless, but it’s also for Shinsou, and Takahashi, and the girl from his middle school who could only change the colours of different objects, and even every screaming member of the crowd who has ever wanted to be something and felt that they couldn’t do it.

This moment belongs to everyone, because no one should be loved or vilified only for their quirk. Your quirk is not who you are. And in this brief moment of time, where reality was eclipsed by hope – Izuku could even believe that it was the truth.

“Is that…?” Backdraft began to ask in astonishment, looking up at the screen.

“Oh,” Kamui Woods said, frowning. “Yes, if I remember correctly, he’s from last year…”

“That quirkless kid, right? He really doesn’t have a quirk?”

“Didn’t use one here, as far as I can see. It must be the truth.”

“Wow,” Backdraft said, momentarily stunned. “Who would have thought…”

Far above the two heroes frozen in front of the wide television screen, up in the rafters – the whole panel of staff and teachers at U.A. sat in just as much shock, clapping nonetheless. Snipe was standing up and applauding loudly, elbowing Ectoplasm in the side.

“What did I tell you?” he said smugly. “My students this year are something special.”

“The kid’s definitely special, I’ll give you that,” Ectoplasm muttered. “I almost thought we’d have to call an ambulance after that stunt on the minefield. So reckless.”

“Ah, but it worked,” Snipe countered. Ectoplasm snorted.

“I know you’d approve,” Ectoplasm taunted, “you’re the one who runs into every situation, guns blazing.”

Cementoss sighed and looked down upon hearing the terrible joke.

“Of course, everyone knows who the real reckless one is,” Ectoplasm said, “what did you think of the kid, All Might?”

There was only silence.

“All Might?”

Yagi Toshinori had his face turned up to the screen with his jaw slack and eyes wide enough that his irises looked like mere dots of blue in a black sea. He shifted his jaw to the left and slowly leaned back, eyebrows knotted together. His hands were clasped uncomfortably.

“That boy – Midoriya Izuku,” Toshinori corrected, feeling the taste of his name on his tongue, “is he quirkless?”

Snipe tilted his head at him.

“Yes – how did you know?” he asked curiously, ignoring Vlad King’s exclamation of surprise and Ectoplasm’s shock.

“Just a feeling,” Toshinori muttered, sinking back into his seat and feeling his heart pick up speed in his chest.

Todoroki stood a few metres behind Izuku, letting out puffs of cold mist. Bakugou was hunched over on the left side of the field, hands on his knees as he caught his breath. Izuku couldn’t see his face, but when he squinted, he thought he could see Bakugou’s shoulders trembling. The sun was creeping up the bottom half of the sky and casting long shadows, but Bakugou was still enveloped in the light and it glinted off his white-blond hair and skin, making him glow. Still, for once, no one was truly paying him any attention – and hunched over like that, he appeared to be devoid of his usual fury and instead suffused with disappointment. For a moment, he almost seemed like a real person – but the facade was soon ruined by the sparks flying around his hands, burning up and flickering out in mid-air.

“Midoriya-kun! You did so well!” Uraraka exclaimed as she latched onto his arm. Izuku yelped and drew back his arm in surprise as he whipped his head away from Bakugou.

“Uraraka-kun?”

“I can’t believe I fell so far behind, even using my quirk! I have such a long way to go!” she burst out, pouting as she brushed the hair out of her face.

“It was nothing,” he tried to say, but Uraraka cut him off again.

“Don’t be so modest – it was great!” she insisted. “You didn’t even need a quirk to leave us all in the dust.”

Iida nodded stiffly at Uraraka’s statement, as he joined them. 

“Indeed, you set quite an example for hero students to follow! None of us should be overconfident despite our quirk training!” he declared, bowing.

“N-No, you guys all did so well, too – ” Izuku said, trying to convince them of their own skill, but he was again cut off.

“The first game of the first-year stage is finally over,” Midnight announced in a booming voice. Her words were like the cold bucket of water thrown over someone’s head to wake them up, and the crowds sobered immediately, intent on listening to what happened next.

“Let’s take a look at the results!”

As it turned out, forty-two participants were allowed into the next round. Todoroki had come second and Bakugou had come third. Izuku’s lips curled up slightly at the news. Turns out Kacchan wasn’t so unreachable, after all. Most of the other qualifiers were part of Class 1-A and Class 1-B, as expected. Shinsou had qualified as well – Izuku had expected nothing else, and he smiled wryly at the news. But to his great surprise, they weren’t the only two of Class 1-C in the qualifiers.

Furuya had somehow pushed his way into the forty-first spot – but the more shocking news was that Hirai had taken the forty-second spot, edging out Aoyama Yuuga of Class 1-A. His mouth dropped open at the news and he immediately whipped his head around to look for her. Her halo of white hair was already traipsing peacefully in his direction like a lazy cloud, though she did look rather tired and sweaty. Her eyelids were dragging further down than usual.

“Hirai-kun! You made it!” Izuku called to her excitedly. “I thought you weren’t interested in things like this!”

She walked up to him, lethargically taking her place next to him in the crowd in front of Midnight.

“I’m not,” she answered simply. Izuku frowned and opened his mouth, but Midnight began to speak before he could question her further.

“Don’t worry if you didn’t make it – we’ve prepared other chances for you to shine!” she declared cheerfully, licking her lips and narrowing her eyes playfully. A few boys in front of Izuku shifted uncomfortably.

“The real competition begins next – the press will be all over it! Make sure to give it your all!”

She cracked her whip, and in response, the slots on the screen behind her again began to whir and spin in various strips of colour while the students watched on anxiously. Finally –

‘Cavalry battle’ flashed on the screen.

“Cavalry battle? How will that work – it’s a team event, right?” Izuku heard a hero student ask nervously.

“Let me explain,” Midnight announced, interrupting the murmurs before they started in earnest. “The participants can form teams of two to four people, as they wish. It’s like a regular cavalry battle, but… the first round did happen for a reason, you know.”

She laughed into her hand at the dumbstruck students in front of her.

“Based on the results of the first stage, everyone has been assigned a point value,” she began.

“Oh, so the value of a team depends on its members,” he heard Uraraka mutter to a girl with pink hair and pink skin.

Midnight cracked her whip in sudden rage.

“Do you not hold back even when I’m talking?” she snapped. She crossed her arms in disgruntlement at Uraraka’s sheepish smile and continued.

“As I was saying,” she sniffed, “there is a point system. It goes up by five, starting from the bottom. But U.A. likes to keep things interesting… so the value assigned to first place is ten million points!”

Izuku’s heart, which had soared up higher and higher during these last few minutes, dropped down to his stomach in one second flat. He had the bizarre feeling that something was stuck in his throat, but swallowing hard didn’t dislodge anything. 

Ten million!?

A dozen heads whipped around in Izuku’s direction. He gulped nervously, wiping his palms against his pants, and studiously avoided everyone’s gazes. He felt like the last morsel of food in a pack of wolves, all of whom were circling him and figuring out the best way to devour him whole.

“That’s right,” Midnight called in amusement, heedless – or perhaps indifferent – to Izuku’s plight, “it’s survival of the fittest, with a chance for those at the bottom to overthrow the top! Just to make sure things are fair.”

She winked at the audience and stepped off the stage, presumably to let everyone form their teams. A storm of muttering began, with some students already grabbing the elbows of their friends to form groups. Every now and then, someone would glance over at Izuku, look him up and down, and then inevitably whisper something to the person standing next to them.

In a crowd full of people, at the top of the pack – Izuku had never felt more alone.

Chapter Text

“What can he even do?”

“I didn’t notice him at all.”

“Quirkless, quirkless, quirkless – ”

Izuku shook his head. That last part was just something out of his own imagination, but he couldn’t help but envision everyone’s lips moving to form that single word. What else could they even be talking about? How did they already have so much to discuss?

The eyes looking at him, staring at him, boring into him – it wasn’t like it was in middle school. Pressure began to slowly crush his chest.

Midnight stepped back onto the stage, waving the crowd of students into silence again.

“Before you really get into it, I will explain all the rules of the cavalry battle,” she said. “The time limit is fifteen minutes. Each team is worth the total of its members’ points, and the riders will wear a headband with that number on their foreheads. Teams will try to grab each other’s headbands until time runs out and try to keep as many points as they can. Stolen headbands must be worn from the neck up – so the more you steal, the harder it will be to manage them.

“The most important thing – even if your headband gets stolen, or if your team falls, you’re not out! And don’t forget – you can use every advantage you have,” she went on with a wicked smile.

“So please feel free to use your quirks however you can. But it is still a cavalry battle. You’ll be removed immediately for attacks that are intended to make people fall on purpose.

“Now I will formally give you time to create your teams. You have fifteen minutes.”

Everyone immediately turned away from the stage, running to grab friends or negotiate with other students. The muttering around him was incessant to the point where Izuku thought he could nearly understand how everyone else felt when he spoke.

Points don’t matter for me, Izuku thought. I just need to find people to be on my team. But that’s easier said than done. I’d be lucky to find even one person, and a team of only two would be crushed almost immediately.

His eyes flitted over to Bakugou – what he could see of him, at least. Bakugou’s classmates were already surrounding him, clearly begging him for a chance to join his team. The only crowd that rivalled his was that of Todoroki, who also had to contend with students practically throwing themselves at his feet. In contrast, there was a comically wide berth around Izuku. People seemed to be avoiding eye contact with him entirely.

“Midoriya-kun, I understand that we fulfill the basic requirements of a team, but I’m surprised you’re not searching for any more members,” Hirai said curiously, suddenly at his back. Izuku yelped and jumped a little in surprise.

“H-Hirai-kun?” he said, shocked and almost afraid he had misheard her. “You mean – you want to be on my team?”

Hirai blinked at him, looking utterly lost.

“Who else would I ask?”

“Anyone else! Is it really okay? Everyone will be chasing us,” Izuku said anxiously, unsure why he was now trying to convince her otherwise.

“But you want to win, right? So how does that matter?”

Izuku gaped at her, almost disbelieving of her utter faith in him. She really didn’t care about the stress plaguing the entire situation – she just had that much confidence that he would win. Why couldn’t he ever feel the same way about himself?  

He shook his head. This was no time to wonder at it all – for now, he accepted her gratefully. Hirai would make a great addition to his team. He knew her quirk already, for one, and he could already think of several ways to use it that would work out in his favour.

“You’re right – I’m sorry,” he said. “Thank you. Let’s look for more members.”

Keeping their eyes peeled, they walked around, trying to scout out for any stragglers left behind in the decision-making process, any loners standing at the back, or better yet – anyone that Izuku actually knew. Bakugou already had a boy with spiky red hair standing next to him, along with a girl with pink skin and a rather plain-looking boy with black hair. He glanced around in vain for Iida or Uraraka – only to find Iida at the helm of Todoroki’s team, next to a girl with a long black ponytail and that boy with the lightning quirk. Izuku’s eyes met Iida’s briefly. Iida glanced away for a moment, perhaps in mild embarrassment. Izuku nodded at him reassuringly, trying to convey that he wasn’t angry.

Uraraka seemed to be sticking with a short girl with dark green hair and wide eyes. He immediately grabbed Hirai’s sleeve, intending to head over – but was stopped in his tracks when a tall boy with a mask over the bottom half of his face began to speak to them, all three of them nodding their heads. It was true that they were missing one member, but –

Izuku glanced to Hirai.

If he wanted to join Uraraka and her fellow hero students, he probably could have – Uraraka likely would have vouched for him. But sometimes the safety net of such a decision wasn’t worth the price that one needed to pay. Hirai sought him out when no one else did, treating it like an inevitable decision. He wouldn’t abandon her for an easier approach to this challenge.

Sighing, he turned to keep looking. He briefly caught a flash of purple hair, but it was surrounded by other people. His options were essentially exhausted. He was almost contemplating a strategy that really would involve only the two of them, despite how unlikely success would be if it came to that.  

“There you are!” an excited voice called. Izuku whirled around.

“You would think that it would be easier to find someone who stands out so much,” a girl with pink hair and huge goggles muttered to herself. “Team up with me, boy who got first place!”

“Who are you?” Izuku blurted out, confused by her immediate request to work together. The girl laughed.

“I am Hatsume Mei, from the Support Course! Who else?”

Suddenly, the memory of a girl who went flying over the chasms in the obstacle course using a grappling hook and hovering boots came rushing back to him. It was frankly astonishing that he could forget her excitable, maniacal laugh as she went sailing over everyone’s heads.

“I don’t know you, but you’re in a good position,” Hatsume said eagerly. “The big companies will be watching me and my babies for sure if I’m on the team that will be most-watched!”

“B-Babies?” Izuku sputtered. Hatsume gestured to her body, which was laden with all sorts of metallic devices.  

“I think you could seriously benefit from my equipment,” she rattled on like she was giving a sales pitch – maybe she was – and she opened up a chest of the aforementioned equipment. “I – ”

“It’s alright, I understand,” Izuku interrupted, although he eyed the devices inside with great interest. The jetpack, the boots, the other silvery objects – Hatsume would clearly make a good asset to his team as well. Clearly, she relied on equipment rather than quirks, too – and he couldn’t deny that that particular piece of information hadn’t struck a chord with him. Besides, it wasn’t like anyone else was begging to join his team.

“You’re in,” he said, watching a huge smile break out over Hatsume’s face. “Now, if we could find one more person, someone to support us – that would be perfect.”

But no one else would come forward – would they? He frowned, absently kicking the dirt. Surely this was everyone who would have dared to join him. He had merely gotten lucky with Hatsume’s insistence, to be honest.

But maybe he had spoken too soon, because much to his disbelief, a familiar pair of shoes came fumbling up to him during his intense staring contest with the ground. He looked up slowly, only to see Furuya awkwardly splitting his gaze between Izuku and some far-off cloud in the distance. Eye contact appeared to make him uncomfortable.

“Midoriya,” he said. “I want to join your team.”

For a moment, Izuku only stared at him. It was such a strange mirror of a situation that should really no longer matter – but for a second, Izuku could only think of the day when their eyes met before and Furuya still unflinchingly chose everyone around him, everyone but him. It would have been so easy to give in to his petty, vindictive urge to say no. His urge to make someone else feel the burn of humiliation at being picked last, of sticking out of the crowd, of doing everything and still receiving nothing. Hatsume and Hirai weren’t what he expected, but he could make do with their talents. He didn’t need Furuya – not like Furuya needed him now, upon seeing everyone else already preparing with their friends.

But Furuya’s lone figure, hunched over and uncomfortable and quiet in a way that was so different from his usual stubborn resolve… it just seemed wrong.

And truth be told, as much as Izuku told himself he didn’t need Furuya, having him on board would certainly help.

“Alright,” Izuku said, and Furuya’s head jerked up to look at him. Even Hirai tilted her head at him in mild surprise. Izuku continued to speak before either could say anything.

“Thank you,” he said, although it was probably a bit stiff, “we have a full team now. And… I think I have a way for us to win.”

***

“Time’s up!” Midnight called to the crowd. “We’re about to get started!”

The crowd cheered loudly.

“After fifteen minutes to make teams and develop strategies, the cavalry teams are now lined up on the field!” Present Mic said.

“Interesting teams out there,” Aizawa commented.

“Interesting is one word for it,” Present Mic laughed. “Now, let’s get going! I won’t ask if you’re ready or not. Counting down to the brutal battle royale! Three…”

Izuku tightened the headband around his forehead.

“Two!”

He adjusted his seat behind Furuya’s shoulders, with Hatsume and Hirai gripping his legs.

“One!”

He leaned forward in anticipation.

“Start!” Midnight shouted, swishing her whip through the air.

Sudden sounds of stomping and shouting filled the air as all the students began to move. The arena was a mess of limbs, everyone running straight at Izuku and his team with their expressions reflecting no mercy.

Izuku swallowed.

Furuya shifted in front of him.

“They’re coming right at us,” he murmured. “No delay at all.”

“It’s fine,” Izuku said, narrowing his eyes, “we’ll be out of the way soon.”

Suddenly, Hirai gasped.

“We’re sinking!” she said in dismay, upon seeing her shoes become enveloped in mud. Izuku gritted his teeth. It had to be now.

“I hope your inventions really work, Hatsume-kun!” he called as he pressed down on a button, hard. The jetpack on his back immediately ignited itself and powered up.

Within five seconds, Izuku and the supporting members of his team were launched up into the air at breakneck speeds, wind whipping through their hair and faces.

“There are a pair of extended earlobes headed our way,” Hirai observed nonchalantly as they continued to jet upwards. Furuya immediately stretched out his arm and slapped away the long, winding ligaments.

“Nice job!” Izuku called out excitedly, as they finally reached the peak of their arc. Slowly, they began to fall once more with gravity dragging down their bulky weights – but Hatsume’s hovering boots slowed their descent back to the ground on the other side of the arena. Fewer teams were congregated here – most were still confused, stuck at Izuku’s starting point and trying to regain their momentum.

“My babies are really impressive, aren’t they?” Hatsume asked, bouncing up and down in excitement.

“They’re amazing!” Izuku said, smiling as they continued to run to another isolated point on the field. Some of the teams had picked up speed and were beginning to follow them again.

“Barely two minutes have passed and there’s already too much going on to even process!” Present Mic announced with enthusiasm. “Fights for the headbands are happening everywhere across the arena! Collecting other headbands is a valid strategy, too – the first-place team isn’t the only one moving on, after all!”

They stopped moving for a moment, and Izuku turned to survey the arena. One team with a silver-haired boy at the forefront was speeding towards him. He squinted, trying to find an opening elsewhere, but as he turned to the right –

Izuku gasped. The boy with the mask covering the bottom half of his face was racing towards them, alongside a boy with the head of a bird. It wasn’t the appearance of another team that shocked him, nor was it the looks of the two members. No, it was the incredibly inhuman speed with which they were moving – it was almost as if one of them had a speed quirk, although that was unlikely given their appearances. They would have had mutant-type quirks. And yet they were still moving towards him significantly faster than the other teams.

“We need to go back up!” Izuku called down, getting frantic, “we’re being boxed in from both sides! Get ready!”

Izuku hurriedly pressed the red launch button and felt the jetpack vibrate on his back. It began to heat up.

But the second his team had been lifted into the air, Izuku felt an overwhelming change in momentum as his team suddenly lost their grips on his feet and fell downward. He gaped as he noticed the form of a huge, black shadow gripping the ankles of Hatsume, Hirai, and Furuya, causing them to crash back down and stumble clumsily on the dirt. Izuku landed with a thump on Hatsume and Hirai’s shoulders, hands reaching forward desperately for purchase. Fortunately, he managed to balance himself, gasping for breath as his fingers tightened in their school uniform shirts.

He whipped his head back around to see the boy with the bird’s head and the boy with the mask right where they were before – and then yelped, ducking, as a long, red strip came flying towards his forehead only a moment later.

What was that? What was happening?

He ducked again as he noticed the flash of red in his periphery, only barely missing contact. He squinted forward, and his eyes widened as he noticed what was inside the masked boy’s arms. He had previously thought this was only a two-member team, but inside was the girl with long, dark green hair – as well as Uraraka, grinning at him devilishly. His mind flashed back to Uraraka and the green-haired girl talking to the boy with the mask. Suddenly, the strategy of Uraraka’s team was making complete sense – it was no wonder they were able to move so quickly. Uraraka had been making them weightless.

“You didn’t really think we’d let you get away so easily, did you?” she taunted as the other girl’s pinkish tongue came whipping towards him for the third time. Furuya outstretched his arm and slapped it away before Izuku could even react.

“What now?” Furuya growled. The bird-headed boy had a dark, cloud-like mist forming around him, taking the shape of a bird’s shadow. The shadow-creature reached out for his headband, while the girl’s tongue snapped at him again. Izuku twisted in place, waving his hands in the air in an attempt to avoid contact with both members of Uraraka’s team, but panicked as his hand passed through the black shadow. He tried to cover his head again, making the headband harder to reach, and squinted through the space he’d made under his crossed arms.

His eyes widened as he saw that the tongue was no longer whipping out at him anymore. There was a large, grey cloud in front of Uraraka’s team; it was blocking Izuku’s view of them, but it was also blocking their view of Izuku. The green-haired girl could no longer see where to aim.

Izuku almost looked down in his eagerness to thank Hirai for her intervention, but yelped as he saw that the shadow wasn’t letting up. He lurched towards the left in order to avoid it again, with Furuya’s arm coming up as well.

The shadow… it seemed that the bird-headed boy didn’t need to see in order to use his quirk. His quirk, this shadow – it was sentient. A companion. A creature that could make decisions without reliance on the owner’s specific instructions, and a creature that could fly, travel great distances, and attack or defend with great force. It was incredibly powerful, and if Izuku had the time, he would want to analyze the depths of such a quirk. Unfortunately, as the creature’s glowing eyes and sharp beak-like protrusion continued to bear down on him, he was running incredibly short of time. For now, they needed to leave. He hit the button again and the jetpack ignited itself.

“Get ready to launch!” he yelled. Once more, they had made it a few feet off the ground, just as the silver-haired boy’s team arrived. And once more, Izuku could see the dark shadow dragging Izuku’s team down by their ankles. He frantically pushed at the launch button over and over, but the jetpack’s burst of ignition only seemed to glow brighter without actually giving them more force.

Surprisingly, the shadow seemed to wince away and its grip loosened for a mere moment, evident as Izuku felt a sudden release of momentum. A second later, however, the shadow returned – determined as ever – and it pulled down harshly, finishing the job as Izuku came crashing down on Furuya’s back, hands gripping Hirai and Hatsume’s shoulders. They stumbled to the ground yet again.

But this time, they were completely surrounded on both sides.

“That headband is mine!” the silver-haired boy with sharp teeth growled at the bird-headed boy.

“You seem to be mistaken,” the bird-headed boy responded calmly, narrowing his eyes. “We were here first.”

“Are we going to have a diplomatic conversation, or are we going to fight?” Uraraka shouted from inside the cave of the masked boy’s arms. The masked boy nodded, seeming to convey his agreement with her statement. Izuku glanced between them, breathing heavily as he tried to catch up with the new circumstances of their altercation. If he could pit the two teams against each other, that would work out in his favour. The problem was simply that they would both see him as the common goal. Their headbands were worth nothing in comparison to what his own team had to offer.

He just needed one opening, and then he could use that to launch his team up in the air again.

Izuku wracked his brain, mind in shambles as he kept turning over various, half-baked schemes. Despite the tight position, despite the fact that he didn’t know half of the quirks of the people surrounding him, despite the fact that he didn’t know what would happen next – his mind still latched onto one thing: the shadow. Uncertainty flickered behind Izuku’s eyes. He had a vague notion on how to escape, but it would all depend on his one assumption, a wild guess he was making after observing a split-second moment that struck him as somewhat odd during the chaos that had just occurred. He took a deep breath.

“Hirai-kun,” he whispered, as he noted with dismay that the ground around his team was softening into quicksand again. “Create a cloud of brown mist on the ground. And when I say your name again, I want you to make a large flame right under us.”

Izuku couldn’t see it, but he could already tell Hirai was frowning in confusion. Nevertheless, she created a thin layer of brown mist on the ground, around the ankles of all three teams.

The girl with green hair was already whipping her tongue out. The silver-haired boy was leading a charge right towards Izuku.

“Midoriya-kun, light is not an object,” Hirai whispered urgently, “I can’t make fire.”

Furuya’s left arm slapped away the flying tongue. Hatsume launched some metal object at the silver-haired boy’s team in an attempt to slow them down, although it merely clanged against his suddenly-silver skin.

“I know,” he said grimly, “but you can make it seem like you can. And that has to be enough.”

Izuku glanced to the right.

“Furuya,” he said urgently, leaning forward. “Grab the vines before they reach us. Let them cover your arm. And then just yank your arm as far back as you can.”

“What?” Furuya questioned, clearly confused. The right side, where the silver-covered boy was at the front, was entirely empty – until a large cluster of vines grew out of a girl’s head, flying towards Izuku like sharp, arrow-like projectiles. Furuya’s hand unthinkingly shot out to intercept it, and Izuku could hear him grunt as the thorns prickled his skin. Obedient still, he yanked his arm back, bringing the vines with him.

The girl with the vines yelped, eyes widening – she clearly didn’t expect the additional momentum that came with Furuya’s elastically stretched-out arm extending back a few metres – and she stumbled forward. Unbalanced, she fell to her knees – right into the softened ground that her other team member had caused. Her entire team came to a screeching halt, struggling to make sure their rider wouldn’t fall.

“Honenuki-kun! Why did you soften the ground here?” she cried helplessly, anxiously attempting to get back to her feet – to no avail.

“Didn’t you see it?” one of the boys – Honenuki – asked.

“No! The ground looked fine to me!” she said, upset.

Izuku’s lips quirked upward, but he quickly turned his head back to Uraraka’s team instead of celebrating prematurely. They, too, were distracted for a moment by how the other team was incapacitated, but they obviously wanted to capitalize on the opportunity by getting to Izuku’s headband before the silver-covered boy and his teammates regained their bearings. Already, Izuku could see the girl’s tongue whipping out at him again. Furuya slapped it away. The dark shadow with glowing eyes emanated out from the bird-headed boy’s body again, eager to take the place of the girl’s tongue. Izuku inhaled slowly and pressed the red button for the third time.

“Hirai-kun!” he cried as the jetpack ignited. They shot upwards, and again, the shadow was hot on their heels, already outstretched to grab at their ankles. But Hirai – having heard her name – created a large blanket of flickering orange and yellow spikes beneath them, interspersed with red wisps floating outward. Izuku forced himself to look down, despite the growing height difference and wind pressures making him dizzy.

He watched as the shadow – which had previously been darting towards them – instinctively stopped in its tracks upon reaching the cloud of orange, yellow, and red. It hesitated for a moment before crashing through the illusion, breaking up Hirai’s carefully-constructed simulation of fire.

But the shadow had hesitated for a second too long.

Izuku, Furuya, Hirai, and Hatsume were already up in the air again, having escaped from the clutches of Uraraka’s team. 

“We actually got away from them!” Furuya called out, amazed. “How did that happen?”

“It was all thanks to Hirai-kun,” Izuku gasped out as he finally stopped looking down, struggling to face the right direction to avoid excessive wind in his face. “The mist on the ground caused the girl with the vines to assume it was just dust, so she didn’t see the ground that her other teammate had already softened. And I noticed that the shadow-creature loosened its grip on your ankles when the jetpack let out an extra burst of light, earlier – so I guessed that its weakness would be light itself.”

“But how did you know about their quirks? And Hirai can’t make light, that’s not her quirk,” Furuya pointed out.

“The boy softened the ground around us at the beginning of this round, and the girl with the vines was near the front during the Obstacle Course, so I noticed her quirk,” Izuku explained, “and Hirai didn’t make light. She made something that looked like light, so that the shadow-creature would hesitate for long enough for us to get away.”

“I don’t even – I can’t believe you noticed all that,” Furuya muttered.

“Not that this isn’t a fun time to praise each other about our strategies, but I think we have another problem,” Hatsume piped up, still sounding strangely cheerful despite all their near-misses.

“What?” Izuku said, frowning as he craned his neck downward once again. His eyes widened.

Kacchan?

Out of nowhere, Izuku was stunned to see that Bakugou was setting off explosions beneath him as he launched himself into the sky, right behind Izuku and his team. His telltale screeching soon carried itself through the air.

“Don’t think this is over so soon!” Bakugou shouted, catching up to Izuku and vaulting in the air above him so that he would land in front of Izuku, facing him. Bakugou, it seemed, had completely abandoned his team in order to chase Izuku up into the clouds.

“Deku!” Bakugou roared as his hands lit up while reaching towards Izuku’s forehead.

“Furuya-kun, pull him upwards!” Izuku cried out as he instinctively covered his face.

For a brief moment, Izuku could feel the heat upon his skin. He could feel the beads of sweat begin to form on his scalp, and the light stinging and tingling sensation on his skin, despite how he had previously been shivering due to the high altitude and unforgiving winds. His face felt like it had been touched by fire.

And then it was gone.

Because Furuya had not only looped his arm in a high arc above all their heads, grabbing Bakugou and pulling him upwards by the collar, but he had also used his own arm as some kind of rubber band slingshot – he let his arm stretch out completely, and then retracted it back to normal instantly as he aimed downwards. Bakugou went flying back towards the ground.

As Izuku’s team moved to descend as well, Izuku leaned over and looked down, concerned over his former friend falling from the sky. But his shoulders slumped and he breathed out a sigh of relief as he saw a boy with black hair shoot tape out of his elbows and catch Bakugou before he became a mere stain on the arena grounds.

“Let’s land over there!” Izuku called out over the winds, pointing to a clear section of the arena as they slowly travelled down through the air. Once they hit the ground, they ran forward to one corner of the arena near the audience stands. The screams were deafening. Izuku winced, holding his hands to his ears.

“As expected, everyone is after the first-place team – but no one has touched them just yet. Their headbands are all still intact! It’s amazing – a group of General Education and Support students are managing to evade every Hero student in the area!” Present Mic gushed. “Let’s take a look at each team’s points… it’s been seven minutes, and here are the current rankings up on the screen!”

Izuku glanced to his sides, not seeing anyone in the immediate vicinity. He took the chance to crane his neck up at the screen.

“What? That’s strange…” Present Mic said. “The lauded Class 1-A isn’t in the top four at all!”

He’s right, Izuku realized as he continued to stare.

In fact, Bakugou’s team had zero points. How did that happen?

He didn’t have to look very far to deduce what had transpired – Bakugou’s screams of fury could soon be heard all over the arena. One of the blond-haired boys in Class 1-B had grabbed his headbands and seemed to be taunting him while still only standing a few feet away. Brows furrowed, Izuku shifted his attention to the teams that were made up of members of Class 1-B. It was true that one of their teams had already come after him – the silver-covered boy and his friends, obviously – but he hadn’t really seen any of the others. They didn’t bother going after his team at all.

But why?

Because everyone only looked at who was in first place, Izuku realized. Who was the flashiest, who was drawing attention to themselves.

In the preliminary rounds, Class 1-B likely could have gotten much further ahead in the rankings… but they chose not to, in order to preserve the secrecy of their quirks while also studying their opponents. And now, by letting Class 1-A bask in their spotlights – Class 1-B was pulling ahead, grabbing their headbands while they were too distracted by the chance to gain total victory.

It was a valid strategy. An extremely smart one, if Izuku was being honest. And if Izuku didn’t have the winning headband himself, perhaps he could have employed a similar tactic.

Except… he probably wouldn’t have. 

It was all well and good for Class 1-B to quietly slide into the second round on the coattails of Class 1-A, or carefully build their way up to the third round. But if Izuku was only squeaking by in each round, there would be less talk of his skill and more of his luck. For better or for worse, he needed everyone to pay attention to him, for them to know that he could face hero students head-on without simply taking advantage of their distraction and flying under the radar. He needed to show everyone that he was impressive, too.

So perhaps this was a blessing in disguise. Because if 1-B was focused on moving forward rather than claiming the spotlight that came with first place, it meant that they wouldn’t try as hard to come after him. Even more importantly, they had made an enemy out of Bakugou. Izuku could already see how Bakugou was frothing at the mouth, barking commands out to the red-haired boy beneath him to follow the blond boy in Class 1-B. A stolen headband was also stolen pride – and Bakugou would never let that go unpunished. Class 1-B had effectively taken the target off Izuku’s back.

A small smile graced Izuku’s face.

“It’ll be easier to get away now,” Izuku said, “since we don’t have to worry about everyone coming after us!”

Izuku kept his team running forward, toward the edges of the arena – but suddenly gasped and called for Furuya to stop moving, halting Hirai and Hatsume in their tracks as well. They both stumbled a bit, with Hirai standing on her toes to see what had caused them to freeze up.

Perhaps it was fitting that it was none other than Todoroki in front of them, riding atop the back of Iida. The girl with the black ponytail was on his left, while the boy with the lightning quirk was on his right. But it was hard for him to shift his gaze away from Todoroki, whose eyes were narrowed at him in something like concentration or disdain. It was difficult to discern what exactly he was feeling, when the rest of his face was so blank, but it was unsettling all the same. It was almost as if Izuku had personally offended him in some way.

“There is less than half of the original time remaining,” Present Mic announced over the loudspeakers. In the wake of the cheers that followed, Todoroki eyed the crowd for a brief moment and then turned back to Izuku.

“I’ll be taking that,” Todoroki said calmly.

Izuku swallowed in response.

He didn’t think he would be challenged directly so soon – not by Todoroki, that is, who seemed to value strategy as well. In a challenge like this, and with a powerful team, the ideal situation would be one where the ten-million-point headband was grabbed from Izuku within the last minute. The longer someone had the headband, the more dangerous this game became for them. Everyone, including Class 1-B, was avoiding Todoroki’s team because they likely knew it would be difficult to steal headbands from such a powerful combination of members – it wasn’t worth the possibility that they would lose their own headbands.

But if Todoroki took Izuku’s headband now, people would definitely get desperate enough to try to attack Todoroki’s team. Was he that confident he could handle them for another seven minutes?

Izuku’s eyes roved over Todoroki’s determined expression.

Of course he was.

“Brace yourselves,” Izuku whispered as his team fled from Todoroki’s team, close to the arena’s inner boundary. “Todoroki’s team isn’t the only one coming for us.”

Furuya gave a startled jump in front of him as he turned his head and noticed that there were perhaps three other teams racing in their direction.

“Yaoyorozu, prepare to protect us!” Todoroki commanded as Iida suddenly jetted forward, carrying the rest of his team with him.

Protect them?

Izuku looked at the boy with the lightning quirk, then back at the girl – Yaoyorozu. It seemed like something was coming out of her stomach – and although he was curious, Izuku quickly averted his eyes in embarrassment. Either way, it was clear what was going to happen as he noticed yellow crackles emanating from the blond boy’s fingertips. The part that concerned him the most was the sheer amount of power that he could sense coming from the boy.

Needless to say, it wouldn’t be a small electric shock.

Izuku’s heart picked up speed. It was too late for them to jump back up in the air – an electric charge coming from a lightning quirk wouldn’t necessarily stay on the ground. Lightning wasn’t attracted to any specific object – it would travel around the area indiscriminately. Even if they managed to travel a few metres up in the air, they would still be within range of the attack.

None of them had quirks suitable to protect from lightning. Illusions of protection wouldn’t stop the shock. Stretching out limbs to take the burden of the attack only ensured Furuya would be incapacitated, and thus become deadweight. Hatsume didn’t seem to have any physical-type quirk. It was just… themselves, and their equipment.

Their metal equipment.

Izuku’s eyes widened, and he scrambled to pull off his jetpack as he saw the yellow lightning crackle around Todoroki’s team, with a large insulator sheet protecting them from the high voltage.

“Hatsume-kun!” Izuku cried. “Do you still have your grappling hook with you?”

Hatsume startled from Izuku’s right side, but answered quickly.

“Of course I do, Ten Million! I would never part with one of my best creations!”

“Throw it to me!”

Hatsume ripped off the grappling hook from around her waist – it was an invention she called Wire Arrow, if Izuku recalled correctly from her impromptu sales pitch – and tossed it up to Izuku. Izuku hastily caught it from the air and began to place the grappling hook’s metallic waist attachment around the jetpack instead.

“What are you doing? They’re coming right at us!” Furuya shouted. Izuku shook his head, although he knew none of his team members could see it.

“Just trust me!” he said, still focused on his fumbling fingers. Finally, the waist attachment was secure around the body of the metal jetpack, which he held up in front of him.

The other teams that had approached this confrontation, eager to take advantage – Uraraka’s team, the team with the girl with earphone jacks, two of the teams from Class 1-B – began to seize and tremble in place, shrieking as the blond boy’s lightning struck them all. They were stopped in their tracks, unable to protect themselves from the shock. And now Izuku’s team was directly faced by the yellow crackle of lightning that was inching closer to them by the second –

Zip!

A sharp noise like a whistle hung in the air as Izuku threw the jetpack directly in front of himself and Furuya.

The lightning struck the metal backpack – which was connected to the waist attachment of Hatsume’s invention – and travelled down the wire to the arrow that Izuku had just lodged in the ground by pulling the latch to trigger the grappling hook.

Furuya seemed to be frozen in shock – as was Todoroki, Izuku noted, as he saw wide eyes staring back at him for a split-second before they narrowed once more. Todoroki immediately continued to rush forward, but this time he left a plateau of icy stalagmites in his wake – freezing the other teams in place, directly following the electric shock. Their cries of outrage filled the air as Todoroki reached over, serenely grabbing their headbands, as he passed through them like he was taking a brisk evening stroll.

“Todoroki took care of that group of teams in a single instant!” Present Mic praised.

“He froze them after Kaminari’s shock stopped them,” Aizawa interrupted. “He considered how a lot of people were able to avoid it in the Obstacle Course and adjusted accordingly.”

“What just happened? How did we avoid that?” Furuya asked, bewildered. Izuku opened his mouth to respond, but Hirai beat him to it.

“The scientific principles of electromagnetic fields,” Hirai said. “When there is a lightning storm, the clouds are charged positively – meaning that they seek negative charges. It’s not attracted to metal, but anything with a negative charge. However, metal is a good conductor. Midoriya-kun effectively created a lightning protection system by allowing the metal jetpack to absorb the brunt of the lightning attack, and then used the metallic wire-arrow connector to divert the charge into the ground and stabilize it. That’s essentially how tall buildings overcome lightning strikes as well.”

Izuku blinked.

“Uh, yeah, it’s just – positive and negative charges, you know? Grounding to direct the charge into the… ground,” Izuku finished lamely, stammering out his affirmation much less eloquently than Hirai.

“If not for that, it would have hit another negatively-charged object – likely you,” Hirai said to Furuya calmly.

“Me?” Furuya sputtered. “Negatively-charged?”

“Of course,” Hirai said solemnly, unfazed, “you’re very negative.”

Izuku couldn’t see Furuya’s face, but he was certain it was reddening. He bit back a laugh.

The aborted sound soon turned into a choking noise, however, upon seeing what Todoroki had done. Todoroki had not only frozen the other nearby competitors in place, but raised the spikes of ice higher into the air around them as his team continued to run towards Izuku. Walls of ice surrounded Izuku’s team on both sides, and Todoroki quickly froze the area behind his own team as well. Izuku’s team was closed off from all the other competitors… but he was trapped inside this prison of Todoroki’s making with Todoroki’s own team. There was no route of escape. The jetpack and grappling hook were embedded in the ground somewhere within the walls, and the distance was only growing as Izuku’s team scrambled to evade Todoroki. The jetpack couldn’t possibly be retrieved.  

“They have much greater offensive power than we do,” Hatsume noted.

“I know,” Izuku said, eyes narrowing, “but they don’t know that.”

“But they haven’t seen you use any quirk all day,” Furuya pointed out, “and they have been watching you, so either they know you don’t have one or they think you’re just not using one. They already know my quirk. They’ve seen Hirai’s quirk. And – I don’t even know what Hatsume’s quirk is!”

“Not relevant,” Hatsume said flippantly. “Not really useful for combat.”

“There you have it!” Furuya exclaimed. “We don’t have a leg to stand on.”

“Hatsume-kun and I can’t do much right now,” Izuku agreed, ignoring Hatsume’s gasp of protest, “but we can pretend that we can. Iida-kun knows Hirai-kun’s quirk, but he doesn’t know the extent of it. We can pretend that Hatsume-kun has a different quirk than she really does. So, we just have to make them see that we have a good amount of defensive or offensive power.”

“How?”

“Hirai-kun,” Izuku commanded, “make a tall, brown wall in front of Todoroki’s team, the same colour as the dirt on the ground.”

Hirai complied with his request. Immediately, there was a yelp from the blond boy – Kaminari, according to Aizawa – and, likely, an order from Todoroki to swerve around the wall, as Izuku could see them change their path.

“Now they must think Hatsume-kun has some kind of earth quirk,” Izuku said. “Make a large, inverted, dark brown cube on the ground in front of them, so that it looks like a pit.”

Again, Iida halted in his tracks. Todoroki was using his left arm to gesture them to the side. They travelled around the “pit”.

“We just keep running,” Izuku said as he directed his team away from Todoroki’s, yet again. “None of them have quirks that could stop something like an earth-manipulating quirk.”

“Couldn’t Todoroki just try to fill up the ‘pit’ we made with ice?” Furuya called up to Izuku as they sprinted near the edges of Todoroki’s ice walls.

“I thought so, too,” Izuku said, “but he must have expended a good amount of energy on creating these huge walls already. Creating a huge block of ice to fill in pits would be a waste. And creating a thin layer of ice to skate across would mean unbalancing his teammates. Not only that, but I’ve noticed something else. His ice… he’s not melting any of it, at all.”

Hirai created another “wall” of brown dirt in front of Todoroki’s team as they drew nearer. His team halted yet again, struggling to swerve and regain their momentum.

“Why would he bother? We’re caged in,” Hatsume questioned.

“Just look at him,” Izuku insisted, “his hair, his eyes, his hands… he only creates ice with his right hand. I haven’t seen him use his left one at any point during this competition.”

“And?”

“I think he has two quirks,” Izuku said, feeling some bitter part of him rise up with indignation at the thought of someone having so much power. He tried desperately to squash it down, knowing it wasn’t Todoroki’s fault if his suspicion was true – but some part of him burned with the knowledge of how unfair this world really was.

“He’s Endeavor’s son. His right side may produce ice… but I have a feeling his left side produces fire,” Izuku continued. “I don’t know why he’s not using it. Maybe it’s related to some kind of quirk recoil, maybe he can only use one side at a time within a certain period, maybe he just hasn’t needed it yet – I don’t know. All I know is that he’s not using it now.

“We just need to keep our distance, stay on his left side. If he continues to only freeze, he won’t be able to reach us without freezing Iida-kun, too. And he obviously can’t do that.

“These walls of ice are caging us in… but I think they’re caging him in, too.”

With Izuku’s deductions, his team seemed to come together beneath him with newfound confidence, knowing that they weren’t merely sitting ducks for Todoroki. Furuya stood firm in front, keeping his shoulders straight. Hirai and Hatsume widened their stances in determination.

“We’ll prevent Todoroki’s attacks this way,” Izuku said, “and Yaoyorozu and Iida-kun are mostly there for speed and support, not offensive power. The only problem is Kaminari. We have to stay as far away as possible and use Hirai-kun to prevent him from using his quirk at all. He won’t use it if he thinks it will harm his own teammates, or if it will cause him to run out of energy unnecessarily.”

“They’re coming again!” Furuya said suddenly. Izuku glanced back and nearly cursed as he saw sparks flying around Kaminari again.  

“Stay on his left, like I said,” Izuku instructed. “And Hirai-kun – you can make inanimate objects move, right? Like you do with the butterflies?”

“Yes,” she said, “but not movements that are too complicated.”

Izuku nodded to himself.

“Do you remember what their insulator sheet looked like? I want you to create something that’s as identical as possible. But don’t do it out in the open – I’m going to turn my back to them and make it look as though I’m pulling it out from behind me and over my head, like a blanket. I don’t want them to see that you’re creating it, or else Iida-kun will alert them.”

“But won’t they still be confused about where it’s from, Ten Million?” Hatsume asked, bouncing on her toes.

Izuku shrugged.

“Yes, but it’s better if they’re confused, instead of certain that it’s an illusion… Hirai-kun, create it now!” Izuku ordered suddenly, seeing Kaminari gather his lightning in his hands.

Izuku turned around as Hirai created the illusion of an insulator sheet moving over Izuku’s head to ‘cover’ himself and Furuya. He could hear the thudding footsteps of Todoroki’s team members come to a stop as they undoubtedly noticed the covering. The sounds of crackling electricity quieted almost immediately.

“What? What’s happening?” someone – probably Kaminari, by the sounds of it – cried.

“Hirai-kun, create a cloud of brown mist in front of Todoroki’s team,” Izuku instructed, although he still couldn’t see. As soon as Hirai confirmed that she had done so, Izuku touched the “insulator sheet” and it dissipated before him – unseen by any member of Todoroki’s team.

“He stopped charging up because he thought it would be useless to waste energy if we had an insulator sheet to protect ourselves with, too,” Furuya realized.

At a distance of approximately twenty metres away from them, the brown cloud suddenly dissipated. Someone on Todoroki’s team must have made contact with it.

“How do you have an insulator sheet? Does someone on your team have a creation quirk, too?” Kaminari questioned, yelling across the gap between them.

No one responded.

Todoroki shook his head and ordered Iida forward again. Izuku directed his team to Todoroki’s left side, and Izuku watched as Todoroki’s eyebrows furrowed, his lips twisting downward.

“There’s a more important question – where did those walls and that pit go?” Todoroki mused. Izuku glanced around, noticing that Hirai’s previous illusions were gone. He looked back down at Hirai, who, for a moment, looked stunned.

“Sorry, Midoriya-kun,” Hirai whispered. “Those walls were pretty big. And there’s a limit to the size of things I can create, remember? All of those illusions – when accumulated together – must have vanished once I reached my limit.”

Izuku shook his head.

“It’s fine,” he reassured. “It would have been difficult to maneuver around them and keep pretending that they were real, anyway. The problem is that we can’t use that trick to its full potential again – Iida-kun will have realized that Hatsume-kun has no earth manipulation quirk. And now he must know that was a fake insulator sheet.”

