Chapter Text
Kacchan wasn’t very happy about yet another hero knowing the truth. Izuku couldn’t blame him, either. Telling Mr. Aizawa had been bad enough. Now they had to deal with a raging, prejudiced Gran Turino, and for what? Their quest to end with All-Might, of all people, learning the dangers of their world?
As if anticipating this worst-case scenario, Bakugou walked Izuku home with a simple, “Avoid All-Might for now.”
Izuku stopped in front of the door, if only to give him a bewildered look.
Bakugou sighed, going on to elaborate, “This is way above your paygrade. If All-Might realizes we’re demigods, we’ll have to bail. Let’s finish the prophecy and get outta here before Turino decides to arrest you.”
Izuku grimaced. “He wouldn’t go that far, would he?”
“He sounded desperate,” Bakugou pointed out with an equally horrifying grimace. “Fear drives people to do anything.”
But heroes didn’t murder people. They upheld the law and protected the fragile peace in their communities. Then again, a demigod had broken their equally sacred vow to protect mortals by murdering Nana Shimura. All bets were off.
Like Turino, Nana Shimura was a pro hero with zero internet presence. No hero profile, no official stats, not even a passing mention in archived articles. How suspicious. Once again, someone must’ve wiped everything off the Internet.
If anyone could recover Nana’s hero profile, it would be Dad. Problem was, Izuku had asked Dad for enough. Adding another old hero would draw Dad’s attention– and in turn, pull their quest entirely off the tracks.
In a hopeless attempt to change the subject, Izuku forced himself to ask, “So how’s your internship with Best Jeanist going?”
Bakugou immediately launched into a tirade questioning Best Jeanist’s business practices, spandex-blended denim, and shoddy recruitment practices. His complaints were organized and problem-focused like his usual Senate speeches back at Camp Jupiter. He spoke as if he were greeting an audience of hundreds, rather than Izuku in the middle of the empty street.
This felt familiar. Too familiar. Izuku’s heart ached as he recalled the tall marble pillars of the Senate house and how Kacchan occupied the center spot when he took the podium. They truly belonged there, didn’t they? They weren’t supposed to be here, and yet, the quest kept dragging on.
“It’s like finding a screwdriver in Melissa’s excuse of a workshop,” Bakugou grumbled. “One person shouldn’t be this hard to find.”
Izuku nodded as he turned to finally leave for the night. “All I can think is, maybe he doesn’t want to be found.”
“Sorry, Cottontail,” Dad had said once Izuku got home. He leaned over and kissed Izuku’s forehead, murmuring, “The archivists at the station still can’t find the files. They’re saying it’ll take another week or two to locate everything.”
Yet Dad’s hands were shaking, even as he held onto Izuku’s shoulder for support. The files must’ve been stolen under Dad’s nose somehow. Weird. Usually thieves went for electronic tech instead of dusty microfiche.
“No worries,” Izuku said, more to calm down Dad than anything. “Take your time. It’s not like any of this is urgent.”
The following morning, Izuku arrived at Gran Turino’s apartment with a box of assorted mochi and fruit wagashi. Upon opening the door and seeing Izuku in his full hero costume, Gran Turino snatched the box and inspected its contents by picking up the sakura-shaped pieces.
“This is the wagashi from Kogetsuan, isn’t it? You need a reservation to buy these.”
“I think? My mom helped me buy it,” Izuku admitted with a nervous laugh. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I should’ve guessed that you were Gran Turino.”
The old man hummed, popping a piece of wagashi into his mouth. “Mm. It’s not too sweet, either.” Old people loved not-too-sweet desserts, right? That had to be a compliment of the highest order?
Izuku leaned in, curling his hands into fists with eager anticipation– “So you’ll forgive me for trashing the gym?”
Gran Turino huffed, sitting down on a nearby dining chair. “You’re worse than All-Might, you know that? You wrecked twice as much in your first year.”
“Well, he didn’t teach me how to use my quirk,” Izuku protested, without quite realizing he was throwing his poor teacher under the metaphorical bus. “He said my instincts would be enough.”
Turino’s laugh was harsh and loud as he jumped up to grab two tea cups from the cabinets. “No wonder.” So of course Izuku rushed over to help, even as Turino consistently shooed him towards the dining table. “I’ve got it, sonny. If I wanted a divine wrecking ball, I would’ve asked you.”
Izuku could only rub the back of his neck as he sat back down. “Yesterday was an accident,” he protested to deaf ears as he watched Gran Turino pour two cups of green tea.
“Yesterday proved that you know nothing about All-Might, and in turn, All-Might knows nothing about you.” Turino sighed, slamming down a cup of green tea by Izuku’s side.
“I know plenty. He trained in San Francisco a decade ago with his partner David Shield, how many rescue missions he went on upon returning to Japan, his favorite state to call out in battle, how many times he uh, how many members he had at his hero agency like Nighteye…” Izuku protested, counting each nugget of information on his fingers. “Should I go on?”
“You only know what he said on TV,” Gran Turino chose to remind him. “Have you ever sat down and asked him why he went to America in the first place?”
Izuku blinked. “No,” he had to confess. “I didn’t.”
While he had been avoiding All-Might per Kacchan’s advice, he couldn’t say that he had ever thought to ask All-Might about the past. Even Anesan said there had been no point in interviewing All-Might for her dissertation. He had several interviews and memoirs, after all; he seemed like an open book.
Gran Turino blew on his tea before taking a sip. “I’m aware that you weren’t the one who killed Nana. Regardless, you shouldn’t be here.”
“Because I’m a demigod?”
“Because you haven’t told All-Might you’re a demigod,” Turino clarified.
Izuku’s heart sank. “I’m aware I haven’t,” he began, swallowing his fear to meet Turino’s gaze. “I promise I’ll tell him on my own time, and not–”
“He already suspects something,” Turino interrupted, grabbing another piece of wagashi and gulping it down in one bite. “I’d hurry up and tell him before he starts to fear the worst.”
Izuku’s stomach churned with new worry. So he hadn’t been particularly clever in hiding his real power from All-Might, just as he was unable to hide his new quirk from Mom and Dad. Juno, had he fooled anyone since he got here?
“In the meantime,” Gran Turino tapped on the books on the other side of the table. “You’d better brush up on your yōkai. If you’re going to mistake me for a monster, you might as well be accurate about it.”
Izuku raised an eyebrow. “What about training me to fight?” (Or how to file paperwork, or anything remotely useful towards becoming a proper pro?)
Gran Turino snorted, turning his attention towards the box as if it held all the treasures in the universe. “You saw your wreckage, right? I’d say you know plenty.”
The next day, Gran Turino took pity on Izuku’s frazzled brain and gave him the morning off to visit Tensei Ida at Hosu City Hospital. Despite the crowd in the lobby, the hospital was sterile and quiet. The halls even felt almost eerie with the fluorescent lights and the ever-present scent of formaldehyde. Izuku walked behind Iida, careful to let his friend navigate the maze past the hospital courtyard, past the elevators, and up four flights to Tensei’s hospital room.
“Niisan, hello! I brought my friend like I promised,” Iida announced as he slid the door open and set the treats down on the bedside table.
Izuku took a timid step forward as he set his backpack down and bowed in Tensei’s direction. “I’m Izuku Midoriya. It’s nice to meet you, Iida-san.”
A small, startled laugh escaped Tensei’s lips. “Hey, your Japanese is pretty good.”
Izuku gave Iida a befuddled look. “Did I say something wrong?”
“I told him you were American, Midoriya. He promised he’d be patient.”
Izuku could only sigh as he realized that he had been nihongo jouzu’ed once again. See, Japanese people tended to think that foreigners (including, mysteriously, Japanese-Americans) were incapable of mastering their heritage language. Such a phrase was a backhanded compliment and insult, all at once. He was trying his best, okay! He could only jam so much in his head at a time!!
“Thanks, I think,” he murmured as he scratched his cheek, ignoring Iida’s proud expression.
Iida sat at the foot of Tensei’s bed as he relayed stories from his internship with Manual in Hosu City, and how much he was learning from a real pro. Given Iida’s outstanding performance at the sports festival, however, he could’ve matched better than the 222nd pro hero. Way better, actually.
Izuku frowned at the realization.
“Everything okay, Midoriya?” Iida asked, prompting Izuku to give a quick nod.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he forced out, swallowing his nerves. “Just thinking. We haven’t done much besides patrol–” And you know, get banned from the local gym. The usual internship things.