Leaving Todoroki’s team behind, Izuku again ordered his team to run by Todoroki’s left side. Hirai created another cloud of mist in front of them.

As they made their attempt to pass by, Furuya’s arm stretched out to grip Iida’s ankle, making him stumble, and causing Todoroki’s team to stop in order to regain their balance. Furuya, Hatsume, and Hirai kept running, carrying Izuku away to the other side of Todoroki’s self-imposed ice walls.

Like this, Izuku managed to keep eluding Todoroki – he wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but by staying on Todoroki’s left side and constantly putting up new illusions, he made it difficult for Todoroki’s team to move forward with any attacks. Knowing they were illusions didn’t mean that it wasn’t still difficult for them to maneuver around – Hirai was effectively blocking their vision, for one, and the psychology of the human mind was a difficult thing to overpower, for another. If the eyes process a hard, tall wall in front of you, your body will automatically hesitate even if your mind knows it’s not real.

Izuku had Hirai create large “walls” around Todoroki’s team every time they were getting too close. Kaminari didn’t discharge electricity for fear that the brunt of the attack would miss Izuku completely. Again and again, Todoroki’s team chased them around in the very cramped space to which they were all confined. Again and again, Izuku kept escaping. The frustration of Todoroki’s team was evident – they were exhausted from running around, only to get nowhere.

But Izuku’s plan was flimsy, and it couldn’t last forever.

The longer they used illusions, the more accustomed to the illusions Todoroki’s team grew. They began to pre-emptively reach out in order to dissipate any illusions before they could even fully form. Todoroki was only getting closer.

Izuku swallowed.

“Two minutes left!” Present Mic announced, utterly ignorant of the tension that was slowly rising higher and higher. “Todoroki made it so that he’d have the ten million points all to himself, to take as he desired. At least, that’s what I thought a few minutes ago! Incredibly, Midoriya and his team – of which none are hero students – have managed to evade them all this time!”

Iida ran forward again, led by Todoroki.

“Ten Million, get your head out of the clouds. The Hover Soles!” Hatsume whispered to him urgently. Izuku blinked.

“What?”

“My flight boots!” she said impatiently. “We can still use those!”

“The jetpack is gone,” Izuku said dumbly.

“Obviously,” Hatsume snorted. “But my boots can still let us hover for a few moments and move faster than they think we can. Let’s wait until they’re right in front of us, and speed away again!”

“Yes,” Izuku said, agreeing, feeling his heart beat faster. “And then – ”

“And then all the support companies will see how useful my boots are, even without the jetpack it was meant to be used with! They’ll be floored!” Hatsume laughed gleefully, clenching her fists.

Izuku blinked.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, “and also, we could still win.”

“That, too,” Hatsume said dismissively.

Sure enough, as Todoroki sped towards him, Izuku narrowed his eyes and waited for the right moment. Just as the other team reached Izuku’s, only a few metres away, Hatsume activated the Hover Soles and sent Izuku’s team careening to the right. Izuku could hear the growls of frustration from behind him.

“Okay, they’re coming back,” Izuku said as they stopped on the other side of the small clearing, his heart hammering in his chest, “and this round is almost over. Just a few more times – ”

“Kaminari, send out your lightning,” Todoroki commanded, having caught up again. Kaminari charged up and crackling yellow sparks zipped towards Izuku and his team. Hirai created another dust cloud, and Hatsume activated the Hover Soles again, but –

A shock overwhelmed Izuku’s body. He gasped and cried out, seizing in place as he felt his limbs move in strange directions of his own accord. He was frozen by Todoroki’s team, but not in the way he expected to be. Beneath him, he could hear the grunts of Furuya, who had also taken the brunt of Kaminari’s assault. His shoulders were shaking against Izuku’s legs.

“Recipro Burst!” Iida cried, and a blur moved by Izuku’s team so quickly that all Izuku could see was the wind and dust in his face.

All Izuku could feel was the headband being ripped free from his forehead.

He turned around in what felt like dreadful slow-motion – reminiscent of a particularly dramatic scene in a horror movie – to see Iida hunched over, with his stunned teammates only just barely holding onto him. For a moment, he met Iida’s eyes – Iida looked almost guilty for a brief second, but the triumphant grin lighting up his face soon overtook any semblance of remorse. Izuku understood, even if it felt like his heart would beat out of his chest and that some part of him was shrieking from the ‘betrayal’. Victory was important to everyone here.

“Amazing! At about one minute of time remaining, Team Todoroki makes a play for the ten-million-point headband – and they have it now! The tables have turned! Team Midoriya is suddenly left with zero points!” Present Mic exclaimed with joy. In contrast, Izuku felt like he was going to throw up.

“Get back in there!” he practically screeched at Furuya, while nudging Hirai and Hatsume forward. “Let’s run back towards them now, while they aren’t moving!”

“As long as they have Lightning Bolt on their side, we’re still at a disadvantage,” Hatsume pointed out. “Wouldn’t it be better if we just tried to get points from the other teams? We can probably break through some parts of these walls – ”

“No!” he shrieked manically. “I don’t know how the other points got split up! This is the only chance we have! I – we can’t lose it!”

“We won’t,” Hirai said firmly, suddenly butting in. “Let’s go.”

“But – ”

“Now,” Hirai said, interrupting Furuya before he could go on. Some dim corner of Izuku’s mind was shocked that ever-polite Hirai would ever interrupt anyone while they were speaking, but the major portion of his thoughts were teetering dangerously towards all-out panic.

“Use the Hover Soles,” Izuku said, pushing them forward, “I’m going to find out where the headband is. We can’t make a mistake by assuming.”

“They have, like, five headbands,” Furuya said, “how do you propose to find out which one is the right one?”

“When people are under attack,” Izuku breathed out as they drew closer to Todoroki, “they instinctively protect what is most important to them. Furuya-kun, get ready to catch me.”

“What!?”

As soon as Izuku’s team was within a five-metre range of Todoroki, Izuku used the shoulders of Hirai and Hatsume to push himself upright. And as they passed right by his left side, Izuku jumped off – again using their bodies as leverage – and leaped towards Todoroki with both hands outstretched.

Todoroki, who had previously been hunched down, looked up suddenly. His eyes widened.

Izuku wasn’t sure what he looked like right now, if all the years of desperation and longing and pain and mortified rage were etched onto his face for the world to see – because Todoroki had an expression of genuine shock that Izuku couldn’t really describe.

One of Izuku’s hands reached for Todoroki’s forehead, while the other reached for his neck. Todoroki automatically brought up his right hand to cover his neck, while his left hand went to cover his face. But as Izuku slid his hand to Todoroki’s forehead, Todoroki’s left arm suddenly caught ablaze.

Startled, Izuku drew back. Todoroki pulled his arm back in response, lips pursed together. He, too, seemed to be frozen with shock.

Furuya’s arm immediately wrapped around Izuku’s waist, and Izuku was pulled back to his team like an object within a slingshot. Hirai and Hatsume managed to catch him under his knees and back.

“Has Midoriya’s luck run out? It seems he made a grab for some headbands but didn’t get any!” Present Mic commented, speculating.

“What was the point of that?” Furuya demanded.

“To find out if the headband was on his forehead or neck,” Izuku muttered, already getting back into proper position. “It’s on his neck.”

“There are four headbands around his neck,” Hirai said, and Izuku sighed in response.

“I know.”

“How do you even know where it is?” Furuya asked.

Izuku glanced over at Todoroki, who was staring at his hands with his head turned away from his other team members.

“He protected his neck with his right hand,” he said. “It’s true that his left hand was on fire, but his right hand is the one he uses the most, the one he’s most comfortable with. That’s the one that would move instinctively to protect something important.”

“Alright, so?” Furuya said impatiently. “We still don’t know which one is the right one.”

Izuku made a frustrated noise inside his throat.

“I know! I know. I just wish there was a way to see the numbers. He’s turned them inside out and I could only barely make out the printing on the other side,” Izuku said.

“You need to see the numbers? I can do that,” Hatsume said suddenly.

“What?”

“My quirk is called ‘Zoom’,” Hatsume explained, getting excited. “I can zoom in on something at a distance, up to five kilometres. I can see the numbers that bleed through the other side of the fabric as long as I have a good angle.”

“And you didn’t say anything before?” Furuya said, craning his neck at her in disbelief.

“It wasn’t relevant before – my babies were doing all the work,” she sniffed.

Izuku’s mind started racing. If Hatsume could do that, then they could make one more attempt – one more was all they needed, all they could manage with Kaminari still full of energy. Once she saw the numbers, then they could make a grab for it and grapple with Todoroki for the remaining few seconds.

But Todoroki could easily get it back, with his team’s offensive and defensive power. Izuku would have to grab the headband in the last few seconds and run much further away, or…

He’d have to make sure that Todoroki never went chasing back after them at all.

“Alright,” Izuku cut in, “we’ll get you a good angle. Let’s go run right at Todoroki again.”

“Kaminari will electrocute us!”

“Me,” Izuku said grimly, “he’ll electrocute me, if it looks like I’m taking another desperate shot at Todoroki. I took them by surprise, the first time. But I won’t if I do it again.”

“Are you crazy?”

“It won’t kill me,” Izuku said, “but it’ll give Hatsume-kun a chance to look for the headbands. This is our last chance.”

“Thirty-five seconds are remaining! Are the final four on the scoreboard the final four moving on? We’ll find out very soon!” Present Mic declared, as if in response to Izuku’s statement.

“Let’s do it,” Hirai said. Furuya glanced over at her in disbelief.

“You want to get shocked?” he asked, incredulous.

“I want to win,” she said, and somehow that was an even more surprising statement from her.

“This is my last idea,” Izuku said to Furuya, Hirai, and Hatsume quietly. “If it doesn’t work… we’re done. But please, let me try. This means everything to me.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Once Hatsume-kun spots the right headband, how will we grab it?” Hirai asked. Izuku smiled.

“Furuya-kun will.”

“I will?” Furuya asked, startled.

“Yes. Todoroki still looks… worn out. Iida-kun and Yaoyorozu seem to be prodding him to come back to himself. They aren’t even looking at us. They think they’ve won already. Don’t you want to beat them?”

Furuya gazed over at the other team.

“Yes,” he breathed. Izuku nodded.

“Once we get close, Kaminari will start charging up. Hatsume-kun, you should start looking for the right headband. I’ll leap off your shoulders again, towards Todoroki, and it’s likely that both Kaminari and Yaoyorozu will try to incapacitate me. I’ll be electrocuted. Furuya-kun, just catch me and pull me back again, and we’ll move past Todoroki’s team,” Izuku said.

“But how will we get the head-”

“Just do it,” Izuku interrupted. “Please. There’s not much time.”

Furuya hesitated for a split-second, but nodded. Hatsume activated the Hover Soles again and they went racing towards Todoroki’s team.

“They’re coming back!” Kaminari cried, yellow sparks already flickering at his fingertips. Yaoyorozu began to pull a long, metallic pole out of her stomach. Iida… his engines were still sputtering, Izuku noted. He must have used up the last of his energy on his special move. He wouldn’t be able to do anything.

“Look now, Hatsume-kun!” Izuku whispered as he pushed himself upright on Furuya’s shoulders. Yaoyorozu gripped the pole tightly and Kaminari created a higher voltage between his hands and around his head. Izuku took a deep breath and leaped forward again.

Todoroki did not set his left arm on fire this time – he didn’t have to. Kaminari’s lightning stopped Izuku in his tracks as he seized in the air, twisting and turning and gasping out in pain. He couldn’t tell how long it had been happening, if the crackle he was hearing was the current or his thin, paper-like lungs struggling to cough out whatever was inside him.

“-doriya! Midoriya!” Furuya shouted.

Izuku blinked a few times, wheezing weakly and wincing as he moved his upper body. He shifted his head – noticing Todoroki’s team still fairly close to them, and Furuya’s stretched-out arm wrapped around his waist. Furuya must have grabbed him from the air, as planned, and then pulled the whole team forward.

“Glad you got to fulfill your dream of being a martyr,” Furuya grumbled. “Now, are you going to tell us how to get – ”

“Which one is it?” Izuku demanded, turning to Hatsume. She blinked, then smiled widely.

“The third one on his neck!” she announced proudly.

“Well, that’s great,” Furuya said, rolling his eyes, “but – ”

“Grab it now, Furuya-kun!” Izuku whispered. “Run forward a few metres so they think we’ve given up, then grab it while we’re behind them and their backs are turned!”

“Now?” he asked incredulously. “They’ll – ”

“Nothing! They’ll do nothing! Don’t you see?” Izuku said eagerly. “We’ll run away, they won’t bother to pursue us or turn back around – they thought that was our last attempt, that you were consoling me after I got electrocuted. But you can stretch out your fingers and undo the tie on the third headband, and pull it away with no one even noticing. See, this is what the problem is when you have so many headbands – the feeling of three headbands around your neck, or four around your neck – it’s essentially the same.”

Furuya shifted uncomfortably.

“There’s still four members on his team,” he said, “so there’s a good chance at least one of them will see me.”

“No, they won’t,” Izuku said, shaking his head. “Hirai-kun is going to create as many clouds as she can around your stretched-out arm, around their team, up in the air around us – everywhere except the actual path that your arm will take.”

Furuya opened his mouth.

“Do it! Now!” Izuku insisted, practically screeching. Hirai immediately created several brown clouds of dust, surrounding Izuku and Furuya, drifting through the space in between them and the other team. Furuya took a deep breath and stretched his arm forward. Slowly, slowly – his arm crept through the space, unseen by the audience or the commentators or even the other team. Furuya’s fingers were only a few inches away from Todoroki’s neck.

“Hey, what’s with all the clouds?” Kaminari called, frowning. Izuku could hear Todoroki and Iida try to shuffle around in response. His breath hitched.

“I feel like they’ll notice something wrong now,” Hatsume said in a sing-song voice, sounding unreasonably excited at this unfavourable turn of events.

“Untie it, Furuya-kun,” Izuku urged. “It’s down to you.”

“There are only fifteen seconds left!” Present Mic declared gleefully. “This could be the final four to move on!”

It was too late – Kaminari had sounded the alarm and now Todoroki, Yaoyorozu, and Iida were all on alert, pushing their hands through the clouds and causing the illusions to vanish.

“Okay, there’s no time for subtlety anymore,” Izuku said desperately, “Hatsume-kun, activate the Hover Soles so we can all run forward at full speed. Furuya-kun, grab all the headbands around his neck that you can. Hirai-kun – at the same time, scatter a bunch of white ribbons around in the air.”

And then several things happened at once.

“Time’s almost up! Start the countdown!” Present Mic shouted.

Ten.

Todoroki pulled the insulator sheet over his head, struggling to cover Yaoyorozu and Iida as well.

Nine.

“Deku!” Bakugou screeched from somewhere as he let out several explosions, propelling himself into the sky above the ice walls Todoroki had created.

Eight.

Furuya’s fingers dragged against the back of Todoroki’s neck, pulling free the second, third, and fourth headbands. Yaoyorozu smashed a metal pole into the back of his hand at the same time, causing him to drop them.

Seven.

Kaminari collected a massive amount of high voltage from his arms and body, and Bakugou switched his attention from Izuku to Todoroki. He almost landed on top of “that half-and-half bastard.”

Six.

A cascade of white ribbons fluttered through the air, and Hirai let go of Izuku’s leg to throw herself forward at Kaminari. The brunt of Kaminari’s charge hit her in the chest, and she collapsed to the ground, gasping.

Five.

Todoroki threw spikes of ice through the air, dissipating a good number of the white ribbons and smashing a few against Bakugou. Hatsume squinted through the attack and leaned forward to grab Hirai’s arm, lifting her up.

Four.

Bakugou roared, throwing explosions back at Todoroki through the floating ribbons. Only a few remained in the air. Yaoyorozu made a noise of surprise and called Todoroki to draw back. He glanced back at her and turned away from Bakugou.

Three.

“Look near Yaoyorozu’s feet!” Izuku yelled at Hatsume, noticing Yaoyorozu’s retreat. 

Hatsume’s keen eyes scanned the surroundings near Yaoyorozu, where four headbands were scattered on the ground. She slapped Furuya’s stretched-out left arm and pointed to the one on the far left.

“Pick it up!” she shrieked, as Yaoyorozu and Kaminari reached for the ground at the same time.

Two.

Furuya grabbed the headband Hatsume pointed out while Hatsume moved backwards on her Hover Soles simultaneously. To their surprise, none of the members of Todoroki’s team tried to incapacitate them or give chase. Kaminari and Yaoyorozu had their eyes fixed on something else on the ground.

One.

“Victory is ours!” Kaminari cheered as his fingers made contact with a lone white headband near Iida’s shoes, while Yaoyorozu grabbed the other headbands in a rather perfunctory manner.

“Time’s up!”

Bakugou fell face-first against the ground, momentum lost. But that was forgotten in the heat of Kaminari’s screech of shock and Iida’s loud gasp.

“W-What? Where’d it go?” Kaminari stammered. Izuku slowly turned his head around to Hirai – Hirai, who was still trembling from the aftermath of Kaminari’s shock – and she gave him a weak smile.

“I didn’t just make plain white ribbons,” she admitted. “I was squinting at the scoreboard for a while, while you were talking. I made replicas of all the points on the headbands I could, to make them seem authentic. When I was on the ground, I made one with the ten million points on it. I was worried Hatsume-kun would point out the wrong one, though…”

“That’s the end of the second round, the cavalry battle!” Present Mic said. “Now, let’s take a look at the top four teams!”

The crowd roared, thundering sounds making the stands shake and tremble. Paying them no heed, Izuku watched intently as Furuya’s arm – now pulled back to normal length – shakily turned over the fabric in his hand so that they could all read the numbers. Izuku’s eyes welled up.

“In first place, we have… TEAM MIDORIYA! Incredible! How did that happen!?”

The sound that absconded from Izuku’s throat wasn’t human. It was just raw, unrefined triumph, and it caused Hatsume to start cackling gleefully, Furuya to let a full, genuine smile grace his face, and Hirai to look up at Izuku with pure happiness – even if she was still trembling a bit. Izuku wrapped his arms around all his teammates, still sitting atop their shoulders and soaking in the heat of the midday sun on his neck. The pleasant warmth made him feel that he was glowing – a radiant spark of flame rising amidst the chaos which captivated the audience, refusing to flicker out. Some part of him was embarrassed at his rather enthusiastic outburst, but mostly, he was just ecstatic.

“Y-You could really spot the right headband from that far away, Hatsume-kun?” Izuku asked finally, looking at her with wide eyes. 

“They were hard to read,” Hatsume admitted, “so I looked for something else. Ice Boy over there was holding onto the ten-million-point headband pretty hard, and I noticed that there was only one headband on the ground that was dripping with some condensation. I figured no illusion would have been that realistic.”

Izuku laughed.

On the other hand, Todoroki’s eyes were downcast as Present Mic announced his second-place victory. It seemed that Yaoyorozu grabbing the other headbands had been crucial, as she had grabbed the ones Todoroki’s team had originally held. It was enough to keep them in the running. Second place wasn’t bad, certainly – but it wasn’t what they were hoping for. Iida looked hollow, jaw clenched as he stared at the ground. They didn’t much look like one of the top teams, not with their expressions.

Todoroki looked up and stared at Izuku for a few moments. Izuku blinked, startled. He automatically looked away, then looked back a few seconds later. Todoroki was still watching him. His eyebrows were knit together.

“In third place, Team Bakugou!”

Izuku broke away from Todoroki’s gaze and glanced over at Bakugou. His team members all seemed happy enough to be in the top four teams, grinning and throwing their arms around each other. But Bakugou was sitting cross-legged in front of them, breathing heavily. He inhaled deeply – then roared loudly enough for the entire stadium to hear him. Izuku winced.

Still, he watched as the red-haired boy – Kirishima, his mind supplied – walked over and put a hand on his shoulder. Bakugou seethed, shoving the hand off his shoulder and turning around to screech something at him. Kirishima only laughed, playfully punching Bakugou in the shoulder. Bakugou scowled and walked away, fists clenched.

Izuku frowned. Something about that interaction… it unsettled his stomach. Bakugou certainly wasn’t acting very kind, but his behaviour in that situation seemed different from how he usually acted. Izuku couldn’t figure out exactly why it was so different, or how it was even such a bad thing. Certainly, he shouldn’t be any more uncomfortable than usual, seeing Bakugou behave like that, and yet –

“In fourth place, we have Team Tetsu – no, wait! We have Team Shinsou! When did he join the scoreboard?”

Izuku whirled around to stare at Shinsou, his previous thoughts fading away. Shinsou had his narrow eyes set even narrower, a smirk playing on his lips as he walked away from his team with a nonchalant wave. He didn’t bother turning back to look at them. His eyes caught on Izuku’s for a moment, and he merely gave him a brief nod. Izuku flushed a bit and looked down.

“These four teams will advance to the final round! Congratulations to everyone, but a special congratulations goes to Team Midoriya! For the first time in a long time, a General Education student has been at the top for two events in a row! Not only that, but this is the first time in history where five non-hero students have been in the final round of the tournament! What a ground-breaking year!” Present Mic exclaimed. “Now, we’ll take an hour-long break for lunch before we start the afternoon festivities!”

The crowd started buzzing, getting up from their seats to wander through the stands. The students stretched, some looking downtrodden and morose while others looked more gleeful than ever. The arena began to clear out as more and more competitors exited through the main hallway. Izuku hung back, picking up the staff and grappling hook he had left near the first row of spectators and taking it with him, intending to drop it in the back rooms.

“I want to go talk to Sasaki-chan,” Hirai informed him, before turning and walking off in the opposite direction. Izuku stared after her for a moment, then huffed to himself in amusement. He would find them later.

He walked through the arena languidly, taking this brief reprieve to look around, perhaps spot any heroes he recognized –

“Midoriya,” Furuya interrupted, stepping in front of him before Izuku could walk away. Izuku blinked up at him.

“Furuya-kun,” he responded in kind. “Is something the matter?”

Furuya shifted uncomfortably, meeting his eyes for a moment before glancing away. He seemed to be working up the nerve to say something. Finally, he exhaled and brought his head back up.

“I wanted to say something,” he said. Izuku raised an eyebrow at him.

“Go on,” Izuku said after a long moment of silence.

“I’m sorry,” Furuya said, looking him in the eyes. His eyebrows were furrowed, and he looked a bit like he was about to spontaneously combust, but he managed to get the words out.

“I’m sorry,” Furuya repeated, “for underestimating you. I knew – well, everyone in our class knew – you were smart, and that you were strong, but somehow it was never enough. We still found it easier to ignore all the evidence that you were our equal, even when you proved it time and time again. Even when you did better than the rest of us.”

Izuku stared at him. Out of all the things he expected Furuya to say, this was not one of them.

“You’re constantly at the top of all the events in our class, and even here at the Sports Festival – you’re facing all the Hero students, and you’re still winning,” Furuya continued with no small measure of awe – perhaps even some envy. “I don’t know how you’re doing it, but you’re… different. I was wrong to judge you.”

“I-I don’t know what to say,” Izuku responded finally, after a few moments of silence. Furuya shook his head.

“I just wanted to say what I had to,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. “I would have felt bad if I didn’t. That’s all.”

Furuya turned to leave.

It was so much easier to pretend these voices that put him down were just the distant cries of faceless monsters. But the longer Izuku spent pushing his bitterness aside, and the more he tried to actually listen, the more he understood. Katsuki spent years spitting bile in his face, and Shinsou spent a few weeks giving him the cold shoulder, and Furuya spent the entire semester thus far undervaluing him in every way. As much as he wanted to believe, at first, that they were simply like creatures of the night, who lived only to torment – he was forced to see that they, too, were people. They made mistakes. Some of them didn’t realize it, and others didn’t want to. But Furuya had, this time around. And acknowledging it only meant he was creeping forward into the light.   

“Thank you,” Izuku said to his back, quietly. “It means a lot that you changed your mind.”

Furuya shrugged.

“It’s kind of impossible to ignore it now.”

“You’d be surprised at the things people ignore as long as it’s convenient for them,” Izuku said. “Just... one thing. I’m not different.”

Furuya turned back around and raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not,” Izuku insisted. “Don’t go around thinking I’m some anomaly. Everyone, regardless of quirk, has something to offer. I know it. Just look around for it, and you’ll see.”

Furuya nodded at him slowly, saying nothing. He squinted his eyes at Izuku one last time before walking away. Izuku let him leave this time.

The corners of his lips twisted up into a smile.

Sometimes, it was hard to believe that things would change. If you push the same boulder again and again with all your strength, you never really see it move. All you see is the wasted effort and strained muscles. But if you were to do it every day and measure the distance, you’d find that it would keep inching forward, a few centimetres at a time, until one day… well, you’d see it in a completely different place and wonder why you ever doubted that it would happen at all.

He walked through the nearest hallway leading to the inner sections of the stadium, putting away his staff and grappling hook in Class 1-C’s waiting room. He stepped out and took a deep breath, ready to search for Hirai and Sasaki and just let himself relax for an hour before the real tournament began.

“Midoriya, right?” a voice called out from behind him. Izuku turned around, wondering who it was this time, and nearly jumped upon seeing Todoroki.

Todoroki was leaned up against a wall, his hands in his pockets and his head turned downward. But Izuku could see his narrowed eyes and pursed lips through the hair that fell over his face. Izuku was sure he must have looked like a startled rabbit caught in a predator’s gaze, with his wide eyes and nervous stumbling.

“Todoroki-kun?”

Chapter Text

“Todoroki-kun!” Izuku repeated. “Ah, y-yes, I’m Midoriya. Izuku. Nice to meet you?”

Todoroki said nothing. Izuku could feel his palms growing sweatier.

“May I help you with something? I don’t think we have a very long break, so we should get lunch as soon as possible,” Izuku said, glancing at his watch.

“You were staying on my left side,” Todoroki said, ignoring him. “You made me break my pledge.”

Izuku blinked.

“What are you talking about? Oh, you mean during the cavalry battle? Well – I didn’t exactly see you producing any ice with your left side. What pledge?”

Todoroki fell silent again. Izuku shifted nervously on his feet, tugging at his collar.

“You knew I wouldn’t use it,” Todoroki said.

“Your fire? I didn’t know that for sure, but I’ve only ever seen you using your ice so far.”

“How did you know I could make fire?” Todoroki demanded.

“You’re Endeavor’s son, aren’t you?”

The moment he said it, Izuku knew he had made a mistake. Todoroki’s already-unfriendly expression soured into a twisted grimace. Izuku could hear him exhale heavily through his nose.

“I only meant – his quirk is Hellflame, isn’t it? It would make sense for you to be able to produce fire, too. I mean – just look at you!” Izuku babbled, backtracking quickly.

Todoroki’s lips tightened, only barely visible while his face was still half-hidden in the dimly-lit hallway. Izuku barely restrained himself from smacking himself in the face.

“Oh – no – I didn’t mean it like that, it’s just that your hair is half-red and half-white, and your eyes… are different colours, so I thought – complete heterochromia and genetic chimerism are not as rare as they used to be, especially due to mutant quirks, but even with emitter-types, genetic quirk theory in general states that an individual’s phenotype depends on genome sequencing and quirk factor, so there was a good chance it was… a result of your quirk,” Izuku finished lamely. He could still feel the intensity of Todoroki’s gaze on his face, so he continued, waving his hands in the air placatingly.

“I wasn’t referring to your – there’s nothing wrong with how you look! You look good! Fine! Nice, I mean!”

Thankfully, the mysterious hand of fate seemed to have taken mercy on Izuku as his voice finally tapered off. He covered his face with his hands.

“Okay, let’s – let’s forget I said any of that,” he muttered. “My point was that I just made a reasonable guess.”

Silence.

Izuku wondered if it would be more or less awkward to just turn around and walk away.

“I felt overcome, in that moment,” Todoroki said finally, apparently choosing to spare Izuku from further embarrassment. “I don’t know why. You don’t even have a quirk.”

Now it was Izuku’s turn to narrow his eyes.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t do anything,” he said. To his surprise, Todoroki nodded slightly, looking mildly thoughtful as he glanced to the side.

“Apparently not. But if it was merely luck, the element of surprise, or dependence upon your teammates – that remains to be seen. Either way, it doesn’t matter. It’s clear enough that my father hasn’t put you up to this,” Todoroki muttered, glancing to the side.

Izuku stared at him.

“Why would he do that?”

Todoroki’s eyes were still on the ground as he crossed his arms and leaned back. Finally, he let out a huff of air and began to speak.

“Endeavor… you must know that he’s been stuck as the number two hero forever. But he always wants to rise up. Second place isn’t enough. All Might has always been the mark of his continual failure, and when my old man realized that he wouldn’t be able to surpass him… he devised a new plan. Do you know what quirk marriages are?”

Izuku, utterly baffled and vaguely frightened, simply tilted his head. 

“It was a larger problem during the time period right after quirks first manifested. People would be strategically forced into marriage in order to have children with stronger quirks. And Endeavor was a man with both influence and wealth – the only items needed for such a connection. That was how he won over my mother’s family to gain access to her quirk. And now, he continues to hold onto that desperate dream of surpassing All Might – through me – convinced that I, his greatest masterpiece, cannot fail.

“It’s sickening,” Todoroki hissed, his eyebrows twisted together angrily. “I won’t be his tool.

“My mother has already been ruined by him. I can only remember her crying, terrified and unable to look at my left side. Unsightly – that was the word she used, as she poured boiling water over my face.”

With fingers trembling, Izuku clenched his hands into fists and leaned back against the wall, struggling to absorb the impact of Todoroki’s words. Enforced eugenics? A decades-long grudge against All Might? Domestic abuse, from one of Japan’s most lauded heroes? He couldn’t remove his eyes from Todoroki’s hunched-over figure, which was coiled tight in suppressed fury.

“I made a pledge to myself that I would win this competition without using his damned quirk. I’ll reject him completely by winning first place without any fire. You won’t see me using it again, no matter what else you do. I will defeat you using only my right side and claim total victory. Don’t take it personally.

“If anything,” Todoroki said, fixing his sharp-eyed glower upon Izuku’s face once more, “you’ve only reaffirmed my goals. If you can get by the first two rounds of the Sports Festival without even having a quirk, then why should I have any need for Endeavor’s? I can manage without it, too. I don’t need him.”

Apparently finished with the conversation, Todoroki turned and began walking out of the tunnel’s entrance, red-and-white hair sparkling in the sunlight.

“No matter your previous victories, be aware that I will be the one still standing,” Todoroki said. “Sorry for wasting your time.”

As Izuku watched Todoroki leave, he almost felt as though Todoroki had used his ice to freeze him in place. His feet were stuck to the ground, and his shock and horror and frustration were warring inside of him, crashing together in thunderous waves and preventing him from moving. Todoroki could not have been more different from Izuku, and yet there was something tying them together, something that pushed them both forward towards the same goal with the same level of intensity. Compared to Todoroki’s anguish-ridden past, what could Izuku even say?

Some kids were mean to me? My favourite hero told me to consider a different career choice? My mom worries about me too much?

But as much as Izuku felt sorrow for Todoroki and his suffering at the hand of great expectations, as much as he was still reeling from the discovery of the abuse that had led to Todoroki’s scar… Izuku also felt undeniable anger, bubbling up from the pit of his stomach.

“And I suppose you don’t think any of that is unspeakably arrogant,” Izuku said, faced in Todoroki’s direction. Todoroki stopped walking and turned back around.

“Excuse me?”

Normally, this is where Izuku would waver and back down. With someone like Kacchan, whom Izuku had known for years, it was easier to speak out against him. But it was much harder to break the social norms of forced politeness upon meeting someone new, and yet –

This clearly wasn’t a normal circumstance.

“I’m sure you heard me,” Izuku said. “But I can repeat it, if you’d like. I was wondering how you could be so arrogant.”

Todoroki scowled.

“I just explained to you – ”

“You explained to me that you had a difficult past,” Izuku interrupted, cutting him off, “and I sympathize. I do. But that doesn’t explain why you have the right to take it out on everyone else.”

“I’m not taking out anything on anyone else,” Todoroki said, his blue eye seeming brighter and colder than before. “This is between myself and my father. I was simply offering some background, but perhaps that was a mistake. You’ve clearly misunderstood.”

“I think you have,” Izuku said. “That is, if you’d even bothered to understand anything outside of your own personal bubble. Don’t you see everyone else here, trying their hardest? Even if their motivations appear trivial when compared to yours, that doesn’t make them worth any less. How can you disrespect all your competitors like that? And disrespect the citizens that you claim you want to save by becoming a hero?”

“There’s no disrespect,” Todoroki said. “I told you not to take this personally.”

“How can I not?” Izuku exclaimed. “You’ve just told me that you essentially have two quirks, but you won’t use one of them because you can afford not to. Only giving half of what you have and you’re still better than all of us, is that it?”

Todoroki’s eyes widened.

“I don’t think I’m better than all of you – ”

“Just most of us, then,” Izuku said, eyes blazing. “Well, listen to me now, Todoroki-kun. Our situations are not the same. You said earlier that I proved to you that you don’t need your fire. But not having a quirk is not the same as not using one. Because I am giving everything I have in each round to stay on top, and you’re just gliding by like this is a game.

“It’s a competition. But it’s not a game. What are you going to do in the future when you have to save civilians from some villain, but you refuse to use your fire? Will you let them get hurt?”

“I’ll find another way by just using my ice – ”

“What if you can’t?”

“What about you, then?” Todoroki burst out, agitated. “If there was a situation where even I had to use fire, what could you do?”

“I’d find another way,” Izuku said, not breaking eye contact, “because I’d have to. Not because I’m throwing a years-long tantrum that puts other people at risk. And you know what? I think I’d succeed, too, because I would be giving everything I had. I can’t say the same for you.”

“Of course you can’t,” Todoroki said. “You still don’t understand. You’ve barely scratched the surface of my personal life. Being quirkless is a blessing. You weren’t made for any one reason. You could have done anything you wanted to. You know nothing of expectations.”

Izuku tilted his head to the side, eyes glimmering brightly in the faint yellow light, and let some of the fire in his voice die out.

“Expectations?” he croaked out in a near-whisper, shaking his head. “I wanted to be a hero since I was four years old, because I liked helping people. I was diagnosed as quirkless a few years later – diagnosed, like it was some kind of disease. And since then, I have been a joke. My aspirations were treated with nothing but malice and disbelief. Do you know why?”

Todoroki was breathing heavily, but he remained silent.

“People expect me to fail. They expect that I won’t amount to anything useful. I guess I understand your confusion – these aren’t the kind of expectations you’re used to.

“You really think I could be anything? You’re the only one, then. My own mother looks at me like she’s waiting for me to wake up from this dream. Don’t misunderstand me – I know she loves me – but even she has trouble believing in my capabilities. So don’t pretend to understand me if you’re not even going to try to put yourself in my position.

“It’s like you seriously can’t think of anyone but yourself,” Izuku said, sighing deeply. “Don’t you realize how personally offensive your decision is, to me? I spent years in envy of everyone else and their incredible powers, and here you are – with one of the most powerful quirks I’ve ever seen – and you can’t even appreciate what that means. Being quirkless is a blessing. Out of all the privileged things I’ve ever heard…”

Todoroki dropped his gaze.

“I didn’t – I never thought of it like that,” he muttered.

“I know,” Izuku said. “Why would you?”

The hallway was silent once more, with only vaguely audible sounds of the buzzing crowd.

“Look – this isn’t a contest between who has the more tragic life,” Izuku said quietly, as he stopped leaning against the wall and turned away from Todoroki, “but I want you to know that there’s more going on here than your personal struggle with your father. I can’t lose either, because then it means I might never get to be a hero. The one thing I’ve always wanted would just slip through my grasp. And because I can’t lose – I won’t. I’ll defeat all of you. I will win, and force everyone to see me.”

Todoroki took a deep breath behind him.

“It’s fine, Todoroki-kun,” Izuku called back as he walked away. “You don’t need to say anything. Just don’t take it personally.”

Unbeknownst to Izuku, Todoroki was not the only one left staring at his back. With his hands in his pockets and a scowl on his face, Bakugou Katsuki’s hidden red-eyed gaze followed Izuku as he exited the tunnel.

***

“Midoriya-kun! It’s been fifteen minutes since lunch started,” Hirai observed. “Where were you?”

Izuku huffed.

“You’re the one who left without me.”

“I thought it was obvious that you would follow. I didn’t realize you had other people to sit with,” Hirai said.

“Ouch,” Sasaki said, snickering. It immediately devolved into a cough and she pulled out a box of tissues, scowling.

“I would have been here earlier, but Todoroki wanted to talk to me,” Izuku muttered. Sasaki’s ears perked up.

“Todoroki? Class 1-A’s pride and joy? Well, maybe joy isn’t the right word.”

Izuku sighed.

“I suppose.”

“What did he want?” Hirai asked curiously.

“I…” Izuku hesitated. It was obviously private, even if Todoroki himself seemed blasé about spilling his thoughts. “It’s hard to explain. It was kind of a declaration of his intentions to win, I guess.”

“He must have been intimidated by you,” Hirai said. Izuku snorted.

“Somehow, I doubt that,” he said.  

He continued to eat his lunch in silence while Hirai and Sasaki chatted. Suddenly, Hirai stood up.

“I’m going to the washroom,” she announced. Izuku looked at the clock and frowned.

“Hurry back,” he said, “or you might miss the start of the third round.”

Hirai’s vacant gaze met his own, looking eerily intense. She shrugged and kept walking, saying nothing. Sasaki coughed as Izuku squinted at Hirai, bringing his attention back to her.

“Still haven’t noticed, huh?” Sasaki muttered. 

“Noticed what?”

Sasaki sighed.

“She’s not going to participate in the third round.”

“What? Why not?” Izuku asked, sitting up straight in his seat.

“She doesn’t want to.”

“But why?”

Sasaki slowly drank some more of her soup, only setting down the bowl when she had finished.

“Have you noticed anything different about Usagi today?”

Izuku blinked. His mind flashed back to the second round and her strange intentness on winning, and to the first round, where it was inconceivable that she would have even moved on in the first place. He then thought back even further, back to the conversation that she had with Sasaki when they didn’t realize that Izuku was listening. He quickly shook his head.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that I’ve noticed some things,” Izuku said.

“Then it should be obvious why she doesn’t want to participate.”

“Not… really? She seemed pretty focused during the last round.”

“For you,” Sasaki said, rolling her eyes. “She was doing that for you. She didn’t want to move on.”

Izuku blinked.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I know it’s hard for you to grasp, but not all of us want to be heroes,” Sasaki said, sniffing. “Although…”

“Although…?”

Sasaki hesitated, eyes darting back towards the doorway. It was empty.

“Although… Usagi did want to be one, you know,” Sasaki said quietly. “A hero, I mean.”

Izuku perked up.

“Really? Then isn’t this a good thing?”

Sasaki shook her head.

“She doesn’t want to be a hero anymore. That was a long time ago.”

“What happened?”

“She gave up,” Sasaki said, shrugging. Izuku squinted at her.

“But why? She has a really useful quirk,” Izuku said. “She could do a lot with it.”

“Potential isn’t the same as having the drive,” Sasaki said. “You know, I think you sometimes walk around here thinking you’re the only one with flaws. That’s a bit self-centered of you.”

Izuku frowned and almost made to apologize, but thought better of it and shut his mouth.

“It’s not easy to keep getting up and trying at something,” Sasaki went on. “Most of the time, people who aren’t good at something just… stop doing it.

“She likes helping people, too. But I think she got tired of not being the best at it. This industry is kind of disgusting, really. I don’t know a lot about heroes, but no one can deny that. Seriously, who ranks how well you can save people? Shouldn’t we just be grateful that people are saved at all? I understand healthy competition, but it’s so sensationalized. Like each life is just one more point in a game.

“She decided a while ago that she couldn’t do that. All those hypercompetitive people… it's just not for her. And you know something? People like us like feeling useful, too. And she just never felt that way when she was trying to be a hero. You’re a good friend, Midoriya, but you remind her of her flaws.”

“She could still do it,” Izuku said. “It doesn’t have to be a flaw.”

“No, she’s moved on,” Sasaki said. “And it was for the best. It’s important to realize when something isn’t making you happy anymore. She was always anxious when she used her quirk before. Frustrated when she couldn’t use it right, and upset when she couldn’t use it to help people like other kids could. But now that she’s given that up, I’ve never seen her happier to use it. She was happy to use it to help you achieve your goal. There are other ways to help people, alright? Just respect that.”

“O-Okay,” Izuku said, stammering slightly. “Should I say something? Or have you already – ”

“No,” Sasaki said. “You should say something. She wouldn’t want to hear it from me.”

“Why not?”

“She just wouldn’t,” she said irritably, drumming her fingers on the table. “I’m not everyone’s therapist, you know? I can’t always explain to you how other people feel.”

Izuku blinked in surprise, but said nothing else. He and Sasaki sat in silence until Hirai came wandering back. Sasaki and Hirai began talking to each other again, but Izuku only stole a few glances at Hirai every now and then.

She did seem happy now. And she did look uncomfortable during the first two events. So… she really did push herself, just to help him. Did that make her any less of a good person? Of a hero, even?

For the first time, he began to reconsider All Might’s words.

There’s more than one way to save people.

Looking at Hirai, he began to understand what All Might meant – even if the words felt incredibly callous at the time. All Might was wrong to dismiss his convictions to be a hero without even knowing him, but he was right about helping people. That was something anyone could do, in an infinite number of ways. Maybe… maybe it was time for him to let go of some of the underlying pain and embarrassment he felt, thinking about All Might. Maybe it was okay to see things from another perspective and move on.

***

“Now that lunch is over, it’s time to reveal the last game!” Present Mic said over the loudspeakers. “And for those of you that didn’t make it – not to worry. There are recreational activities, too! When those are over, we’ll move forward with the third and final stage – one-on-one matches in the arena!”

One-on-one fights, plain and simple. Those could be manageable.

Izuku frowned as he looked over to the side of the stadium. There seemed to be some commotion going on with the cheerleaders and the girls in Class 1-A? He shook his head and diverted his attention back to Midnight, who had taken her place on stage and was speaking again.

“Let’s determine the bracket before we move on with the recreational games,” Midnight announced. “The sixteen participants can choose whether or not they want to join. I’m sure some of you want to rest or preserve your energy. Now – ”

“Excuse me?” a tall boy with blond hair interrupted. “I would like to withdraw.”

Izuku turned to look at him in surprise

“Ojiro-kun!” Iida said. “Why? This is a rare chance!”

Izuku strained his ears to listen to them from where he was standing several feet away.

“I barely remember anything from the cavalry battle,” the boy – Ojiro – mumbled. “I don’t – it must be that boy’s quirk.”

A quirk to make someone forget things? Or – no, during the cavalry battle, Ojiro was with…

Shinsou.

Izuku glanced over at him covertly. Shinsou was smirking at Class 1-A’s antics, but his shoulders were tense. He turned back to Ojiro, who was still speaking of the slight to his pride if he were to go on.

“I’m Shoda Nirengeki, from Class 1-B,” a chubby boy with light blue hair said suddenly, drawing everyone’s attention again. “I want to withdraw for the same reason. I feel that… it goes against the meaning of the Sports Festival to move on if I didn’t do anything.”

There was a moment of silence, soon overcome by hushed whispers. Midnight seemed to be mulling it over on stage, examining the boys carefully.

“Hmmm… I like your attitudes!” she decided. “I’ll accept your withdrawals.”

Hirai poked out her head from the crowd beside Izuku. He jumped.

“I would like to withdraw, too!” she called up cheerfully.

“For the same reason?” Midnight asked.

“No, I just don’t want to participate in the third round,” Hirai said. “I’m not interested.”

Midnight blinked at her.

“I suppose I can’t argue with that,” she said. Izuku noted that Furuya shifted on his feet but did not make any move to join Hirai in her proclamation. “Well, that leaves four openings, seeing that the fourth-place team had only three members. It seems we can move a full team ahead to the finals – the fifth-place team, Team Kendou!”

Kendou, the girl with long, red-orange hair in a high ponytail, startled from her place in the crowd. She shook her head.

“If that’s what’s going to happen, I would rather give our places to Team Tetsutetsu!” she declared. “They did much more than we did in the cavalry battle. It just makes more sense.”

“Kendou…” the silver-haired boy – Tetsutetsu – said in awe, clenching his fists to his chest. Kendou simply smiled at him.

Midnight clicked her tongue.

“Is there anyone here who actually wants to participate in this tournament, or does everyone else want to drop out, too?” she asked, pursing her lips in irritation.

The crowd of students was silent. Midnight sighed.

“Alright, then – Tetsutetsu, Shiozaki, Awase, and Honenuki will move on to the finals! This is the bracket based on the new names!” she called, drawing her whip up to point at the screen, which flashed with new information. The crowd cheered loudly in response.

Yaoyorozu and Furuya… Honenuki and Ashido… Bakugou and Awase… where was his name?

Finally, Izuku spotted it at the far corner of the bracket.

Midoriya was scrawled on one prong, while Shinsou was on the other one. Izuku swallowed. Why did it have to be Shinsou, of all people?

And to make things worse…

Izuku’s eyes drifted over to the pair of names directly beside his and Shinsou’s. Todoroki and Sero. If both he and Todoroki won their first matches, they would be meeting far sooner than Izuku would have wanted. Todoroki was not only one of the strongest competitors here, but now he had a reason to hold a lot more hostility towards Izuku. It would not be an easy match, to say the least.

“Now that we’ve finished with that, let’s leave this tournament aside for a brief intermission and enjoy the recreational activities!” Present Mic said, interrupting Izuku’s thoughts. The students who were gathered in the centre of the arena murmured and began to wander away, though some of them stayed behind to participate. Izuku himself felt like he might vomit from the nerves in his roiling stomach, so he turned to leave before he could make a scene.

The competitors around him were still chattering about all the people who had withdrawn from the third round. Some of the girls in Class 1-A were gushing about Ojiro and his honourable decision to step out. Similarly, a large group from Class 1-B had gathered around Shoda, smiling and laughing loudly.

No one really spoke about Hirai. And they were careful to keep a wide berth around Shinsou.

During his hasty walk back to the inner corridors of the stadium, he felt eyes upon him. He jerked his head up to see Shinsou, staring. He quickly looked back down and picked up the pace, finally entering the winding tunnels of the lower tiers. He headed back to one of the preparation rooms for Class 1-C and sat down in a chair next to a table, taking a few deep breaths.

A hand fell upon his shoulder, and Izuku nearly shrieked.

“Good luck, Midoriya-kun,” Hirai said to him seriously, seeming unaware that she had nearly given him a heart attack. She must have followed him back without him noticing.

“Th-thanks,” he stammered.

“Sorry I’m not participating,” she said. Izuku shook his head.

“Don’t apologize for that,” he said. “It’s okay if you don’t want to do something. You don’t have to explain it to anyone.”

She shifted.

“I thought you would be a little disappointed,” she admitted. “I know you really like heroes and you don’t really think about giving up – ”

“I do think about giving up,” Izuku said. “A lot, actually. I just shove it down. Don’t feel bad for doing something that made you happier. And… I’m sorry if I made it seem like I would push my goals onto you. I know I can be unreasonable, but just because I believe something, it doesn’t mean everyone else has to believe the same thing. You’re allowed to make your own choices.”

Hirai smiled, and Izuku thought he understood why he needed to talk to her.

“I’m going to go sit with Sasaki-chan,” she said. She left the room.

The door closed behind her with a light thud, echoing in the empty space. Izuku stared after her, then sighed and covered his face with his hands.

This festival meant so much to both him and Shinsou. Why did the bracket have to pair them together first? He swung his legs back and forth nervously. It wasn’t fair that one of them would lose their chance so early. And it wasn’t fair that the heroes out there could only judge on what they’d seen thus far. Why did everyone think that stepping out of the third round was a brave decision for Ojiro and Shoda? Shinsou had only done what everyone else had done and used his quirk to move on. Why were they treating Ojiro and Shoda like… like heroes, when it was really Shinsou who had used his quirk in a smart and admirable way?

Instead, Shinsou was the one who was left with eyes downcast as everyone crowded around the hero students. And if he didn’t move on in the tournament, Izuku was sure none of them would be very upset about it – quite the opposite, in fact. Shinsou needed to move on, in spite of these obstacles that didn’t want him to succeed.

But Izuku needed to move on, too.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. But it needed to happen, if Izuku wanted to move forward. He couldn’t afford to invest all his sympathy into Shinsou when he needed that drive for himself. He needed to focus, and he needed to win.

***

The sun shone brightly on Izuku’s face as he stepped out of the stadium. He had left his staff and grappling hook behind – it wouldn’t be needed in a match like this one. In fact, it would probably be a bit excessive. He squinted at the arena that Cementoss had set up during the brief intermission. It was quite impressive for something put together in such a short period of time. Next to the arena was a short, small platform with a cement chair – a place where Cementoss could sit to observe the proceedings impartially and intercede if necessary.

Present Mic was greeting the crowd in his usual boisterous manner, waiting as Shinsou walked out of the opposite side of the arena.

“Finally, the moment you’ve all been waiting for – the third round of the tournament is beginning! The first round isn’t between hero students at all, but it’s still bound to be an interesting one! Get ready for a match between Midoriya Izuku – the surprise winner of the first two rounds, who’s been making an impact throughout the day – versus Shinsou Hitoshi – who hasn’t really done anything to stand out yet!”

As he walked to his place in the middle of the courtyard, he could see Shinsou’s unsmiling face draw nearer. Izuku winced. It was a less-than-welcome introduction, to say the least.

“The rules are simple. Force your opponent out of bounds or immobilize them. You can also win if your opponent surrenders. Bring everything you have – Recovery Girl is on stand-by if she’s needed – but don’t go too far, either! Anything life-threatening is forbidden and will be punished! Now – are you ready?”

Izuku took a deep breath.

“Start!”

Izuku and Shinsou continued to face each other, neither making a move.

“Not very exciting so far,” Present Mic called out impatiently. Shinsou huffed.

“I don’t suppose I can tempt you into talking, can I?” he asked. Obviously, Izuku didn’t deign to open his mouth in response. “Well, I’ll just have to keep trying.”

Shinsou rolled his shoulders backwards and opened his mouth, and Izuku waited for the insult – but just as suddenly, Shinsou rushed forward, flying towards him in an attempt to punch him in the face. Izuku dodged backwards on instinct. Shinsou then bent his body, sweeping out his arm around Izuku’s waist and pushing forward with as much force as he could muster, struggling to tip Izuku off-balance. Izuku let the momentum guide them as he gripped Shinsou’s side with one hand and forced the movement to pivot them both around Izuku’s right foot. Using his other hand, he jabbed Shinsou in the neck.

With a grunt, Shinsou loosened his grip on Izuku’s waist, and Izuku took the opportunity to jab his hands into the creases of Shinsou’s elbows. Shinsou let go, and Izuku jumped backwards, taking a defensive stance once more.

“Figured I’d have to attack first,” Shinsou said, panting. “I’m sure you must feel sorry for me.”

Izuku twisted around into a back kick aimed at Shinsou’s head, but Shinsou moved out of the way at the last second.

“Why wouldn’t you? You have so much more experience with fighting. Lucky that you got paired with me.”

Shinsou reached forward to get in a hit under Izuku’s chin but faked out and instead brought his knee upward to intercept Izuku’s stomach. Izuku dodged the blow and grabbed Shinsou’s leg, pulling him forward and causing him to stumble. Shinsou growled under his breath and made to sweep Izuku’s legs out from under him. Izuku simply spun around him and moved a few feet away.

“Are you just going to keep running? You’re used to that, aren’t you?”

Ignoring him, Izuku sprung forward to grab Shinsou’s right arm, lifting it above his head and turning his body to face the same side that Shinsou was. He pulled Shinsou’s arm down, and Shinsou’s upper body snapped forward in half, following the motion of his twisted arm.

Shinsou grunted, but merely laughed under his breath. Izuku frowned.

“I guess I’m making this easy for you. It must feel nice to win, for once. I mean – against an opponent you know you can win against, that is. But once you get past this, you might have a harder time with it. Maybe you just won’t fight at all because you’ll be too afraid that you’ll lose.”

Izuku shoved Shinsou forward, letting go of his arm. Shinsou stumbled a bit, stretching out his muscles before turning around to face him again. He made no move to run at Izuku again. Instead, he just stood there, surveying him with crossed arms.

“What are you doing, Midoriya? You could have thrown me out of this ring in thirty seconds. I know I’ve been getting better at sparring, but a month or two of training can’t compare to years of experience.”

Izuku was breathing heavily, but he didn’t try to run at Shinsou again either.

“What’s happening down there? Is there some kind of impasse? Have any quirks been used at all?” Present Mic asked, his voice echoing throughout the arena. The crowd shifted around, mirroring his confusion.

“Some people do have non-physical quirks, you know,” Aizawa said, sounding irritated. Izuku was surprised he mentioned it.

“Is this some kind of pity thing? You know I can’t display my quirk as long as you don’t say anything. You know that you can beat me in a physical fight. So are you just letting me stay up here longer so I can prove that I’m useful?” Shinsou asked. “Are you – looking down on me?”

Izuku stepped back, alarmed, even though Shinsou hadn’t made a move.

Looking down on him? He was just trying to help!

Izuku opened his mouth, and –

He immediately shut it again, shaking his head. Shinsou was doing this on purpose. He had to stay silent. Shinsou snorted in response.

“I guess you really are that desperate to help – well, desperate to get me to like you, if we’re being honest. It’s kind of pathetic, really.”

Izuku flushed, narrowing his eyes, and he leaped forward again with his arm making a wide arc in the air. For the first time, however, Shinsou didn’t even react to his fake blow. Shinsou used the momentum of the motion to pull Izuku’s arm away and dodged his second hit. Using the opening, he quickly punched Izuku in the jaw. Izuku gasped, raising his hand to his chin and feeling it throb. It was the first time Shinsou had landed a good, clean hit on him.

Izuku needed to calm down.

Shinsou raised his hand to attack again, but Izuku cut it down with his left forearm and gripped Shinsou’s shoulder. He shifted his right foot forward, bending his knee, and used his right arm to push the brunt of his body weight against Shinsou’s throat, with his bicep hitting the part right under his chin. Shinsou let out a small choking noise as he hit the ground.

“Not going to kick me while I’m down?” Shinsou croaked out, eyes half-lidded. “This is your only chance. You won’t know everyone else’s quirks that well. How could you possibly compare to them? To Class 1-A? To Bakugou? You don’t have a quirk. Don’t lie to yourself, Midoriya. The only reason you’re winning this fight is because you know me. Everyone else is leagues ahead of you.”

The words Shinsou were saying were hurtful – not necessarily because Izuku believed they were true, but because Shinsou was knowingly spitting his insecurities back in his face. He knew, on some level, that this is what Shinsou had to do if he wanted to move on, but that didn’t mean it was easy to brush off. Shinsou spoke these words like they were fact, like he was a child who still believed in fairy tales and all the adults were waiting around for him to grow up. He felt oddly betrayed, hearing his most private thoughts echo around the arena – even if Shinsou didn’t ask to hear them, he definitely knew Izuku had never meant to speak them out loud. Sure, Shinsou had never claimed that they were friends, and things had been tense lately, but they still had some kind of connection, didn’t they? They argued and disagreed over some things, but at the end of the day, they ultimately understood each other’s motivations and goals better than anyone else. Right?

It was as if Shinsou had changed the rules of their tenuous alliance without bothering to inform him, and it didn’t feel good. Izuku felt vaguely nauseous and his hands hardened into brittle fists. He wanted Shinsou to stop and tell him that it was untrue, confirm that it was just for the competition. He wanted him to apologize. He wanted him to be his friend.

And with the sun shining too brightly on his face, with the crowd hissing their disapproval at the lack of brutality, with Present Mic loudly voicing his confusion and echoing the stadium’s demands – most of all, what Izuku wanted was for this all to be over.

He gripped Shinsou’s shoulders and began to drag him towards the edge of the arena. The noise in the stands began to pick up again.

Shinsou allowed himself to be dragged a few feet, then suddenly dug his heels into the dirt. Izuku stumbled at the sudden change in resistance, and Shinsou used this moment to grab Izuku’s ankle and pull. Izuku yelped, nearly tripping over Shinsou, and landed on his knees a few feet away. Shinsou shot up off the ground and tackled Izuku. Izuku hit the ground and a puff of air escaped his lungs.

“Not yet,” Shinsou said, grunting with the effort of getting to his feet with his arms locking Izuku’s arms to his sides. He struggled to pull Izuku to the boundaries of the arena. Izuku took a deep breath and shoved his elbow backwards, right into Shinsou’s solar plexus. At the same time, he stomped down on his foot. Shinsou hissed in pain, his arms flexing, but he somehow managed to hold his grip on Izuku firm. Izuku blinked rapidly.

“Surprised that I can be competent, too?” Shinsou gasped out – clearly, Izuku’s attack had at least rendered him somewhat breathless. “No need to be so condescending. I can take a little pain. Or maybe you just aren’t as good as you think you are.”

Izuku scowled.

You can take a little pain?

Izuku tilted his head forward, then snapped it back upwards at a slight angle. The back of his head slammed into Shinsou’s nose. Shinsou cried out, moving his head away and shifting his arms. Izuku dropped down, widening his stance and bending his knees. He bent his arms and quickly shoved them all the way up, slapping Shinsou’s arms aside. He then grabbed Shinsou’s fists in his hands and twisted his wrists inward while spreading his arms, effectively removing Shinsou’s contact from his person.

Twisting his waist ever-so-slightly while maintaining the grip, Izuku thrusted a low side kick into Shinsou’s knee. Shinsou’s leg, likely already smarting from Izuku’s previous instep, gave out beneath him. He fell to the ground on one knee.

No more.

Izuku grabbed the collar of Shinsou’s shirt and again began to drag him to the edge of the arena. It was easier when Shinsou couldn’t properly use both his legs to resist him.

“I shouldn’t be surprised that you’re not saying anything. You’re so used to saying nothing if it means you get to play the victim. For someone who gets so offended at the idea that people think you’re nothing, you sure do a good job of acting like it.”

For a moment, Izuku felt his vision blur. Whether it was with tears or with anger and frustration, that he couldn’t tell – but all he knew was that he was done with this match.

Izuku opened and closed his mouth a few times, so close to defending himself, so close to shrieking incoherently at Shinsou, so close to hissing out words that would make Shinsou feel as hurt as he did right now – but as he adjusted his view, he caught sight of the crowd.

They were waiting in anticipation. Waiting eagerly for Izuku to mess up, waiting for Shinsou to rise back up and prolong this brawl. Waiting for some hint of excitement. Waiting for a quirk to make its appearance.

None of Shinsou’s claims were nice to hear. But none of them were new, either. He was standing before a crowd of people who would likely say the same things. He had heard them a million times before, and he would hear them a million times more. Sometimes they were things he still thought to himself. Perhaps they would be the last words he would ever hear. But as he eyed the audience, he thought he caught sight of Himura standing up in the second row. Be confident. The words didn’t have to mean anything, not if he believed they didn’t. 

He strained every muscle in his body and lifted Shinsou off the ground, tossing him a few metres in front of him. Shinsou rolled until he was only a metre or so away from the edge. Izuku advanced on him.

Am I nothing now?

Shinsou somehow got back to his feet as Izuku neared him. For a moment, he simply stood there. Then, he rushed forward with surprising speed, despite one of his legs lagging behind in a slight limp. He grasped Izuku’s head by his hair and used his other hand to grip Izuku’s collar, twisting him around so Izuku was closer to the boundary than he was.

“Get out!” Shinsou gasped out, pushing with everything he had.

Izuku shoved his hand under Shinsou’s arm and gripped his shoulder on the other side, while resting his weight on his back leg to avoid being pushed out. He turned his body around so that he was sideways in comparison to Shinsou and stepped forward with his right leg. With an almighty heave, he shifted his hips into Shinsou’s body and bent himself in half – still holding onto Shinsou’s shoulder – flipping Shinsou clear over his back and straight over the line.

For a moment, there was only stunned silence. Then, Midnight’s bracelet clanged around her wrist as she lifted her arm in the air.

“Shinsou is out-of-bounds! Midoriya advances to the next round!” she announced.

The crowd, having been listless for so long, cheered approvingly in response. For once, however, Izuku didn’t feel very victorious. He shoved his messy hair back out of his eyes and wiped the sweat from his face. He stared at his hands, and then at the ground where Shinsou was slowly rising to his feet with his shoulders hunched. He turned to face Izuku.

“That wasn’t a very interesting first match, but we should praise them both for their brave efforts. Clap your hands!” Present Mic said.

They both stood there rather awkwardly for a moment, allowing the half-hearted praise to wash over them.

“Not all quirks are so flashy,” Aizawa said, amid the thundering of the crowd. “But some are still incredibly useful. Shinsou’s quirk is Brainwashing. He can take control of the minds of people who respond to him verbally and force them to obey him. The element of surprise obviously makes this quirk much simpler to use – therefore, in this case, pairing these two students together was the worst possible match-up. Midoriya was undoubtedly already aware of this and took the precautions to avoid responding.

“However,” Aizawa continued. “You cannot always depend on the element of surprise. You must be able to encourage a response in some other fashion or defend yourself another way in a real fight. Since this wasn’t the case, Midoriya ended up winning the match.”

Izuku looked up, surprised that Aizawa had bothered to explain what had been happening. He supposed it was for the benefit of the crowd, who looked confused at what seemed to be an entirely quirkless fight.

Shinsou turned away and began to walk down the steps of the arena.

“Nice job, Shinsou!” Okuda called from the stands above him. Beside her, Tanabe was smiling and waving as well.

“I was surprised – you fought really well! Against Midoriya, too!” Anzai exclaimed. She didn’t look very tense while talking to Shinsou this time, just open and excited.

Around them, the Pro Heroes were muttering to themselves about the match. Izuku could just barely hear them if he strained his ears.

“That would be much more useful than my quirk,” Chameleon said. “Danger and damage could be avoided completely.”

“U.A.’s not very smart,” Ms. Joke noted. “Their exam process must be very flawed if he’s only in General Education. What a waste.”

“Even though the other kid knew, he still had trouble keeping his mouth shut during the fight,” Moonshine said. “This one’s clearly got a good handle on his quirk.”

Izuku blinked. Maybe… Aizawa didn’t say those things for the crowd’s benefit. Maybe it was for Shinsou’s benefit. Izuku couldn’t see Shinsou’s expression with his back turned like that, but he paused for a moment and the tension in his shoulders seemed to fade. He strode away looking much more at ease. Izuku only hesitated for a moment before following him.

There were a few things he wanted to settle.

***

“Midoriya,” Shinsou said, his back still turned. He was gathering his things off a bench in the waiting room for Class 1-C, presumably to head over to Recovery Girl and then go straight up to the stands.

“Shinsou-kun,” Izuku said in response. He opened his mouth – but suddenly, in spite of his desperation to talk to Shinsou and clear things up, his mind was left blank. Millions of thoughts and feelings were rattling around in his head like coins in a piggy bank, but with all of them fighting to escape out the slot at the same time, the exit was blocked. He didn’t know what to say. He fidgeted, a strangely familiar feeling of anxiety coming over him. He almost felt as if he were facing down Bakugou.  

“Midoriya,” Shinsou repeated, apparently lifting the burden of starting the conversation off Izuku’s shoulders. “Congratulations on your victory. You must be proud.”

“Thank you,” Izuku said, a bit stiffly. “Congratulations to you, too. Making it to the third round is already an accomplishment. And yes, I'm excited to be moving on. I want to win.”

Shinsou laughed softly.

“What?”

“I want to win. I want to be in Class 1-A. I want to be a hero,” Shinsou said, quoting Izuku. “I want it too, you know. You’re not special.”

“I don’t – ”

“But maybe wanting it isn’t enough,” Shinsou went on, ignoring Izuku. “Maybe you were right, before, and being a hero is also about knowing what to say, and when to say it. When not to say something. I wanted to win at any cost, but in the process, I think I said a lot of things that I shouldn’t have.”

Izuku shrugged, aiming for nonchalance. He kicked at the ground.

“It’s just your quirk,” he muttered. “You’re free to use it however you want. You needed me to talk, so you could win.”

“But I hurt you,” Shinsou said plainly, stating it as fact. Izuku winced, but he didn’t refute it. He didn’t try to defend Shinsou this time.

After a long moment of silence, Izuku tentatively tilted his head up to look at Shinsou. For the first time in quite a while, Izuku really looked. Shinsou’s eyes – usually half-lidded with boredom – were narrowed with some unidentifiable emotion. He seemed… troubled. Perhaps even anxious, for once.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“It’s – it’s okay,” Izuku said hastily. Shinsou shook his head.

“You don’t need to say that. I know I used things you told me in a private context as weapons. I’d be pissed, if I were you.”

“That’s just – your quirk requires – ”

“My quirk doesn’t require me to be an asshole – that’s just me,” Shinsou said, a ghost of a smile flitting across his face. “I went on about how people judged me all the time and then I did the same thing to you, without even knowing you.”

“You had a reason.”

Shinsou snorted.

“Villains have reasons for what they do, too, but crime is still crime.” Shinsou looked down and sighed. “Middle school really fucks you up, huh?”

“Yeah,” Izuku said, huffing out a humourless laugh. Silence reigned over the room again.

“I think I wouldn’t have been very happy, even if I did win that match,” Shinsou said suddenly.

“What do you mean?”

“It wouldn’t have been heroic of me to win that way. But further than that…” he trailed off for a second, hesitating, “…further than that, friends shouldn’t do that to each other.”

Izuku’s head shot up, but Shinsou had purposely trained his gaze somewhere above Izuku’s face. He kept talking before Izuku could say anything else.  

“You’d better not lose,” Shinsou said. “I want to be able to say I lost to the winner.”

“I won’t, I – ” Izuku stopped, frozen in the middle of his claim as his mind was suddenly trapped inside an uncooperative body. His arms and legs were stuck in place and his mouth wasn't moving. Shinsou stepped forward, eyeing him with amusement.

“You’re going to have to do better than that,” he said. “At this rate, someone will get you in no time.”

With that, he stepped around Izuku and exited the room, only releasing him after he had already walked away.

Izuku stretched, shaking off the feeling of numbness, and he stared out the doorway for a moment. Perhaps he had been too hasty in comparing Shinsou to Bakugou. During the fight, Izuku had barely been able to tell them apart. The cadence of Shinsou’s voice kept shifting in his ears, sounding traitorously similar to Bakugou’s growls. But now, the distinction was obvious. The difference between Shinsou and Bakugou was that Shinsou apologized, and Bakugou didn’t. And Izuku didn’t know if he ever would.

***

“Midoriya-kun!” Hirai exclaimed. “Congratulations. You did well in your first match!”

“Yeah, you were alright, I guess,” Sasaki said. She moved her legs out of the way so Izuku could get to the seat next to hers. They had a good view of the arena from here.

“Thanks,” Izuku said, smiling at them. They were sitting close to the rest of Class 1-C, but not directly next to them. Izuku noticed Shinsou somewhere behind them, but Shinsou simply shook his head when he caught Izuku’s gaze. Izuku frowned, but turned back around and respected his wish to be alone right now. Maybe he could get Shinsou to join them later.

“Ready for your next match?” Sasaki asked.

“We’ll have to see,” Izuku muttered, watching Todoroki and his opponent – Sero – approach each other from opposite ends of the stadium.

“Thanks for waiting!” Present Mic said, signalling for the audience to quiet down. “Next up – he’s plain, but he’s good. From the hero course, it’s Sero Hanta! His opponent, on the other hand, has been second-best all day with an impressive quirk to match – he wasn’t a recommended student for nothing! Also from the hero course, it’s Todoroki Shouto! Now – are we ready for the second match?”

The crowd roared. Sero was stretching out his arms, grinning at the audience. In contrast, Todoroki stood completely still. His hair fell over his face.

“Start!”

For a moment, Izuku was caught up in the sudden movement that came from Sero, rather than Todoroki. Tape shot out of his elbows and wrapped around Todoroki’s body, already flinging him towards the edge of the arena. Present Mic was gleefully praising the surprise attack. But a mere second later, Todoroki’s head snapped up, and Izuku could sense the instant it all changed.

A chill surrounded him as gigantic spires of ice burst out of the grounds, covering half the arena and poking out of the stadium itself.

Were they reaching towards the sun? Izuku could barely see where it all ended. Half of the crowd was enveloped in shadow. The bustle of the audience came to a standstill and the whole stadium was nearly silent.

Sero was trapped at the heart of the glacier, limbs encased in ice. Todoroki broke free of his restraints, freezing them over and cracking them off his body. He slowly walked forward, a mere speck in front of the structure of his own making. For a second, he simply looked at it. It was like a vast ice sculpture crafted by experienced artisan hands. A masterpiece.

This was his next opponent?

“S-Sero, can you move?” Midnight asked, shivering from the platform that was also frozen over. Sero must have affirmed his defeat, as Midnight raised her hand. “Sero is immobilized! Todoroki advances to the second round!”

Step by step, Todoroki made his way to Sero. He placed his left hand on Sero’s chest and steam began to pour out of the centre of the arena as he melted away the evidence of what he’d made. The noise of the crowd picked up again in quiet whispers.

Izuku lowered his shaking hands. He couldn’t see Todoroki’s face, but somehow, Todoroki looked very sad to him.

***

The remainder of the first-round matches were decidedly… interesting.

After the long break that was taken to melt Todoroki’s ice, the next few fights flew by. Shiozaki finished off Kaminari with ease – her vines, which stemmed from a binding-type quirk, were extremely strong. In combination with an opponent like Kaminari – who seemed a bit too distracted by having a female competitor in the arena with him – Shiozaki did not have any trouble defeating him. Izuku had taken quite a few notes on her.

The fight between Iida and Hatsume, on the other hand… it had taken much longer than expected. As much as he felt for Iida after the rather embarrassing display that Hatsume had put him through, he couldn’t help but feel immense respect for Hatsume at the same time. She, too, was essentially quirkless – she didn’t use her quirk to aid in the fight at all, and still ran circles around Iida. It was genuinely astounding how people could be so doubtful of those with lesser quirks when science and technology progressed at such a prolific rate. With those items of her own design, Hatsume didn’t need a quirk to be better than half the hero students present at the Sports Festival. When Hatsume left the arena, she did so with pride. That was confidence. He made mentions of her and her equipment in his notebook as well – he could definitely use the help of someone like her in the future.

The next match ended rather quickly – as confident and physically capable as Ashido was, she was no match for Honenuki of Class 1-B. He was a recommended student and his superior strategic thinking was obvious. Ashido tried to use her acid to slide closer to Honenuki and draw out a close-combat match, but Honenuki simply softened the ground whenever she did so. It wasn’t long before Ashido was essentially drowning in the soft cement – and Honenuki, who could swim in the softened material with ease, quickly undid the effect around her to trap her in the ground.

Izuku tried to pay more attention when Yaoyorozu of Class 1-A was paired with Furuya – after all, he and Furuya had reached some understanding – but again, there was no contest. Furuya didn’t even want to be a hero. Izuku assumed he just didn’t want to drop out of the competition without a good reason. He still got to show off his quirk, after all – not that he got much of a chance during his match. Within a minute, Yaoyorozu had dodged his long limbs, materializing large bundles of fishing nets out of her stomach and weaving them over and under his arms while beating his hands back with a metallic shield. Once his limbs were effectively tangled with the various ropes, it was easy enough to restrain and immobilize him. Izuku offered Furuya a sympathetic smile when he showed up in the stands, and he received a cordial nod in response.

With Kirishima and Tetsutetsu… nothing really stood out to him at all, as much as Izuku didn’t want to admit it. Their quirks were essentially the same. Each blow was matched in intensity, and Izuku wasn’t surprised to find that it ended in a tie.

Bakugou and Awase started their match, in the meantime. This match – as Izuku expected – didn’t last very long, either. Awase’s quirk was the ability to fuse objects together, but the wide-open space of the arena was not a conducive environment for this quirk to reach its maximum potential. Awase fought valiantly, managing to glue down a few of Bakugou’s limbs to the cement from time to time. Unfortunately, Bakugou was able to blast away the connections with ease and avoided Awase altogether by simply propelling himself into the air. Awase tried to weld himself to the ground to avoid being thrown out, but this resulted in one too many explosions to the face.

Izuku sighed as Bakugou blasted Awase straight out of the arena. It would have been too easy for Kacchan’s path to end right here. He would make it all the way to the end. That was just a fact.

Izuku drummed his fingers nervously against the railing of the stands. He barely paid attention during Kirishima and Tetsutetsu’s arm wrestling match, though he did spare enough of a passing glance to notice the name of the winner – Kirishima – flash on the screen. The commotion of the crowd was a low din in his ears, like a faint but ever-present bell that wouldn’t stop ringing. It faded to the background as his heartbeat took precedence, louder and louder with each passing moment. Throughout all the fights, Izuku was restless – his legs bumped against the seats in front of him, time and again. He couldn’t focus.

The ice was all gone, but Izuku’s arms still had the goosebumps from the overpowering chill. He was still shaking, ever-so-slightly.

“And that’s the end of the first round! Good job to everyone who made it this far – but now, it’s time for the second round, which is sure to be even more exciting. Let’s get started!” Present Mic bellowed into his microphone.

Izuku blinked. The faint ringing in his ears subsided. He stood up, vaguely aware of Hirai frowning up at him and Sasaki tugging at his arm impatiently and the cheers of his classmates wishing him well. He needed to go to the waiting rooms. 

He stumbled down the stairs in the stands, taking one last glance at the arena before he left for the inner corridors. Squinting up, he noticed the sun shining brightly through the clouds. It wasn’t blocked out anymore. But as he turned around to face the dark hallway, it still felt as though Todoroki’s colossal mass of ice was looming over him, keeping him in shadow – simply waiting to fall apart and wreak havoc in his path. 

Chapter Text

Every step forward felt like another second closer to the executioner’s block. Izuku wandered through the corridors in a daze, making turn after turn from muscle memory. He quickly stopped by the waiting room for Class 1-C – now empty of everyone but him – and retrieved his bō staff. He hesitated for only a moment before affixing the grappling hook to his side as well. It likely wouldn’t be very useful in a situation like this, where he had to fight someone out in the open, but an extra tool couldn’t hurt. He exited the room and hurried down the hallway, following the sounds of the audience. Finally, he reached the vast entrance to the stadium. He stepped under the arch and closed his eyes, letting the sunlight warm him.

Izuku took a deep breath and opened his eyes again. He walked forward with purpose, feeling everyone watching him as he climbed up the stairs to reach the arena. At the top, he noted that Todoroki had arrived at the same time. His eyes were narrowed, and his mouth was set in a firm line. Izuku swallowed but didn’t break eye contact.

“The first match of the second round begins – Midoriya versus Todoroki! Both have shown stellar performances today – it’s Number One against Number Two! The final test between ultimate rivals! Are you ready?” Present Mic asked.

The crowd waved their arms and thundered their approval. Izuku tightened his grip on his bō staff.

“Start!”

Todoroki wasted no time. He shifted his foot and sent an enormous wall of icy spikes towards Izuku, similar to the blast that Sero had faced. Izuku stared at the wave of ice growing closer and closer, right in front of him, until –

He jumped up as high as he could, angling his body slightly to the right to face a spike that had already formed. He kicked his foot off the side of the spike and managed to grasp it near the tip. He pulled his body up to the top as Todoroki’s spears of ice continued to jut out of the ground behind him, leading straight out of the arena. He panted, dragging himself up and wrapping his body around the top of the spike.

That was one thing he noticed about Todoroki. In order to conserve the ice that he made, he tended to reinforce the bottoms, making them veritable icebergs, while tapering off the ice toward the tops, resulting in what looked like enormous icicles poking out of the ground. The downside of this was that it made an uneven terrain on top, something that he could take advantage of. The tops were much weaker – much more breakable.

“Where did Midoriya go?” Present Mic cried.

Izuku pulled himself onto the higher surface of the slanted ice jutting out of the huge block and raised his arm. Gripping his staff firmly, he smashed the spiky tips surrounding him, breaking off the points to create more flat surfaces. He began to run down the icy platform, sliding down the angular juts and breaking off more tips with his staff where necessary in order to create more footholds. As quickly as he could, he made his way closer to Todoroki. With Todoroki using his ice so often, it was likely that he was used to fighting at a distance – meaning close-quarters combat would benefit Izuku and leave Todoroki at a disadvantage.

“Amazing! Midoriya has somehow dodged the attack and is now running straight at Todoroki!” Present Mic said.

“He predicted how the attack would start and thought of a way to adjust accordingly,” Aizawa said. “A good plan against an opponent like Todoroki.”

Izuku kept running down the platform as fast as he could, but his uniform was a stark blue against the pristine white ice. Todoroki spotted him with ease and stomped his foot down again, releasing another mass of ice that built on the platform Izuku was currently on. Izuku gaped at the height of it – it would be far too tall for him to jump up and climb, and it was much smoother than his first blast. Obviously, Todoroki wanted to prevent Izuku from gaining any more handholds.

He grimaced. There was nothing else he could do. Again, he waited until the wall of ice was nearly upon him – and then he jumped off the side of the ice platform, landing on his knees on the ground by the side of the huge spikes. Turning back to look, he gaped at the massive hunk of ice blocking out his view of half the stadium. It was now taking up most of the arena grounds.

Izuku got to his feet, slightly shaky, and began to run around the huge obstruction. Todoroki couldn’t see him, so maybe he could surprise him by leaping out the side and crowding him into a close-combat match. He sprinted past the spires of ice and turned the final corner – only to see Todoroki’s eyes fix upon him immediately. Without a second to spare, Todoroki released another blast of ice in Izuku’s direction. Izuku yelped and dodged back behind the wall Todoroki had created with his first two attacks. This third attack just barely missed him, extending diagonally out the side of the arena like a lopsided tail. Running at Todoroki while they were both on the ground was obviously not going to pan out if Todoroki could just trap him in a glacier with a single movement of his foot.

But maybe he didn’t have to be on the ground. Earlier, Izuku was mourning the pointlessness of his grappling hook in an open arena. A flat, empty field for combat would be no good for him, and it only highlighted that he had foolishly chosen a random support device in the desperate hope that it would come in handy at some point. But with each colossal blast of ice that Todoroki released, the more structures he created in the arena. More high ground. More tools for Izuku to use.  

Catching his breath, Izuku began to jog back along the side of the ice wall to where he had originally stood at the beginning of the fight and he ripped his grappling hook off his waist. He pulled back his hand so that it was hidden behind his back, and began to run along the side of the ice wall again – but on the opposite side this time. He ran toward Todoroki from the other direction. As he neared the opposite side of the arena again – where Todoroki was standing – he lifted the arm holding his staff. He jumped out into the open where Todoroki was standing and watched as Todoroki’s gaze automatically followed the movement of the staff in his hands.

Todoroki twisted his foot on the ground again to send out a blast of ice. In response, Izuku brought down the arm holding his staff and raised the one holding the grappling hook. He ran straight at Todoroki’s attack.

Todoroki’s eyes widened.

Izuku jumped off the ground again and pulled the trigger on the grappling hook, allowing it to latch onto the top of Todoroki’s newest projection of ice. He pulled on it again, zipping himself up to the top of the spire and clumsily grasping the tip. He now had the high ground, gazing down at Todoroki from this new mountain of ice. He was only a few metres away. Taking a deep breath, he raised his staff again and jumped off. With this trajectory, he would land only a foot or two away from Todoroki.

Unfortunately, Todoroki was not content to stay still while this happened. Stomping down with his foot yet again, he unleashed another shockwave of ice in Izuku’s direction.

Izuku’s fingers frantically fumbled with the trigger on the grappling hook gun. The claw attached itself to some of the ice on the ground right next to Todoroki, and when Izuku activated the trigger again, the winds began to whip against his face uncontrollably as he was pulled to the ground with much more speed than usual. At this velocity, he bypassed the speed of Todoroki’s attack. At the same time, he kept his left arm raised – the one that was still holding his staff. It smashed against the top of Todoroki’s newest blast of ice and broke off a huge clump of tips, which fell down like pointed spears headed straight for Todoroki’s head.

Todoroki stepped back instinctively, alarmed at both the avalanche about to rain down on him and Izuku approaching the ground where he stood at any moment now.

Finally, Izuku thought excitedly. I’m finally going to get the upper hand.

“It seems Midoriya is using Todoroki’s own ice against him!” Present Mic exclaimed.

“If you wanted me to get a bit closer, you should have just said so,” Todoroki said, finally breaking the silence between them.

In a smooth, graceful movement, Todoroki pushed one hand against the ground and created a sloping curve of ice above his head, redirecting all the spikes of ice behind him. Simultaneously, he pressed his other hand to the ground and created a slanted platform of ice right under Izuku.

Izuku cried out in pain as his knees hit the cold, hard ice and his hands scraped against the rough surface. He tried to get to his feet, but he only began to slide down towards Todoroki – who, apparently, had had enough of staying away and was running straight at him on his own platform.

It’s not just his quirk, Izuku realized, and automatically felt a bit embarrassed that he of all people was reducing someone to just their quirk. He’s quick and has good judgement… he’s really strong.

The crowd was already murmuring about Todoroki’s impressive reflexes.  

Of course it wouldn’t be that easy.

Izuku shot the grappling hook gun into the ice wall from Todoroki’s previous attack and leaped away, landing hard on the side of the structure and scrambling to get himself up to the top. Breathless, he stood up and looked at Todoroki, who was merely gazing at him from his own platform.

“Are you really that tired just from running away? You might as well let me finish this,” Todoroki said, tilting his head. He sounded almost like he wanted to do them both a favour. A favour.

Izuku trembled on his platform and, for the first time, took a moment simply to look around the arena. Perhaps three-quarters of it was covered in huge masses of ice. He looked back at Todoroki and squinted. Small patches of ice were creeping up his arm. He was shivering.

Izuku felt himself grit his teeth.

“You’ve done well so far, but it’s time to end this,” Todoroki said, as he created a bridge of ice between his platform and Izuku’s. He travelled up the bridge with increasing speed.

Yes, it is.

Izuku pulled the trigger of his grappling hook gun and shot it into the space just above Todoroki. It latched onto another wall of ice. Pulling the trigger again, he zipped overhead. He released the hook before he was dragged all the way up and landed on the platform behind Todoroki.

Todoroki stopped in his tracks. He turned back around to face Izuku and created another icy platform aimed at his feet, clearly intended to hold Izuku in place. Izuku aimed the gun directly upward, at the same spot he had just hooked onto, and latched it there, pulling himself up to evade the sheet of ice. Once it had cleared the spot where Izuku was previously standing, Izuku tugged hard on the hook before releasing the trigger and dropping back down. Using his bō staff, Izuku forcefully slammed the platform under his feet as well. It trembled beneath him, with a single crack forming on the surface.

Todoroki was falling into the same trap that he had created for himself in the cavalry battle.

I will defeat you using only my right side.

Todoroki did not use fire to melt any of the shockwaves of ice he had sent out. The arena was littered with a labyrinth of icy towers and tunnels, leaning over them precariously, and Todoroki was as lost within the walls as Izuku was.

Todoroki sent out another blast of ice while running towards him, but Izuku grappled higher up onto another column right next to him and zipped away. This time, he grappled from column to platform to bridge in succession, until he landed behind Todoroki again and Todoroki stood in the initial place Izuku had been mere moments ago. Izuku glanced up at the tall structure behind Todoroki where his hook had been latched earlier.

“You can’t truly think you will outlast me,” Todoroki said. “I won’t let this become an endurance match.”

“You’re already making it one,” Izuku commented. Todoroki opened his mouth as if to respond, but frowned and closed it again.

Suddenly, Todoroki leaped forward and punched the platform with his right fist, releasing more spires of ice. Izuku readied his grappling hook to dodge away – but this time, Todoroki’s spires of ice curved upward with the movement of his jump and caught his foot. Izuku gasped as the cold began to numb his leg. The gun slipped from his grasp and fell to the arena grounds, many metres below.

Using the staff in his other hand, he frantically beat it against the ice encasing his foot with all the force he could muster.

“Todoroki has finally caught Midoriya in his grasp!” Present Mic called out to the crowd, who was screaming out their praise.  

At this point, Todoroki’s shoulders seem to ease up and relax. He looked at Izuku struggling with himself for a moment like he was some poor fruit fly caught in a spiderweb, only tangling himself further in the threads while the spider drew nearer for its meal.

“Sorry about this,” Todoroki said, averting his eyes to the stands, “but thank you, Midoriya. You put up a better fight than I expected. Perhaps you can reach your goal in some other way, like I’ve reached mine. My father looks more frustrated than ever, seeing that I still haven’t had to use his damn quirk.”

Izuku’s eyes narrowed into slits. He clenched his fist around his staff even tighter and struck again. He managed to break off a few large pieces that surrounded his ankle.  

“Let’s finish this,” Todoroki said, beginning to position his foot properly in order to release another blast of ice.

“Where are you looking?” Izuku snarled, finally shattering the stronghold on his foot with one more bang. With that, he raised his staff up and launched it clear across the space between the two competitors, right to the spot where Todoroki was standing.

It whizzed over Todoroki’s head.

Todoroki blinked, and shook his head.

“You missed,” he said. “You – ”

Todoroki was cut off by a large rumble as the bō staff banged against the spot where Izuku had previously latched onto with his grappling hook, twice. Already crumbling from this disruption in its structure, the force of the staff against it dropped a mountain of ice on top of Todoroki.

Todoroki stumbled forward, trying to dodge the ice and create another platform to cover his head – but the additional weight of more ice on the platform plus the flood of icy blocks only widened the crack on the platform that Izuku had created earlier. It broke underneath Todoroki, and he fell to the ground with a surprised grunt. Large chunks of ice pinned his limbs in place.  

Free of the prison that had grown over his leg, Izuku leaped down from the platform and landed in a crouching position. He got up and retrieved his bō staff. Glancing around, he spotted his grappling hook gun and picked it up as well. As he affixed it to his hip, he jogged over to Todoroki with purpose.

Todoroki had just pushed the pieces of ice off his body and was getting to his feet. He glanced up to see Izuku’s face.

Izuku punched him in the jaw.

Todoroki gasped and lurched heavily to one side, stumbling. The crowd was roaring even louder than before.

“Incredible! Midoriya has escaped Todoroki and attacked him, all in one smooth, calculated maneuver!” Present Mic screeched.

“He used his environment to his advantage,” Aizawa agreed.

Todoroki regained his balance and lifted his left foot. Izuku spun the staff in his hands and hooked it behind Todoroki’s foot, pulling forwards. Todoroki stumbled again, stopped in his tracks before he could create another mountain of ice. Todoroki drew his hand back, ice forming over his fist as he aimed for Izuku’s face. Crystals grew out of his hand until they formed icicles, which were on the verge of becoming pillars –

Izuku slammed his staff into Todoroki’s hand, whirling it in the other direction. The crystals shattered on the ground before they could grow any larger. Todoroki’s eyes widened as he drew back his throbbing hand, and Izuku stepped forward with his right foot, gripping the close end of his bō staff firmly while guiding the far side to slam into Todoroki’s shoulder.

Todoroki dodged, bringing up his hand and forming ice crystals over his forearm. Izuku’s next blow landed near Todoroki’s elbow, shattering the crystals again and forcing Todoroki’s hand back down. Using this moment of disorientation, Izuku brought the back end of his staff up again and pushed the blunt side into Todoroki’s forehead. Todoroki grunted in pain, feet faltering in their steps.

“Finally paying attention, are you?” Izuku asked. He twisted into a back kick aimed at Todoroki’s head, but Todoroki caught his leg. Crystals began to grow along his shin before Izuku jabbed backwards with his staff, poking the end right into Todoroki’s stomach. Todoroki let out a small choking sound and let go of Izuku’s leg. Izuku stomped his foot on the ground, getting rid of some of the chunks attached to his knee, and slammed his free hand against Todoroki’s throat.

The choking sounds intensified as Todoroki stumbled back, pressing his palm to his neck. Izuku hooked his staff behind Todoroki’s foot again and pushed at his shoulder, sending him crashing to the ground. Todoroki panted for a moment, before slowly attempting to get back to his feet.

Izuku simply watched, his fingers twitching by his sides.

“What – what are you doing?” Todoroki croaked out as he stood again. “Why are you just standing there instead of trying to throw me out of here?”

“You’re shaking, Todoroki-kun,” Izuku hissed, shifting his chin to the left. “You’re reaching your limit, aren’t you? Isn’t that something you could solve by using your left side? Everyone’s fighting, and trying their hardest to achieve their goals, and you’re still screwing around!”

“I want – ”

“You want to win using only half your power? Don’t be so big-headed,” Izuku scoffed. “You’ve barely even touched me.”

Todoroki’s mouth twisted unpleasantly. He stomped his foot on the ground and unleashed a pulse of ice. Izuku cracked the ice with a single blow from his staff, striking it again to reduce them into pieces that blew back at Todoroki. The icy patches over Todoroki’s skin seemed to grow in size. Izuku paid them no heed and leaped forward. Todoroki raised his right arm, but Izuku spaced out his hands equally on his bō staff and blocked the strike with ease. At the same time, he lifted his right knee into Todoroki’s stomach. Todoroki began to wheeze, but Izuku did not give him a moment’s rest. He let his hand slip down to Todoroki’s wrist and gripped it, moving his whole body under the arm while twisting. From this new position, Todoroki was already half-bent over. Izuku placed more pressure on his elbow from behind and pushed at his shoulders, causing Todoroki to fall to his knees.

The crowd was both shouting and whispering, both clapping their hands together and keeping their fists closed tight in anticipation.  

“I won’t let you leave this round until you use your fire,” Izuku said.

Todoroki exhaled heavily. He pushed his hand towards the ground – the one not currently twisted into a pretzel behind his back – and sent a wave of spikes directly behind him. Izuku let go of him and jumped away, and Todoroki got back to his feet. He turned to glower at Izuku.