“You are first years,” Tensei said with a soft laugh. “I’m impressed you already have internships! I didn’t get one until my second year.”
Iida puffed out his chest with pride. “So we’re doing good?”
“Really good.” Tensei leaned forward to ruffle his little brother’s hair. Iida’s cheeks grew red at the sudden affection.
“Niisan! Not here!”
“I’m American, remember?” Izuku said with a small laugh as he scratched his cheek. Sometimes, he truly wondered if he was making any progress with speaking, if even natives were starting to forget he was part of the diaspora. “We’re usually more affectionate than this.”
A look of understanding dawned upon the Iida brothers as they exchanged amused glances. Iida’s ears turned as red as the rest of his face as Tensei proceeded to ruffle his younger brother’s hair harder.
Niichan used to do the exact same thing. Izuku half-wondered if Niichan would do the same, the next time they met, or if Niichan would just try to punch him in the face again.
Tensei then leaned forward, murmuring something that Izuku couldn’t quite hear. Iida’s expression grew pale as he stood up and gave a stiff, rigid bow.
“Let’s go. I need to return to my internship,” Iida said a little too loudly as he pushed Izuku through the hospital door. Izuku didn’t have the time to argue.
They sped through the labyrinthine hospital maze with inhuman haste. Only when they were in the hospital courtyard did Iida slam his hand against the (hard, brick) wall in frustration.
“Hey, Midoriya…” Iida murmured, staring at the innocent wall as if it were a threat, “What would you do if you could avenge your brother? If you could fight the man that attacked him?”
Izuku furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”
“While I was patrolling with Manual yesterday, I figured out Stain’s arkindet pattern,” Iida said, turning to face Izuku. His expression grew solemn. “He’s exclusively targeting pro heroes. Every single attack these past few months has been on a hero rising through the ranks, and if my hunch is right… he’ll attack the pros visiting Hosu City tomorrow.”
Izuku’s blood grew cold. “Soooo you’re going to find Stain yourself?”
Manual couldn’t have authorized this surveillance mission. The Normal Hero preferred to patrol the city and help civilians, rather than fight in flashy battles. (Hence his comically-low rank.) Surely Iida wasn’t going to breach protocol and leave his school-sanctioned internship to chase the hero killer–
“Yeah,” Iida confirmed with a hoarse voice, crushing all of Izuku’s hopes.
This was a suicide mission. Only fools would chase after someone so dangerous on their own, much less without proper weapons or armor.
Iida continued, without missing a beat, “You’re coming with me, right?”
Izuku drew in a sharp breath. “Why me?”
“Because you’re the best fighter I know,” Iida said, meeting Izuku’s gaze. “Mr. Aizawa said so himself.”
“What makes you think I can win?” Izuku countered, folding his arms. “I don’t know the first thing about Stain.”
The news didn’t mention much, either; the evening report had only released footage of the brutal, vicious aftermath, where several pro heroes laid in puddles of their own blood. If Izuku had to guess, Stain’s quirk (or powers, if he were divine) stemmed from blood somehow. That didn’t give him much to go on.
“You fought that monster with All-Might and won,” Iida pointed out with sudden conviction. “While I didn’t witness it myself, the entire class kept pockulating about it.”
“What if I don’t want to go?” Izuku decided to ask instead, hoping to convince what remained of Iida’s tendency to listen to authority figures. “Stain’s bad news. We should leave him to the pros and–”
Iida narrowed his eyes. “Then I’ll go by myself.”
“By yourself?” Izuku rushed to block the path between Iida and the door. “Come on, Iida. That’s stupid.”
“So? Someone needs to stop Stain.” Iida wasn’t making any sense. His words were harsh and unforgiving, even by his well-meaning standards. His voice grew angry, “I’m going to Hosu City tomorrow, with or without you. I hope you make the right decision, Midoriya.”
With that, Iida shoved Izuku towards the side as he rushed out the hospital door and towards the station.
Izuku took one look at his friendship bracelets dangling over both arms, then back towards the hospital before rushing back towards the patient wing. Tensei’s room had been… 411, right? Right across from the elevator…?