“Did that damn old man pay you off or something? Why are you trying so hard?” Todoroki snapped. He twisted his foot on the ground and another line of spikes came spiralling towards Izuku. They were much shorter than usual, only reaching up to his waist. The attack was much slower than Todoroki’s previous attacks.

Izuku leapt out of the way with a single motion.

“Of course not,” Izuku yelled, finally losing the tenuous grip on his temper. “Is it that hard to believe that I have my own motivations? Can you seriously not think about what it’s like in someone else’s shoes?”

He ran at Todoroki, who kicked out at him. Izuku dodged, only to feel the sting of ice graze his face as Todoroki let loose a punch from his left fist at the same time. He drew back for only a moment.

“You’re probably wondering if I have some quirk right now, if that’s why I lasted so long,” Izuku said quietly. Todoroki’s head jerked up. “It’s easier to wonder that, isn’t it? If it’s all some game, some trick where I pretended to be someone else just to draw out your fire, to get you to do what your father wants. It’s always easier to pretend the world revolves around you.”

Todoroki’s gaze caught on Izuku’s.

“But it doesn’t,” Izuku said, whipping his staff back down to slam against Todoroki’s foot, and kicking at his knee simultaneously. He blocked Todoroki’s blow with his left elbow, letting the weak crystals form over his forearm for a moment before twisting his arm and pulling downwards.

Todoroki fell to his knees, struggling. Izuku looked down at him, eyes burning.

“What the hell are you doing?” Izuku shouted. “I’m fucking quirkless, and somehow, I’m still winning against you! You, who might have the most ideal quirk I’ve ever seen!”

Those few at the very front of the stands, in the first couple of rows, grew silent. Then, the whispering started up again, slowly travelling up the first few rows, then the next few, then the next cluster, until a wave of murmuring eventually hit the people at the very top. Izuku barely paid it any mind.

Todoroki made no move to get off the ground. He stayed there, hands trembling against the dirt.

“How can you ask me why I’m trying so hard when you already know?”

Izuku grabbed Todoroki by the shoulders and began to shake him. Todoroki reached up a lone hand and froze a thin layer of ice over Izuku’s left arm. Izuku hissed, immediately pulling his arm back and shaking it off.

“I’m trying because I want to be a hero,” Izuku said, “despite everything. I want to help people. Don’t you? Is there no one you want to help?”

Todoroki still made no move to get up.

“Shut up,” Todoroki whispered under his breath, still shivering. “Shut up.”

Izuku pushed at Todoroki’s shoulder. Todoroki’s hands were still clawing at the dirt, like he was grasping for purchase or reaching for something else. His eyes were not on the crowd, not on Endeavor, not on his classmates, not on Izuku. He wouldn’t look at Izuku.

Still, Izuku kept pushing. He wasn’t sure what would happen, what would come out. This was a dangerous decision. He could very well be opening Pandora’s box, watching all the strife and hatred and rage flit out of Todoroki to be unleashed upon the world…

But maybe in doing so, Todoroki, too, would be left only with hope.

“Your quirk is incredible. It’s beautiful, really… how it balances out like that. But as much as I would have wanted your quirk when I was a kid, I would never want to be you. I would rather have nothing than waste my gifts and stick my head in the sand, like you. How could you win like this? Can’t you see that no one ends up happy when you make this decision?”

“He’s the one who made her like that… I will reject his power…” Todoroki muttered. Izuku made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat.

“It’s your power, isn’t it?”

Todoroki looked up to meet his eyes, startled and utterly lost. For a moment, he was only silent, still trembling.

And then he burst into flames.

Izuku took a step back, and then – much to his chagrin – could only gape at Todoroki with his mouth half-open.

The patches of ice over Todoroki’s right arm and leg began to evaporate as flames billowed in plumes around his head. Nearby, some of Todoroki’s ice structures were thawing.

“Even though you want to win…” Todoroki said hoarsely, “…even though you need to win… you’re still helping your enemy. It could all end here, for you. People would never expect anything of you again. But you’re still helping me. Which one of us is screwing around now?”

Todoroki looked unnatural – almost other-worldly – as the fire on his left made his skin glow and set his eyes alight, all while the ice on his right grew in perfect crystals that gleamed brightly in the sun. In this moment in time, he was like a Greek god, bending the elements to his will and harnessing all that raw power into his fingertips.

“I want to be a hero, too,” he gasped out, smiling manically with the full intensity of his gaze fixed on Izuku. For once – for the first time today, actually – Izuku knew that Todoroki was truly looking at him. Izuku felt the beginnings of a crazed grin grow on his own face in response.

Todoroki shook his head.

“Why are you smiling?” he asked. “With the ice melting away… with my body re-stabilizing… with fire everywhere, that you can’t grab or hook onto…

“You’re crazy. Don’t blame me for this last move – apparently, I have to do everything to win. It looks like I should apologize for derailing you from your goals again.”

“Don’t,” Izuku said. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

Todoroki sent out huge blocks of ice with a single stomp, pillars that were tall and wide and growing in every direction. Izuku fumbled at his grappling hook and hooked it onto one of the tall ice structures already littering the arena, releasing the trigger to pull himself up. Some of the structures nearest to Todoroki had begun to melt when he released that first blast of fire, but too much ice had been created over the course of the match for Todoroki to melt it all away.

Izuku pulled himself higher onto the ice structure, standing on the platform to look down at Todoroki. He began to race down the pillars Todoroki had just created, running straight at him. Again, a close-combat match was his best bet, even if he was likely to get burned.

Todoroki smiled as he approached, and Izuku almost stopped in place at the expression on his face.

“Midoriya,” he said, raising his left arm and showing off a bright orange glow. “Thank you.”

As he released a spiral of flames from his left palm, Izuku felt the ice beneath him tremble. Here at the top of Todoroki’s mountains of ice was a place where the ice wasn’t reinforced. Where it wasn’t strong, like at the bottoms. A place where the ice would melt and crack under the added heat. Izuku knew, in this brief pocket of time, that he would undoubtedly be flung straight out of the ring.

But maybe he didn’t have to be the only one.

The flames encroached upon the platform, rising higher and higher until they nearly reached Izuku. All the while, the ice under him and around him began to tremble and vibrate and crack. The heat was too much. The air had been cool for so long, and this sudden wave of heat was bound to cause an explosion. Izuku could feel it settling around him in the air.

But his eyes were focused on Todoroki’s legs. His right leg lifted again, no doubt ready to contact the ground and compose a wall of ice behind him to keep him in the ring.

Izuku aimed his grappling hook gun at the ground – right at the spot where Todoroki was going to step down again – and fired without hesitation. Todoroki stomped down directly onto the hook and stumbled back, losing his balance.

And then the arena itself rumbled as the air burst into a steam explosion, accompanied by shards of ice and boiling-hot water, flinging Izuku through the air like another insignificant projectile.

Dazed, he closed his eyes, feeling for a brief moment like he could fly. This notion ended quickly when his back hit the stadium wall with a crack.

Izuku slowly sagged down against it. His arms were scalding hot where some of the melted ice became boiling water, and there were a few pricks of blood where the sharp ice had scraped against his skin. He grunted, legs twitching, but he couldn’t get up on his feet just yet. His left ankle was throbbing. He inhaled and exhaled a few times, trying to catch his breath.

“What… just happened!?” Present Mic asked in a croaky, subdued voice.

“The cool air was heated up and expanded very suddenly. Also, there was a lot of ice in the arena that melted into water, and the water was violently flashed into steam because it was superheated so quickly,” Aizawa droned on, sounding almost bored.

“That’s what created this explosion?” Present Mic gasped.

“How exactly did you graduate from this school?” Aizawa asked.

“I can’t see a thing… who won the match?” Present Mic went on, ignoring him.

Seconds passed by as the smoke dissipated. Izuku could hear the jangling of Midnight’s cuffs as she rose back to her feet. Slowly, the steam cleared out and the crowd gasped at what they saw, murmurs growing louder and louder. In particular, Endeavor’s indignant roar could be heard above the other voices, the flames around his shoulders billowing outwards.

“Midoriya is out of bounds…” Midnight said, “but Todoroki is, too!”

Sure enough, as the last trails of steam evanesced into clear air, Izuku could make out Todoroki all the way on the other edge of the arena with an ice wall behind him to protect him from the explosion… an ice wall beyond the boundary line. Izuku’s eyes widened.

It worked. Todoroki is outside, too!

He almost burst into laughter. Did he actually force Todoroki Shouto, son of the number two hero, into a stalemate? All without using a quirk? Todoroki was one of the strongest competitors here – if not the strongest, although he grimaced to think Kacchan held that place – and Izuku didn’t win against him...

But he didn’t lose either, and that had to mean something.

“So it’s a draw, then? Who would have thought the top two in today’s competition would be so equally matched! What an exciting fight!” Present Mic exclaimed.

“It’s not a draw,” Aizawa said, just as Midnight shook her head.

“It’s not a draw,” Midnight agreed, projecting her voice so that the stadium could hear her. Everyone quieted down immediately. “A draw only occurs when both participants are simultaneously unable to fight, as with Kirishima and Testutetsu last round, who incapacitated each other at the same time. While both Midoriya and Todoroki are behind the line, there must have been only one person who was thrown out-of-bounds first.”

Slowly, Izuku lifted himself to his hands and knees. He tilted his head up at the screen, which was quickly switching to an instant replay of the explosion.

Todoroki released his ice. Izuku jumped up. Todoroki released his fire. Izuku shot his grappling hook gun. Todoroki stumbled. The steam explosion. And then –

And then… Izuku went flying through the arena, and so did Todoroki. But the epicentre of the explosion was between the two, and Todoroki was much closer to the white boundary line on his side than Izuku was on his own side. Todoroki flew backwards after stumbling on the hook, but somehow managed to drag his foot down on the ground to create an ice wall behind him – half a metre too late. He was already outside the line. And two seconds later, so was Izuku, as he hit the back wall of the stadium with a resounding thud.

Two seconds later.

Izuku’s jaw dropped.

“The winner of this match is Midoriya Izuku,” Midnight cried, bringing down her whip. The crowd went wild.

***

“Did the kid plan for that to happen? Why did he provoke him into using his fire? That’s just poor strategy – he almost lost.”

“I like him! He’s got spirit – and the important thing to note here is that he didn’t lose!”

“I don’t know, the timings at the end there were basically left up to chance… and haven’t you heard? The kid is quirkless. Said so himself during the match.”

“No way… that’s just a rumour the front row is spreading around… there’s no way…”

“The entire front row? No one could get a whole crowd of people to agree to a joke like that. Besides, did you see him using a quirk?”

“Well, no… but maybe he has one of those non-physical quirks! Maybe he can read minds or something!”

“Don’t be ridiculous. If he could do something like that, he would have seen every attack coming. No, it must be the truth.”

“Then… what? A quirkless kid really beat Endeavor’s own son? That’s the truth?”

“Yeah, I guess he really got lucky…”

“Damn. I was really rooting for him after the cavalry battle, the kid seems really smart – but there’s no way he could be a Pro like this.”

“I feel bad for the other kid. Imagine having one of the most powerful quirks in Japan, and some kid without any powers beats you. That has to sting.”

***

“Your ankle is fractured,” Recovery Girl told Izuku matter-of-factly. “You have second-degree burns all over your arms and moderate skin abrasions from all the scraping against the ice. Not to mention a mild concussion from when you slammed your head against the stadium wall.”

Izuku stared at her.

“I’m… uh, I’m sorry?” Izuku tried. “I was just trying to win.”

Recovery Girl shook her head.

“Why all of Japan gathers once a year to watch children hurt each other until they can’t move, I’ll never know,” she muttered, picking up her medical supplies and stepping closer to Izuku. She planted a quick kiss on his forehead to fix his ankle and start the process of healing his burns.

“I realize you’re not in the Hero program, but I’m sure you’ll insist that I preserve your energy for coming matches instead of allowing me to heal everything at once,” she grumbled while rummaging through her first aid kit for bandages. “So I’ll just clean the scrapes myself.”

“Thank you,” Izuku said, slurring his words very slightly. He was already tired from the match, and the added drowsiness of giving up his energy for healing suddenly made his eyelids feel much heavier than usual. “I’m a big fan of yours, you know.”

Recovery Girl kept her focus on cleaning out the dirt and shards of ice from Izuku’s bloody wounds, but she allowed a small smile to grace her wrinkled face.

“Of me? Why, I’m just an old woman,” she said. Izuku shook his head.

“No, no,” he argued. “You – you always show up to dangerous crime scenes to treat all the victims, and you help save so many heroes, so they can save even more people. You can help everyone.”

“I always thought young boys like you looked up to All Might the most,” she mused.

“All Might?” Izuku asked, blinking and enunciating the name slowly. “All Might… is a good hero. The best. But… I don’t know if he can help everyone.”

Recovery Girl frowned and opened her mouth – just as the door was opened.

“Midoriya-kun! I didn’t expect you to win!” Hirai said. “Why are you lying down? Are you crippled?”

“Will you walk again?” Sasaki asked, leaning over to peer at his leg. “Tell us the truth – does it need to be amputated?”

“I – what – no, of course not!” he sputtered.

“Denial is always the first stage,” Sasaki said, sighing.

Recovery Girl smiled good-naturedly and stood up.

“Your friend will be fine, girls,” she said. “Physically, that is. Heavens know that I can’t knock any sense into the heads of these reckless hero students.”

With that, she walked to the other side of the room and made herself busy arranging her supplies – presumably to allow Izuku and his friends some privacy.

“Hero students?” Sasaki asked, an eyebrow raised. “Someone’s been spreading his agenda again.”

“I didn’t even say anything to her!” Izuku protested.

“You didn’t have to. Now, moving on, tell me something – how is it that you’ve managed to convince everyone you’re so smart when you do moronic things like helping your opponent get stronger?”

“You don’t really come across as a good liar to me,” Hirai said, squinting at him.

“I’m not – I just – I was just trying to help him because he seemed… upset,” Izuku mumbled.

“You know who would have been more upset? You, if you lost,” Sasaki said.

“But I didn’t!”

“Yeah, barely,” Sasaki snorted. Izuku frowned a little at that and fidgeted with the bandages wrapped around his legs.

“How’s everyone taking it?” he asked, hesitant. Sasaki blinked.

“You mean your victory? Or your dramatic revelation to the arena as you shouted at Todoroki? Very touching, by the way. All that was missing was some theatrical background music.”

“The second,” Izuku said. “Or – well – both, I guess? I’m sure no one can discuss one without the other.”

“I don’t know,” Hirai said thoughtfully. “I haven’t talked to anyone in the stands. I don’t really talk to very many people here.”

“More like they don’t talk to you,” Sasaki muttered. “Well, you know, there’s the usual garbage about how it was a fluke, or how Todoroki lost on purpose to make you feel better, or how it all must be staged to make a statement against discrimination.”

“Oh,” Izuku said.

“But there are also some heroes who thought you were really impressive.”

Izuku’s head shot back up.

“R-Really?” he asked disbelievingly. Sasaki nodded.

“Yeah, some of them were praising your creativity and resourcefulness, that kind of thing,” she said, waving her hand flippantly. “Something about how they could use that sort of thinking in the field against villains who seemed to hold the advantage. They were really going on about it. I wasn’t paying much attention, though.”

“Thank you,” Izuku said, genuinely touched.

“It’s not like I’m the one who said it!” Sasaki insisted, looking away.

“But Sasaki-chan, you must have been impressed, too! You were really excited when Midoriya-kun won!” Hirai noted.

“Oh,” Izuku said.

“Shut up, Usagi!” Sasaki said, scowling. Her neck was vaguely pinkish.

“I’m glad I had support from both of you,” Izuku said. “It means a lot.”

“Well, who else is going to support you?” Sasaki muttered, giving up on her pretense. “It’s not like the crowd is a horde of angels.”

“No, they’re too loud, and lack the kindness for that… and the wings,” Hirai added contemplatively.

Izuku smiled a bit, still looking at the ground.

“It’ll be fine,” Hirai said suddenly. “Good heroes can always see the truth.”

***

“I can’t believe it,” Ectoplasm said.

“I never doubted him for a second,” Snipe drawled, leaning back in his seat.

“You were hunched over in your seat for the whole duration of the match,” Ectoplasm said. Snipe waved his hand dismissively.

“Trust me, I was more worried about the Todoroki boy,” he claimed. “Midoriya was fine all along – Aizawa could see it, too.”

Ectoplasm snorted.

“The way Aizawa was talking, you’d think he’s planning on adopting the kid,” he said. “He’s practically waxing poetic up there. Although I can see why he’d take a special interest in this case.”

“That boy is really quirkless?” Vlad King asked. “His grasp on strategy is remarkable.”

“You city-slickers are always so up in arms about quirks,” Snipe said, sighing. “All anyone really needs is a head screwed on right and a good weapon or two.”

“First of all, you’re from the city, too,” Ectoplasm reminded him. “And you carry at least five weapons on your person at a time.”

“Nothing wrong with a healthy sense of preparation.”

“Preparation? Or paranoia?”

“Todoroki is not in my class, but his skill is undeniable,” Vlad King interrupted. “He was a recommended student for a reason. To see this Midoriya win against him, especially after pushing him to use his fire…”

“Yeah, yeah, my students are the best competitors here, there’s no doubt about that,” Snipe said.

“Well, the match was very close…” At Snipe’s look, Ectoplasm hastened to explain. “I’m not denying the boy’s capabilities, but we must remember that the Sports Festival is just that – a festival. A game, not a fight. Midoriya won the game by pushing Todoroki to cross the line, but in the end, he was the one collapsed on the ground while Todoroki was well-protected with his ice behind him.”

Snipe heaved a sigh.

“You’re right,” he admitted grudgingly. “He still needs more training. But there’s something there.”

“There is,” Ectoplasm agreed. “I just hope the kid can take the heat. Even I was a little skeptical at first. People will talk – he needs to remember not to listen.”

“He’s getting there,” Snipe said.

“I think he could be good for the hero community,” Vlad King said, thoughtful. “A different kind of symbol.”

“Maybe he could take All Might’s place, eh?” Ectoplasm said, laughing as he turned around to nudge All Might – only for his grin to falter a bit at the empty seat behind him. “Hey, where’d All Might go?”

Vlad King shrugged.

“He was looking a little pale – I think he’s just getting some air,” he said.

***

As he walked back through the corridors with Sasaki and Hirai, slowly making his way to the stands again, Izuku spotted a familiar head of hair coming from the opposite direction. He stopped in his tracks.

“Hey, why don’t you guys go ahead? I’ll catch up in a few minutes,” Izuku said. Sasaki and Hirai glanced at each other, before shoving Izuku aside and peering down the corridor with all the subtlety of a herd of buffalo.

“Oh, Midoriya-kun just wants to speak to his new friend in private,” Hirai said. “Well, maybe not friend. Acquaintance? Rival? Enemy? It’s hard to say.”

“Things can never be as simple as friends, when Midoriya is involved,” Sasaki agreed, nodding her head sadly. Izuku huffed.

“Just go!” he said. Sasaki snickered and dragged Hirai away.

He took a deep breath and jogged down the hallway.

“Todoroki-kun!” Izuku called. Todoroki stopped and turned to face Izuku.

“Hello, Midoriya,” Todoroki said. “Did you need something?”

It was such a strong contrast from their tension-fraught conversation before the match that Izuku was lost for words. Todoroki was as blank-faced as ever, but he didn’t seem to be holding onto any underlying resentment.

“Ah, no – thank you, though,” he said. “I just wanted to say… I’m sorry.”

“For what? Winning?”

“N-No! Well, I guess – but what I actually mean is – you seemed very conflicted and I kept provoking you. I just wanted to apologize if I was too aggressive.”

“If you were too aggressive?” Todoroki seemed amused. “You kept hitting me hard enough to make sure I couldn’t even take another breath.”

“S-Sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you – ”

“You weren’t too aggressive, though,” Todoroki said. “I imagine it was the right level of aggression for a Sports Festival match.”

“Even when I forced you to the ground and refused to let you go until you used your fire?”

“Maybe that was a bit uncalled for,” he admitted. Izuku looked down.

“You don’t seem very angry, though,” he pointed out.

Todoroki shrugged.

“You’re not the person I should be angry with,” he said.

“Your father must be upset,” Izuku said. A vague smile pulled up at the corner of Todoroki’s lips.

“He looked like he was about to have a stroke,” Todoroki said, sounding unreasonably happy. “As if it wasn’t bad enough that I’d lost… I’d also lost to someone without a quirk. I’m pretty sure he wanted to drag me to Midnight and demand a rematch. Then he accused me of losing on purpose to anger him. On the other hand, he’s also overjoyed that I used my fire and abandoned my tantrum, so…”

Izuku winced.

“Sorry,” he said quietly. “I was upset about how you weren’t taking the match seriously, but I didn’t want to make things worse for you.”

Todoroki blinked.

“You didn’t make anything worse for me,” he said. “Things were already bad. Besides… my tantrum, as he calls it, is not necessarily over.”

“It’s not?”

“It’s not as simple as having someone yell at me,” Todoroki said, looking down. “I still don’t like using my fire. I burned you, didn’t I?”

Izuku glanced down at his arms, then back at Todoroki, who couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from them.

“They’ll heal!” Izuku exclaimed. “I don’t even think there’ll be any scarring!”

He winced as soon as he said it. Todoroki’s hand automatically went to his left eye.

“Lucky,” he said. Izuku sighed, wanting nothing more than to rip his own tongue out.

“Don’t hold yourself back on account of me. It doesn’t really hurt anymore.”

“It’s not just on account of you. That’s all fire does. It just burns. It can’t do anything but hurt people. You either let it run wild, or you learn to control it,” Todoroki muttered, his eyes lifting again to meet Izuku’s. “Like my father.”

Izuku swallowed. Bakugou, much like Endeavor, had perfect control.

“That’s not true,” Izuku said quietly. “Fire brings warmth and comfort. You can use it in rescue situations. You can use it as a tool, or as a source of light. And even if it did hurt me this time around, there’s no reason to see it any differently than a punch or a kick. It’s just a different method of attack.”

Todoroki frowned.

“I don’t deny that it can be useful,” Todoroki conceded grudgingly. “Endeavor is a top-ranked hero, after all. But I still don’t know if it’s right to use my fire. It’s just that – in that moment, I forgot about Endeavor entirely. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, or what it means at all. I need to think.”

Izuku shifted on his feet.

“That’s okay,” he said. “You should take your time.”

“You’re not upset? After all you said and did during the match, and I still can’t make up my mind… I assumed you’d be angry.”

“I was angry at you,” Izuku admitted. “But you’re not the person I should be angry with.”

Todoroki’s eyes widened for a moment. Then, he blinked and smiled very slightly.

“I was angry at you, too,” Todoroki remarked. “Angrier than I’ve been in a long time. I was frustrated and furious that you were trying so hard to make me break my pledge. But mostly, I was just confused – I didn’t understand why you were doing what you were doing, and why you were trying so hard. Maybe it was a bit unwarranted for you to force me to the ground until I listened… or maybe it was necessary. I’ve never had to think so hard about my choices and how other people perceived them before.”

“I know you’re still confused,” Izuku said. “But as long as you’re finally thinking about it, I’m sure you’ll make the right choice. You’re a good person.”

“How could you possibly know that?” Todoroki muttered, looking away. “We’ve only just met, and our conversations have hardly been pleasant.”

“You could have ignored me,” Izuku began, but Todoroki interrupted him by scoffing very softly.  

“You made that impossible,” he said. Izuku smiled but continued to speak.

“You could have ignored me and continued to spite Endeavor by not using your fire. It does make him angry, I’ll admit. Instead, you listened to what I had to say, and you’re trying to consider it, even though it goes against everything you’ve ever believed. A good person is always willing to try and be better.”

Todoroki was silent for a moment, eyes still fixed on Izuku. 

“Congratulations on your victory,” he said, finally. “You deserved to win.”

“Oh! Thank you,” Izuku said, startled by the sudden change in subject. “I’m glad there are no hard feelings. I thought – well, the crowd has a lot of different opinions on what happened, or so I’ve heard – so I wasn’t sure if you’d be upset with me, or embarrassed, or something else – ”

“I don’t care what other people are saying,” Todoroki said, blinking. “Why would I be embarrassed? You were a strong opponent.”

“Oh.”

“You won’t win the next time we face each other, though.”

“N-Next time?” Izuku stammered. But Todoroki was already walking away, his shoulders a little less tense than before.

***

“Sorry I took longer than expected,” Izuku said as he took his seat in the stands. “Did I miss any fights?”

“Miss any fights?” Sasaki snorted. “Todoroki built a new Antarctica out there.”

“All it was missing were the penguins,” Hirai said, sounding disappointed. She waved her hands in front of her face, suddenly squinting in concentration as black-and-white mist began to coalesce in a vaguely penguin-shaped form. 

“It took a while to get the arena back in shape. You’re just in time to watch the rest,” Sasaki said. Izuku opened his mouth to respond, but clicked it shut in surprise when Shinsou dropped himself down into the seat behind him.

“Nice penguin,” he said to Hirai.

“Thanks!”

“What are you doing here?” Sasaki demanded.  

“Admiring my penguin, obviously,” Hirai said.

“It’s pretty impressive,” Shinsou conceded. Hirai smiled.

“What are you really doing here?” Sasaki asked again, rolling her eyes. 

“Getting ready to watch the match,” Shinsou said. “These seats are available to anyone in our school, you know.”

“Rest assured – of all the things I’ve suspected of you, stealing someone else’s seat to sit near us is not one of them.”

“I - I’m glad you’re joining us,” Izuku said hesitantly, finally speaking to interrupt them. Shinsou nodded at him and leaned forward, resting his arms on the back of Izuku’s seat.

“Midoriya,” he said. “Nice job on your last match. You did well, even if you almost threw it all away.”

Izuku sighed.

“But I didn’t throw it all away,” he said. “He just – he wasn’t taking the match seriously!”

“Oh, you felt like he was looking down on you?” Shinsou said, smirking. Izuku’s head darted back up – but this time, he recognized the teasing for what it was, and offered back a tentative smile.

“Yeah,” he said, huffing out a breathy laugh. “I couldn’t just let that slide without teaching him a lesson.”

Shinsou laughed. Sasaki’s eyes widened inexplicably - before it occurred to Izuku that this was perhaps the first time they heard Shinsou laugh properly.  

“Well, idiotic decision or not, I guess you still won so it doesn’t really matter now,” Shinsou said, leaning back and letting a satisfied smile grow on his face. “But more importantly, you broke Class 1-A. When they realized a quirkless kid beat the most talented student in their class… let’s just say I will savour their shocked expressions for the rest of my life. I only wish I could have seen Bakugou’s face up-close.”

“I’m sure I’ll be seeing it pretty soon,” Izuku said. Shinsou surveyed him, his amusement fading a little.

“I expect you will,” he said. “And I also expect you’ll make it even better.”

Izuku smiled.

***

Izuku hated to say it – or, well, think it – but after his match with Todoroki, the remaining second-round matches couldn’t really hold a candle.

He leaned forward when Present Mic announced the start of Iida’s match with Shiozaki – after all, the victor would be his next opponent – and was a little disappointed and also a little intimidated to see that it had ended so quickly. Iida made quick work of Shiozaki. She sent out her vines immediately, but Iida’s Recipro Burst was too fast for her to even make contact with him. He swerved behind her and pushed, all while maintaining his speed, and shoved her out of bounds within a few seconds.

He sat back in his seat, mind already spinning to try and figure out how to get around Iida’s trump card.

“Don’t be so nervous,” Sasaki said, nudging his shoulder. “After Todoroki, there’s no way he could be worse.”

“Iida-kun is an impressive competitor,” he defended, although he couldn’t deny that he felt a lot less tense than he did before his previous match.

“Come on, have some confidence for once,” Sasaki said. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

Izuku frowned. It was easy to say that, but she wasn’t the one who had to come up with a plan…

He shook his head and watched as the other matches concluded themselves in a matter of minutes.

Yaoyorozu put up an impressive fight against Honenuki, but in the end, her own anxiety seemed to get the better of her. Honenuki softened the ground immediately, but Yaoyorozu jumped up and pulled out a large wooden board from her arm, quickly placing it beneath her feet before landing. The board began to sink as well, so Yaoyorozu continued to pull out more boards, throwing them forward and using them as one-second footholds while she ran at Honenuki. Once she was close, she pulled out a metallic staff and attacked. Honenuki didn’t dodge – he simply reached out his hand and softened her staff until it practically melted in his grip. Taken aback, Yaoyorozu manifested a shield and beat back his hand before he could grab her. Realizing that she was still sinking, she dropped the shield and stepped on it while pulling out pillows and blankets, throwing them at Honenuki’s face in a desperate attempt to block his vision – and also because it would be useless to soften things further if they were already soft, Izuku recognized. She then zipped behind him – where the ground was still hard – and tried to drag him out-of-bounds by his shirt. Honenuki twisted her hand until she gasped and let go. She pulled out another staff, and Honenuki softened it – but she didn’t let go this time. She kept trying to pull him forward. Suprisingly, Honenuki followed the motion, but he spun his body to the side of hers and then around her, all while holding the staff. Then, he undid the effect and the staff re-hardened around Yaoyorozu. Her free arm was locked against her side. From here, Honenuki easily softened the ground again and trapped her in the dirt.

It was an interesting fight, overall, but not very long or ostentatious. Honenuki seemed much more confident, and Izuku felt for Yaoyorozu as she left the arena looking down.

Finally, Bakugou and Kirishima had their match. Izuku had to admit his shock at how the match was going at first. Kacchan was on the defensive – Kirishima wouldn’t budge and threw blow after blow at him, unaffected by the explosions to his skin. But it wasn’t long before he realized that Kirishima was straining to keep his skin hardened while attacking at the same time. With a few explosions thrown at him in succession, getting more and more powerful with each blast, the shield came apart with some intense carpet-bombing and Kirishima was knocked to the ground, immobilized.

Izuku stared down at the arena. What else could he have expected? It was stupid for him to think that anyone could have held an advantage over Bakugou, even for a few seconds. Everyone had some kind of intense quirk recoil over time… everyone except Bakugou, that is. He could only get stronger as a fight continued, as he produced more and more sweat.

Bakugou didn’t bother gloating loudly. He walked over to Kirishima and kicked him in the leg, saying something no one else could hear. Kirishima only laughed brightly as Bakugou walked away. There was something distinctly strange about the interaction, however. Maybe the fact that he didn’t try to spark up his hands again. Izuku frowned, feeling his stomach flip strangely.

It must be the nerves, he thought. Present Mic had concluded his commentary and called the competitors together for the next round, after all.

Izuku stood up, gratefully accepting Hirai’s cheerful encouragement along with Sasaki’s “friendly” shove and Shinsou’s warning not to lose.

“And now we’re down to the final four!” Present Mic said. “Get ready for the semifinals to begin!”

***

In a not-so-far away location, a man sat in a desk chair in a room dimly lit by only the light of his computer screen. He was hunched over and scratching persistently at his face all while glaring at the grainy feed.

“Keep watching, Shigaraki Tomura,” a voice said. “This quirkless boy will face the explosive one soon after he defeats his opponent here. That final match will be very telling. They could be great obstacles to you someday.”

“That’s bullshit,” Tomura hissed. “I’m much more powerful than any of these brats.”

A tongue clicked, and there was a deep sigh.

“One day,” the voice said, “you will find that it is crucial to acknowledge your enemy’s abilities if you ever want to defeat them.”

“Why should I give a shit about the quirkless boy – Midoriya Izuku,” he spat out. “The other one has a good power, at least.”

“Strange things can be borne by the quirkless, Tomura,” the voice said softly. “Strange, powerful things. It is incredible what strong idealism can accomplish when guided by the hand of power.”

“He doesn’t have any power.”

“Power can come in many forms, and it is given and taken with ease,” the voice said. “More importantly, it is something coveted by every man, from all walks of life.”

“So? What does that mean?” Tomura asked, scowling.

“It means, Tomura, that these up-and-coming heroes could be obstacles… but they don’t have to be.”

Chapter Text

“Good luck, Iida-kun,” Izuku said, smiling at Iida as he stood across from him in the ring. It felt a bit strange – this was the first time today he was facing an opponent with whom he had no kind of previous conflict. In that sense, he was a bit worried about how it would affect their relationship, to actually be fighting a friend – but Iida was the most straightforward, professional person he knew. He doubted Iida was even capable of resentment and pervasive bitterness.

Iida nodded back at him seriously.

“You too, Midoriya-kun,” he said. “However, you must know that I intend to win in order to make my brother proud!”

Izuku raised his eyebrows.

“I’m sure you have already,” Izuku said. “Which is a good thing, since I intend to win myself.”

Iida offered a terse smile and stood rigid – as always, seemingly not knowing any other way to stand – while Present Mic announced both competitors and their achievements once again.

“With no further ado, let the match begin – START!”

Iida immediately started up his engines and raced towards Izuku. Expecting this, Izuku dropped down into something resembling a squat. His knees were bent very slightly and his feet were shoulder-width apart. He leaned his upper body forward and brought his staff up in front of him, grasped in two hands and held out horizontally. It was a roadblock, meant to collide with Iida’s legs and stop him in motion.

Iida continued to run forward, and Izuku managed to catch the edge of a victorious smile on his lips. Iida’s legs were very strong, after all. With the propulsion of his engines, there was no way Izuku could hope to stop the force with only his upper body strength. A good thing, then, that this wasn’t the plan Izuku had in mind. He smiled to himself and waited until Iida was only a few metres in front of him.

Then, he suddenly brought his arms back behind his waist and launched himself into a high jump, bringing his arms back up with the motion. Iida’s eyes widened and he tried to stop in his tracks, but it was too late – Izuku collided with Iida’s chest, bypassing his legs completely. With Iida’s lower half travelling forward and Izuku’s entire body weight pushing his upper half backward, Iida lost his balance and landed on his back with Izuku crouched above him. Izuku dropped his staff next to him.

“Only ten seconds have passed, and it seems that Midoriya is already on top of this whole situation!” Present Mic said, cackling at his own joke. There was a sigh from the other microphone.

Izuku remained on Iida’s chest for a second, ensuring that Iida was too winded to draw another breath, before moving his weight backwards – on top of Iida’s knees and shins. With his legs pinned in place, Izuku ripped his grappling hook gun off the attachment on his waist and pulled the trigger while aiming into the distance. The hook itself didn’t attach to anything – there was nothing in the arena it could attach to, after all – but the strong, wiry rope was extended outward. Izuku began dragging it back, attempting to wrap it around Iida’s ankles to impede his leg movement long enough for Izuku to drag him out-of-bounds.

Izuku had barely gotten a single loop around Iida’s ankles before Iida let out an almighty grunt and bent his knees with Izuku still on top of them. Izuku gaped as his weight dropped down near Iida’s ankles, and still, Iida lifted him with his legs. He gripped tightly to his grappling hook gun to keep it with him.

“A good move, I admit, but I have been training to increase the strength in my legs for years!” Iida gasped out proudly.

With a noisy sputter from his engines, he kicked outward, snapping his calves back up and throwing Izuku off him.

Izuku landed in the dirt a few feet away, out-of-breath. He immediately rolled himself back up to a sitting position and got to his feet. Iida was already up, charging towards Izuku once more. This time, however, Iida was starting from a much closer distance, meaning he didn’t have enough time to build up the same amount of momentum. Izuku quickly dodged around him with ease, grabbing his staff off the ground and spinning back to face Iida again.

Iida had already veered from his original path, travelling a few metres ahead, until he, too, swerved back to face Izuku – from a further distance away, this time. Momentum was key. From there, he began to sprint again.

Izuku frowned. Iida was still using his quirk the “normal” way – that is, he had not bothered to use Recipro Burst, his special move. Of course, Iida’s quirk was still perfectly useful without it… but if Iida had used Recipro Burst only a moment before, when Izuku was only a few feet away, the acceleration would have been much too fast for Izuku to dodge. Iida could have pushed him out-of-bounds if he’d caught him. Even now, as Iida sped towards him, Izuku’s mind was wandering. It could afford to wander, at this rate.

Is it because he thinks he can afford to save his energy against me?

This time, he stood in Iida’s path as a solid wall. Iida got closer and closer, close enough that Izuku was within grabbing distance, and then –

Izuku shot the grappling hook slightly to the left of Iida’s head. Instinctively, Iida dodged further to Izuku’s right by letting his leading foot land further away than his trailing foot, opening up a large gap between his legs. Izuku’s arm was drawn back while holding his staff, and in this moment, he swung it forward to launch the staff diagonally, like a javelin, between Iida’s feet.

As Iida’s right foot stepped forward and banged against it, the staff twirled around and banged against his left foot, too. He stumbled in place, and Izuku took the opportunity to run up the few steps between them and punch Iida in the stomach. Iida coughed loudly, but recovered quickly enough to raise his left leg and kick hard into Izuku’s side.

Izuku gasped and staggered heavily to his left, somehow managing to stay standing up despite the ridiculous expulsion of force. He looked back at Iida, who was stepping around the staff and rearing up for another kick. Izuku grabbed his staff in the nick of time and used it to block the attack, gritting his teeth against the sheer power of it. His staff was vibrating in place, and so were his arms. It took almost all of his strength to block the blow.

Despite this, he didn’t fall back. Much like with Todoroki, the best strategy against Iida was close-combat so that Iida couldn’t build up enough momentum to use against him. Izuku danced around Iida’s enhanced kicks, leaping from side to side and interspersing these dodges with glances of his staff against Iida’s upper body, which hadn’t been trained nearly so much. Iida wheezed with each blow. 

“You cannot keep dodging these attacks forever,” Iida said through clenched teeth, speeding around Izuku’s staff and getting in close.  

“I can try,” Izuku said.

It was true, of course. Izuku would likely lose an endurance match, since Iida had enough speed and stamina to keep it going for quite some time. But with each long, drawn-out second, Iida was more and more likely to reach for a quick end to the battle. Through his panting, Izuku could see Iida’s eyes harden with desperation and resolve. Someone used to being so fast was bound to get impatient.

It was reckless, perhaps even foolish. When Iida had used his special move during the cavalry battle, his engines were spent in about ten seconds – but it had taken much less than that for Iida to turn the tides of the battle. He was simply too fast. But Izuku could see no way around it – he had to provoke Iida into using his Recipro Burst and last the ten seconds in order to defeat him. From thereon out, it would be an easy victory for Izuku.

The difficulty was in the ‘during’.

Finally, as Izuku narrowly eluded another engine-powered kick, Iida let out a frustrated grunt and took a step back. Izuku immediately detached the grappling hook gun from his waist.

“Recipro Burst!” he cried as Izuku fumbled to shove the hooked end up his shirt. Too fast for Izuku to even see, Iida had gripped Izuku by his uniform and was speeding to the boundary line with him in tow.

Ten seconds.

With the hook pushed up his shirt and facing outwards, Izuku’s hand shakily clenched around the gun while he was being dragged across the arena grounds. No less than ten metres away from the line, Izuku finally pulled the trigger.

The hook ripped through Izuku’s uniform shirt, shooting its way across the arena. With the front of his shirt in tatters, Iida’s grip on the back of his shirt became a lot less secure as he pulled the collar clean off – leaving Izuku behind in the dust and a mere scrap of fabric in Iida’s hands.

Izuku grunted as his bumpy ride along the dirt of the arena came to a halt. He pulled the trigger to call the hook back to him and struggled to turn his head around to see what came of Iida.

A few metres from the line, Iida was no longer careening out-of-bounds. He had jumped up and somehow managed to swerve back around in mid-air using the expulsion of force in his engines, much to Izuku’s shock. Not a moment later, he was already racing towards Izuku again. Determined not to let Iida grab a hold of him again in these precious last seconds, he squatted to the ground and held out his staff to block – similar to his first move of the match. But this time, he didn’t plan to leap up and attack Iida’s upper body. He would be expecting that.

Iida reached out his hand to grab Izuku again, a measly distance away. Izuku shot out his grappling hook at Iida’s feet – but Iida was too fast to trip over it or get tangled in the wiry rope. He jumped up instinctively. 

But with the added power of Recipro Burst, Iida jumped much higher than expected – his eyes widened as he realized his feet were now at the level of Izuku’s head. Izuku ducked underneath, slamming Iida’s left ankle with his staff as hard as he could. He could hear Iida hit the ground behind him with a grunt, taking a few precious seconds to adjust to the new pain in his leg. Izuku, not wanting to waste a moment, turned around to face him again. He raised his staff, but –

Despite his undoubtedly throbbing ankle, Iida was already in front of Izuku, kicking away the staff. This time, he grabbed Izuku by the shoulders, and they were flying towards the boundary line at breakneck speeds, before Izuku had even realized what had happened. Iida was somewhat slower from his limp and his awkward hold on Izuku – given that he could no longer hold onto a shirt – but unfortunately for Izuku, Iida being “slower” still meant he was faster than anyone else Izuku had ever met.

He could barely hear his heart pounding over the winds whistling in his ears. His nerves crawled up from his stomach to his throat as time passed in every breath taken, every running step Iida took towards the line. Was it enough?

Had he miscalculated?

They were a scant few inches from the boundary when relief flooded over Izuku in the sound of mechanical sputtering. Iida was halted in his tracks, his engines stalled a moment too soon.

“Has it been ten seconds already?” Iida gasped.

Quick as ever, Iida didn’t pause to let it deter him. He immediately twisted in place, trying to drag Izuku in front of him and over the line. But breaking free from someone’s hold was much simpler when you weren’t travelling at fifty kilometres an hour. Izuku rooted himself to the ground, squatting to keep a lower centre of gravity. He brought his arms up around Iida’s grip on his shoulders and jabbed the creases of his elbows with the sides of his hands. Iida let go, and Izuku moved into an elbow strike aimed towards his sternum. Iida cried out from the impact, nearly taking a step back – but despite his stalled engines, his legs were still strong and sturdy enough to keep him in place.

Izuku narrowed his eyes.

Iida threw a punch, but it was obvious that he was much more comfortable with his legs – and as Izuku moved to the right to dodge, Iida moved his right leg into a round kick. Immediately, Izuku brought up his left knee while flexing his foot, so that the top of his shin met the instep of Iida’s kick. The force of Izuku’s block pushed Iida’s leg backwards – he swivelled in place a bit, stumbling as his foot landed behind his body. This moment of imbalance was all Izuku needed to land a side kick directly into Iida’s stomach, forcing him across the line.

Iida stood there, frozen. His mouth was agape.

“Amazing! That match was almost too fast for me to see, but it seems Midoriya from Class 1-C has won again!” Present Mic cried. Izuku let out a relieved laugh, feeling a thrill run through him as he realized he had made it to the final.

Iida shook his head.

“Congratulations, Midoriya-kun,” Iida said. “Truly, you were the better opponent here today.”

As always, Iida stood and spoke rather stiffly, but this time, Izuku felt the vestiges of Iida’s uneasiness skirt the edges of his periphery. His twitching eye and clenched fists – which opened up into the offer of a sportsmanlike handshake to end the match – somehow rankled at Izuku’s interior, scratching and scraping like nails on a blackboard. Iida’s shame was a web of gossamer threads meandering through an old storeroom – it was not quite visible upon first glance, but it was so clearly there when you squinted, tangled up everywhere in the nearby area.

“It was just one match,” Izuku said, accepting the handshake. “I’m sure it could have gone either way.”

“Ah, but it didn’t,” Iida said, a smile stretched out strangely over his face. “Please, no need to downplay your victory – it seems you truly don’t need a quirk to succeed! You’re an inspiration to us all, even the hero students. A reminder that pride is indeed a sin. I wish you luck going forward!”

With that, Iida bowed and exited the arena before Izuku could say another word. He raced down the steps as if his quirk was still activated, pulling a cell phone out of his pocket at the same time. He disappeared into the stadium in a flash. Izuku blinked and followed suit – in the other direction – not registering any of the sounds around him. Iida had seemed quite shaken by the result – understandably so, a loss was always disappointing – but his palpable embarrassment was even more striking.  

Izuku frowned, not lifting his eyes from the ground even as he heard people in the stands exclaiming loudly when he walked by them. There was nothing to be embarrassed about.

***

“It’s him, isn’t it?”

Toshinori took a deep breath and leaned back against the outer wall of the stadium. His fingers clenched around the phone he was holding to his ear.

“That quirkless boy,” Nighteye continued. “That’s the person you had in mind?”

Toshinori said nothing. He looked up at the sky, watching a few stray clouds cover up the sun.

“It must be him. He’s not your student, but he looks like just the type of person you would select.”

“I don’t really know anything about him,” Toshinori said, finally. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“You don’t?”

“I… I met him once before – months ago, actually,” Toshinori admitted. “He told me he was quirkless and asked if he could become a hero. I told him no.”

“You used to be quirkless,” Nighteye pointed out.

“I know,” Toshinori said quietly. “That’s why I told him that.”

There was silence for a moment.

“But after that… a villain attacked his friend, and he jumped in when no other Pro Heroes would.”

“Foolish,” Nighteye said.  

“Brave,” Toshinori corrected. “I thought he was brave to do so, without having a plan in mind or any defense at hand. He was only thinking of his friend.”

Toshinori could practically hear Nighteye rolling his eyes through the phone.

“Recklessness is not a virtue, no matter how much you like to pretend it is,” Nighteye said with an undertone of bitterness. Toshinori winced. “And it is not a good idea to give your power to a quirkless boy.”

“Why not?” Toshinori asked, pursing his lips. “It worked out well enough for me.”

“I saw him fight. He’s impressive, but that doesn’t mean you should pass on your gift to him,” Nighteye argued. “He’s never known what it is to struggle with a quirk for years and years, then turn it all around and improve it so masterfully – to the point of becoming the number one student. Mirio will be able to accept One For All as he is, and I’m certain he will master it more quickly than any previous holder. And what the world needs now is a strong young hero to lead them after you retire.”

“What the world needs is someone who they know will help them no matter what the circumstance,” Toshinori said quietly. “I am not saying your Toogata wouldn’t do that. But I know what I saw in young Midoriya was something special. It is not your decision to make, Mirai.”

Toshinori ended the call. He stepped back into the arch of the stadium entrance and set his jaw. Soon, this tournament would be over, and there was a boy with whom he needed to speak.

***

Time was passing too slowly. The confusion over Iida’s behaviour faded while the initial thrill of another triumph ran through Izuku for a mere few moments – but it, too, was soon stolen away. Anxiety was the cruelest thief. It wasn’t silent, like the cat burglar named Forgetfulness who stole away your thoughts and feelings without you ever knowing it was there. Nor was it the pitiable robber called Sadness, the desperate man who only clutched at what few happy memories he could find to drag down with him, what few scraps he needed to subsist. No, Anxiety wanted you to feel its presence and fear that it might linger forever. Anxiety waited patiently for you to collect some few precious moments – the things that mattered most to you, the turning points. And then it came in thundering through the hallways of your mind – all while you were there, screeching for it to stop – to pillage them away. It didn’t care for the lavish, expensive memories of your near-perfect grades or martial arts tournament victories. It only took what you considered most precious, the old photographs and cheap souvenirs of small triumphs and barely-there confidence, and it took them when you needed them most.

Like Atlas, the famed Titan of Greek mythology, Izuku suddenly felt the weight of the heavens fall on his shoulders as he realized what had to come next. But he didn’t feel strong, like he thought he would. He didn’t feel excited to finally show what he had to offer. He didn’t feel any impending sense of divine retribution running through his veins.

He was hollow.

Inside the waiting room for Class 1-C, Izuku had quickly changed into an extra uniform shirt he had brought along – clearly for good reason – and was now sitting quietly at one of the tables. He glanced up at the clock every so often, but otherwise simply gazed at the stark grey of the tables as if there was some wisdom hidden in the depths of its colour. His hands were clenched around the edge, taut and unable to be pulled away.

“There you are!” Sasaki said, surprising him as she pushed open the door to the room. “You missed the other semi-final entirely! Is there a reason you’ve suddenly decided that isolating yourself is the next step to victory? You know, I just feel like if you’re really trying to get people to admire you, brooding alone in the darkness is the kind of gloomy cliché you may want to avoid.”

“I’m not brooding,” Izuku said sullenly. Sasaki rolled her eyes.

“What do you call this, then?”

“Preparing.”

“If this is what preparation looks like, I’m surprised I wasn’t allowed to participate in the Sports Festival too. Clearly I’m all too ready.”

Izuku sighed.

“I just didn’t want to watch the next match,” he said. “Or – I didn’t need to, I guess. I knew what would happen.”

Sasaki pursed her lips.

“You mean Bakugou and Honenuki?” she asked. “How would you know who won?”

Izuku snorted and leaned back in his chair.  

“Honenuki softened the ground, so Kacchan flew up with his explosions to avoid it,” Izuku recited dully. “Kacchan threw some explosions at him. Honenuki is a recommended student, though, so he didn’t get thrown out of the ring – at first. He sunk into the ground, swimming in it and letting it harden around him so Kacchan couldn’t get him off-balance. He avoided Kacchan’s explosions with ease, sinking under every time he got too close. But near the end, Kacchan stepped down – he couldn’t stay in the air forever, after all – and Honenuki trapped him in the ground. Honenuki got closer, all while remaining under the ground… but the second he was within Kacchan’s range, it was over. He let loose an explosion in Honenuki’s face the second he came back up for air, then grabbed his shirt and flew back up, using explosions to break through the dirt. Honenuki could either choose to keep the ground hard and possibly lose his limbs as Kacchan yanked him upwards at high speeds, or he could undo the effect and let Kacchan grab him. Obviously, he chose the option that didn’t result in painful injury. He lasted just long enough for people to wonder if this could be the one to topple Kacchan, but no longer than that. Am I wrong?”

Sasaki stared at him.

“You – are you sure you didn’t watch the match?” she sputtered. “That was almost exactly what happened – although Bakugou didn’t get trapped, he just touched down and broke apart enough of Honenuki’s hardened dirt to grab him from underneath.”

Izuku shrugged.

“I told you – I didn’t need to watch,” he said. “There was really only one thing that could have happened.”

“Please don’t tell me now is when you give up,” Sasaki groaned. Izuku felt something sharp prick his already-tumultuous mood and he exhaled heavily through his nose.

“I’m not giving up. I’m just being realistic. Kacchan always wins, after all,” Izuku said brusquely. His voice tapered off near the end, sounding more like a whisper.

“Well, with that attitude, of course he will,” she replied, scoffing. Izuku almost laughed.

“It’s not about attitude,” he said, shaking his head incredulously, “it’s just him.”

“Where did your confidence go?”

“Where did it go? When was it here?” he blurted out. Sasaki frowned at him.

“You – ”

“Where’s Hirai-kun, anyway?” he interrupted. He knew he was being insufferable, but he was unable to listen to another word.

As if on cue, Hirai popped her head into the room.

“Sasaki-chan, why did you leave me behind?” she asked.

“Leave you behind? We were walking together – you’re the one who disappeared! I turned my head for one second and you were gone!” Sasaki snapped.

“That’s okay, I forgive you for being a bit air-headed,” Hirai offered kindly. “You are still sick, after all.”

Sasaki sputtered.

“How generous of you,” Sasaki said. “It must be unbearable to hang around someone so air-headed.”

A small smile began to creep onto Izuku’s face in spite of himself. He then startled in his seat when Hirai shoved something towards him.

“These are for you,” Hirai said, presenting him with a bouquet of purple hyacinths and red peonies. “It’s from our class.”

Izuku blinked once, then twice, utterly shocked.

“The class bought me flowers?” he asked skeptically.

“No one bought them,” she said.

“Then how did – I’m sure no one stole them, so…” Izuku trailed off for a second before realizing it, and then he sighed. “So this is all just an illusion that you made, right? It’s not real?”

Hirai frowned.

“Well, yes, it’s just an illusion. But I don’t see how that means it’s not real.”

Izuku stared at her. Hirai said nothing more, ‘placing’ the flowers down on the table in front of him. She then glanced at the clock and looked back at him.

“I wanted to be a hero too, you know,” Hirai said. Izuku’s eyes darted towards Sasaki for a moment, who looked down. He settled his gaze back on Hirai.

“But I couldn’t be. I didn’t – I didn’t like…” she seemed to struggle with her words for a moment, something very out-of-character for her, “I didn’t like competition. It’s not something I can deal with, and that was all I saw. But I think… the best heroes are the ones who don’t see it as a competition. There are some people who don’t even think of it that way, because they just like to help people. And that’s the important thing. Right?”

“Right,” Izuku said, focusing on her intently.

“Well, it doesn’t matter that I can’t be a hero, then – because I’m still helping,” she said. “I helped you, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Izuku said. “You were great, too. I never would have made it this far without you.”

Hirai smiled.

“I was happy to help you,” she said, “because it wasn’t a competition.”

Izuku bowed his head down, feeling shame wash over him as he realized what Hirai was trying to say. It wasn’t a competition. She was just trying to help someone else. His match against Bakugou wasn’t a competition – not really. Even if he lost, second place was incredibly impressive. His goal was to help people, first and foremost. It wasn’t about his years-long relationship with Kacchan and who would emerge the ultimate victor. It wasn’t about getting to beat him, getting to laugh as Kacchan fell on the ground and cowered down for once.

It was about him, and his journey to become a hero. Bakugou shouldn’t even be a residual thought.

Sasaki stepped forward and grabbed Hirai’s arm, looking meaningfully at the clock.

“The match starts in about five minutes,” she said. “I’m sure you’d like some more time to brood alone.”

They left without another word, flying out the door as quickly as they’d entered – although Hirai made sure to smile at him before she was dragged out. Izuku stared after them, mouth slightly open, not even having the chance to apologize for his unexpected mood swing.

But then again, Sasaki probably did that on purpose, he mused. She knew I needed more time.

He directed his gaze back to the flowers on the table, looking at the purple-and-red swirls that clashed rather garishly. It wasn’t a very pretty bouquet – the colour combination was too jarring – but he couldn’t look away.

“Never took you for the flower type,” a voice said from the doorway. Izuku looked up to see Shinsou walking in.

“Shinsou-kun,” Izuku said. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Shinsou shrugged.

“I didn’t either. I expected I’d be the one still sitting in that chair, brooding over my fate in the final round.”

“For the last time, I’m not brooding,” Izuku muttered. “Are you here to give me a motivational speech, too?”

Shinsou snorted.

“Not really my style. Besides, what I heard was hardly motivational.”

“You were eavesdropping?”

“Maybe your friends shouldn’t have been so loud.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have followed them,” he countered.

“Maybe not,” Shinsou conceded. “But I just thought… well, I figured you didn’t go around spilling your guts out to everyone you met. You seemed pretty embarrassed the last time.”

Izuku flushed.

“Is there a reason you need to bring this up?”

“Not really, I just think it’s funny to see you uncomfortable,” Shinsou answered, smirking. “But I guess I mentioned it because they wouldn’t know exactly what this match means.”

“And you do?”

“Better than them, at least,” Shinsou said, taking on a more serious tone. “This is like you’re back in the schoolyard. Back to when you never knew how to defend yourself, or never could bring yourself to do it. Facing someone like that is a lot more painful. You’re allowed to be angry, and it’s not selfish if you want to beat him. You shouldn’t feel ashamed for having normal feelings.”

Izuku shifted in his seat.

“But I’ve already made it so far… it doesn’t even matter if I beat him, does it? I got the attention I needed to make people consider me for the hero program.”

Shinsou slapped the table in apparent frustration.

“So are you just going to stop here?” Shinsou demanded. “After all the challenges you got through today, you’re not even going to try to win during the finals? After all that he put you through, you’re not even going to try to make him regret it? You’re just letting him off the hook?”

“I don’t want revenge,” Izuku said.

“You want him to be better,” Shinsou finished for him. “But do you think he’ll ever be better if he doesn’t know what it’s like to lose?”

Izuku was silent for a moment. He looked at the clock and noted that there were about three minutes left before the calls for the next round would begin.

“I’m so confused,” he admitted, pressing his lips together very suddenly. For some reason, he felt that familiar itch behind his eyes that came before he cried. Nothing had even happened to him. No one had said anything rude, no one had hurt him, and he was still trying to hold back tears for no goddamn reason.

Shinsou sighed.

“Midoriya,” he said. “We’re friends, right?”

Izuku blinked up at him.

“Are we, or did you just decide to say that because you felt guilty?” Izuku asked, a slight crack in his voice.

“I said that because I realized you were just being a good person all along, and I’d been attacking you for no reason, and that it would be stupid of me to push away someone I actually enjoyed spending time with because of my own insecurities,” Shinsou confided, looking away and scratching the back of his neck.

“Really?”

“Yes, really,” Shinsou muttered, clearly embarrassed. “Now, back to my point. I wouldn’t lie to a friend, even to make them feel better. That’s not the kind of person I am. So I’m not just saying it’s okay to feel angry. I’m saying it’s normal. It’s healthy, even, to want things for yourself. You can go out there and want to win so that they’ll let you into Class 1-A, but you can also want it because it would feel great to beat Bakugou. You can want it to inspire other kids who don’t have quirks. You can want it to prove to your younger self that you’re not weak. You can want it for however many reasons you want, as long as you also want it for the right reasons. Hirai was trying to calm your nerves by telling you the competition doesn’t matter anymore. She’s right. But this isn’t about the competition. This is about Deku and Kacchan. This is something you need to show Bakugou that you can do – because that’s the only way things will ever change.”

Izuku stared at him.

“I thought you said you weren’t here to give a motivational speech,” he said, a faint glimmer appearing over his eyes.

“It’s not a speech,” Shinsou grumbled. “It’s just the truth. Just – keep trying, okay? That’s the thing that infuriates him so much. You always get back up. If you stop doing that, that’s when he really wins.”

Catching sight of Izuku’s face, Shinsou rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. He leaned back against the wall and sighed.

“Please don’t start crying. You only have one more minute, and I don’t think you can afford to look any worse on camera. Besides, it’s more important that you keep my promise. Like I said, I want to say that I lost to the winner of the whole thing.”

“Okay,” Izuku agreed, standing up. The weight on his shoulders wasn’t so heavy anymore – it was like someone else was helping to carry the burden. He took one last glance at the flowers on the table. He reached forward to touch them – but then hesitated and pulled his hand back. He didn’t want them to go away just yet. Instead, he held the image at the forefront of his mind.

Shinsou raised an eyebrow at him as he stalled. Izuku hurried forward, grabbing his staff and grappling hook gun. He exited through the doorway after Shinsou and watched as he turned the other way to walk back up to the stands. He wavered again for a second, before calling back out.

“Shinsou-kun!”

Shinsou turned around.

“Do you – would you mind walking with me, down to the arena? Just to the doorway, I mean,” Izuku babbled. “Only if you want to, of course.”

Shinsou watched him carefully for a moment. Izuku began to sweat nervously, feeling stupid for even asking. What next, would he need Shinsou to hold his hand and rub his back like he was a child? He opened his mouth to take it back –

“Okay,” Shinsou said. “Let’s go.”

They walked down the hallways in silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, Izuku felt like he could breathe easier. Turn after turn, and the roiling of his stomach settled into the calm, steady determination of small waves lapping at the shore. At last, they stood in front of the entrance to the arena grounds. Earlier, the opening had allowed inside the bright light of the midday sun – but now, it was much past noon and the entryway was dimmer. Faint tinges of darkness could be seen closing in at the edges of the sky, as Izuku peeked outside. He looked down at the shadows cast on the dirt. 

It would be okay. He hadn’t come here alone. Standing with him was a living reminder that things could always change for the better. Izuku took a single step outside and looked back.

“Thank you,” Izuku said.

“Good luck, Midoriya,” Shinsou said, nodding. He stepped back and left Izuku alone to brave the afternoon sun, and everything that lay under it, by himself.

***

“It’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for,” Present Mic announced gleefully. “The last match of the day. Two competitors who have been ahead of the competition this whole time. From Heroics, we have Class 1-A’s Bakugou Katsuki! From General Education’s Class 1-C, we have Midoriya Izuku! Let’s applaud the efforts they took to make it this far!”

If Izuku thought the crowd had been loud before, he’d never heard anything like this. He could feel his feet vibrating on the hard ground – or maybe that was just his heart rattling around in his chest, making all of his other limbs tremble in the process.

“Are you ready?”

Izuku looked up, meeting Bakugou’s eyes for the first time today. His gaze could bore a hole into Izuku’s face. His teeth were gritted – as they were most of the time – but his expression was unreadable. The only thing Izuku could feel for sure was the sheer intensity of Bakugou’s intent to win.

“Deku,” Bakugou said under his breath. “I am going to kill you.”

Izuku was, most certainly, not ready. But Present Mic paid no heed to this.

“Start!”

Bakugou ran straight at him with all the force of a rocket, explosions going off behind him to match. It was loud. It was intimidating. It was…

Nothing he hadn’t seen before.

Izuku’s mind may have been jittery, full of stray worries that slipped in and out at the drop of a hat. But his body knew what to do when a threat was approaching him, and it reacted on instinct.

Bakugou was speeding towards him. Once he was close enough, Izuku could project all the next moves in his mind’s eye.

He’ll step forward with his right leg, his mind supplied. Izuku dropped his staff and sidestepped to his right in response.

Then, he’ll push his right hand forward and bring his left arm back.

Izuku gripped Bakugou’s right arm near the shoulder and stepped forward into his space while twisting around on his feet, so that he and Bakugou were facing the same direction.

His left hand will spark up.

Izuku pushed the weight of his body into Bakugou’s abdomen while lifting up his arms and squatting down.

He’ll release a blast from his left hand.

And a blast did escape Bakugou’s left hand – after Izuku had flipped him onto his back, right in front of him. The smoke from the explosion sputtered uselessly into the sky as Bakugou gasped and choked on his own spit from the sheer force of it all.

“Can you believe it? Midoriya Izuku once again makes a decisive move in the first few seconds!” Present Mic shouted. “Is this the end of Bakugou’s string of victories?”

“They’re both very talented and have a good sense of seeing the limits to their opponent’s abilities,” Aizawa said. “There’s no use counting either of them out just yet.”

Sure enough, Bakugou got to his feet just as Izuku picked up his staff again. Bakugou growled and flexed his left hand backwards, behind his body. In a flash, sparks were emitted from his palm and he flew towards Izuku –

Normally, he’d throw an explosion-powered punch again… but this time, he must know I predicted his previous move. It’s more likely he’ll try to lead me off his trail by lifting his left leg to extend around as he spins, and then he’ll kick me in the head instead.

Izuku lifted up his staff, steadying his grip with both hands, and blocked the kick. It vibrated from the force, but still held firm.

He’s impatient. He’ll throw another blow with his right again before dropping to the ground.

As Bakugou’s right fist swung back around in the same move, releasing a huge explosion, Izuku had already ducked under the blow and scrambled forward. He avoided the blast radius completely and spun around to face Bakugou again. Bakugou had dropped gracefully back to the arena grounds and was exhaling heavily – more likely out of anger than exhaustion. Izuku was surprised he wasn’t snorting like a bull just yet. Bakugou whipped his head back up to glare at Izuku and brought back both his arms.

Now he’ll start being much more cautious.

It wasn’t just muscle memory from years of sparring against various opponents, after all. This wasn’t Bakugou, the top-ranked student from the entrance exams – it was Kacchan, the little kid who’d explored his own quirk with Izuku’s help. He wouldn’t have known if Todoroki’s neck tensed before he kicked off the ground, or if Shinsou’s eyebrow twitched when he was focusing – but these were things about Bakugou that Izuku simply knew, simply recognized like it was a unique form of body language semaphore.

Bakugou pushed his palms forward, using both his hands to discharge a familiar black-and-orange eruption, smoke and fumes swirling together in an enormous cloud. Izuku gritted his teeth and crouched low to the ground, digging his nails into the dirt and shifting all his weight to his legs. The force of the explosion pushed Izuku back several metres, but he was still well within the boundaries and barely injured past a light stinging sensation on his skin. Once he had skidded to a stop, he sprang up and ran forward, using the clouds of smoke as cover. Getting in close was dangerous, but it was all he could do. He crept along, staying low to the ground, keeping an ear out for Bakugou’s telltale snarls and heavy stomping.

But as it turned out, he didn’t have to worry about stealth – Bakugou was getting rid of that factor altogether. Somewhere not too far away, Izuku could see a small sphere of light. It was growing larger and larger by the second, cradled and nurtured by Bakugou’s caring hands. Izuku’s eyes widened as he realized what was going to happen and he immediately slapped his palms over his face to block it out.

A large-scale flash escaped amidst the grey smoke, lighting everything up and nearly blinding Izuku even through the scant cracks between his fingers. Although he avoided direct eye contact with Bakugou’s equivalent of a stun grenade, blinking rapidly did not immediately remove the lingering effects of floaters and spots in his vision, and so caused his next misstep.

He had no sooner regained his vision than Bakugou was up in the air, mere metres away. Stunned, Izuku lifted up his staff to block any blows – but Bakugou had let loose a small explosion in his face again and somersaulted in the air above his head, grabbing Izuku by his hair and shoulder at the same time. A surge of panic climbed up through Izuku’s throat.

“It seems Bakugou has taken control of the match!” Present Mic declared.

He’s going to toss me out, that analytic part of his mind provided oh-so-helpfully. He has a hold of you, so his next move will obviously be to throw you out of bounds. It’s done. It’s over.

But as Izuku desperately struggled against his grip while shutting his eyes, certain that these would be his last moments in the ring, he felt that familiar swooping sensation of rising in the air only to fall back to the dirt all too quickly.

That feeling of the hard, unyielding ground meeting his back was like the reunion of old friends; it had happened so many times before in this exact manner. Izuku glanced around, dazed and shocked to see that he was still within the lines. He brought his upper body back up, resting on his elbows, and surveyed the scene in front of him. Bakugou had again descended to the ground and was standing a short distance away, making no move to come any closer.

Izuku frowned. Bakugou Katsuki of all people would never take pity on an opponent. No, if he wasn’t attacking, it was for another reason…

“How can you even stand in the same ring as me?” Bakugou demanded lowly. “You’re quirkless.”

Izuku couldn’t tell if this was an insult or a genuine question.

“That doesn’t matter,” he said, deciding to humour Bakugou and use this opportunity to stall, if nothing else. He could use the extra time to come up with a plan.

Bakugou snorted.

“Of course it fucking matters,” he said. “If it didn’t matter, no one in the crowd would be looking like that.”

Izuku’s eyes made a brief foray over the audience, roving over the rows of people. True enough, half of the crowd was looking down, perhaps wincing at the force with which Bakugou had thrown him. It must have painted a very stereotypical image in their heads, the idyllic scene of a villainous tyrant on one end and the helpless little damsel cowering on the other.

Poor little quirkless boy, he could imagine them whispering behind their hands.

“That’s not what I mean,” Izuku said, pushing his hands against the ground to get back to his feet. Bakugou immediately threw three more explosions at him in succession, and Izuku gasped as he lost his balance and fell back to the ground.

“I’m not done yet,” Bakugou hissed. Izuku swallowed, feeling sweat crawl over his palms and stick to the clumps of dirt. Unlike Bakugou’s sweat, Izuku’s sweat was only useful for making situations worse.

He’s been in this place before. Not the arena, specifically – obviously that’s where all his previous matches took place, after all. He’s been in this place where he’s on the ground and Kacchan is standing over him, holding all the power in the world in his hands. It’s the courtyard in front of the school where Takahashi was curled into himself, it’s the riverbank where he had once offered an open hand to a friend – only to end up soaking wet. It’s the third-floor corridor by the array of windows in his middle school, where his dreams had once crumbled into ash. It’s all the same place, a place where Izuku is nothing more than a patchwork quilt of stray anxieties on the verge of fraying irreparably.

“I made it this far, didn’t I?” Izuku said shakily. He wasn’t quite sure who he was talking to.

“You tricked them,” Bakugou accused. “Half-and-Half, and Glasses – you tricked them into losing.”

Izuku stared.

“You would know better than anyone the importance of having a plan,” he said. “I didn’t cheat. It’s a competition, and I abided by all the rules.”

Bakugou’s hands trembled, but he didn’t disagree. Inexplicably, Izuku felt a few of those frayed strands wrap themselves together again.

“I won the first task, Kacchan,” Izuku said quietly. “And then I won the second task. I won against Shinsou-kun, I won against Todoroki-kun, and I won against Iida-kun. Are those all flukes? Did I win with trickery each time? And even if I did, then doesn’t that just mean trickery is the most useful quirk of all?”

“You won’t trick me,” Bakugou snapped. “I know I’m better than you. You’re just a pebble.”

And suddenly, Izuku understood exactly why Bakugou hadn’t thrown him out-of-bounds. There were three ways to win a match: if your opponent crossed the line, if your opponent was incapacitated, or if your opponent surrendered. Sure, Bakugou could throw him outside of those white lines, or burst into explosion after explosion until Izuku collapsed… or he could bring Izuku to the brink and back, time and again, until Izuku said those words he so craved to hear –

You win, and I lose. I’m weak. I surrender.

Izuku narrowed his eyes. For all that Bakugou was a brute, he was far from stupid. He must know that there was no way Izuku would ever give up.

Just as Izuku knew there was no way Bakugou could ever give up, either. Truly, they were two sides of the same coin. Bakugou would sooner slit his own throat than hiss out those poisonous, treacherous words.

Surrendering is out, Izuku thought, his mind whirring and picking up speed once more with the inklings of a plan taking shape. And so is crossing over the line. Kacchan isn’t Todoroki, who had essentially never used his left side before. He isn’t Iida, either, who had limited use of his special move. He’s too controlled and precise to let his own power push him out-of-bounds – and I’m not strong enough to push him out without him flying back into the arena. I have to incapacitate him, make it so that he can’t fight anymore.

“Are we here to watch people talk, or fight?” Present Mic shouted into the microphone. The crowd bellowed their agreement. 

Izuku cleared his throat, feeling himself come back together. He wasn’t the same person as before. Maybe Kacchan was better now, but Izuku was better, too.

“A pebble?” Izuku inquired, testing the word in his mouth carefully. “Even pebbles look like mountains to ants, Kacchan.”

Bakugou’s nostrils flared as he fumed, immediately pushing out the palm of his right hand and letting another blast break free into the space between them. Izuku ripped the grappling hook gun off his waist and aimed it at the epicentre of the explosion. The flexible hook shot out towards Bakugou and it shattered from the force of the blast, spraying sharp metallic pieces like needles through the air. Bakugou brought up his arm to protect his face, turning away from the assault – while Izuku was already up on his feet and racing towards him from the left, veering around that danger zone.

Bakugou, with reflexes as sharply maintained as always, was already turning around and opening his left hand. Izuku tossed his staff forward and Bakugou batted it away instinctively. With this extra one second, Izuku had crossed the space between them and had his hand open for a palm heel strike to Bakugou’s chest. Bakugou thrust Izuku’s hand away with a small explosion, and Izuku immediately twisted on his feet, spinning into a back kick. Bakugou dodged it narrowly.

He then opened both palms, releasing a larger explosion with Izuku directly in his line of fire – but Izuku dug his heels into the dirt and crouched again, skittering back only a few feet.

“I’m not scared of you,” Izuku said lowly. Bakugou narrowed his eyes. In this battle, he may as well have been Kirishima – his skin did not harden at will, but these explosions spreading stinging burns all over him was much too familiar a sensation, to the point where he barely felt them at all.

He’ll be gearing up to take me down again, Izuku thought. Frontal explosions aren’t enough when I can see them and brace for it… no, he’ll pull his favourite trick very soon.

With the broken grappling hook gun still in hand, Izuku pulled it in front of him very quickly, the frayed ends of the wiry rope extending out like a whip. Rather than merely dodging, Bakugou broke the cord with a quick blast to the middle. Izuku hid a smile and dropped the gun, running straight at Bakugou again. Bakugou’s left hand rose up to the level of Izuku’s face, closing and opening very quickly –

His little finger is curled further in – this is a distraction, a short-range burst.

Izuku took the blast to his face head-on, unflinchingly accepting the forceful wave of heat. Bakugou barely had time to raise an eyebrow in surprise as he was raising his right hand and Izuku was already bringing up his left forearm to block. And now Bakugou was still leaning into Izuku, his centre unprotected.

Immediately, Izuku gripped onto Bakugou’s wrist and pulled down while pushing his right knee upwards in a vertical knee strike.

Bakugou used his free hand to aim at the ground near Izuku’s feet, pausing Izuku’s motions for just long enough to narrowly avoid the blow. But avoiding it meant that both of his hands were occupied for a split second, whereas Izuku’s right hand was blissfully free – and this split second was just long enough for Izuku to throw a sharp uppercut into Bakugou’s chin.

The resounding smash and Bakugou’s following gasp was so satisfying that Izuku almost laughed with glee – and then Bakugou blasted him away, sending Izuku stumbling over the dirt again with his skin battered and ears ringing, and Izuku did not feel very gleeful anymore.

“Are you underestimating me, Deku?” Bakugou snarled. Izuku ignored him and pressed his hands on the ground, suddenly feeling the cool metal of his staff.

“That was some impressive maneuvering,” Aizawa said.

“How so?” Present Mic asked innocently, playing along.

“Midoriya may not have a quirk, but he is able to predict his opponent’s movements with incredible accuracy – to the point where it may not even matter what his opponent’s quirk is.”

“But he still hasn’t won!”

“That he hasn’t,” Aizawa agreed. “Because Bakugou, on the other hand, has incredible reflexes. It’s a very even match-up.”

Izuku gripped the staff tight, rising up and squinting through the smoke. Again, Bakugou was leaping forward with a blast aimed at his face – but his legs were tilted up behind him in the air.

Ah, there it is.

With a twin blast from his other fist, Bakugou somersaulted in the air to land behind Izuku, sending out another blast towards his back – but Izuku reached back with his staff at the same time, twirling it to smack Bakugou’s hand out of position. He could still feel flames licking up his new uniform shirt, but the brunt of the blast was redirected. Izuku ran forward – away from Bakugou – crouching down and pretending to take a moment to recover. Discreetly, he picked up that stray piece of wire from before and hid it in his fist.

He turned around, getting back to his feet. Bakugou had touched down to the ground, flexing his fingers and swearing. His head snapped back up to look at Izuku and again, he was approaching, explosions going off in his wake. He reached forward with his other hand this time and Izuku clung tighter to the wire, sweating.

This was a gamble, but Bakugou liked to be unpredictable, and almost no one expected the same move twice in a row. He was approaching Izuku another way, from a slightly different angle and a slightly different height and a slightly different hand position, getting closer than before – but it was his favourite move for a reason.

Sure enough, Bakugou threw a small explosion in Izuku’s face and began to twist up to somersault behind him – but as his body began to spin around, Izuku leaped forward and dropped his staff. He reached up with both hands, extending the wire he was holding. Bakugou’s foot caught on the cord before he could rotate completely and Izuku pulled down, hard. With a cut-off bark of surprise and an explosion fizzling out into the air, Bakugou was dragged to the ground quickly and awkwardly.

“Oh! Midoriya strikes again!” Present Mic crowed.

“Are you underestimating me, Kacchan?” Izuku asked lowly.

Bakugou was crumpled onto the dirt, lacking his usual grace – and in an instant, Izuku had already leaped on top of him. For one moment, Izuku merely rested his entire weight on Bakugou’s chest and pressed his forearm into his neck, intending on making him lose his breath – and in the next, he scrambled off and pushed Bakugou onto his side while he was still disoriented, coughing and wildly throwing out explosions.

Quickly getting into position behind him, Izuku reached around Bakugou’s neck with his right arm, placing his right elbow under the chin. With his left arm, he extended it to let the palm rest on the back of Bakugou’s head while his right hand gripped his left bicep. He began to squeeze, and Bakugou began coughing louder, in earnest. At the same time, he hooked his leg over Bakugou’s to press into his inner thigh and puffed his chest out. Finally, he pulled his own back to the ground so that Bakugou was essentially on top of him and extended his left leg over Bakugou’s other side to do the same thing. All of this, he did in the span of a few seconds – and with both his legs and arms, Izuku squeezed as tightly as he could. The perfect position for a rear naked choke.

“A chokehold,” Aizawa said approvingly. “That’s a smart move against an opponent like this. An effective chokehold can almost remove the need for a quirk – it can cause an enemy to pass out in seconds.”

Bakugou was already panting and gasping for air. His hands released enormous explosions against the ground, against Izuku’s legs, against Izuku’s arms around his neck. His legs were shaking and kicking out frantically.

Izuku couldn’t see his expression, but he imagined it must have been emblazoned with horror, like he was suffocating. In truth, he was struggling, too. His eyes were watering, and his lungs were filling with smoke and dust; his arms and legs were burning, burning like nothing he had ever felt before. This wasn’t the barely-there blistering of someone who was forced to control himself for the competition and the sake of human life. This was the scalding burn of true panic. Izuku was on fire.

But still, Izuku refused to let go.

Even as Bakugou scrabbled helplessly against Izuku’s limbs, Izuku didn’t let go. There was no throwing Bakugou over the line, no getting him to surrender. This was the only way.

He felt it, as the seconds passed, and the sounds of the crowd and Present Mic’s shrill shrieks grew muted in his ears. He felt Bakugou’s head loll back a few times and his explosions slowly lose force and sputter out. Izuku’s heart pounded in his ears.

Is it over?

He could barely believe it. Could it be, that after all these years, Izuku had finally come out on top?

The crowd was silent. Even Present Mic, for this brief moment, had nothing to say. A few more sparks fell from Bakugou’s fingertips to the ground.

And then there was an unexpected, bright flare-up – but not from Bakugou’s hands. Izuku struggled to stretch his neck out from behind Bakugou’s head to see, not daring to loosen his grip for even a moment, and gaped.

Bakugou had been kicking out wildly this whole time, but perhaps not out of panic – he had been kicking off his shoes and socks. Izuku’s mind flashed back to a lone moment from years ago.

Kacchan, I have some more ideas for you! Have you tried shooting out explosions through your feet?

Bakugou, in fact, hadn’t tried that at the time – but the results of that afternoon’s experimentation were mildly disappointing. The explosions from his feet were not nearly as effective as the ones from his hands. With his fingers, Bakugou was much more precise – and sweat tended to build up faster between them. Some people had hyperhidrosis and sweated excessively through their feet, but Bakugou was not one of them. Even further, it was particularly irritating to blast straight through his shoes and socks, which both dampened the force of the explosion and rendered his footwear worthless – as they found out the hard way later on, with Mitsuki screeching at them. However, as with most things, “not nearly as effective” for Bakugou still meant it was leagues more effective than the quirks of anyone else in their middle school class.

By virtue of the position they were in, Bakugou’s arms could not offer much help. They were awkwardly spaced apart as Izuku’s knees acted as a barrier between Bakugou’s hands and sides, and Izuku’s chest pushed Bakugou’s back upwards uncomfortably. He could not properly bring his hands together, and releasing explosions from his palms to move them both forward along the ground would not be effective for loosening the grip that Izuku’s legs had around Bakugou. But by rubbing his feet together all while under the hot afternoon sun, Bakugou had pooled together enough sweat to create the energy for one large explosion from his legs – and so he did.

The explosion was enormous, and the force of it sent Izuku’s body – still clinging to Bakugou’s – skittering backwards along the dirt. And as the explosion had taken place right under Izuku’s feet, the sheer vigour bounced his legs up, out of position – much like his arms, which instinctively sprung up a hair above Bakugou’s windpipe, releasing the pressure for a millisecond.

Unfortunately, that was enough for Bakugou.

He took a gasping breath and jabbed his elbow into Izuku’s sternum – now that Izuku’s legs weren’t wrapped around him, there was ample room to do so. Izuku grunted and his grip around Bakugou’s neck loosened again. Bakugou twisted his hand behind his back and let loose an explosion straight into Izuku’s chest, and this time, Izuku couldn’t hold on anymore.

He let go completely, and Bakugou released explosions from both palms to push himself into the air and spring back up to his feet. With great difficulty, Izuku got to his knees, coughing.

“Amazing! Bakugou has managed to escape!” Present Mic cried.

It’s done. You’ve lost your chance.

But even as Bakugou was on his feet, he was still keeled over and panting. Izuku could only see his side profile, but his eyes were wild and his fingers were curled around his throat. He looked…

Scared.

Izuku forced himself to his feet, despite his aching limbs, and he thought of the last time he caught that expression on Bakugou’s face. It had happened in front of a large audience – a large audience that included such Pro Heroes as Kamui Woods, Mount Lady, Backdraft, and Death Arms, much like this one. Bakugou was choking then, too.

The difference was that last time, Izuku had been offering a hand to help, not suffocating Bakugou like the Sludge Villain. Unthinkingly, Izuku stepped forward and reached out his hand. He was back at the river, and Kacchan had fallen in…

“Kacchan…” he said. Bakugou trembled in place, then spun around and unleashed two large blasts in Izuku’s direction. Izuku yelped as he fell to the ground again, thrown back several feet. His already-burning arms were scorching again. But something about this attack felt more… imprecise. The first one dissipated too quickly and the second was aimed more so to Izuku’s left. 

He glanced to the ground and noted the broken grappling hook gun next to him. He snuck a quick glance back at Bakugou, who was panting heavily. He still wasn’t looking at Izuku.

Carefully and quietly, Izuku reattached the gun to his waist. There was no hook or wire attached to it anymore, but it was solid and heavy. And if the… sloppiness… of those explosions meant anything, Bakugou was probably still lightheaded, given how long his oxygen supply was cut off from his brain. But even at half-strength, he was still formidable – a fact that Izuku couldn’t help but envy as well as admire. A distraction would be needed.

He glanced back to where Bakugou was standing and noticed the staff by his feet. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself back up and ran towards Bakugou. Bakugou had undoubtedly spotted him, but he did not move. Izuku narrowed his eyes, crouching to the ground at the last second to pick up his staff, then springing back up with his right arm whipping it forward.

In the middle of the swing, Bakugou raised his own hand in response. But he didn’t let out an explosion. Instead, he caught the staff with his hand and squeezed.

Heat-resistant, and able to withstand large expulsions of force – those were the qualities he had asked for when he told Power Loader he wanted a bō staff. That didn’t stop Bakugou from shattering the staff in two, along with all expectations. Izuku stumbled back and gawked.

Bakugou didn’t say a word, or even step forward.

Izuku swallowed, leaning down to pick up both ends of his staff, holding them up like a makeshift pair of escrima sticks. He had never used escrima sticks in his life, but there was no better time to try than now. He leaned forward again, intending to use them in place of punches to strike blows against Bakugou’s chest. Bakugou leaned back to dodge the first swipe and narrowly ducked under the second, his head brought down to the level of Izuku’s chest.

Izuku’s heart leapt – this was his chance! – and he dropped one half of the staff to rip the heavy, metal gun off his waist. He raised his hand and whipped it back down quickly, intending to hit Bakugou in the head and knock him out.

He was already lightheaded, and this final blow would undoubtedly knock him out for good.

But at the last second, Bakugou tilted his head to an angle – catching sight of the gun – and he shoved another explosion right into Izuku’s chest. Izuku flew backwards, but he purposefully let the gun slip out of his hands. It ended up missing the top of his head and instead smacked into his mouth and chin before falling uselessly to the dirt. Bakugou growled and blasted it away, turning his head to spit blood onto the ground.  

“Another trick, Deku?” he growled as he opened both palms in Izuku’s direction.

“Something tells me we’re nearing the end of this match…” Present Mic mused, “…but I still can’t tell who the victor will be! Let’s see what happens next!”

Izuku was already running at him, crossing his arms in front of his face and crouching as the air exploded around him. He felt like he was about to collapse to the ground any second now, but he refused to stop. He would never stop.

Maybe now that he’s feeling dizzy, I can even push him outside the lines instead, Izuku thought desperately as he rushed forward again without any semblance of a plan.

“You’ve been like this ever since we were kids,” he said. “Always fucking looking down on me.”

“I’m not, you idiot,” Izuku said, panting as he kept jogging. “I know you’re an amazing fighter. I want to win so that I can surpass you.”

Bakugou – much to Izuku’s surprise – chuckled.

Before Izuku could be disturbed by this for too long, Bakugou himself started running at Izuku. A short distance away, Bakugou flew up into the air.

“With your stalking, you probably already know what’s coming,” he snorted. “But you can’t trick me this time.”

He’s somersaulting behind me again, Izuku realized, readying himself to spin around.

But then again – Bakugou had always been unpredictable, even with how well Izuku knew him. His ability to foresee Bakugou’s actions had to end somewhere.

And so, Bakugou did not somersault behind him again. Instead, he propelled himself in a circular motion much like a tornado – with the streaks of grey smoke to match. This tornado builds up the oxygen to fuel the oncoming explosion, Izuku’s mind narrated, as the winds began to whirl around him. Spinning around and around, this explosion was capable of force that was comparable to a missile. While most effectively used when colliding with a target, Bakugou was perfectly capable of releasing it in midair. Much as he did here, letting it all out only metres away from where Izuku was standing.

Howitzer Impact. Perhaps the most powerful tool in Bakugou Katsuki’s arsenal, and here he was – using it against pitiful little Deku.

Pathetically, Izuku lifted up the lone half of his staff to protect himself, deaf to the audience’s cries and Midnight’s shrieks for Cementoss to stop this. He closed his eyes, utterly unaware of the wave of cement that had solidified into a thick wall before him.

And then, not for the first time today, Izuku was up in the air. He was like a bird – or, more aptly, a feather – carried away by the breeze and unsure where he would end up. The cracks he heard around him could very well be the popping sounds of Bakugou’s residual explosions, or the dirt and cement splintering around him, or maybe his own bones breaking under his reddened skin.

With yet another crack, he hit the ground. He groaned loudly, wanting to stay in this position forever, but the sounds of the world were starting back up around him. His eyelids flickered open and he blinked blearily, his vision full of lurid colours. He thought he could make out Midnight’s voice, as well as Bakugou’s.

“ – could have killed him!”

“Tch. That damn nerd would have been fine. There was no need to interfere with that fucking wall.”

“Have some respect!” the first voice – presumably Midnight – hissed.

“I am,” Bakugou said, his voice surprisingly devoid of any discernible emotion. He sounded like he was getting closer, and as Izuku forcefully opened his eyes even wider, he found Bakugou staring at him. His expression was unreadable, but when he found Izuku looking back at him, he simply rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue.

“There you have it,” Bakugou grumbled. “Deku is as fine as ever.”

He turned to leave the arena, and Midnight could only stare after him. She sighed, and Izuku heard the telltale jangle of her metallic bracelet as she raised her hand into the air.

“Midoriya is out-of-bounds! Bakugou wins!”

The crowd erupted into a mixture of uncertain cheers and loud chatter. Present Mic tried to maintain order above it all in one final call to end the tournament –

“There you have it, everyone! The winner of the U.A. First Years’ Sports Festival is Class 1-A’s very own Bakugou Katsuki! But let’s give a hand to both of our competitors!” he announced.

Izuku tilted his head to the side, his jaw throbbing with pain. Bakugou kept walking away, seeming not to notice any of it at all – though all Izuku could see of him was his back. As usual.

The overwhelming realization that everything he had still hadn’t been enough to beat Bakugou came rushing to him all at once. His head began pounding again, and his vision blurred. As he finally admitted in his head what Bakugou had wanted to hear all along, a single tear trickled down his cheek.

Congratulations, Kacchan – you fulfilled your pledge after all. This is your indisputable first place. You win.

With that comforting thought, Izuku slipped into unconsciousness, utterly dead to the world.

Chapter Text

“Are you just going to keep standing in the corner like a potted houseplant?”

“It’s comfortable here.”

“You’re just afraid that the closer you get to the hospital bed, the more it’ll seem like you have real feelings.”

“Germs spread in the blink of an eye. I’m just taking precautions.”

“He’s not infected, he’s – awake!”

Izuku’s fought to keep his half-lidded eyes open as he took in the scene – Hirai and Sasaki were sitting by the hospital bed in which he was currently lying. Shinsou was looking bored as he stood on the other side of the room with his arms crossed. His head perked up at Sasaki’s proclamation.

“Midoriya-kun! You’re conscious again!” Hirai exclaimed. Izuku blinked a few times, trying to clear his head.

“Yeah…” he said. “How did I get here?”

“Cementoss brought you to Recovery Girl after your match,” Sasaki said. “You had… quite a few injuries.”

“Right,” Izuku muttered. “I distinctly remember hearing a few cracks.”

“You broke three ribs and your right leg, as well as fractured your right wrist. You hit your head again so you will probably experience moderate headaches for a few days. You had severe second-degree burns all over your arms and calves,” Hirai said promptly. “There will be some scarring.”

“Starting off with the good news, I see,” Sasaki muttered.

“What’s the bad news?” Izuku asked immediately, alarmed. Sasaki shrugged.

“It’s not really bad news… I just figured it would, you know, stress you out to hear that it’s only been about half an hour since you passed out and the whole stadium has been waiting for you to wake up so they can get on with the medal ceremony…”

“What!?” Izuku exclaimed, immediately pushing himself into a sitting position with his elbows. He winced as a sharp pain shot up his right arm. Shinsou rolled his eyes, then leisurely strolled over to Izuku with the air of someone taking a pleasant evening walk.

“Relax,” he said. “The world’s not going to end if you take a little more time.”

“But they’ve already been waiting so long – ”

“Exactly. They won’t notice a few more minutes.”

There was a knock on the door, and all four heads turned to face the source of the noise. Much to Izuku’s surprise, Uraraka peeked inside. Her eyes widened as she noticed Izuku sitting up.

“Oh! You’re awake!” she exclaimed, smiling. “How do you feel?”

“I feel fine,” Izuku said automatically. Sasaki snorted.

“You don’t exactly look fine,” Uraraka said, eyeing his bandages.

“Recovery Girl healed most of it,” he insisted. “I was just about to head out.”

“Really?” Uraraka asked, raising a brow. “That’s too bad – the ceremony isn’t set to happen quite so soon, but I guess you don’t need the rest.”

Izuku narrowed his eyes. Uraraka’s lips twitched in amusement.

“You did so well!” Uraraka exclaimed suddenly. “I guess I understand – I bet you can’t wait to get up there and grab that silver medal!”