He forced the door open, only to grab his cell phone and thrust it into Tensei’s hands. “Hey, Iida-san, mind giving me your number? I have a feeling I’ll need it later.”
“Huh? Oh, of course.” Tensei’s baffled expression softened into one of complete understanding as he accepted the phone and punched in his number. “Call me any time.”
The following evening after dinner, Izuku and Bakugou took the train to Hosu City. While Izuku had planned to go alone, Bakugou just had to watch Izuku’s movements like a frantic guard dog and invite himself to this stupid suicide mission.
As they weren’t visiting on official hero business, the boys opted to wear their usual demigod questing clothes: dark-washed jeans, purple Camp Jupiter t-shirts, loose bomber jackets to hide their tattoos, and of course, their favorite steel-toed boots.
“I can’t believe we lied to your parents,” Bakugou hissed as he sat back in his seat and folded his arms. “There’s no way this is related to our quest.”
“It could be, somehow,” Izuku insisted, curling both hands into fists. “You never know when a yōkai might show up and point us back to the demigod–”
The train screeched to a halt as an unstoppable force rippled through the right wall, creating a round hole in the metal. As the air grew cold and windy, an unfamiliar person in a bright costume lay unconscious amongst the rubble– and a foreign creature rose to its feet in victory.
This creature, however, was no Nue. A gigantic red-skinned ogre-like man howled into the air, slamming down a hammer into the ground. When he laughed, fang-like tusks peered from his mouth, and his horns brushed up against the ceiling of the train, shattering electric lights in its wake.
“You were saying?” Bakugou said with a bitter scoff as he leapt to his feet.
“Aw, come on, Kacchan…” Izuku pouted as he cracked his knuckles and rushed to his best friend’s side. “I was joking that time!”
With a soft roll of his eyes, Bakugou wedged himself between the yōkai and the rest of the train. He summoned his favorite wrench and dug it into the monster’s forearm. It howled, recoiling back.
“That’s more like it,” Bakugou said in triumph as he jumped back, creating a ring of fire between him, the monster, and the rest of the train. “Hey! Big oni! Pick on someone your own size!”
Unlike a typical ring of fire, this was small and controlled, flickering with each breath Bakugou took. The monster recoiled each time its toes dipped over the edge, and Izuku? Izuku glanced back at the fearful bystanders on the other side.
It didn’t take a battle precognition to predict how this might end with innocent bystanders. So while Bakugou distracted the yōkai with flashy fireworks, Izuku clapped his hands together and stood at the front of the cabin car.
“Over here, everyone,” Izuku called in his most commanding Japanese. “I’ll make sure you get out safe!”
Hoisting the unconscious hero across his shoulders, Izuku guided each and every remaining passenger to the other train cars, using his sword to prop the door open as he maintained the connection between cars.
Right as he set the unconscious hero down on an empty train seat, a familiar flash of yellow sped past Izuku.
“I only gave you the morning off, sonny,” Gran Turino’s voice called from behind. “Don’t tell me you forgot about your internship.”
Izuku flinched, turning to face his teacher. “I thought we only worked during the day?”
“I figured you’d follow your friend when you asked for the evening off too. Looks like I was right.” Turino stretched his right shoulder as if he were going to jump into the fray. “You demigods were born to fight yōkai, weren’t you?”
Izuku stood straighter with sudden concern. “And if we were?”
Turino’s laugh was rich and genuine. “Then I’ll take a leap of faith and trust you for now. If I can get everyone else here to safety, you can handle the oni on your own. Right?”
“I think so,” Izuku said with false modesty as he rose to help the remaining passengers cross to safety. A monster, frankly, was the least of his concerns tonight.
Once every other passenger had evacuated the burning car, Izuku slammed his sword into the fragile connection between cars, forcing the other train cars to remain behind on the tracks.
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning, bright and early,” he yelled out to Turino as his car sped up ahead.
Turino snorted as he grabbed his phone to call for help. “You’d better, wrecking ball.”
Izuku gave his teacher a solemn nod before he turned on his heels and rushed back into the fray.
“Took you long enough,” Bakugou called out towards Izuku as he unleashed a fury of fire into the creature’s face. It howled, bearing its giant tusks as it blindly waved its hammer in Bakugou’s direction.