Silver. Some part of Izuku’s own amusement faded as the afterimages of his match flickered through his mind.

“Yeah…” he said absently, looking down and rubbing the back of his neck. Uraraka frowned, clearly picking up on his mood.

“You did really well,” she repeated. “You made it all the way to the end. There’s no reason to be upset – you should be proud! It doesn’t even matter that you lost!”

It did matter, though. To him, at least. But Uraraka’s cheer was written all over her face. And if Izuku looked closely, he could see the faint red lines streaking through the whites of her eyes and the puffy bags underneath them. Swallowing, he pushed back his childish ungratefulness.  

“You did well, too,” he said.

“There’s no need to lie just to make me feel better,” she said, her voice a bit tighter than before. “Our team wasn’t the fifth or sixth. We weren’t close at all.”

“I guess not, but I’m sure you had a strategy. Didn’t you try anything new?”

“Not with my quirk, but… I guess there was this one moment where I made Tokoyami-kun float to the edge of the stadium so that Dark Shadow could hide within the shadow of the stands and the other teams wouldn’t see him coming,” she admitted.

“That’s… a really good idea,” Izuku said, suddenly grateful she had attacked his team out in the open. Uraraka shrugged, though she blushed a little.

“It didn’t make a difference in the end.”

“But you tried something different, and that means you’re improving. Maybe it wasn’t good enough today, but… that happens sometimes,” Izuku said, gesturing to the hospital bed self-deprecatingly.  

“That’s totally different,” she said, sighing. “You were incredible. I wish I could be more like you.”

Izuku blinked. No one had ever told him that before. Who would want to be like him, after all? Besides… Uraraka, maybe she didn’t know it, but she had been the very first positive experience he had had at this school, and thus, his very first positive experience from a stranger at all, in a very long time.

“You shouldn’t,” he said. “I like who you are.”

Uraraka finally looked back up at him, cheeks tinted slightly red and eyes lit up with genuine gratitude.

“What a charmer,” she joked. “No wonder you have so many girls at your bedside.”

Sasaki perked up and moved her chair much closer to Izuku’s head.

“He just has this natural magnetism,” she sighed, running her hand along his arm.

“Yes, we were very worried about Midoriya-kun,” Hirai said, nodding seriously.

Izuku choked on air and shoved his inflamed face into his pillow, brushing off Sasaki’s hand.

“Why won’t you accept my love?” she asked mournfully, shaking his shoulder. Uraraka burst into laughter.

“Okay, okay, the poor kid already has enough injuries – let’s not add spontaneous combustion to the list,” Shinsou drawled. “As entertaining as these mood swings are, I feel like I should interrupt your regularly-scheduled drama to inform Recovery Girl of Midoriya’s return to life, so that we can, you know, get on with the ceremony.”

Izuku jumped.

“Oh! Right!”

He carefully rolled out of the bed and got to his feet, grimacing as he limped across the room to a door at the back of the stadium’s hospital wing. He reached for the doorknob – but before he even touched it, the door was swung wide open from the other side of the small office. Recovery Girl looked up at him, unamused.

“Out of bed before I even took a look at you? Clearly you’re in no rush to get better,” she admonished. Izuku flushed.

“S-Sorry! I just wanted to get to the ceremony so that I wouldn’t have to keep everyone waiting for such a long time,” he stammered. Recovery Girl clicked her tongue.

“Waiting half an hour just to see a child limp up to the podium when they already know the results of the Sports Festival,” she muttered to herself, shaking her head. “This whole spectacle is ridiculous.”

Izuku shifted on his feet, then winced. Recovery Girl arched an eyebrow.

“This is the second time today you’ve received broken bones and severe burns,” she warned. “Be careful with yourself – you were dangerously low on energy at the end of your final match, so I couldn’t heal everything lest I drain too much of your strength. You’ll be limping for a few days, at the very least.”

“That’s okay, I’ve been through worse,” he said brightly. Recovery Girl looked at him. Izuku’s smile froze on his face. “Anyway, I feel alright enough to finish off the ceremony!”

Recovery Girl surveyed him suspiciously for a few more moments before sighing.

“I’ll inform Midnight and the others,” she said grudgingly. “Go on, then. Get ready to face the world.”

***

Izuku watched as platforms were erected in the middle of the arena, half-hidden in shadow as the bluish-purple of evening crept across the sky. From where he was leaning over the railing in the stands, he was just another faceless member of the crowd mindlessly chattering about the pomp and circumstance to come.

He had left his friends behind to take their own places in the stands, but instead of heading straight out to the centre of the arena – where he could see Honenuki and Bakugou already waiting – he had made a quick detour to this small section of seats above one of the stadium entrances. The reason for this was getting closer and closer, a presence he could feel more than hear. It shifted behind him before stepping to the side and leaning on the railing beside him.

“So, you’ve made it this far, huh?” Himura asked, tilting his head in Izuku’s direction. Izuku ran his hands through his hair, frowning slightly as he noted Kirishima excitedly slapping Bakugou on the back. Bakugou yelled something back at him, but didn’t bother pushing him away.

“Yeah…” he said, trailing off. “It’s too bad I didn’t win, though.”

Himura surveyed him quietly.

“Congratulations, Midoriya,” he said. “You’ve done much better than I could have ever hoped for.”

Izuku flushed.

“H-How can you say that? I still lost,” he said, looking away.

“You know, those who embrace failure are the ones who are truly strong. They are willing to rebuild themselves as many times as necessary in order to succeed.”

“You were never this nice when I didn’t place first at martial arts tournaments.”

“I can be cruel if you truly want me to be,” Himura said, rolling his eyes. “Yes, you lost. It was bad. Your old friend can now throw his absolute victory in your face. You’ll have spectators who pity you or doubt you. You – ”

“Okay, okay, I get the point,” Izuku interrupted.

“You asked for it,” Himura said, shrugging. Izuku huffed and looked out back over the railing, but Himura’s eyes never left his figure.

“You asked for it,” he repeated. “Because you know somewhere within yourself that it doesn’t matter what I say, nor what anyone else says. You were there when the audience cheered for you after the race, after the cavalry battle, after each one of your matches. You’ve felt the warmth of their delight… and you may now feel the sting of their rejection or pity… but when you won each of those challenges, you must have felt at least a little bit proud, just for yourself.”

“I did,” he admitted. “Maybe it was wrong, but after each victory, a part of me was just a little bit smug that I managed to win out over some hero student. I wasn’t so smug at the end, though – maybe I had it coming.”

“No,” Himura said, flattening his lips into a thin line. “No, I certainly don’t think having a healthy self-esteem for once is quite punishable by attempted murder.”

Izuku’s head jerked back.

“He – he wasn’t trying to kill me!” Izuku protested. “That’s just how he is!”

Himura looked at him.

“How many times will you make excuses for him, Midoriya?”

Izuku shook his head violently.

“He released the blast a few metres away from me,” he argued. “He knows how to control his power to avoid permanent damage. Trust me. He was not going to kill me.”

“No, he was just going to hurt you quite severely,” Himura agreed. “And that’s much better, is it?”

That’s what he’s always done. What’s the difference?

Izuku swallowed.

“I-I – ”

“Don’t strain yourself,” Himura said, sighing. “Maybe you don’t believe me now, but you don’t deserve any of this – especially not for being proud of yourself. No one does. Confidence is a good look on you, Midoriya. Wear it like armour, even at your lowest points, and eventually, it will become a second skin.”

“I guess you’re right,” Izuku said, staring down at his hands, pale against the grey railing. “But you’re still wrong about one thing.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“As much as I try to motivate myself, I can’t always ignore what people will say about me. Maybe I can eventually forget about it, but… Himura-sensei, what you say will always matter to me,” he admitted, closing his eyes and waiting with bated breath for Himura to scoff and tell him off.

Instead, a cool hand rested on his shoulder.

“Go get your medal, kid,” Himura said quietly.

***

Fireworks of every colour lit up the sky. Red, green, and blue explosions burst into intricate patterns over their heads, frightening away the encroaching dusk with fierce flashes of warmth and light. Izuku watched the display, mesmerized, and only partly paying attention as Midnight began to speak.

“All of the first-year events for this year’s Sports Festival are now complete,” she announced. “Let the award ceremony begin!”

With a burst of smoke, the platform that Izuku was standing on began to rise. Next to him on the first-place platform stood Bakugou, as silent as he was the last time Izuku had seen him. On the other side of him was Honenuki – only Honenuki. Izuku frowned as he noted Iida’s absence. That was certainly strange.

“We would like to recognize that in addition to Honenuki Juuzou, there is also Iida Tenya in third place. Unfortunately, he had to leave early due to family reasons. Thank you for understanding!” Midnight exclaimed, smiling coyly at the reporters who had drawn close.

Izuku picked a few pieces of confetti out of his hair, absently twisting the strands as he wondered what Midnight could have meant by ‘family reasons’. It really was too bad – Iida had wanted to make his brother proud, so the ceremony was probably important to him.

“Now, let us award the medals! We have a special surprise for the crowd today…” Midnight said, voice veering off as the crowd’s excitement built up. “The presentation of the medals will be, of course, by this man – ”

At the far reaches of the stadium, high in the rafters behind the widescreen, a familiar laugh boomed out over the arena as the shadow of a large man grew more and more distinct.

“It’s All Might!” the crowd gasped out, cheering and clapping as the Number One Hero of Japan launched himself into an almighty leap, landing with a loud thud directly in front of the competitors. “The first-years are so lucky!”

 Izuku’s smile froze on his face.

Logically, he knew there was no avoiding All Might forever. And admittedly, if he delved even deeper into his own common sense, it would have perhaps been obvious to him that since All Might taught Hero Studies to the first-year students, there was a good chance he would be a part of their first Sports Festival. But in the space between his mood swings – the most efficient way to measure time right now, he found – the idea that he would have to face All Might right here, right now, in front of all these cameras… somehow, this rather simple conclusion did not cross Izuku’s mind at all.

“Let’s start with third place!” Midnight announced, holding the medals up. All Might reached for the third-place medal and walked over to Honenuki. Izuku began to sweat.

“Young Honenuki – congratulations, you are indeed very strong,” All Might said, bending down to draw him into an embrace. “However, you cannot rely on the comforts of your quirk all the time. You must push yourself out of your comfort zone.”

“Yes, sir,” Honenuki replied, looking down at his medal. All Might stepped down and reached back towards Midnight to retrieve the second-place medal. He turned around, and Izuku determinedly fixed his gaze on the sky, on his shoes, on the students congregating around the podium. He could hear All Might drawing closer, step by step.

What was he supposed to say? Should he say anything? Would All Might even remember?

Of course he won’t, it was nearly a year ago – just act natural.

Izuku looked straight into All Might’s eyes just as he held out the medal. The second their gazes met, any semblance of acting natural flew out the window. The blinding smile was perfectly pasted onto All Might’s glowing face, but his hands were rigid as he carefully looped the red-and-white lanyard around Izuku’s neck.

How could he have thought All Might wouldn’t remember?

The medal wasn’t very fancy – it must have weighed only a few hundred grams – but it felt like there was a lot more weight hanging around his neck. Izuku swallowed, throat suddenly dry.

The last time Izuku had really seen him, All Might was telling him that he couldn’t be a hero. And here he was, months later, granting him an award that said the exact opposite. It was painful, but it was incredible. It ached, but he had never felt better about himself. Still, the cheers and comments from the crowd were only a dull roar in his ears – after avoiding all thoughts of the man for so long, he was stunned to realize that the only thing on his mind was All Might. He was suddenly desperate to know exactly what All Might was thinking.

Was he guilty about what he said? Was he angry that Izuku disregarded his advice?

Was he proud?

“Thank you, All Might,” Izuku said, almost breathlessly.

It was so strange how All Might could bring out the same hurt he was feeling months ago, but at the same time, Izuku was still so excited to see him again. It wasn’t fair that he had that effect on him.

All Might surveyed him quietly, and Izuku wondered again if his thoughts were as scrambled as Izuku’s own.

“Congratulations, Young Midoriya,” he said, smoothing the lanyard down around his neck. “Is it okay if I embrace you?”

Izuku hesitated for a moment, but nodded firmly. All Might gently tugged him forward and wrapped his arms around him. Izuku’s stiffness soon evaporated as he closed his eyes and let himself melt into the hug. All too soon, All Might pulled back to look into his eyes.

“You did very well. You are quite the impressive competitor – I must say your eye for strategy is nearly unmatched,” he said, smiling. “My only recommendation would be to watch yourself. Something tells me you can be reckless.”

Izuku nodded, looking down. All Might seemed to waver, gaze flickering between Midnight and Izuku. He quickly leaned forward again.

“I know this may be uncomfortable, but would you be willing to meet with me after the ceremony? Perhaps in your waiting room? I have something I would like to say to you, if you would be so kind as to hear me out.”

Izuku stared. What could it be? An apology? An invitation to the Heroics Department? His mind was filling up with the possibilities while All Might fidgeted, shifting from foot to foot. What he was nervous about, Izuku couldn’t tell. As if he could ever refuse All Might.

“Sure,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant – and likely failing spectacularly. All Might smiled, clapped him on the shoulder one last time, and turned to grab the last medal. The hairs on the back of Izuku’s neck prickled – shifting his gaze, he noticed Bakugou watching him intently.

“Now then, Young Bakugou! Good job on fulfilling your pledge!” All Might announced as he handed out the last medal of the day. “Remember to keep striving for great heights if you want to stay on top!”

Bakugou allowed All Might to draw him into a hug, but still, he didn’t say a word. Izuku trained his eyes elsewhere, but he could feel Bakugou’s red-eyed gaze still glued to his neck. Even as All Might stepped down to speak the final words of the ceremony, Bakugou’s attention was inescapable.

What more could he want?

There he stood, on the first-place platform, high above everyone else. It was stupid for Izuku to believe it could have been any other way. Bakugou always wins, after all. Perhaps Izuku deserved to be up there, and perhaps Bakugou didn’t – but, well, life is never about what people deserve, is it?

The photographers and reporters gathered around, eager to finish off the day. The three beat-up competitors standing proudly with their shiny medals, with All Might’s bright smile to guide them forward… it all made for a nice picture, as long as no one looked too closely at the fringes.

“This time around, these are your winners. But anyone could have ended up at the podium. Keep working hard, help each other improve, and you will always become better versions of yourselves. I am honoured to work with these students, and I can personally say that the next generation of heroes shows much promise. Good work, everyone! See you next year!” All Might declared, laughing.

The crowd cheered in response, laughing and shoving at each other as they began to rise and leave the stands. Izuku watched them distractedly, his fingers twitching with nervous energy.

***

All Might stepped into the room where Izuku was pacing back and forth alongside the table. Izuku’s head jerked up when he heard the door close from somewhere behind him. He stood stock-still, not daring to say a word as All Might walked around the table to stand in front of him.  

“Young Midoriya,” he said. “I have to admit, I have been wanting to speak with you for quite some time. I’d even thought that I’d seen you around in brief flashes here and there, but I convinced myself it was simply my imagination and desperate desire to make things right.”

Izuku’s cheeks reddened very slightly. All Might probably didn’t account for Izuku actively running away from him.

“I’m sure you must remember how we started off on the wrong foot all those months ago, to say the least. I want you to know how terrible I felt speaking those words to you.”

Izuku let out a breath, nodding to himself.

“It was cruel of me to break a young man’s spirit, but I truly believed it had to be done,” he said quietly. “It would be dangerous to encourage recklessness in a society so driven by power. We cannot ignore the sheer strength of some quirks. Still, the incident affected me deeply… more than I care to admit. So deeply that my own poor self-control led to the escape of the villain, and he nearly harmed you and your friend once more. For that, I must apologize.”

“It’s okay,” Izuku burst out, rushing to absolve him. “We’re fine.”

All Might smiled rather absently.

“Through no help of mine, or anyone else’s,” he agreed. Izuku frowned.

“Of course you helped. You saved us.”

All Might shook his head.

“First, I merely stood there, waiting for someone else to save you. I noted the numerous heroes surrounding the scene and mistakenly thought they would leap in. But instead, crowds of people simply watched as a young boy was nearly strangled to death. They did nothing. Not you, though. You jumped in without a second thought, without even any means to defend yourself. Your bravery was inspiring.”

“I couldn’t just stand there,” he muttered, feeling some pressure build in his shoulders.

“And that is what makes you different,” All Might said, smiling. “Today, too… it’s clear that your goals were the aims of a determined young man, not one with a simple pipe dream. Like I said earlier, the way that you emerged ahead of the competition every time was a remarkable show of your intelligence and skill. You deserve to be a hero. And I think I can make that happen.”

Izuku’s eyes flashed back up to All Might’s face, astonished. Was he offering…?

“What would you say if you could receive a quirk, right now?” All Might asked brightly, cheeks pulling up to form his signature blinding grin. Izuku’s head, filling up with thoughts of joining Class 1-A, burst like a bubble. All the imaginary training sessions and meetings with Pro Heroes splattered against the walls of his mind, soon to be carried away by the current of rising tension.

“What?” he asked blankly.

“With your good heart and strong will, you could bear the torch for the next generation,” All Might boomed, caught up in his own words. He was almost unsure which one of them All Might was addressing. “Your judgment in battle and background in hand-to-hand combat would only be heightened with more power – ”

“Why would you even ask me that?” Izuku asked, bewildered. “It’s never going to happen.”

All Might blinked, then threw his head back and laughed loudly. Izuku stared at him.

“My boy,” All Might said, shaking his head, “I – ”

“Y-You – but – you said I deserved to be a hero,” Izuku said so quietly that it was almost a whisper. Was this meant to be his consolation prize?

Still, somewhere deep inside him, he felt his guts shrivel up and retreat to some corner for interrupting the Number One Hero twice in a row. With great effort, he looked back up into All Might’s blue eyes, which were wide with startled confusion.

Why was he confused? Was he not hearing himself?

Izuku’s mouth opened and closed, struggling to form words. His bones were practically rattling with anxiety. But… why should he be anxious? Hadn’t he done enough? He took a deep breath.

“Did you really call me in here to talk about some hypothetical situation, months after I tried to forget about what you said?”

Izuku’s voice was shaky, but it still rung clear in the empty room. Silence echoed against the walls, bouncing off All Might’s stricken face.

“I practiced martial arts for years,” Izuku continued. “I learned everything I could about all the quirks I had ever seen. But with a few sentences… you made me consider putting all those years to waste. You didn’t – you don’t even know me.”

“Young Midoriya…” All Might said, trailing off. “There are villains with powers that could destroy hundreds of people, and not everyone is well-suited for the difficulties of heroism. You are correct – I didn’t know you, and so I had no right to judge you. But if you were simply some hopeful child with no training behind his convictions… I would have been condemning you the second I encouraged your goals. I promise that I truly did not mean to offend you.”

“But you still did,” Izuku pointed out. He winced at hearing those childish words escape his mouth, but he couldn’t take it back. “I-I know that there are other ways to save people, but it… hurt, when you said that. Policemen don’t really show up on active crime scenes anymore – that’s why there were only heroes surrounding the Sludge Villain that day. Paramedics and doctors only show up when people have already been hurt. But I always wanted to prevent bad things from happening in the first place.

“And I know there’s only so far I can go with this. I would never be able to defeat you, no matter how hard I trained. But I never said I needed to be the Number One Hero. I just wanted to be someone who could help.”

All Might sighed, ruffling his shiny, blond hair. In public, he looked so imposing and large… but here in this room, his shoulders were hunched, and his cheeks were marked with weary lines.

“I didn’t know that,” he admitted quietly. “You have a good head on your shoulders, but I couldn’t stay long enough to find that out. At the moment… I must admit I saw another fan with fantasies of pulling hundreds of people out from a crashing train, wanting me to reaffirm their future.”

Izuku breathed in sharply. He knew it, he had known it even if he had never let himself formulate the thought so distinctly. He spent so long trying to convince everyone that he wasn’t special, but if All Might said he was different, well, that meant he was entitled to just a twinge of smug pride, did it? Why did it matter that All Might thought otherwise, so long ago? That he used to think Izuku was some pathetic, nameless fanboy desperate for validation?

It was the truth. And it still was, with Izuku standing here waiting for the glow of All Might’s pride, even if All Might didn’t know it.

Maybe that’s why it stung.

“Okay,” he said. “I understand. Thank you for clearing everything up.”

Izuku turned to exit, but All Might stopped him with a large hand on his shoulder.

“Wait!” he cried out, clearly a bit panicked. “I didn’t get the chance to explain everything.”

“There’s not much else to say,” Izuku said, frustration clawing up his throat. “You obviously still don’t think I can do this. You apologized for letting the Sludge Villain go, but not for anything else. You admired my bravery, but only when it was because I couldn’t defend myself. And you said I was different, but I’m not! Because I still wanted you to tell me that you were wrong, that I would make a great hero. But you just said that I deserved it, then asked how I would feel if I had a quirk. It’s like you’re making fun of me.”

“I would never,” All Might insisted urgently. “I’m very sorry I made you feel that way. I’ve never been good at talking to other people, but that’s no excuse. I see how talented you are. It was only my wish to build upon your natural abilities, not propose a hypothetical situation to… stir up old wounds. In a world like this, is it really so strange that such quirks exist that can be transferred to others?”

Izuku went cold.  

“I don’t want anyone else’s quirk,” he said shortly, “I would never take that away from someone.”

This time, when Izuku turned to leave, All Might remained frozen behind him with a hand outstretched, unable to take that final step forward.

On his way to the door, Izuku stopped in his tracks and spared All Might a quick glance over his shoulder, hesitating. He couldn’t just leave like this; every part of his being was screaming protests against his rude, rude words to the man who meant everything to Izuku.

“I’m sorry for being so impolite,” he said quietly, dull red spreading up his neck. “It was inexcusable. Thank you for taking the time to speak with me, and… everything else. But I think we’ve both said everything we wanted to say.”

He left without gauging All Might’s expression, hurrying back through the hallways without watching where he was walking. Every limb was twitching with energy, but his mind was exhausted. He just wanted to go home.

So, of course, that was exactly when he bumped into someone he wasn’t exactly hoping to see.

“Deku,” Bakugou greeted, as pleasantly as always. “What did All Might say to you?”

***

“I don’t see how it’s your business,” Izuku said, after collecting his surprise and trying his best to school his features back into neutrality. “I don’t see how anything involving me is your business, actually. You’ve made your point. You win. Congratulations.”

Izuku took a step to the left, intending to walk around Bakugou. Bakugou reached out a hand to stop him, and instinctively, Izuku caught the sleeve and pulled forward, causing him to stumble. Bakugou blinked, then scowled.

“I’m not in the mood,” Izuku said. “Leave me alone.”

“I asked – ”

“And I’m not answering. Why would I tell you anything, especially right after what just happened? You know, if you really wanted me to die, I expected you to be a little more careful about it. This time, you left scars, and everything.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, I wasn’t trying to kill you,” he scoffed, jerking his arm back out of Izuku’s grip.

“You’re right – if you were trying to do that, maybe you’d just tell me to jump off a roof,” Izuku shot back. Bakugou flinched as if Izuku had slapped him.

“I – ” he started to say, before cutting himself off and looking at the ground.

“What? It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

“I don’t understand you,” Bakugou said, finally.

“You don’t understand me?” Izuku repeated, incredulous. “What’s there not to understand? You’ve known me for years! I like quirks, I do martial arts, I want to be a hero! What more do you need to know? And more importantly, why would you want to know? You’ve never taken any kind of interest in knowing me before.”

Bakugou said nothing. And Izuku, like a fool, simply stood there. It wasn’t fair – why was he always the one in the shadows, waiting, always waiting, to hear what Bakugou had to say? Why was his whole life just a reaction?  

Izuku breathed in deeply.

“Seriously, if anything, you’re the one that’s hard to understand. You spend years making a point of beating me into the ground, but you take offence when I actually bring it up? Pick a side.”

“It wasn’t like I thought it would be,” he muttered, so quietly that Izuku had to strain his ears to hear. “I wasn’t trying to kill you. That was just the only thing I could think of doing to win.”

Izuku blinked, all the whirling emotion vanishing in an instant.

“Oh… you really thought using your most powerful move against me was your only option?” he asked dumbly.

“You kept getting back up,” Bakugou said, scowling. Izuku’s lips twitched upwards very briefly.  

“Yeah,” he agreed, suddenly feeling lighter. “Well, that was all I could do. I always knew you were strong, so I had to do everything I could, too.”

“You never even tried to fight me before.”

I didn’t want to hurt you.

Izuku opened his mouth, closed it, and frantically re-thought his phrasing. 

“I wasn’t interesting in fighting you – or anyone at all, really,” he said slowly, trying not to trip over his words. “I know you thought it was pathetic, but I don’t see a point in fighting someone I consider to be my friend or family. It’s always better to be peaceful. You would never try to fight your parents, would you? It’s like that. It’s not about my skill, or your quirk, or any disrespect at all. I knew I was strong, and I knew you were strong, but I had no reason to fight you.”

“And that’s why All Might wanted to talk to you? Since you’re such a good person, and the both of you could go on and restore world peace together?” he snapped.

“Well, no… that was about something else. The Sludge Villain incident from months ago, actually. He was just apologizing for not helping quickly enough,” Izuku muttered, averting his eyes.

“He apologized for that right after it happened,” Bakugou pointed out, looking skeptical.

“I left the scene pretty quickly,” Izuku said. “Look, there’s no need to feel… I’m pretty sure I won’t exactly be speaking to him often in the future. Just leave it, for once.”

He covered his face with one hand, feeling his head pound and waiting for Bakugou to bark some new demands at him in response.

“Fine,” Bakugou said, eyes fixed on Izuku’s arm as he drew it back in shock.

“Fine!?” Izuku blurted out, hardly daring to believe it.

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Bakugou growled. “I have to get started on training again, so I don’t have time for this bullshit.”

“Already? It’s been a long day.”

“So? There’s no time to pick dandelions if you want to be the best,” he said, glowering. “Thought you would at least know that, Deku. I guess you weren’t fucking terrible, so you really weren’t just sitting on your ass for years. There’s more that I need to improve on.”

Izuku blinked.

“A-Ah, right! Me too! I’ll be better next time!” he said brightly.

Did I just challenge him to a rematch?

Bakugou stared at him for an uncomfortably long moment. Izuku’s fingers twitched nervously.

“Whatever.”

“Okay…” Izuku said lamely. “Well, I’ll see you around, Kacchan.”

Bakugou simply grunted, then turned around to walk off in the opposite direction. Izuku stared after him, nerves fraught with tension and encounter with All Might nearly forgotten. He barely noticed the small smile growing on his own face.

***

Izuku walked to the edges of the arena, spotting the members of 1-C by the south entrance gathering together so they could be taken back to the school. Sasaki and Hirai were somewhere in the middle, chatting with Okuda. He quickly joined Shinsou instead, who was leaning back against the wall and tilting his head away from the general bluster.  

“Where’s Snipe-sensei?” Izuku asked. Shinsou shrugged, letting his eyelids droop down even further.

As if in response, Izuku heard his name being called out from the distance.

“Midoriya!”

Izuku jerked his head away from Shinsou to find Snipe approaching him. Following closely behind him was… Aizawa? Class 1-A was milling about at their own bus, quite a distance away from the pair of teachers, whispering to each other and glancing in Izuku’s direction.

“Midoriya, congratulations on your victory,” Snipe drawled, clapping him on the back. “You really showed ‘em how it’s done!”

Izuku smiled lightly and looked down.

“Thank you, but it was only second place,” he said.

“Only, he says,” Snipe laughed, elbowing Aizawa in the side. Aizawa looked back at Snipe like he was contemplating pushing Snipe into the path of the bus.

“I guess I’ll leave you to it,” Snipe said to him brightly, quickly striding away.

“Midoriya,” Aizawa said curtly. “Good to meet you. My name is Aizawa Shouta. I teach Class 1-A.”

“I know,” Izuku said. Aizawa looked at him – at least, Izuku thought he was, through the strips of bandages that layered his face. Izuku blushed.

“Well, I just meant – I’d heard that around, I don’t really know anything else about you,” he babbled.

“I’d beg to differ,” Aizawa said dryly. “You may know more about me than I do.”

Izuku frowned. What?

“Your mastery of martial arts and ability to strategize is remarkable,” Aizawa continued, and Izuku felt his heart rise in his chest. “However, I cannot invite you to join Class 1-A. You lack the knowledge taught in Heroics classes and other supplementary training exercises.”

Ouch. Well, that was certainly a hard fall. Izuku nodded, hoping his red face didn’t completely display how pathetically hopeful he was just a second earlier.

“This is why you will have to catch up on your own time if you truly want a place in this program. I’m here to extend an offer to train with you next week, when my class will be doing their internships – Snipe has already given his permission for you to skip some classes. For the remainder of the semester, we will continue to train after school hours, and then you will join us during our summer training as well. If my impression of you over this period continues to be favourable, then I would like to have you join Class 1-A starting from the second semester of your first year. Is that acceptable?”

“Acceptable?” Izuku repeated dumbly. “Ah, y-yes! It’s more than – I would be honoured – thank you!”

Izuku dropped into an awkward half-bow, immediately regretting it when he could feel his eavesdropping classmates laugh at him, even from a distance. Aizawa politely ignored it all.

“Good, then – ” Aizawa cut himself off and whipped his head back around. Class 1-A was still standing by their bus, but Izuku noticed long strands in the air that reached the ground where he was standing with Aizawa – headphone jacks, coming from the girl with short purple hair.

“We’re getting a new classmate!” screeched Ashido, who was leaning on the purple-haired girl. Aizawa narrowed his eyes at them, allowing them to briefly glow a faint red. The headphone jacks instantly fell limp, and the girl sheepishly drew them back.

Eyes glowing red… stopping a quirk in its tracks…

Izuku’s jaw dropped.

“Eraserhead!” he blurted out. Aizawa turned back to face him.

“Yes, but I prefer to be addressed by my real name in school,” he said.

“S-Sorry, I was just excited!” Izuku exclaimed. “I didn’t realize it was you! I really admire your skill with martial arts – how many of them do you know? I have so many questions – ”

“I’m sure you do,” Aizawa cut in, “but I’m afraid it’s about time for all of us to leave.”

“Right, sorry,” Izuku said, deflated. “It’s just that – I was thinking of becoming a hero like you for a long time, so I tried doing as much research on you as I could…”

“I know.”

“You… know?”

Aizawa shrugged.

“Ask your teacher,” he said, beginning to step away. Izuku nodded absently in confusion, assuming that was the end of the conversation. As he turned, he saw Shinsou with his gaze downcast.

“W-Wait!” Izuku blurted out to Aizawa, spinning back around. “What about Shinsou-kun?”

Izuku could hear Shinsou hiss something impolite under his breath, but he ignored it to focus completely on Aizawa.

“Shinsou-kun is also very good! He was just unlucky to get matched up with me.”

Aizawa surveyed them both – Izuku, with eager eyes, and Shinsou, looking like he was torn between spontaneously combusting and throttling Izuku at his first given opportunity.

“Midoriya,” he said. “By that logic, you were unlucky to get matched up with anyone. You still made it to the end.”

“But – ”

“I’m sure you’re very familiar with your own quirk, but you haven’t done enough to supplement that. It’s painfully clear that you have only a rudimentary understanding of physical combat,” Aizawa said, addressing Shinsou this time. Shinsou nodded quickly, looking off to the side and trying desperately to seem unaffected.

“I know, just ignore him,” Shinsou muttered. For a moment, Aizawa simply stared.

“You’re not ready yet,” he said finally. “But it would be foolish to ignore your potential. Our quirks… are quite similar, in some ways. Work on improving yourself first, and I will check in on your progress later. Don’t disappoint me. I know you can be better.”

Shinsou slowly lifted his gaze.

“Okay,” he agreed quietly. Aizawa nodded once and stepped back again, eyes flitting from Shinsou to Izuku.

“Good work,” he said after a beat of silence. “I look forward to seeing you grow.”

Aizawa turned, hair flying behind him as he strode back to his own class. Quite a few of them were still gossiping excitedly and looking at Izuku. Uraraka noticed his gaze and offered a reassuring smile. Izuku smiled back, then looked away – just in time to see Bakugou turning his back and stepping onto the bus without barking out a single word of outrage. No, for this one brief moment… he was utterly quiet. Again.

Izuku startled when he felt someone shove at him.

“I can’t believe you seriously begged Eraserhead to take pity on me,” Shinsou growled. “As if I couldn’t look any more pathetic.”

“I – no, I didn’t mean it like that,” Izuku insisted, alarmed. “I – ”

Shinsou’s hand on his shoulder stopped him from any further rambling.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

Izuku smiled.

***

Izuku opened his front door and cautiously stepped through the entrance.

“Mom?” he called out tentatively. “I’m home!”

There was no response. Izuku frowned, suddenly alarmed. He dropped his things on the floor and rushed forward into the living room – where Inko was sitting on the couch, head lowered.

“Mom? Are you okay?” he asked, walking over to her slowly.

“Izuku,” she said, voice trembling. “I… I watched your Sports Festival.”

Izuku sighed internally, bracing himself for all her tears and reprimands and doubts.

“Yeah, I-I guess I was pretty reckless.” He laughed weakly. “Maybe I was a little too hasty about what I promised you – ”

 Inko crushed him into a warm hug.

“I’m sorry,” she said, muffling her voice into his shirt. “I’m so sorry.”

Izuku blinked.

“For what?”

“I was always so worried,” she cried. “I never wanted you to be hurt. But I knew you were. You always were. I know those kids were cruel, I know your teachers were cruel. I know Katsuki must have been cruel. But I didn’t do a thing.”

“There was nothing you could have done,” Izuku said, swallowing around a lump in his throat. “I didn’t ever say anything. I didn’t want you to be worried.”

“That wasn’t something you ever should have worried about. I should have dealt with everything. I should never have let anyone lay a finger on you.”

“I wouldn’t have let you do that,” Izuku said quietly. “I… wanted to be strong, just by myself.”

“But you were – you are,” she sobbed. “I was the only one who couldn’t see it. You won everything today. You almost won against Katsuki, too. I should have been pushing you forward… but you only had yourself, like always. I’m sorry.”

“You were just worried,” Izuku said, voice cracking halfway through. “I know that.”

Inko simply held onto him tighter. Izuku rested his hands on the back of her head, very gently. The sounds of heavy breathing and quiet sniffing settled in the air.

“Aizawa-sensei, the teacher for Class 1-A… he offered me the chance to join,” Izuku said, after a long silence. “He thinks I can be a hero.”

“I think you can, too,” she said softly.

Finally, Izuku closed his eyes, allowing a few tears to slip through and be caught by his mother’s hair.  

Chapter Text

Izuku felt eyes travelling over his back as he stepped onto the train. He turned his head, but everyone was inexplicably enraptured with the ceiling, the windows, the automatic doors. Sucking in his cheeks, he headed off to the corner and pulled out his phone, still feeling the whispers caress his face and collar.

“Is that – ”

“Do you really think – ”

“What if he – ?”

He shoved his headphones on and ramped up the volume. He had purposely been avoiding public commentary, worried they might doubt the truth of his victory, and even more worried that they wouldn’t. What if they had the utmost confidence in him now? He won a good number of his matches by mere seconds – what if his entire string of victories really were just flukes? What if – ?

He shook his head.

No. I won against everyone but Kacchan. I am that strong, I know I am.

He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the cool metal of the pole, passing through stop after stop in the bleary, early-morning haze of someone who only woke up twenty minutes after their alarm clock went off. He felt like he could drift off here, in this space where no one knew him, trapped in this nebulous rift between home and school, between his past and his future…

A hand tugged at his sleeve. Izuku nearly jumped out of his skin; he yelped as his headphones dropped around his neck and he practically banged his head against the pole. A child looked up at him dubiously.

“Are you really that boy from the Sports Festival?” she asked.

Izuku smiled nervously, looking around for an adult. “Yes, that’s me.”

She squinted at him. “You’re more jumpy than I thought. You looked so strong on TV!”

“Thanks,” Izuku said. “Where are your parents?”

“Mom’s over there.” She waved her hand to the left, indicating a black-haired woman asleep in a seat with her head tilted back and mouth open. “I saw you, so I wanted to talk to you.”

“You shouldn’t talk to strangers.”

“But you’re like a hero, aren’t you? That means you’re good.”

“Ah – not exactly, I’m not a hero student like the others were,” Izuku said. “I want to be, though.”

“So you’re good,” she decided. “Are you going to hero school now?”

Izuku opened his mouth to refute her, but stopped himself upon thinking better of explaining the intricacies of high school programs to a six-year-old.

“Yeah,” he said. “Are you going to school, too?”

She shook her head. “Mom is taking me to the doctor! She says something is wrong with my quirk.”

“Oh, really? Why does she think that?”

“I can remember things really well! But only things like TV shows and the books I read at home, not that boring school stuff.”

A perfect memory, but only for things that she likes? Interesting… maybe it had something to do with her feelings at the time of memorization. Or maybe it was simply because children tended to focus entirely on enjoyable activities while not paying attention in a classroom setting? Or –

The girl’s giggling interrupted his thoughts. “You’re talking really fast!”

Izuku blinked, then rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. “I was saying that out loud? Sorry, that happens sometimes. I hope I didn’t make you feel uncomfortable. Anyway, that must be hard for you, since you can’t show your quirk to your friends.”

“I don’t care about that.”

“That’s good,” Izuku said, surprised and impressed. Even elementary school kids were doing better than him.

“Yeah! I don’t need to show them anything. I’ll just tell them I can do anything I want, like you can! Even though you’re kind of weird.”

“I – yeah, exactly. You – you can be whatever you want,” he said, suddenly feeling like all the breath had left his lungs.

A panicked voice broke through the relative silence of the compartment. “Jin!” Izuku glanced up to notice the girl’s mother standing up and looking around frantically.

“Your mom is looking for you,” Izuku said.

Jin pouted. “But I want to keep talking to you!”

“I have to get down at this stop, anyway,” Izuku said apologetically. “Maybe I’ll see you around some other time.”

“No! You’ll be busy, like all those other heroes.”

“Then… I promise I’ll remember you. Is that okay?”

“You won’t forget?”

“Of course not,” he said. As the train came to a rumbling stop and the doors opened, he offered one last smile. “Bye, Jin. Good luck at the doctor’s office – not that you’ll need it.”

He stepped out the doors, hearing Jin yell something out in parting just as a woman’s voice began to scold her. He turned back to wave, but the familiar beeping of the door signal sounded over the platform and the doors quickly shut once more. The train was off with a whish. In an instant, Jin and her mother were already metres, kilometres away, and Izuku was left staring at the dulled colours on the posters across the tracks as if none of it had ever happened.

But it did, he reminded himself. That was your promise.

***

Izuku opened the front door of the first years’ building – and was nearly bowled over by a sharp blur rounding the corner and entering a second after him. He blinked, vaguely recognizing the height and form –

“Iida-kun!” Izuku said. Iida, already five steps ahead of him, stalled and turned around.

“Ah, Midoriya-kun,” he said. “I didn’t see you there.”

“No worries! Actually, I’m glad to see you – I was wondering where you were when the Sports Festival ended, and only heard the news much later. I’m so sorry about your brother. I can’t imagine how hard it’s been for your family,” Izuku said, wringing his hands together.

“No need to concern yourself,” Iida said, his smile as hard as it was brittle. “I’m sorry to have caused you any undue anxiety. We will be fine.”

“O-Oh! Well, I’m glad to hear that.”

“Off to class, then! It wouldn’t be appropriate for U.A. students to be so late!”

“But we still have five minutes,” Izuku said, glancing down at his watch and back up at Iida – or the now-empty hallway, rather. “Right.”

He hurried down the familiar path to his class, stumbling in through the door to 1-C about a minute or two before Snipe usually called for everyone’s attention. He flashed Sasaki and Hirai a quick smile as he dashed past them to take his seat next to Shinsou.

“If it isn’t our latest celebrity,” Shinsou said.

Izuku blinked. “What makes you say that?”

Before Shinsou could reply, Togeike and Tsuji swarmed his desk, effectively blocking his view.

“Midoriya! You’re finally here!” Togeike gushed.

“Ah, yeah – I know, I was almost late, but I managed.”

“Was it because of everyone stopping to talk to you on the train? I bet so many people must have been asking questions.”

Izuku’s mind flashed back to the whispers that he covered up with blocky headphones, to Jin tugging at his shirt. “Sort of. I tried to avoid the crowds, though.”

“Really? You didn’t want to bask in your victory a little?” Tsuji asked.

“I think I had enough of a chance to do that on the podium,” Izuku said. “I’d say my turn in the spotlight is over.”

Togeike laughed as if Izuku had told some particularly funny joke. Izuku jerked his head to the left to try and catch Shinsou’s eye, so that he could maybe signal to Izuku what exactly was happening. Unfortunately, the bulge of Tsuji’s backpack was still preventing him from getting any kind of help.

“Aren’t you modest? We all knew how far you were going to go, but here you are, acting like it’s no big deal. This is probably the biggest thing to happen in Gen Ed for years,” she said, leaning over his desk.

“Yeah, no thanks to you,” Shinsou said irritably, finally managing to poke his head through the bustle. “What exactly are you on about? You were about as supportive as glass.”

“I guess I wasn’t his best friend, but I was never mean to him! Midoriya knows that, right?” Togeike asked, patting his shoulder. Izuku shifted in place.

“You weren’t,” he said slowly. “But you didn’t believe I would get anywhere, either. And that’s okay, but there’s no reason to lie about it. Or pretend it didn’t affect me.”

“I – you – you never said – ”

“I’d like it if we could all be honest,” Izuku said. “You’re right, I never mentioned much before, but what I’m saying now is true. I’m sorry if it’s hurtful, but it’s like you said – we’re not really friends, right?”

Togeike stared at him, mouth open.

“I think class is starting,” Shinsou said. A stunned Togeike shuffled to the back of the room, with Tsuji following behind rather closely. Shinsou watched with not-so-subtly-hidden glee.

“You look like New Year’s came early,” Izuku said.

“I think it did. Coming from you, that was a verbal massacre.”

Izuku snorted. “I’m sure she’ll recover.”

“Of course she will. You’re not really friends, after all,” he said, snickering to himself.

Izuku’s smile flickered. For a moment, he almost looked back over his shoulder – but he forced himself to face the front of the room again, where Snipe was now standing in front of the blackboard. What was said was said and there was no point in letting guilt seep in, especially when there was nothing to regret.

Snipe cleared his throat. “Before we start – I want to offer one last congratulations to everyone who participated in the Sports Festival. To Furuya, Hirai, and Shinsou, who made it to the second and third rounds, and especially to Midoriya, who came in second place overall. Not only is this rare enough for a General Education student, it is absolutely unprecedented for someone like him. You all have our respect.”

A round of applause took over the room, started by Snipe and taken over by every student in a matter of seconds. Even Togeike, Tsuji, Nakano… with little reluctance, everyone seemed bolstered by the show of strength from a mere General Education class in spite of any words that had flown around between them before. For a brief moment, Izuku allowed himself to revel in this sense of fragile calm wrought by nothing but class pride.

“Well, that’s enough ego-stroking for today,” Snipe drawled, breaking the immersion a few seconds in. “Back to work, then. You’ll have to find new ways to impress me, especially with midterms coming up.”

***

“When are you training with Eraserhead?” Shinsou asked. “And what will you be doing?”

Izuku swallowed a mouthful of his miso soup. “I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to him since.”

“Maybe he’ll test you against different heroes. It would be useless to train you against the average person, after all,” Shinsou said, resting his elbows on the cafeteria table and leaning forward. Izuku shifted under the intense gaze.

“Yeah, maybe. I really have no idea,” he said nervously, swirling his spoon around the bowl. Having Shinsou sit at their lunch table was a new experience. Today was the first time he had followed on the coattails of Hirai and Sasaki, sitting down across from Izuku as if he belonged there. Izuku didn’t really know what he was expecting, but the sheer cascade of questions being thrown at him was a bit surprising. If it were him in Shinsou’s shoes, he would have spent at least a few days sulking about his lost chance. But here Shinsou was, facing down the person who directly booted him out of the competition like it didn’t affect him in the slightest.

Or maybe he’s asking because it does affect him. A kind of exposure therapy – or even a punishment – where he forces himself to listen to what could have been, just to push himself even harder. 

The left side of Shinsou’s mouth lifted up as if he could tell exactly what Izuku was thinking.

“Let me live vicariously through you, at least,” he said.

“Maybe you could live vicariously and quietly at the same time?” Sasaki suggested, practically stabbing her chopsticks through her onigiri. “I swear, if I have to hear the same speculations about hero training for the fiftieth time…”

As if in response, Uraraka popped up and took a seat next to Shinsou.

“I see we have new company today!” she said, dropping her tray onto the table.

“As far as I see it, I’m not the one who doesn’t belong,” Shinsou said, eyeing her warily. “It’s not too strange that you came to check up on Midoriya after he got launched into concrete on live television, but it is a bit strange that you’re consistently ditching your hero friends at school.”

“Not consistently,” Hirai said. “Seven times since the semester started, in an irregular pattern.”

Shinsou rolled his eyes. “My apologies. Only seven times.”

“Well, I already spent all morning with them, so why not use this brief window of time to talk to my other friends?” Uraraka said. She didn’t seem put off by the impromptu interrogation.

“You’ll have to forgive Shinsou. The idea of having multiple friends is foreign to him,” Sasaki said. Shinsou scowled at her while Uraraka snickered behind her hand.  

“There’s really no reason for it,” she said, finally, after her fit of laughter died down. “We had a lot of time to discuss the Sports Festival this morning, so I figured you might be interested in hearing about it. Midoriya-kun will be joining us soon, after all.”

Izuku flushed at her knowing grin. “Is Iida-kun not joining us as well?”

Uraraka’s good humour died down as she dropped her gaze. She quickly glanced over to the side of the room, and Izuku followed her eyes to see Iida sitting with a few other students from Class 1-A – though he wasn’t laughing along with the ones in the middle. He sat at the edge of the table, simultaneously trying to look imposing and like he wanted to take up as little space as possible.

“I don’t think he’s in the mood. He’s been… different. But then, what could we have expected?” She sighed. “His brother can’t be a hero anymore, and that’s the person he looks up to the most.”

The Hero Killer had certainly not been merciful when facing down Ingenium, and all of Japan knew it. It was through sheer luck that Ingenium had made it out alive.

“Yeah,” Izuku said softly, reflecting on the somehow-stiffer edges on Iida’s face from this morning. “I hope everything gets better for him soon.”

“Maybe our internships will cheer him up?” Uraraka guessed.

“Internships?” Izuku’s mind flashed back to Aizawa explaining the week set aside for hero students to gain experience. “Right, I forgot about those. Hopefully it’ll give him something else to think about.”

“Yeah! Maybe he’ll be busy learning something new. That’s what I want to use my internship for, anyway. Uravity will be a totally different person – that’s my hero name, by the way,” she added.

“A pun?” Shinsou asked, an eyebrow raised.

“It’s clever!”

Izuku smiled. “Do you know where you’ll be working?”

Uraraka shrugged, her cheeks reddening. “I didn’t get too many nominations – just about three offers from average hero agencies. Actually, I was thinking of asking someone else if they’d be willing to consider me…”

“Oh, do you know many other heroes?”

“Not at all! I wanted to ask Ishiyama-sensei if I could work alongside him for the week.”

Izuku reared back in surprise. “Cementoss?”

Uraraka nodded sheepishly. “I know, I know – it seems really strange.”

“It makes perfect sense. Ishiyama-sensei’s cement walls are a clear demonstration of his superior intellect,” Hirai interrupted, eyes gazing down at the empty spaces between her fingers.

“If it were literally anyone else, I would think you were being sarcastic,” Sasaki told her. Hirai didn’t even look up.

Uraraka smiled. “That’s exactly why! Ishiyama-sensei is really smart – every inch of the walls he makes are well-thought-out. It wasn’t just the Sports Festival – a lot of hero training relies on making good plans, like the battle trials we did on the first day. I’ve never been good at coming up with ideas like that, but I want to get better. And, well, if I can’t, I still think the experience would be good! My parents own a construction company, so working with cement isn’t new to me.”

Izuku nodded thoughtfully. “You’re right – it’s a good choice. Cementoss is one of the highest ranked heroes in terms of intelligence.”

“I can only hope he’ll agree to help me,” Uraraka huffed. “We’re not all the same as Bakugou or Todoroki, with their thousands of offers. I – ”

“Thousands?” Shinsou interrupted. Uraraka nodded.

“Everyone and their dog wanted those two,” she said wryly. “I actually would have thought Bakugou would receive more, but I guess his, ah, temper, put some people off.”

“Well, it’s certainly put off everyone at this school,” Sasaki said.  

Shinsou sighed. “I don’t even know why I’m surprised. How sad to find out the world continues to cater to their egos.”

“Todoroki’s not so bad – he was just misguided,” Izuku defended.

“He certainly did seem lost, finding you alone in the hallway before your match to strike up a friendly conversation,” Hirai said.

“He was kind of nice afterward,” Izuku said weakly. Sasaki snorted, and even Uraraka shook her head.

“What a high bar to reach,” Shinsou noted dryly. “Well, maybe it is a high bar for Class 1-A. I’ve met Bakugou.”

“Hey, you’ve also met me!” Uraraka exclaimed.

“I know. That should say enough.”

Sasaki snickered at Uraraka’s mock offense. Uraraka and Shinsou continued to throw friendly barbs at each other, with Hirai adding red sparks to the air. Izuku looked on with a vague smile, though his mind was still filtering through Shinsou’s words. It was clear that Bakugou had an ego, but Todoroki did as well. He had to have one, if he really believed he could get to Number One. Still, he listened to Izuku in the end, didn’t he? His ego wasn’t stronger than an open mind. But Bakugou… he was different after their match, too. Always different, when they can finally see what Izuku can do, but not a moment before.

He looked back at the tables where Class 1-A sat, noting Bakugou in the middle of the pack by Kirishima and Kaminari. At another table a short distance away, Todoroki sat alone.

Is that by circumstance, or by design? Izuku mused. At the same time, Todoroki looked up. Izuku jumped, his hand knocking over his carton of milk. Sasaki, who was sitting next to him, immediately sprang up as some of the liquid spurted out and spilled onto her sleeve.

“I’m so sorry,” Izuku blurted out, frantically looking around for a napkin. Uraraka pulled one free from the stack on her tray and offered it to Sasaki.

“Now I have to deal with this for the rest of the day,” she said, groaning.

“Good thing you like strawberry,” Hirai said, forming a few of the red fruit in the air next to Sasaki’s sleeve.

Sasaki glared at her. “If only people knew how much of an asshole you are on purpose.”

The bell’s ringing interrupted them, indicating lunch was now over. Shinsou got up and stretched.

“Well, this looks like it’s not my problem. See you in class,” he drawled, heading off to the exit.

“I have to leave, too,” Uraraka said sheepishly, standing up and glancing at the clock. “I want to ask Ishiyama-sensei about the internship before class starts.”

“That’s okay, it was my mistake!” Izuku said, waving his hands reassuringly. “Sasaki-kun, you can go to the bathroom and try to rinse it off. I’ll clean this up.”

“If you insist,” she said with little reluctance, grabbing her tray and heading off. Hirai hovered by Izuku.

“Ah, you can head to class, too – or help Sasaki-kun out, if you want. I’ll be fine,” Izuku said.

“I don’t think she is emotionally distressed,” she said thoughtfully, before turning abruptly and leaving the cafeteria.

Izuku stared after her. “Right.” He picked up the extra napkin Uraraka left behind and began mopping up the spill, soaking up the milk and grimacing when he realized he would need more –

A pale hand entered his field of vision, holding out another few napkins. Izuku looked up and nearly stepped back upon seeing Todoroki standing before him in his blank-faced glory.

“Th-thanks,” Izuku said, accepting the napkins and scattering them onto the puddle. Todoroki watched in silence. Izuku nervously sopped up the milk, feeling tension build for no particular reason.

“Don’t you have to head to class?” he asked finally, picking up all the napkins and dropping them in the trash can a few feet away. Todoroki followed. “Not that I’m asking you to leave! I was just wondering…”

“Yes,” he said. “But I’m not worried about being late.”

Izuku nodded as if he understood the intricacies of not worrying about mundane things. “Then… did you want to ask me something?”

“I am considering the option of doing my internship at Endeavor’s hero agency.”

“Oh! I think that’s a good idea. I mean, I’m surprised that you’re willing to work with your father, but I’m sure you’ll definitely learn more about your fire.”

Todoroki’s lips twisted unpleasantly. “Yes. Endeavor is the Number Two Hero for a reason.”

“As hard as it is to admit,” Izuku finished for him. “Still, it might be good for you. You’re doing something for yourself for once.”

“He’ll be happy, too,” Todoroki said.

“That’s true. But… if he’s using you to fulfill some revenge fantasy, why not use him as a resource, in return? It doesn’t matter how he feels. At the end of the day, your reasons for becoming a hero are entirely different than his, so no one can say you both are the same. You’ll know it’s different.”

“So you also believe I should accept this offer.”

“Well, I’m not trying to tell you what to do.” Izuku laughed nervously. “From the sounds of it, you have lots of other great options. But in terms of learning the most about your quirk, Endeavor is likely the best.”

“Did Uraraka tell you that? About the nominations,” Todoroki asked mildly. “I wasn’t aware you talked to her so often about everything.”

“Yeah, we bumped into each other on our first day here, so we sit together sometimes. Iida-kun, too! But lately he’s been…” Izuku trailed off. “…Anyway, we’re friends. But I swear we weren’t gossiping! The conversation was more about her!”

Todoroki’s expression – or lack thereof, more aptly – did not change. “It isn’t so strange. I had more opportunity to display my abilities on an open field. You would have also received many offers, I’m sure.”

Really? Because I’m not, Izuku thought, smiling wryly. There were lots of reasons besides the obvious. He wasn’t as composed as many of the hero candidates, and certainly a bit too reckless. His match against Todoroki probably threw quite a few people off – from the outside, it was easy for one to assume all the bluster was about Izuku’s pride. No, there was no world in which Izuku would get a comparable amount of attention to Todoroki, and he didn’t want to fantasize about the nominations he would or wouldn’t get. He wasn’t sure he could handle the reality, the truth, the comments on the news articles, the whispers on the train…

Izuku shook his head as he realized he hadn’t responded yet. “Y-Yeah, who knows. I promise we were just talking about the internships in general, though – everything I’m sure you were already discussing in class. Do you both talk much?”

For a few seconds, Todoroki simply watched him with his ever-penetrating gaze, as if he could pick apart every one of Izuku’s thoughts and weak attempts at deflection. He probably could – Izuku was no closed book, like everyone else here seemed to be. But the moment passed, and a decision was made.

“No,” he spoke finally. “I don’t talk to anyone much.”

“Oh. Why not?”

Todoroki shrugged. “I didn’t see the point.”

“Ah,” Izuku said intelligently. “Well, I think there’s always something to be gained from other people. If we didn’t talk, things would have been totally different!”

“Yes,” Todoroki said.

Izuku stared at him, at a loss for words. What did that mean? What was he supposed to say next? Talking to Todoroki was like walking through one of those underdeveloped hiking trails close to his house. He had no idea where the path was leading, nor how to move forward to the place that he wanted to be.

“So, uh, do you want to exchange phone numbers, then?” Izuku suggested hesitantly. “I – maybe we could speak – well, text – more often?”

Todoroki merely looked at him, long enough that Izuku began contemplating a brief exit out the cafeteria window, but then –

“Okay.”

Todoroki pulled his phone out of his pocket and handed it over. Izuku clutched onto it like a lifeline, fumbling for his own phone at the same time and offering it to Todoroki. He opened up the contacts on Todoroki’s phone and blinked, sure he had tapped on the wrong icon. But he hadn’t. It really was that sparse. Shaking his head, he quickly added his details and handed it back while Todoroki did the same.

“You, um, don’t really have many people on your contacts list, huh?” Izuku hedged out, trying his hardest not to sound rude. Todoroki didn’t seem to notice.

“No. Just family, for emergencies.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way, you know – I’m sure everyone would be glad to have you talk to them more! Most people in 1-A seem nice.”

“I know. But I’m better off alone.” Todoroki glanced at the wall clock for the first time, where it grew obvious that they were both nearly ten minutes late for class; Izuku winced upon realizing Snipe was likely to berate him in front of everyone. “I’ve taken up enough of your time. I’ll let you go to class now.”

Todoroki nodded at him and walked off. Izuku waited until the cafeteria doors shut with a clang before clearing up the last of his things. He stretched, and finally started on his own walk to class.

It was all quite interesting. For someone who claimed to like being alone, Todoroki certainly wasn’t shy in approaching someone he didn’t know too well. And now that he was thinking about it, Todoroki hadn’t needed to ask anything. He was just… speaking his thoughts aloud. Maybe he didn’t realize yet, but Izuku couldn’t help but wonder if Todoroki had approached him because he was a bit lonely.

***

The day of the internships arrived much sooner than Izuku had expected, and this was brought to his notice quite clearly when he saw Aizawa herding his class out of the first years’ building bright and early one morning.

“Gather around. Let me make sure everyone’s here before I escort you to Tatooin Station,” Aizawa said, gesturing for them to stand closer and pulling out a list.

“Midoriya-kun! Are you here to see us off safely?” Uraraka called. Izuku blushed as he noticed quite a few heads turn in his direction.

“Just got here before class starts,” he said, stepping closer so she would hear him.

“Hey, it’s our future classmate! Why are you here so early?” Ashido asked. “I would never get up this early if I didn’t have to.”

“Yeah, are you punishing yourself for something or what?” Sero added.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kaminari said, scoffing. “He has to spend the week with Aizawa-sensei. Isn’t that punishment enough?”

From somewhere amid the crowd, Aizawa still had the faculties to whip his head back around and glare. “I see Kaminari is here – though perhaps not for long, if he keeps that up.”

Kaminari yelped and ducked behind Sero and a blond boy with a long tail. Izuku blinked, startled, and tried to step away from the bustle – but in doing so, he only succeeded in stepping on someone else’s foot.

“S-Sorry,” he stammered, turning around to apologize to a boy donning a mask – and several arms. The one on Uraraka’s team during the cavalry battle.

“It’s fine,” the boy said. To the right of the boy was Bakugou, and Kirishima hovered next to him like a honeybee, buzzing in his ears and adding to his mounting irritation. Scowling, Bakugou swatted him off with a few sparks, but Kirishima only flew a few feet away with a bark of laughter. It seemed Bakugou was not so concerned about being stung. Why was that? Even that purple-haired girl with the headphone jacks was leaning into his space, making a few smart remarks, heedless to the dangers of an apex predator.

Maybe they just weren’t prey.

Finally, Bakugou’s eyes caught onto Izuku’s. He shifted uncomfortably, ready to make a quick exit. But Bakugou did not make a move. His expression didn’t even change – although that wasn’t saying much, since he was always angry. Still, this anger was not the same. It wasn’t specific to any one thing, as Izuku was used to seeing – just the regular, low-burning anger of some grumpy teenager.

“Kacchan!” Izuku said, making a split-second decision. He remained oblivious to the way at least three people behind him blanched at his use of nickname. “Imagine seeing you here… at the front doors to U.A., where we both go to school. Anyway, where are you doing your internship?”

Bakugou was silent so long that Izuku began to wonder if making a tactical retreat might not be the best option after all. “Best Jeanist’s agency,” he grunted out.

Izuku gasped, immediately discarding his anxiety. “Really? That’s so cool! He’s moved up to the Number Four spot recently. His technique is incredible… almost unmatched by any other top-ranked hero… and he’s always so resilient in a fight – ”

“Oi. Deku.”

“Right, I was going on for too long.” Izuku shook his head. “Sorry, sorry – I’m sure you’ll learn a lot and become even better!”

Bakugou narrowed his eyes. “I’m already better.”

“I know,” Izuku said, scratching the back of his neck just a bit self-deprecatingly. “But nobody’s perfect, right? There’s always something more to learn.”

“We’ll see,” Bakugou said, staring intently at him.

“I guess so,” he said, smiling very slightly and tilting his own head in challenge. The tension in his shoulders, his fight-or-flight instincts, began to dissipate.

“Oooh, are you friends?” a girl’s voice asked. Izuku turned his head to see… an empty uniform?

Was she completely invisible?

“Uh…” Izuku started to respond, still taken aback by her quirk. “Not re – well, that’s – I mean, it’s complicated – ”

Bakugou rolled his eyes. “Been stuck with each other since the dawn of time.”

The girl squealed and clapped her hands. “Aww, childhood friends! No wonder you have cute nicknames for each other.”  

Cute nicknames?

For more reasons than one, he was reeling. Blindsided by the girl’s utter misconception, and even more by Bakugou’s ambiguous non-answer...

“Wow, you guys like to go hard on each other, huh? I would have thought you were rivals or enemies after the fight at the Sports Festival,” Kirishima said, shaking his head. “But to have so much respect for each other’s strength that you try your hardest… that’s so manly!”

Izuku was genuinely speechless.

“Each other’s strength?” Bakugou asked lowly, turning on Kirishima. “Only one of us won, Shitty Hair.”

“But Midoriya sure gave you a run for your money,” the purple-haired girl chimed in again, smirking. “Maybe your pledge was too hasty.”

Bakugou growled and lunged forward, but the girl merely dodged out of the way, laughing like this was normal horseplay.

Was it?

The air was certainly not as heavy as it used to be, suspiciously free of vindictive words. In equal measure, Izuku was relieved, unburdened… and strangely uncomfortable. It was overwhelming, the novelty of the situation.

“Hey, you’ve distracted yourselves long enough,” Aizawa interrupted, glancing over at Izuku briefly. “Surprisingly, everyone’s here, so it’s time to get going. Bad manners to be late on your first day.”

“Sorry, that was my fault,” Izuku blurted out. “I didn’t mean to make a scene.”

Aizawa rolled his eyes. “There’s no force on Earth that could worsen their attention spans. I’m shocked no one tripped over themselves at the sight of the first butterfly. It’s probably for the best you’ve shown up at this time, at any rate. I’d like you to report to the Teachers’ Lounge. I’ll be back soon.”

Aizawa walked off in the lead, hair fluttering out behind him. Stunned, Class 1-A began to follow in small clusters.

“Bye, Midoriya!” Ashido shouted. A few others did the same, calling out some words in parting. Izuku smiled and waved, making sure to wish them good luck. Uraraka smiled back cheerfully and skipped ahead; Todoroki offered a brief nod in acknowledgement. As nearly everyone passed him by, he couldn’t help but notice Iida at the edge of the large cluster, walking alone. He hesitated for a moment before calling out.

“Iida-kun!”

Iida turned expectantly.

“I – I know we haven’t talked much recently, and we’re not even in the same class,” Izuku said. “But I still consider us friends. So if… you know, if you’re feeling desperate or lost, feel free to text me. I won’t be as busy as all of you, and I’d want to help – if I could.”

Iida’s features cracked into a small, stiff smile. “Yes. You always do.” He turned his head away, back to his class moving forward without him, and tilted his head back to give Izuku one last glance. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

Izuku stared at his back, getting smaller and smaller as he strode off into the distance. He couldn’t help but feel he should have been more emphatic. Because Iida’s eyes were burning with resolve, and it was a familiar face – the face of someone who was confused and hurting and determined to do something to make things change. But change never comes in the form you expect, especially when you make your decisions in the height of blind panic.

Izuku wished he knew how to express these thoughts in tight, small packages, in ways that could get through to people, but he’d never been good at talking. He couldn’t say anything to Iida, because Iida hadn’t said anything to him.

***

Ah, there’s the Teachers’ Lounge, Izuku thought as he turned the corner. He stepped forward – and blanched, when he saw All Might. On instinct, he moved back behind the corner.

What am I doing? We’ve already talked. There’s no need to hide.

But Izuku’s feet were still.

It didn’t make any sense. He’d said all he needed to say, as did All Might, and then they’d parted on polite terms. That chapter was closed. If anything, it should be less awkward now. He took a deep breath and walked back out.

Immediately, he felt something collide with him. He stumbled back and blinked rapidly.

“Sasaki-kun? What are you doing here?”

Sasaki shot him a look. “I go to school here.”

“Well, yes, but – the front entrance – I didn’t see you – ”

“I took the side door,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m starting my training today, so I have to go to the Teacher’s Lounge.”

“Then why were you just standing behind the corner? I didn’t hear any footsteps coming my way.”

Izuku opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. “Uh… just lost in thought?”

Sasaki narrowed her eyes. “You don’t sound very sure. All Might just came by this way, too – I’m surprised you didn’t want to greet him. Are you avoiding him or something?”

“Avoiding him? Why would I be doing that?” Izuku looked away. “I talked to him at the Sports Festival.”

“That’s what makes it strange. How did that conversation go, anyway?”

“Just fine. It’s All Might, what do you think could have happened?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”

“Well… there’s no need. You’re just reading too much into things.”

Sasaki surveyed him, looking unconvinced, but eventually she squinted at her watch and sighed. “If you say so. Have fun training yourself to death, I guess.”

“Thanks,” Izuku said brightly, passing by her without a backwards glance and opening the door to the lounge. He stepped inside and surveyed the mostly empty room; it wasn’t so different from how he’d pictured a place for teachers to meet. There were rows of personal desks on the left, and some worn, comfortable-looking sofas around a coffee table on the right.

Despite the fact that he told himself there was no reason to fear facing All Might, he couldn’t help but sigh in relief at the distinct lack of blue, red, and white. Most of the teachers seemed to have left for class. There was only one man rifling through a cabinet near his desk, and another thin, sickly-looking blond man sitting on one of the couches and openly gawking at Izuku.

Izuku shuffled inside awkwardly, closing the door behind him. He glanced to the left.

“Snipe-sensei!” he said in surprise. He hadn’t recognized him without the red cape that was always draped around his shoulders.

“Midoriya,” Snipe greeted, immediately picking up said cape and grabbing a few folders – presumably for class. “Interested in becoming a teacher or are you just here to scavenge for test solutions?”

“Oh – no, Aizawa-sensei told me to meet him here…”

Snipe chuckled in his usual gravelly voice. “I’m just messing with you, kid. He already asked if you could skip your morning classes. Take a seat on the couch and relax, he’ll be back soon. Enjoy your training.”

With that, Snipe exited the room, leaving Izuku behind. Izuku walked over to the couches and sat down opposite the blond man, fidgeting awkwardly. Was he supposed to say something? As the seconds ticked by, and the uncomfortable silence grew more and more apparent, Izuku decided that yes, he did need to say something.

“Hello,” he said, smiling hesitantly. “Do you work here? I haven’t really seen you around.”

The blond man blinked at him. “Ah, yes, in a manner of speaking. You wouldn’t see me teaching – I’m more of a behind-the-scenes character.”

“Oh, like administration?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Something like that.”

“You must come across all sorts of interesting people pretty often, then!”

“You could say that,” the man responded, smiling back kindly. “After all, I’m meeting you right now.”

Izuku flushed slightly. “I’m not that interesting.”

“You’re the second-place winner of the first-years’ Sports Festival, are you not?”

“Well… yes, but I’m not a hero student.”

His eyes twinkled. “Doesn’t that make you more interesting?”

“Some people seem to think so,” Izuku said. “But I feel like I’m just normal.”

“It is no small feat to make it so far.”

“I know. But the more I think about it, the more I wonder if maybe it was just a fluke… I mean, logically, I know I did well, but for some reason it just doesn’t feel that way. I made a lot of spur-of-the-moment decisions, and they happened to work out…”

“Is that not that the definition of heroism? To think so clearly in a crisis is very rare, you know – many people just freeze and end up in a state of panic.”

“I guess so,” Izuku said, looking down at the table. The blond man frowned.

“Is it – ” The man licked his lips, leaning forward anxiously. “Is it perhaps someone else making you feel this way? Maybe someone said something to you…?”

Izuku snorted. “Lots of people have said all kinds of things to me.”

“I see,” the man said, knitting his fingers together and bringing them to his chin. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Ah, no – it’s not all bad,” Izuku said, shaking his head. “I’ve been trying to filter out negative comments, and I’ve been hearing more positive things lately. To be honest, this is more of a personal issue. I thought I’d know for sure I was strong after the competition. And I guess I have been more willing to confront people and say certain things out loud. But… I’m still having the same kinds of thoughts as always. I don’t feel any different.”

“My boy,” the man said in an achingly familiar tone, “it is a difficult day indeed when children realize there is no clear turning point to adulthood. We think that when we grow older – when we reach twenty years of age, or thirty, or forty – we will suddenly gain the maturity and wisdom we notice in those respected strangers around us. But the years pass, and you notice your inner voice remains as much of a child as it has always been, and age-old vulnerabilities will always claw at you.”

“Well, that’s not comforting at all,” Izuku muttered. The man barked out a surprised laugh – which quickly devolved into a series of wracking coughs. A splatter of blood hit the coffee table and Izuku yelped, jumping out of his seat.

“A-Are you okay? Should I call for Recovery Girl? I’ll just run over – ”

The man grabbed Izuku’s wrist, shaking his head ‘no’ rather violently even through the coughing fit.

“No need to worry,” he said, gasping. “This is quite normal for me.”

Izuku stared. “Really? Are you sure?”

The man nodded, finally seeming to get himself under control. “My apologies,” he croaked out.

“No, no – if anything, I’m the one who should apologize,” Izuku exclaimed. “I didn’t realize you were ill, and I was just sitting here complaining about myself – ”

“I was happy to hear you talk,” the man said firmly. “I don’t often get the chance to listen. Or… maybe I just don’t notice when I do. Trust me, I needed the practice.”

Izuku ran a skeptical eye over the man but sat down when it became clear he would not budge. “You seem like a good listener to me.”

The man laughed self-deprecatingly. “Would that I could live up to my appearance. Unfortunately, even the best of us struggle with rather simple tasks. It should be easy to stay quiet and lend an empathetic ear, and yet…”

“But you have! I didn’t even realize how much I was telling you,” Izuku admitted. “You’re much better than you think.”

“That’s rather interesting, because I certainly don’t feel that way.” The man smiled as he noticed realization alighting in Izuku’s eyes. “A good thing, then, that actions speak louder than words – or even thoughts.”

“So… it’s always like this? There’s nothing to look forward to?”

The man took a deep breath, pressing his fingers together thoughtfully.

“I wouldn’t quite say that. You simply learn how to move forward in spite of it. You reach low points in your life, time and again. But then you remind yourself that it will pass. Even as every thought brings you lower, you think back to when you were on top of the world, and you tell yourself that it will happen again. You will make it happen again.

“Still, you will keep falling – so frequently that you doubt your own growth. But growth is a massive, undetectable thing. A continental drift of the mind. The next time you fall to the bottom of this pit… you don’t know it, but it is a little easier to climb back out. Because – deep down – you know there are better things waiting outside, and you know you can get there.”

The door to the Teachers’ Lounge banged open.

Izuku jerked back from where he had leaned forward, enraptured by the man’s words, and accidentally smashed his elbow into the arm of the sofa. Hissing and rubbing his arm, he turned to see Aizawa in the doorway, raising an eyebrow at Izuku and the other man.

“Ready to begin?” Aizawa asked.

“Oh – yes, of course,” Izuku said, standing up.

He took two steps away from the sofas before stopping in place, hesitating. He turned back to the man.

“I – um – thank you for listening,” Izuku said awkwardly. “And for offering advice. It was helpful. I don’t think you have anything to worry about, either.”

“I hope so,” the man said. He glanced over at Aizawa and smiled slightly. “Then again, there are always those with keener eyes and ears that we can count on.”

Izuku smiled. “Yeah – I’m grateful that Aizawa-sensei was willing to take a chance.”

“As am I. Though I doubt chance has much to do with it,” he replied softly. “…Well, I’ll let you go, then.”

“Right. See you around, uh…?”

“Yagi Toshinori,” the man said, reaching out his hand. Izuku grasped it carefully and shook.

“Yagi-san,” he repeated. “Thank you.”

Finally, he turned away and strode to the door where Aizawa was tapping his foot impatiently and leaning his head against the frame.

“Finally done with your goodbyes?” Aizawa asked, voice dry. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Sorry, I just didn’t want to be rude,” Izuku said sheepishly. “I promise I’m ready to start now!”

“Good,” Aizawa said, surveying Izuku. He threw one last, inquisitive glance to Yagi, before stepping out and gesturing for Izuku to follow. Izuku shut the door and scurried after him, curious to find out what would come next.

***

“Alright,” Aizawa said, facing him on the mats after Izuku had changed into training clothes. “Before we get started on hero-specific training, I would like to properly assess your skill with martial arts as a starting point. We are going to spar.”

“Okay!” Izuku said, excited to see Eraserhead in action. He took up a defensive position.

Aizawa stood there, arms crossed. “Aren’t you going to start?”

“O-Oh. I didn’t realize you wanted me to – right, I will!”

Izuku wasted no more time, hoping to catch Aizawa off-guard. He ran forward and threw a quick punch to Aizawa’s chin. Aizawa did not move his body – he simply tilted his head to the left and let the fist bypass him. Izuku moved his left foot forward to stabilize his body, making sure he didn’t lose his balance due to the change in momentum. He spun around to face Aizawa, pivoting on his right and aiming the heel of his left foot for Aizawa’s shin.

Gracefully, Aizawa positioned his weight to his left leg and lifted his right just in time to avoid Izuku’s low kick. Again, Izuku moved his body with the momentum of the kick and shifted his weight forward to keep his balance. He narrowed his eyes. Aizawa was employing a tactic very similar to what Izuku favoured – evading attacks and waiting for a moment of poor balance to take advantage.

It seemed that he would have to make a more decisive move, one where contact was unavoidable.

Izuku grabbed Aizawa by the front of his shirt. He pulled himself forward until they were nearly chest-to-chest and hooked his foot in between Aizawa’s, pushing him back with one arm and using the other to land an elbow strike into his solar plexus as he half-turned.

Aizawa quickly moved his other leg closer, trapping Izuku’s foot between his ankles. At the same time, he tilted his upper body forward to seemingly meet the strike – but he stuck his arm inside the blow and looped it around Izuku’s head, squeezing.

Startled at the sudden headlock and unable to move out of position, Izuku took full advantage of his smaller stature to shove his head beneath Aizawa’s and headbutt him in the chin. Aizawa grunted and loosened his arms; Izuku immediately used the sides of his hands to dig into the creases of Aizawa’s elbows, breaking himself free.

My leg is still trapped; it would be a bad idea to lift my other leg. He could easily shove me down.

Deciding to stick to his current situation, he aimed a knife hand strike to Aizawa’s collarbone. Aizawa brought up his forearm to block. At the last second, Izuku turned over his arm and switched course to a ridge hand strike, bending his elbow around the block and lifting his hand's inside ridge to smash against Aizawa’s temple. Aizawa’s eyes widened and he finally moved his right leg out of position, placing it behind him so he could tilt his entire upper body back. Izuku’s blow barely struck against the tip of Aizawa’s nose – but his trapped leg was now free, and he eagerly shifted it back to join his other in a shoulder-width apart stance.

This time, Aizawa did not wait for Izuku. The second after he dodged, Aizawa dashed forward so quickly Izuku’s eyes almost couldn’t keep up. His body was aimed low, towards Izuku’s midsection.

A double leg takedown?

Izuku dropped his body low to stabilize it further, appearing to prepare for the full brunt of Aizawa’s weight – but as soon as Aizawa’s arm was in reachable distance Izuku grabbed it, stepped across with his right foot, and pivoted. He made to pull forward on the arm and complete the hip throw, but to his shock, Aizawa kicked hard at the inside of his left ankle, and Izuku nearly toppled over. He released his grip. Quickly, Aizawa caught him by slipping his arms under Izuku’s and bringing them back up behind his head to interlock hands – a full nelson. The back of his body was slumped against Aizawa’s front.

Taking a deep breath, Izuku leaned forward even more. Then he hooked his right leg all the way around Aizawa’s left, moving his right hand to grasp behind Aizawa’s right thigh at the same time. He struggled with all his might to lift and drop Aizawa’s body behind him – but Aizawa was too heavy, and he was left panting. Changing tack, he extended his right leg even further behind Aizawa and threw all his body weight backward.

With a harsh sound, Aizawa fell to the ground with Izuku half-resting on top of his left shoulder. Izuku withdrew himself from the tangle of limbs and rolled off, hurriedly getting to his feet. He whipped his head back to where Aizawa was still down.

Now is my chance!

He rushed toward him, ready to work in a low heel kick to the jaw. In a flash, Aizawa was on his knees. He grabbed the leg that Izuku had lifted and pulled up, standing with the motion, and dragged Izuku’s right sleeve down at the same time. Izuku fell to the side with Aizawa hovering over him – and a second later, Aizawa was sitting on his legs while pinning his arms down. Izuku struggled, wheezing as he tried to free his limbs with all his strength – but it was to no avail. He was done. He dropped his head back against the mat and closed his eyes. A moment later, he felt Aizawa getting off him.

“Good work,” he heard Aizawa say. Izuku opened his eyes, dubious. Aizawa wasn’t even looking at him, but at a black, square object in his hand.

Izuku sat up to get a closer look. “Is that a timer?”

“Yes, I wanted to see how long you’d manage to last – three-and-a-half minutes, if you were curious,” he said distractedly.

Izuku frowned. Only three minutes?

Aizawa must have glanced up to see his expression, because he could hear a light snort.

“Expecting me to be easier, were you?” Aizawa drawled. “Perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised. Teenagers are so convinced of their strength.”

“N-No, not at all! I knew I wouldn’t win… I was just hoping it wouldn’t end so soon,” Izuku said, looking down. “I can usually stall my sensei for longer, and he knows a lot of martial arts, too.”

“And how long have you known your sensei?”

“Since I was eight.”

“Yes, I do wonder how you can put up a better fight against a man you’ve fought several times for nearly a decade,” Aizawa said, rolling his eyes.

“Well, when you put it like that, it seems a bit unreasonable…”

Aizawa eyed him judgmentally, then offered him a hand up – which Izuku quickly accepted, springing back to his feet. “You’re not injured, are you?”

“Oh – no, I’m fine.”

“Good. Then I see no reason for you not to consider this a success.” Aizawa’s face suddenly stretched out into an eerie grin – or was it a normal grin, for him? – and Izuku nearly fell over from the shock of it. “You’ve lasted twenty seconds longer than the majority of my colleagues when we train without quirks.”

“Really?”

On one hand, Izuku was gratified to hear that. On the other hand…

Isn’t that actually a bit worrying? 

Aizawa snorted again, and Izuku flushed when he realized he must have spoken aloud. “You’d be surprised how little some heroes prepare for hand-to-hand combat when they don’t consider it necessary.”

“But it’s always necessary, in case things go wrong.”

Aizawa’s face went through a series of complicated reactions. “I know.” He sat down on the bench by the side of the mats and gestured for Izuku to join him.

“So… we’ll be doing more sparring over the next few weeks?” Izuku asked, collapsing next to Aizawa.

Aizawa studied him in silence. “You’ve demonstrated satisfactory ability. But there is a clear need to familiarize yourself with other disciplines of martial arts – you were most surprised whenever I used my legs in unexpected ways, but that is common in Muay Thai. In addition, you don’t always recognize the correct discipline, as I mixed in traditional Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu techniques at the same time. Think back on the ankle pick. You assumed that I was vulnerable because I was on the ground, but an experienced opponent can use such a situation to their advantage. Especially when they’re bigger than you.”

Izuku nodded. His cheeks were burning as his errors were laid out in front of him. The word ‘satisfactory’ tumbled around in his head, searching for a minefield of insecurities.

“But like I said, this was an assessment and your skills are more than adequate for most hand-to-hand situations,” Aizawa continued. “We will spar every now and then, so you get used to different styles, but the purpose of these lessons is to bring you up to speed on hero work. You will be put into situations where you must achieve specific objectives, as well as those involving search-and-rescue, first aid, stealth training, and strategic analysis. It will likely be the most difficult thing you have ever done. Are you prepared for that?”

“I-I think so,” Izuku said.

Aizawa stared at him, then sighed. “You know, those far more uncertain than you have managed to graduate from this school.” The corner of his mouth twitched as if it were some inside joke with himself. “Have some faith, won’t you?”

Izuku looked down at his hands, wondering if he’d one day see them stop fidgeting. Why not?

“Okay,” he said. “I can do that.”

Chapter Text

Izuku’s text inbox remained unfailingly empty, though he kept refreshing it. He bit his lip and refreshed it again.

Seen at 6:42 AM, the screen still read.

He sighed and put his phone back into his pocket. Iida clearly had no intent to reply.

And why should he? We’re not exactly best friends. In fact, he looked a bit upset the last few times we talked…

“Why are you standing out here?” a familiar voice asked. Izuku looked up from where he was leaning against the administrative building to see Hirai tilting her head at him. He smiled.

“No reason. I just got here early and wanted to enjoy the morning.”

“You didn’t look like you were enjoying it very much.”

“Ah, well, that’s – I am, but – it was something else that was bothering me,” he admitted finally.

Hirai nodded. “There usually is.”

“I wish there wasn’t, but somehow things always end up that way.”

“It seems that you are the common factor.”

Izuku frowned. “It’s not like I’m causing any of these things to happen. They just… do.”

“I suppose,” Hirai said, smiling. “But not everyone goes looking for trouble.”

“I’m not – ! I…” Izuku stopped himself. Was she wrong? He was always inserting himself into difficult situations. Kacchan, Shinsou, Todoroki, and now Iida…

Maybe you just like to feel useful. Do they really need you?

“I think it’s a good thing,” Hirai decided, oblivious to Izuku’s internal struggle. “I wouldn’t do it, but that’s why I gave up, after all.”

“You don’t need to do all that! You’re a nice person – you’re doing fine as you are,” Izuku insisted, shocked.

“I know that,” she said. “I was just saying that you are not like me.”

She stepped past him, heading down the stone path to the first years’ building. Izuku checked his watch and sighed, trudging to class behind her. The sun was partway up the sky, still glinting brightly off the windows of the school and blinding him as he made his way to the door of the first years’ building.

It didn’t take long before he made his way to class and slumped down in his seat. He glanced over, seeing Hirai making small shapes in her hands as per usual. A few others were at the back, snickering about something as they peered over a boy’s shoulder. Shinsou had not yet arrived, presumably taking his sweet time savouring every second in bed before dragging himself to school. Izuku couldn’t remember the last time he’d been early. Sasaki was more sporadic, but it seemed today was a late day for her, too.

Impatiently, he drummed his fingers against his desk. Class would be starting soon. He should probably prepare himself for training. Would it be a continuation of yesterday? Would they –

Ping!

A notification? Izuku scrambled to pick up his phone, entering his password to see a text –

From Todoroki. Izuku leaned back in his chair. He was expecting – hoping – it would be from Iida, just a brief message stating that he was okay, but this was still a pleasant surprise. He opened up the message with interest.

I visited my mother a few days ago.

That… was good news. Right? Should that be the reply he typed back? Maybe that was too presumptuous, he didn’t know how the meeting went… but then, what should he say? He already opened it, so Todoroki could see that Izuku had viewed the message. He was probably waiting for a response. But what if he said the wrong thing?

How did it go? Izuku typed back, hitting ‘Send’ before he could overthink it.

Seconds passed, and Izuku wondered if he had ended up typing the wrong thing anyway. Maybe Todoroki didn’t want to talk about it, but now he felt pressured because Izuku had asked. Izuku could have been presuming a closeness between them that wasn’t there… Todoroki hadn’t mentioned how his mother had reacted to the visit within his first message, and maybe that was on purpose. He could have just been waiting for Izuku to express his thoughts on the idea of meeting his mother –

It was nice.

Izuku blinked at the sudden reply. He smiled slightly.

That’s good. Maybe you could visit her regularly!

He waited a few seconds, watching the icon that indicated Todoroki was typing – only to have it disappear and reappear every few seconds.

I want to, the message read finally. She seemed happy to see me. I think she has forgiven me.

Forgiven him? For what – not visiting? Using his fire? Not singlehandedly stopping his father as a child, back then?

I’m sure she didn’t think there was anything to forgive. She was probably just happy to see you succeed on your own, after all this time, Izuku typed.

Maybe, Todoroki replied. She wanted to hear about what I was doing at school and this internship.

What are you doing at your internship?

Patrols with Endeavor and a few sidekicks. I’ve helped on smaller villain raids, but just with support. No attacks.

Haha, I doubt any student is really supposed to be assigned to an offensive position so soon! You’re probably getting more experience than most of your classmates.

That could be true. One of the few perks of working here, I guess. Something good to put on job applications to work anywhere else.

Izuku huffed out a breath, sending back a laughing-face emoticon. Todoroki sent a question mark in response.

Did I say something funny? It was the truth.

Izuku shook his head.

I know. Anyway, I think class is starting soon, and I’m sure you have to pay attention to Endeavor’s plans for the day.

I’d rather not, this is more interesting. He has enough people hanging on his every word.

A text conversation with me is more interesting than putting away villains?

Yes. This doesn’t involve listening to my father.

Haha, unfortunately I can’t help you with that, but I’m sure you’d find some other way to ignore him. I’ll talk to you later! :)

Bye.

Izuku smiled at the abrupt response, putting down his phone. He had almost forgotten about his worry with Iida. Todoroki was taking more and more initiative, perhaps slowly coming to the realization that everyone like him would have to reach at some point –

People are not meant to be alone.

The door squeaked. He looked up, seeing Snipe enter the room and head to his desk. Shortly after him, Sasaki came stumbling behind. Izuku glanced over to see that Shinsou had already entered – likely sometime during Izuku’s text conversation – and was resting his head on his desk.

“You’re later than usual today,” Izuku whispered to Sasaki as she slipped into her seat.

“Yeah, so?” she asked.

“As forthcoming as usual…” Izuku mumbled to himself.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

Sasaki frowned at him. “It doesn’t really matter. My parents were just being annoying, like always.”

“Oh,” Izuku said, nodding as if he understood. “So… you’re late because you were arguing with them?”

“Something like that,” she said. She glanced from side to side. “But if you really want to know…”

Izuku leaned in.

“…it’s not your business,” she finished, smiling as Izuku slumped back. She cocked her head as he listlessly picked up his phone again. “What else are you looking so gloomy for?”

“Well… someone hasn’t been texting me back…”

“Maybe they just don’t like you.”

Izuku winced. “I guess that’s possible.”

Sasaki rolled her eyes. “Just leave it. You’ve done all you can do. Don’t you have other things to think about?”

“Yes,” Izuku admitted, “but – ”

“You must be a prodigy if you have all this spare time.” 

“No – okay, fine, I get it. I’ll stop,” Izuku said, putting his phone in his pocket just as Snipe stepped up to the board.

***

“Sorry to intrude so suddenly, All Might,” Tsukauchi said as he entered the room. The Teachers’ Lounge was always quiet this early in the morning, with all the staff having gone to their classrooms to prepare. Toshinori stretched out his back and shoulders, hearing it crack, and sighed.

“No need to apologize. And it’s just Toshinori, Tsukauchi-san,” Toshinori said wryly, placing particular emphasis on the honorific. Tsukauchi huffed as he sat down. “What did you find out?”

At this, Tsukauchi frowned and took a sip of coffee. After a few long seconds, he set it down to speak. “At the U.S.J., there was that villain you fought. Noumu. We did some tests on Noumu’s DNA, and… ah, I shouldn’t say, you’re not involved in the investigation… but you need to know. Before, we thought that he simply couldn’t speak. We were wrong.”

Toshinori frowned. “Yes… Nedzu said the villain was bio-engineered. I assumed they had experimented on some poor man.”

“That’s right. But it was no simple experiment. As we delved deeper, we found that there was no reaction from him, no matter what we did. That… man… cannot think for himself. The identity we pulled was from a common street thug with a criminal record for assault.”

“And… he’s a member of the League?”

Tsukauchi shook his head. “The report states that DNA from at least four completely different people were inside this thug’s body.”

Toshinori pressed his lips together, disturbed. “Is he even human?”

“The entire body has been tampered with. Drugs, quirk use, operations… everything you can think of. To oversimplify, this creature has been modified to hold multiple quirks. The drop in the brain’s processing power likely comes from that strain… but the more concerning thing is the DNA. Even if different DNA is introduced into one’s body, it doesn’t change their primary functions. By this, I mean that one can’t hold multiple quirks unless there was a way to integrate the new DNA. You understand where I’m going with this, don’t you?”

“No…” Toshinori said, understanding dawning on him. He got up from his seat. “It can’t be – !”

“I think there’s someone with a quirk that can give other people quirks. It’s the only way,” Tsukauchi said softly.

That man… is he making a move again!?

A hand on his shoulder made him realize he’d subconsciously reverted to his empowered form. He breathed out shakily, struggling to transform back. Tsukauchi gestured for him to sit down again, and slowly – stiffly – he did.

“Are you sure?” he croaked out. “It’s so soon.”

“It’s just what I think. I could be wrong.”

No… no, deep down, Toshinori knew he wasn’t. It explained too much. The man who led the League of Villains seemed to hate All Might with a burning passion, but All Might couldn’t recall this Shigaraki Tomura for the life of him. He seemed quite a bit younger, with shaky motivations, so other than taking on the mantle of someone else’s hatred, what reason could the man have to dislike him so much…?

“Are you alright?” Tsukauchi asked, interrupting his thoughts. “I know it’s worrying, but we’ll deal with it. We always have.”

“I suppose. But I’m not the same as before,” he said, looking down at his hands. Exhaustion and old pains were written on every wrinkle – they were the hands of someone who had been doing this for too long. Lifetime after lifetime, one holder to the next – and still, each generation was stuck with this same wall before them, unable to move past. This same man.

“Have you given any more thought to, ah, passing it on? You mentioned it before.”

“I’d given it more than just thought. But things are never that easy – not when I’m involved, it seems. I wish… I wish I’d known how to really connect with…”

Silence fell upon the room. The orange sun peeked through the window, blending brilliantly with Toshinori’s hair. He could have been a ray of the sun itself.

“You’ve sacrificed a lot,” Tsukauchi said quietly.

Toshinori sighed. “I don’t regret it. But… I wish… there are a lot of things I wish I’d known.”

“So there was someone, then,” Tsukauchi deduced. “Some kid caught your attention. And they said no?”

“Not exactly. But he didn’t say yes, either. Perhaps it was not the path he wanted to follow – rather, the path I wanted for him. I thought they were the same.”

“Don’t let Nighteye hear you say that – there’s only one way things turn out, remember?”

Toshinori huffed out a laugh. “Well, I’m not sure how this path ends. I think we should walk separately now – I’ve stuck to his heels for long enough.”

“Maybe, but the paths could always meet again, couldn’t they?” Tsukauchi took another sip. “I don’t know what happened, but I find that two people in dispute are often simply not understanding each other. We think that the most indisputable pieces of evidence we have are our own feelings. If we feel upset, angry, confused, guilty, sympathetic – well, something is causing it, right? It becomes frustrating when the other person can’t see it that way. Tensions boil over and people can react strangely. That’s how it is in so many civilian cases. If only we could acknowledge our differences and try to see things another way… that’s really the best we can do.”

“So… you think I should try again?” Toshinori asked, dubious. “That hasn’t worked out so well in my favour.”  

“Well, I don’t know. But if you leave things unclear, I think it will always bother you – and him. One of you has to be the mature one, and I’d place my bets on… ah, maybe I shouldn’t put the kid out of the running just yet,” Tsukauchi said, eyeing Toshinori as he dropped his face into his hands.

“How is having a conversation with a teenager one of the more difficult things I’ve had to deal with?” he asked, voice muffled.

“Conversations with teenagers, in my experience, are the hardest things to deal with. Far too many variables than a simple fight with a villain. I’d take an easy job like that any day.”

“…I don’t think I can do it.”

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” Toshinori said. He moved his hands away from his face and tilted his head back to look up at the ceiling instead. “I think I should leave him alone. I’ve bothered him enough at this point – he has other plans for himself.”

“Don’t beat yourself up too much. Everyone says or does the wrong things sometimes – even gods like you, Number One,” Tsukauchi said, smirking. “But it’s your choice. Just keep an open mind, there may be a way to clear the slate.”

With that, Tsukauchi looked at his watch and stood up, gesturing toward the door with an apologetic smile.

Toshinori nodded. “Thank you for coming.”

“Anytime, All Might,” he said, patting Toshinori on the shoulder one last time before leaving the room. Toshinori listened to the door shut behind him and sighed, leaning back on the sofa.

Clear the slate? There was a way…

No, he wasn’t quite foolish enough to believe that was a good idea. He just needed to move on, bite back his pride and call Nighteye to inform him – again – that he was right, and that Toshinori wanted to speak to Toogata. Perhaps apologize to young Midoriya once more, at a later time.

But how do I do that? Apologize for hurting him… for being in a rush…

And for being wrong?

Toshinori pressed a hand to his aching head. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of his wallet on the coffee table. He picked it up and gingerly opened the back pocket – one he didn’t dare touch all too often – and pulled out a well-worn photograph. A pretty black-haired woman smiled up at him. He stared at it for a few seconds.

I wonder how you did it, Nana. How did you listen to a quirkless boy and his crazy dreams, all when you knew about… him?

Young Midoriya was certainly strong and smart. And though Toshinori had once been quirkless, he had never been like him. He’d been all too aware of his own limitations, seeing half the world soar through the sky while he could only look up at them. He’d made it so that he could join them, winning over Nana with his words. He remembered his glory days with equals parts fondness and embarrassment – he’d talked a big game about establishing some kind of utopia, with him as the Symbol of Peace to make it possible.

The world was different now. Quirklessness was on its way out, and Midoriya was determined to drag it back to the light. He didn’t use any words to convince Toshinori to help him on his path to inspire change. Faced with a looming wall, he was simply trying to climb over it anyway.  

Though… it makes sense, doesn’t it? Toshinori thought, a spike of frustration flashing through him as he put down the photo and looked around the room. Hero students, management of heroes, engineering for heroes… even outside the window, there’s a sign announcing the construction of a new hero agency. So much of the media and its professional studios are decorated by my own colours. What else is there to aspire for? Heroes are the pinnacle of our society. If he joins our ranks…

We live inside the fantasies we create, and for some, this fantasy is made too easy to drown in. One would be greeted with dazzling lights and red carpets, shouts of adoration and idols of themselves distributed in every store. Why would they want to open their eyes? There were never any billboards or newspaper covers gushing about Naomasa’s latest detective work that made capturing the villains possible, nor Chiyo’s team of paramedics who treated everyone right away. There were never any good reasons to stay awake for those who had stirred so quickly.

Without a quirk, he’d never crack the Top Hundred in rankings – still, Midoriya was right. He could be a respectable hero nevertheless, and Toshinori wished he could have just said something so simple all those months ago. But –

“Do you think it’s possible for someone quirkless, like me, to be a hero?”

“Why subject you to that? I was sparing you the trouble. You didn’t need to be a hero,” Toshinori muttered to himself. “You didn’t need to be like me.”

***

A large table was laden with many items indistinguishable from a distance, and Aizawa was nowhere to be found. Izuku stepped forward into their training gym, curiously eyeing it all. They didn’t look like they were related to sparring or rescue training, which is what they had been working on before…

“Nice of you to show up,” Aizawa said, suddenly beside him. Izuku nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Oh! Sorry – I didn’t see you there, sensei!”

He sighed. “Things aren’t looking good.”

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s take a look at that table,” Aizawa said, ignoring him. He walked up and rested a hand on its edge, tapping his finger as Izuku scrambled to follow. Now closer, Izuku could see what the objects were, for the most part – various clothes, watches, goggles, lights, and electronic equipment. There were also a few implements he could not recognize – metalling-looking prisms, sharp hooks that resembled weapons, and general-purpose tools that he had perhaps seen before but could not name.

“Stealth,” Izuku said, realizing the main subject of his training today. Aizawa nodded approvingly. “We’re not going to keep working on rescue training? I thought there would be more than what we did at the U.S.J. yesterday with Thirteen-sensei.”

“We finished with the basics – locating citizens in need of help and finding a safe resting location, as well as assessing injuries and remaining a voice of calm. Next will be triage and first aid, but that hasn’t yet been covered in my class. First semester is only about the fundamentals. Cocky fifteen-year-olds have enough trouble with that.” 

“Right,” Izuku said, twisting his fingers together nervously. “So… what will I be doing?”

“I find that stealth is best learned through experience. Once you make a mistake in the field that gets you caught, you never forget it. We’re going to play hide-and-seek.”

“…What?”

“Hide-and-seek. Haven’t you played it before?”

“I know the rules,” Izuku said absently, remembering those times on the playground from before. He hadn’t been playing for quite a while, though… 

Izuku glanced back up to see Aizawa looking at him strangely.

“…Good,” he said, shaking his head. “I want you to pick two items from this table and then we will head to Ground Beta. You will hide somewhere – anywhere – on the premises. Your objective will be to remain unseen while I look for you. Any questions?”

“Ah… aren’t you an underground hero?” Izuku questioned weakly. “I can’t help but feel that I’m at a disadvantage.”

“You are.”

…At least Aizawa was honest.

“Bear in mind that Ground Beta is an urban setting. There will be many motion sensors and CCTV cameras in city buildings, and in a real scenario, there would be multiple villains patrolling or watching footage at a single time. Some would even have quirks suited for the detection of other people.”

Is this supposed to make me feel better?

“Today, I will be the only one – and against you, I have no quirk. Is that not reasonable?” Aizawa asked, grinning unnervingly. Izuku fought the urge to shrink back into the shadows by the wall.

“S-Sure, if you say so,” Izuku stammered, “but I don’t know what some of these tools are.”

“The metal objects are various types of smoke bombs and flash grenades,” Aizawa said. Izuku jerked his fingers back from where they were probing one of the spheres.

“Isn’t that dangerous? I don’t know how to use them,” Izuku exclaimed.

“A good thing that there are other options, then,” Aizawa responded.

He seemed determined not to help – or maybe that was simply how he always was. Izuku sighed, looking down at everything the table had to offer. The items ranged from common items, such as flashlights and black caps, to heavy-duty night-vision goggles and explosives.

So many options… and they must have all been laid out here for a reason. This was likely a preliminary part of the assessment. On a stealth mission, carrying too many items could be risky. They could be loud or unwieldy or confuse the hero with too much choice. It was best to pick fewer support items, those that you knew well.

The explosives were too dangerous. Izuku had never used any before, so he safely ignored that part of the table.

Clothes? This was a more difficult choice.

It was the middle of the day. Stakeout missions frequently took place during daylight hours because it was expected that nighttime was a better opportunity to strike. Security was often heightened when it was dark outside. The long-sleeved shirts and pants were all dark grey or green – perfect for midnight stakeouts, or slow crawls through tall grass. Not so perfect for the inner city.

Izuku looked down at his clothes. White shirt and dark pants, with the school’s grey blazer in his arms.

It will have to do, he decided. If this were a real situation, I’d look like any student or office worker and blend right in.

What next? His eyes roved over the electronic equipment and bright, bulging bulbs. Some were lighting up in various colours; others had complicated-looking buttons on the sides.  He frowned. How was this meant to aid in stealth?

He purposely overlooked the more ostentatious gadgets, finally picking up a plain, rectangular piece – the bulb was large, encircled on one side, and on the other side were a few dials that he could use to brighten or dim the light, as well as concentrate or widen the beam. Simple enough. Still, he turned it over in his hands, trying to understand why these objects were even an option. Wouldn’t bright lights just call attention to himself?

But maybe… that wasn’t always a bad thing.

He held on to the flashlight and moved to the left, searching for something to help him move around.

The claw-like hooks in the middle grabbed his attention. They came in a set of four, clearly meant to be attached to hands and feet as climbing apparel. The edges were sharp and seemed to be made of a malleable metal, designed to fit into grooves.

I… have no idea how to use these. Should I still pick them? Izuku chanced a brief glance at Aizawa, who was resolutely looking away. Might as well take a risk at some point, right?

Before he could think better of it, he seized the hooks as well and cleared his throat.

Aizawa turned around and openly scrutinized the equipment Izuku was holding. Izuku shifted nervously, struggling not to drop anything – especially his semi-confident expression.

“Interesting,” Aizawa said finally. “Let’s go.” 

***

“You have five minutes to hide. I will only enter the grounds after your time is up, so don’t worry about making noise – I won’t be able to hear you. If you can evade detection for thirty minutes, we’ll call it a success. Ready?”

“Oh – I guess, but – what if I can’t do that?”

“Then it’s a failure.”

Izuku winced. “Right. But will we try it again?”

Aizawa shook his head. “No time. I’ll offer advice on potential improvements and the rest will be up to you. It will be a mark against you and your current skillset, I suppose.”

Izuku looked toward Ground Beta, an unremarkable-looking artificial cityscape, all while fidgeting with the hooks he had never used before in his life. Just one chance.

“Please start the timer, sensei,” Izuku said, striding to the entrance before he could even dwell on the option of looking back.

***

Izuku raced through the open streets, curving past large apartment-style buildings and shorter, flatter stores and industrial factories.

Not that one… not that one, either…

What was he looking for? Even he wasn’t sure – his brain didn’t have the decency to think that far ahead.

The factories have lots of hiding places and walls that would be easy to climb… but those are too obvious. If they have lots of hiding places, that’s where Aizawa-sensei would check first. I could hide in one of the stores, but those are too open – the only place to hide is behind the counters. The apartment buildings are a good choice… they have lots of floors, inner and outer staircases, and elevator shafts that make it maneuverable… but will he be expecting that, too? It would be hard to escape, and apartment buildings have video cameras everywhere…

He pulled up short in front of a run-down housing complex. He needed to stop running aimlessly and figure out a better plan.

If I were Aizawa-sensei, what would I do?

Aizawa was logical, rational. He would do the exact same thing – paint himself in the colours of his quarry and follow the feathers they left behind. Anyone partaking in this exercise would be most likely to hide far away from the point of origin, if only to increase the amount of time until Aizawa even reached their hiding spot.

So I should loop back around and hide closer to where we started, Izuku mused. Risky, but likelier to pay off if Aizawa-sensei heads to the far buildings first and then has to come back here.

He began to race back to the buildings near the entrance – unfortunately, most of these buildings were of the same variety as the ones he had noted while running past, and he was stuck in the same predicament. Industry, apartment, or store?

There must be something else, he thought, eyes darting around in a daze. Finally, he spotted a shorter building with lots of windows and a heavy-set doorframe. Something resembling an office building.

Office buildings had cameras, too… but they had multiple points of entry and well-constructed fire escapes. It would have to do.

Peering through the doors, he did a quick scan of the front foyer. It was a standard reception area, with a long desk to the side and several plants decorating the lobby. Video cameras dotted the corners of the room; even the center of the ceiling had hemispheric cameras to get the full view. Izuku sighed, though he couldn’t have expected any better. Realistically, Aizawa wouldn’t be watching much footage – if at all – in this scant thirty-minute period, so it shouldn’t matter so much. But on the off-chance that Aizawa was certain of the building Izuku was in, he could simply head straight to the security department to take a look at the screens. Everything would be over in seconds.

Izuku prised his hands off the glass and walked the perimeter of the building, dismayed to note yet another set of cameras positioned above the side entrances. He closed his eyes, growing increasingly more aware that he was running out of time.

Tools. Don’t forget the tools.

The climbing grips! He scanned the outside of the building again, this time realizing that there were an abundance of open windows.

And the cameras are only above the official entrances.

He carefully strapped the hooks to his wrists and ankles and shuffled to a blind spot between cameras – a long stretch of brick wall, where a few metres above his head was a window.

This is just like my grappling hook, he reminded himself as he awkwardly placed his hands as far up as he could reach. Just like my grappling hook… except if I fall, I can’t hook onto anything again.

The claws twisted – then fitted themselves to the mortar in between the bricks. He was stunned to realize they held fast. He pulled his lower body up slowly, scrambling for a few seconds as he struggled to find footholds.

Finally, he could feel his feet stick and he breathed a small sigh of relief. Now I just need to that a few more times.

The wind blew through his hair. Painstakingly slow, he pulled his left hand out from its grip and stretched it up higher, then followed with his left leg. He did the same with the other side, then back and forth, over and over, until one shaky hand finally gripped the windowsill. Panting, Izuku stretched out his other hand, and with all his strength, pulled his body up so his elbows were resting on the ledge. Here, he was in a much better position, and he heaved his upper body through the open window, using the claws to rip through the insect screen.

He fumbled through the blinds and landed ungracefully on the floor, only barely avoiding smashing his face at the bottom. He lay there for a few moments, groaning. How much time was left? A minute? Surely he could recover for a bit…

Aizawa’s grinning face flashed in his mind, and Izuku immediately sat up. No, he would definitely need every second he could get. He looked around, seeing a large, polished table and several chairs surrounding it. By sheer chance, he had dropped into a meeting room – and like most meeting rooms, this one had no cameras. Meetings with stakeholders and clients were often private.

Izuku bit his lip and squinted through the window. This is a good spot. There’s no camera in here, and Aizawa couldn’t have seen me enter. I can keep watch through the blinds.

The only issue was that the window was his best escape – the second he walked down the hallway outside, there would certainly be cameras. But that was only if Aizawa chose to enter this building at all. He nodded to himself, figuring this was the best he could do, and brushed away the scraps of netting from around the window. He dropped them in the trash and removed the climbing grips from his legs. Now, he just had to wait.

***

A noise from outside startled him. He got up from where he was sitting against the wall and carefully lifted up one of the individual blinds to peek.

Aizawa was striding down this street. Despite being almost entirely invisible from the outside, Izuku held his breath. He watched as Aizawa slowed his gait, coming to a stop near this first cluster of buildings next to the gates where they had stood a few minutes ago. Aizawa took a single step forward, then headed to a building on the opposite side of the street, walking around it to check the perimeter.

Izuku’s blood froze. Why was he checking the buildings here first?

He leaned forward, nose nearly touching the glass. Aizawa seemed to be checking the ground near the entrances for any sign of activity. Thankfully, Izuku hadn’t used any normal entrances at all. Maybe Aizawa would quickly come to the conclusion that no one had been this way?

Slowly, ever-so-slowly, Aizawa made his way around the buildings in the area. As Izuku had thought, he spent more time around the industrial buildings and peered suspiciously at the tall apartments. Still, he was creeping closer and closer. Eventually, he stopped in the middle of the street, staring up at the last cluster of buildings – the one which held Izuku’s hiding spot.

It’s okay – he’ll look around and move on, just like the others, Izuku reassured himself, digging his fingernails into his palms.

Aizawa reached forward and picked something up off the ground. Izuku frowned, unable to tell what it was. It seemed to be a scrap of black, but it wasn’t exactly opaque –

The insect screen.

Izuku nearly banged his head against the wall. Had he been that careless? He’d tried to make sure the pieces had all fallen inward, but there was that slight wind…

Aizawa’s gaze darted from building to building, scrutinizing the windows. His eyesight was obviously better than most – he took rigorous care of them to prevent strain – so it was with bated breath that Izuku stood there uselessly, unable to do anything but observe. Not all the buildings in the area would be fitted with insect screens, so it would still be difficult for Aizawa to narrow it down – but it certainly cut down on the amount of time Izuku had to maintain his ruse.

Aizawa walked closer to the office building. The light wind kept blowing – southward, Izuku realized. Aizawa knew this, too; he walked north, looking to narrow down the buildings from which the netting could have originated. Unfortunately for Izuku, Aizawa was right on track to discovering the correct building – all in about ten minutes’ time.

Am I really going to fail this so quickly?

For a moment, he couldn’t think – and it only got worse when Aizawa stepped close to the entryway and began to walk the perimeter. He halted in his tracks agonizingly close to the window from which Izuku watched in horror. Leaning down, Aizawa seemed to rub something together in his fingers. Dirt? A stone?

The teacher held it against the wall, as if to compare.

Mortar.

Aizawa knew his weapons of choice far better than Izuku himself. In using the climbing grips, Izuku didn’t even consider the traces they could leave behind.

“Everyone in Heroics is there for a reason, Deku – the same reason you aren’t.”

He had a desperate grip on his tools, clutching onto something he hoped would give him comfort, an idea – anything at all. He’d thought he could handle the pressure, that he was smart enough to impress Aizawa-sensei. But the exercise had barely started and he was already a few seconds away from being thoroughly dismantled.

Did you really think you could do this?

He swallowed, closing his eyes and willing a plan to form. But why would anything come easy to him?

Just keep going. Just take a deep breath and keep moving. You’ll figure it out somehow. You have to.

He nodded to himself and watched as Aizawa entered the building below. He probably wouldn’t head to the security room or check the upper floors right away; Izuku would have a chance to escape by climbing out the window otherwise.

There will be a camera outside this room, probably a bit down the hall. You can’t stay trapped in here forever.

A few moments ago, he was too afraid to move. But what did he have to lose now?

Without a care, he opened the door and looked around. Sure enough, on the far left there was an intersection in the corridor and a camera was fitted to the ceiling. On the right side, the hallway led to a dead end. Izuku stepped to the left and approached the intersection slowly, making sure to remain outside the camera’s field of view. He wouldn’t be able to escape detection completely, but he could at least make himself difficult to track. The elevators were placed right next to the camera, and a door indicating the stairwell was only a few metres away.

He switched on the brightest LED function on the flashlight and shone it up at the lens. Slowly, he walked toward the camera, making sure not to let his hands waver. The light source would bounce light around in the lens and hopefully saturate the image, if Izuku was right. That was why he’d chosen the flashlight. Light and shadow were the most obvious indicators of one’s position, so it was crucial to manipulate them where possible.

He pressed the button for the elevator and quickly pulled off his blazer, waiting for the elevator doors to open. Finally, he heard that fateful ding –

Izuku raced forward and kicked open the door to the staircase, keeping his light trained on the camera. He waited for the exact moment that the elevator doors began to close, then tossed his blazer into the air – covering the camera entirely for a brief second.

In this time, he dashed back to the elevator, slipping in just as the doors closed behind him. He pressed the button for the third floor and held his breath, hearing the staircase door close on the floor he had just left behind. With luck, Aizawa would assume he had gone for the staircase if he was now watching the cameras – it was a much more maneuverable position. But the elevator provided a route out of this building, even if it was less subtle. Izuku kept his light on, training it on a spot on the ceiling in front of him – and as the elevator doors opened once again, he fixed it on the lens of another hallway camera while he stepped out.

A row of windows lined the wall on the left, and at the end of the corridor, there was a fire escape. Izuku stepped forward in that direction – then stopped.

Is it too obvious? …Or am I just being too paranoid now?

He hesitated, feeling the weight of every second bear down on him. No, there was no such thing as too paranoid… not when Aizawa had discovered his hiding spot so quickly. He turned away and walked backwards in the other direction, keeping the light trained on the camera until there was no way he could still be inside its field of view. Switching it off, he looked around – finding himself in a hallway with no windows whatsoever.

Izuku sighed. He may have just doomed himself.

But… that was a washroom, wasn’t it?

Washrooms never have cameras, he realized. And I walked away from the inner core of the building when I left the elevator, so this one must be near the outer wall. There should be windows.

He eagerly pushed open the door – forcefully shoving aside his mild embarrassment as he realized it was a women’s washroom – and sure enough, there were a few windows perpendicular to the stalls and another by the sinks. He walked over and peered outside. It was a bit of a drop – but he still had his climbing grips.

Izuku bit his lip. He was currently standing in front of the window on the far left. He leaned outside and pulled out his grips. Using the sharp edges, he picked at the mortar between the bricks to make them look purposely uneven. He lowered one of the grips, using another piece to swing it down even further, scratching up the bricks as best as he could.

Aizawa would unquestionably track down this location. If Izuku made it seem like he climbed down from this window, maybe the teacher would assume he had turned the left corner of the building to seek out a new hiding spot in that direction. Instead, he would go to the window by the sinks and jump out – this way, he’d avoid the outer security camera if he tried to turn that same corner on the ground.

He trudged away, approaching his escape route. It was only the third floor, right? As he climbed up onto the windowsill and looked down, it didn’t seem that way…

Just do it. Don’t you want to win?

With a deep breath, Izuku hugged his tools to his chest and launched himself off the ledge.

Crack!

Izuku gasped out in pain as he hit the ground, dropping all his tools with several clangs. He felt at his left ankle; the skin was angry and swollen around the bone. He definitely hadn’t landed right. It didn’t feel broken, though…

With difficulty, he pushed himself to his feet and hobbled around, picking up everything he had dropped and periodically jerking his head toward the windows so fast he thought he might give himself whiplash. Luckily, Aizawa hadn’t tracked him this far yet.

He limped away in a hurry, wildly looking out for a better place. The inside of a building caused too many camera-related complications – maybe outdoor premises would provide more cover? He spotted a big garden outside what looked like a residential building and rushed over. It was a gated community with lots of trees, bushes, and flower gardens… if he ducked down and made himself small, he could blend right in.

He opened the front gate and shut it behind him. He walked in, noticing an acceptable position by the gate near one of the back entrances. There, Izuku crouched behind a bush next to a flowerbed. If Aizawa were to walk by, he wouldn’t pick out Izuku’s head from the bush and the bright white of his shirt wouldn’t be out of place next to these multicoloured flowers.

Minutes passed. Izuku finally began to calm down, putting down his tools and leaning against the scratchy twigs of the bush. Maybe he would make it through this exercise.

A creaking sound made him immediately reprimand himself for daring to have any semblance of a positive thought. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Aizawa stepping up to the main entrance of the building and going inside. It didn’t take long for Aizawa to exit again, heading past the garden –

The man stopped in his tracks. Izuku nearly groaned out loud. What could it be this time? He made sure he hadn’t left footprints, and he ran around the pits of soil to avoid crushing any of the flowers…

Aizawa inspected the top of the gate closely, then looked back up at the trees next to it. Small yellow flowers sprouted from the tips of the branches, and as Aizawa took a few to rub between his fingertips, Izuku understood at last. He had opened the latch to enter… and in doing so, had disrupted the thin veneer of pollen that lay atop. It was always something.

And so, Aizawa stepped through the gate and Izuku went back to sweating through his shirt.

Looks like I’ll have to slip out through the back after all.

He waited for Aizawa to start searching within the trees.

The teacher travelled at a leisurely pace, barely reaching the opening into the little grove before he knelt to the ground instead. Scrutinizing him through the leaves in the bush, Izuku noticed that there were bunches of dandelions growing unevenly across the ground. Aizawa shook the stems and the white tufts floated off, carrying seeds through the air as the wind blew them around.

Izuku’s nose twitched. Instinctively, he jerked his hand up to rub it – some of the fluff had travelled to him and tickled his face. It would be a disaster if he sneezed now.

A few birds flew up and away at his sudden movement. Izuku watched them leave in silence – before realizing what that meant, and he nearly slapped his hand against his face again.

The birds. They can give away my position, too.

Sure enough, Aizawa’s head jolted in Izuku’s direction and he got up from where he was kneeling to walk over. Panicking, Izuku crouched down even further. How was he supposed to distract Aizawa without him seeing Izuku leave out the back gate? He was the type to notice even the slightest peculiarity.

Izuku glanced around desperately, eyes landing on the large rocks bordering the flowerbed next to him. Discreetly, he picked one up and tested its weight.

If someone were far enough away, the shadow of this rock could look like a head.

He tossed the rock forward, behind the line of bushes, and it landed under one of the trees next to the building. More importantly, the rock was right by the stump, and the tree’s branches were right next to a rather thick glass window. Again, he picked up his light and set its intensity to the highest level – but this time, he chose a setting for a concentrated yellow beam. He directed the beam of light to the window, and the yellow light reflected off the glass, blending in with the sun’s rays. Crooked lines on the ground bent in every direction, much like the real branches – and right by the centre, there appeared to be something small and shaped like a head. A stark shape that would definitely catch Aizawa’s attention.

And as Aizawa drew closer, Izuku could see the moment that it worked. Aizawa’s keen eyes caught onto the smooth, round break within the jagged lines and he immediately turned to his right to investigate – blissfully training his eyes in a different direction. Keeping his light on the glass, Izuku grabbed his climbing grips and scooted backwards until he was right up against the gate. He stretched up a hand to undo the latch and carefully allowed the door to open.

Finally, Izuku stood and switched off the light. Aizawa blinked at the sudden distortion in the shadow and turned his head back to where he perceived the light source to be coming from – Izuku’s bush and the back gate.

Unfortunately for him, Izuku was already gone, panting as he dashed away.

There’s no time to think now – Aizawa-sensei must be right behind me! Is there a good place to hide around here? It will take too long to hide in any of the buildings, and I didn’t see any other open spaces…

He paused by an alley between a brick building and an industrial complex. There was a dumpster at the back. It was a pathetic hiding spot, but it would get him out of sight for now. More than that, his ankle was acting up again, and he could at the very least collapse against the side of the bin in peace.

He bolted to the small space and pushed himself in, back first. Izuku glanced up and around him. Theoretically, he could climb away – maybe to the roof or at least to a fire escape – if he heard Aizawa’s footsteps. But his ankle was throbbing, and he was useless with the climbing grips anyway. He knew this was his last chance, a dead end.

Thumping sounds on the pavement picked up speed in his ears. Aizawa was already upon him. What was that, about twenty minutes in total? He counted in his head, anticipating Aizawa’s face popping up any second now.

The sounds grew more distant, eventually petering out.

Izuku frowned and carefully peeked out from the side of the bin. Could it be that he actually hadn’t left any traces behind this time? On his sloppiest choice yet?

His heart continued to pound as a few more minutes passed. Aizawa had to still be in the area – he would have known that Izuku couldn’t run so far in a scant few seconds – but he was nowhere to be seen, nor heard. He considered and reconsidered his options, sluggishly bringing himself to his feet. Despite the injury, his legs itched and screamed to run, move, keep moving – until they could take him somewhere safer, that is.

Should I find a better spot? I have some time now. I can find somewhere with a real escape route…

As if in response, the sound of footsteps returned, and Izuku crouched down once again. Louder and softer, louder and softer… Aizawa seemed to be checking the outside areas of most of the buildings here. It was only a matter of time before he approached this place. He had to leave.

He stumbled down the alley again and checked both sides upon reaching the opening. No one to be found. Heaving a sigh of relief, he made for a small shop with a side door. There didn’t seem to be a camera above it, and surely a shop would have multiple entrances and exits for supply runs and customers –

“There you are,” a voice said behind him, grabbing his shoulder as he entered. Izuku nearly kicked Aizawa in the knee as he spun, stumbled back, and tried to run all at once. Instead, he landed on the ground in a heap, looking up at Aizawa’s weary face.

Izuku opened his mouth, trying to speak – but he was still reeling with shock at the sudden capture.

“Twenty-five minutes – not bad, if not a success,” Aizawa said.

Oh. Izuku’s gaze drifted to the ground.

You failed. You weren’t even close. Aizawa-sensei isn’t like the kids in 1-C – why did you think you would win? You –

Aizawa nudged him in the leg, and Izuku held back a hiss – Aizawa didn’t need to know that he’d potentially sprained his ankle on top of failing the exercise. “You haven’t gone mute since about a half hour ago, have you?”

Finally, Izuku forced some noise out of his throat. “Sorry. No, I’m fine! I was just surprised.”

“Surprised,” Aizawa echoed.

Izuku fidgeted. “Yes – it seemed like you’d come out of nowhere.”

“Hmm. I don’t think I did. What was your plan?”

“W-Which plan?”

“All of it.”

“Oh – well, at the beginning, I thought you’d check the places furthest away from the starting point, so I decided to hide by the gates. Then I thought about the different buildings, and it seemed like an office would be a good option because they have lots of entrances and exits. I climbed up to avoid cameras and realized a meeting room usually doesn’t have any, so I stayed in there… until you showed up,” Izuku said. “The light… I used it to buy myself some time and escape out of a window, and I thought an outdoor space might be better instead. There’s usually a lot of things to hide behind and you can use the environment to your advantage – but then you found me again and I had to run, so maybe I didn’t use it well enough – and now we’re here.”

Aizawa said nothing for a few seconds. Izuku laughed nervously to fill the blank void of uncomfortable silence and carefully pushed himself back to his feet.

“That’s all?” Aizawa asked.

“Y-Yeah, isn’t it?”

“Why did you pick the alley?”

“No reason,” Izuku said sheepishly. “I knew you would be right behind me, so I didn’t think about it at all. I just needed to get away.”

“And yet it was that location in which I couldn’t find you. Why was that?”

“Because… I was fast?”

Aizawa sighed, features shifting into a long-suffering expression as he looked up to the sky as if for divine intervention. Izuku, on the other hand, rocked back on his functioning heel, beginning to feel stupid while not even sure why.

“You had such perfect plans in mind for the first two hiding spots you chose,” Aizawa said, evidently taking pity on him. “But it was the last spot – the one you didn’t plan out – that was the most useful.”

“So… you’re saying that I should be more impulsive,” Izuku clarified. 

Aizawa stared at him. “The conclusions you arrive at are terrifying.”

“Then…?”

“Overthinking is not always a good thing,” Aizawa said, “especially when the enemy knows you. You are correct – most students would consider running far, far away to maximize the amount of time I spend getting there. But I knew you would think it was too obvious a ploy. From the Sports Festival and our training, I can see that you come up with grand schemes and make adjustments when the details go wrong. But what if the entire scheme goes wrong from the start? You end up panicked and stuck.”

Face heating up, Izuku nodded rapidly. He should have known; it was so obvious when laid out in front of him like that. His hiding spots had always had multiple points of entry and exit, good cover, a lack of cameras, and the perfect vantage point. He was obsessed with devising procedures to get out of the worst-case scenario… but the best-case scenario was one in which he never had to use them.

“I get it,” Izuku murmured. “The last spot was the best because you would never have expected me to pick a place with no escape route and minimal cover.”

“Right,” Aizawa said. “I just had to look around until your nerves added up. The most important rule to follow as a tracker – do not worry about where your target is, only where he is going next.”

Izuku sighed. He had even used paranoia against his own classmates before. All those grand schemes were how he had made it this far in the first place. Was it overthinking? He had thought it was just good planning. He thought he had known Aizawa – but Aizawa had known him, too, in a way his previous opponents had not.

“What was the lesson?”

Izuku blinked, having lost himself in a maze of confusing thoughts. “What?”

“What did you learn from the exercise?” Aizawa asked, eyes boring a hole in Izuku’s head.

“Oh…! Besides what we just covered, I learned a lot about tracking! I should have been more careful about ripping through the insect screen. I didn’t know my tools very well… I should have realized they could leave traces behind. I thought about the tracks I might leave on the ground, but not how animals could indicate my position. And the weather – like the wind and the sun – can help or hurt you. I could use my light with the sun to manipulate shadows, but you could use the wind to figure out where I was.”

“Good. What else?”

…What else? What did I miss?

“That… I should gauge how much my enemy knows about me before making a plan next time? And learn to compromise?”

“Yes, but – ” Aizawa cut himself off, knitting his eyebrows together. “Forget it. You’ll figure it out on your own eventually. It’s a lesson all of my students learn before graduating, one way or the other. For now… remember that the tools were a good choice.”

“The tools?”

Aizawa nodded. “Lots of students pick the flashy gadgets but sticking to the basics is always best if you don’t have much experience. You used them well. You need more experience with climbing, but your choices were logical. For the hiding spots, too.”

“Right…” Izuku replied, a bit confused. “Thank you.”

“Let’s head back, then,” Aizawa said, eyelids drooping as he shoved Izuku forward in what he assumed was meant to be a comforting gesture. “We’ll go over the rest of the tools, how they work, and which ones could have helped. Then we may run the exercise again, possibly with the roles reversed.”

“Okay… wait, didn’t you say we were only doing this once?”

“Have you never heard of a logical ruse?”

Izuku sputtered in response.

Aizawa yawned. “Well, we’ll see what we have time for. I have some important…sleep… to catch up on…”

***

“Only you could look so depressed on your way back from fulfilling your dream,” Shinsou said. Izuku startled from where he was leaning against the wall, waiting outside the Teachers’ Lounge. His training had ended with the end of the school day, and he wanted to ask Snipe about what he had missed. Shinsou seemed to be on his way out.

“I’m not depressed! I was just tired. The training today was… good.”

“Good,” Shinsou repeated, disbelieving. “That’s what people say when something was definitely not good.”

Well, it wasn’t very good to fail an exercise, was it? They had, in fact, run it again – this time with Izuku as the tracker – only to find that Izuku had many more lessons to add to the list.

“It could have been better,” Izuku admitted.

I hate failing. It feels like everyone is right about me, about how I’ll never get anywhere like this… but at least I learned a lot. And –

“Maybe tomorrow will be easier.”

Izuku looked up.

Shinsou raised an eyebrow at him. “Can’t be hard every day, right? Just wait until tomorrow.”

“Yeah…”

“But if it’s too hard, I can always talk to Aizawa on your behalf,” Shinsou said, leaning forward earnestly. “It’s a sacrifice – but I’m sure there’s someone willing to take your place and be a better Pro than you.”

“No, thanks. I don’t think there’s anyone who could match up,” Izuku said, huffing out a quiet laugh. He quickly gauged Shinsou’s expression – nothing had changed – and relaxed his shoulders.

“You sure?”

“Yeah – ”

Izuku froze up, his body stuck in place the second he opened his mouth. Not again.

“I’d reconsider,” Shinsou taunted as he walked off, leaving Izuku to wait in the hallway until Shinsou had decided his fun was over.

After a long few seconds, Izuku finally felt the control release and he stretched out his arms and legs, huffing to himself. Did Shinsou have to do that right in front of the Teachers’ Lounge?

It’s a good thing no one came out, Izuku thought as he reached out to knock on the door again. I would have looked really stupid –

The door opened suddenly and Izuku nearly stumbled into someone’s chest. Blinking rapidly, he stepped back to look them in the eye.

“Oh – Yagi-san!” he exclaimed. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting the door to open.”

“It’s quite alright, my boy,” Yagi said, after a brief pause. He looked to the left, not quite meeting Izuku’s eyes. “I’ll get out of your way. You must be here for someone.”

“Just to check on the day’s homework,” Izuku said, shrugging. “What are you doing here? More behind-the-scenes stuff?”

“…In a manner of speaking.”

“I didn’t know there was so much to take care of, even near the end of the semester! You seem to be here pretty often.”

Yagi let out a stilted laugh, fingering his collar. “Yes, most people are not aware of these things.”

Izuku frowned, noting Yagi’s frequent glances to the left. “Are you busy? Sorry, I’ll stop bothering you. Sometimes I talk too much, I should really work on that – ”

“Not at all! It’s always a pleasure to listen to you.”

“But you’ve only listened to me one other time, so it will probably get more annoying if it keeps happening – ”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Yagi said firmly, turning to face Izuku completely. “Thoughts are meant to be shared. Learning from students like you are one of the joys of teaching.”

“Teaching? Do you teach, too?”

Yagi blinked, opening his mouth and closing it a few times. “No – it was just a manner of speech,” he said. “I only meant learning from today’s youth is one of the benefits of working at a school.”

“Oh, right. Well, I can’t say there’s much to learn from me. I still haven’t learned enough myself.”

“What makes you say that?”

“…I was hoping to catch up quickly, but I’m still not there. I think everyone else must be ahead,” Izuku confessed.

“No one can learn everything right away, young Midoriya,” Yagi said. “I assure you – you will do fine. It’s not the end of the road.”

“I know… it’s just hard to deal with.”

“Easier to encourage anyone but ourselves, huh?” Yagi nudged him gently. “Try not to think about what you did wrong, just what you missed this time. Remember – ”

“I can do better tomorrow,” Izuku finished for him, smiling slightly at the ground. “I know.”

“Good,” Yagi said, smiling and moving his hand forward as if to pat Izuku on the shoulder. But at the last second, he hesitated, looking away. Izuku threw a subtle glance around him, seeing nothing but the open corridor.

He probably is busy. He was just being nice and now he wants to make his escape.

“Anyway, it’s getting late,” Izuku said, looking down at his watch. “I should go talk to Snipe-sensei before he gets ready to leave. I’ll see you around some other time!”

“…Right, until next time,” Yagi said, offering a quick smile before scurrying off, his shoulders a little less tense. Izuku smiled.

I shouldn’t have held him up for so long. Still… it’s unusually easy, talking to him.

***

Good thing there wasn’t much homework assigned today, Izuku thought as he opened the doors to exit the building. Maybe I can add a new entry to my journal; I’m almost done filling it up. Were there any hero fights today? Let me check the news…

He reached into his pocket – and paused. It was empty. Frowning, he checked his other pocket – also empty. He removed his backpack from his shoulders and knelt down to search through the books and spare clothes.

His phone was nowhere to be found.

When did I last use it today? Izuku wondered, gracelessly shoving everything back into the bag and standing up. He turned back to the school doors and pushed them open. The classroom? Outside the Teachers’ Lounge? …No, wait.

It had to be when he had met with Aizawa. He’d left all his belongings in that gym during the exercise, since he could bring only the tools he had chosen. In the rush to get out of school on time, he must have forgotten to grab his phone when they’d finished.

Izuku rushed back through the hallways as quickly as he could on his bad leg, heading toward the training room. I’ll just slip in and grab it myself; no need to bother any of the teachers.

Finally, he arrived – peering through the window, he let out a sigh of relief upon seeing his phone on one of the benches. He opened the door and walked over to it.

“And how is he?” a voice asked.

Izuku looked up, confused – only to see Aizawa at the far side of the room, with his back turned to Izuku. He was on the phone.

“Hmm. I had worried about that – Hosu City was too odd a choice for his internship, otherwise.”

Hosu City? Isn’t that where Iida is spending his week? Uraraka said something like that…

“I see. It’s good that he opened up to you. You were right to tell him not to act on a grudge. Heroes – especially hero students – have a hard time seeing that they can’t use their quirks for their own desires, especially for something like this. Are you sure he understood the consequences?”

Acting on a grudge? Iida?

Izuku nearly dropped his phone, feeling realization hit him like a ton of bricks. Of course.

This was why he had picked Hosu City out of all the offers he had been granted for his internship. This was why he was ignoring the messages. This was why he had looked like that, the last time Izuku had seen him. The Hero Killer was still out there, terrorizing heroes patrolling the streets, and his brother could never do the same again – and Iida could not let that go.

“Keep an eye on him. I have to go,” Aizawa said. Izuku startled at the abrupt end of the conversation, looking up to see Aizawa staring at him.

I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, Izuku thought, and he drew in a breath to say so.

“Is Iida-kun trying to get revenge on the Hero Killer himself?” Izuku’s mouth asked instead.

Aizawa blinked, his eyes flickering down to the phone now in Izuku’s hand, then the door. He sighed heavily, as if the weight of the world had just been dropped onto his shoulders. Perhaps it had.

“Grief is difficult to deal with,” Aizawa said, walking closer to where Izuku was standing. “Iida is having a hard time figuring out what to do with all the anger and misery he’s feeling. He’s stuck. Unfortunately, I can’t make him talk about it if he doesn’t want to, nor can I change it myself. It is something that will only be fixed with time and a willingness to push through it.”

“…I don’t think he’s interested in moving on,” Izuku said.

Aizawa shook his head. “Not now, he’s not,” he agreed. “It’s too soon.”

But… if he goes after the Hero Killer, it will be too late.

“Isn’t there something we can do to stop him?” Izuku asked, desperate. “He looked – it looked like he was really going to go through with it, sensei! Can’t you cut his internship short?”

“I didn’t realize you were so close,” Aizawa said, raising an eyebrow. Izuku flushed. “Good that he has friends who can be there for him – I haven’t seen Iida connect with very many people in my class.”

“I – I don’t know,” Izuku mumbled. “We just ate lunch together a few times. But I was worried. He was acting strangely.”

“I see. Well, I wish it were as simple as cutting his internship short, but both him and his family have expressed their wishes that he continue with this program. Manual – Iida’s supervisor – is also on board with the assignment; his agency has been wanting a boost and an affiliation with U.A. goes a long way. It’s difficult to argue against that without solid evidence that the arrangement is detrimental, as it is seen as taking away the opportunity of a student who hasn’t yet done anything wrong.”

“But didn’t you say something about Iida telling Manual how he feels? Doesn’t that count as evidence?”

“Feeling angry or upset at the Hero Killer is not a crime,” Aizawa pointed out. “Iida didn’t mention any specific plans of going after him. Rather, Manual speculated aloud that if he had plans, he should know it was a bad idea.”

“So we just do nothing?” Izuku burst out.

“We do our training,” Aizawa emphasized, narrowing his eyes. “Manual continues to keep an eye on Iida and updates me on his behaviour.”

“But what can he do if Iida just sneaks out? Or tries to get his revenge after work hours? Is he going to follow him around for the whole day, or track him?”

Squatting down and sighing, Aizawa rested an arm on Izuku’s shoulder and shook it lightly. “Midoriya,” he said, very seriously, “listen to me. I will make sure nothing happens to Iida. I’m sorry you had to overhear this conversation and worry so much about your friend, but let us handle it. We’ve been trained to deal with difficult situations like this.”

Loud voices and doubts bounced around in Izuku’s head. But he looked at Aizawa – steady as always – and forced himself to let out a breath. “Okay,” he said quietly.

Aizawa patted him on the back and directed him to the doors. “Go home and rest,” he said. “You have to impress me again tomorrow.”

Managing a half-smile, Izuku nodded and walked off.

***

Shouta watched as Midoriya slipped back out the doors, hearing them clang shut. Finally, he collapsed against the back of the bench, pressing his hands to his throbbing eyes.

Did the kid have to overhear everything? As if he wasn’t already anxious enough.

And for good reason, this time, he thought. Iida is getting dangerously close to the edge.

Manual seemed to be convinced that Iida had taken his impromptu speech to heart, but Shouta wasn’t so sure. If mere words could fix the damage that grief did to people – well, then he might have to start looking into a different career. Unfortunately, the healing process was always messy and ugly.

Shouta looked down at the phone he’d tossed on the ground carelessly, grunting slightly as he stretched to pick it up. Tapping the side, he thought about what Midoriya had said. The boy had insisted Iida was going to try something – and didn’t friends know better the idiotic stunts their other friends would pull? Midoriya, especially, seemed to have a sixth sense for identifying and understanding the deepest parts of people. He had only fuelled Shouta’s worst fears.  

Good, that he didn’t pass the exercise today, Shouta thought wryly. I was beginning to think it was too easy.

Midoriya would have to learn that some things were inevitable. Shouta was no stranger to nerves – he’d spent his entire second year believing he wasn’t cut out to be a hero, after all – but it was always back-and-forth with that kid. He wasn’t so much moving forward in a straight line as meandering around one. Very hard to get him to look at the big picture when he was so intent on fixing the messy strokes of the brush, even if they made the image more interesting. Had he always been that way? The remarks he made were often strange…

Shouta shook his head as if to physically cast those thoughts aside. It was no use wondering – kids were just strange in general. One only needed to look at his class.

Brats, Shouta thought as he unlocked his phone, mind preoccupied with the inklings of a new strategy for dealing with Iida, but I guess they’re all good for each other.