“Had to make sure everyone was safe.” Izuku summoned his sword once more, gripping it tightly in his right hand. It felt less comfortable than before; perhaps he was getting rusty. “Hey, can you get that oni outta here?”
Bakugou jumped back, taking one look at Izuku, then at the monster before them. “Actually, fight it yourself.”
Izuku raised an eyebrow as he swapped places with Bakugou. “You sure? The Mist is gone.”
“So are all our witnesses,” Bakugou pointed out with a smug grin.
No sense in hesitating, then. Izuku lunged forward, slicing the monster’s body in half before it even sensed his presence. As the metal hit flesh, the oni’s body dissolved into fiery particles. They dissolved into the debris and rubble, leaving only the cratered floor and dust behind. Only puddles of the oni’s blood betrayed his once-living presence.
Just when they could breathe again, a young man approached from the hole in the wall. His heavy, slow footsteps were familiar, as he walked towards the spot where the monster had once been.
“Holy crap,” Niichan whistled as he fell down to his knees. “All those offerings, and for what? Nothing. Absolutely nothing, if you two just one-shot KO’ed him?”
“You sent that yōkai here?” Izuku managed to ask as he waved his bloodied hands in the vague direction of all that bloodshed. “What the heck, Niichan?”
Niichan sighed, running a plastic hand through his greasy hair. “I didn’t ask him to attack you, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” Bakugou sighed, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “What the hell were you doing here, Tenten?”
“Secret villain reasons–” Niichan flinched upon seeing both Bakugou’s fists of fire and Izuku’s shining sword. He held up his hands in defeat, dropping a couple of plastic hands into the debris and rubble. “Oh, come on you two. Is that any way to greet your older brother?”
Ignoring Bakugou’s protests of, “I don’t have a stupid brother like you,” Izuku slammed his fist right into Niichan’s shoulder socket. Niichan winced, recoiling back,
“Mom still thinks you’re dead,” Izuku reminded him with a flippant, downright irritated tone as he wedged his fist in deeper. “So until you march home and convince her otherwise, you don’t deserve a proper welcome.”
Niichan shoved Izuku aside with a sigh as he then pulled his knees close to his chest. All of Shigaraki Tomura’s false confidence vanished as he summoned the Mist to layer its illusions over the train car. The train morphed into their old childhood playroom before their eyes, complete with the patched-up hole in the wall from Bakugou’s and Izuku’s eternal childhood fights.
“I can’t go back,” he murmured, unable to meet Izuku’s watchful eye. “Trust me, if I could go home right now and tell her, I would, but–”
Izuku knelt down and tapped on his brother’s knee, just like he used to do when they were kids. “Dad’s here too, you know.”
Niichan froze. “What?”
“Yeah, Dad and Anesan flew over here a few weeks ago.” Izuku sighed, pressing his lips together. “The least you could do is show your stupid face and let Mom know you’re okay.”
Niichan swallowed his breath as he reached out to grab Izuku’s hand. He intertwined his fingers in Izuku’s before squeezing his palm tight.
“My prophecy won’t let me,” he finally confessed, closing his eyes.
Bakugou kicked the nearest pile of rubble. “You’re fucking with us.”
“Language, Kitkat. This ain’t America,” Niichan chided, slipping right back into the role he used to play.
“You could’ve told us you got another prophecy,” Bakugou interrupted. “Instead you make Aunt Inko worry for no reason?”
“I couldn’t go home until I finished my quest. Which is still technically ongoing!” Niichan rose to his feet, floating several feet above them in the air as the illusion crumbled into thin air. “How many times do I have to spell it out for you morons?”
Izuku and Bakugou exchanged glances before they simultaneously rushed to pin Niichan down to the one remaining good wall.
“Stop with the excuses already,” Bakugou growled in his ear. “You’re coming home with me, asshole.”
“I’m on the job, you two.” Niichan sighed, regarding them with deep, resigned exasperation. “At least let me finish what I started with the other pros.”
The only other heroes on this train, though, had been that unconscious pro (well, hopefully only unconscious) and Gran Turino. If Niichan had sent that yōkai on the train, surely he was aiming for–
“I wasn’t aiming for you or Kitkat,” Niichan finished, completely misreading Izuku’s mind. “I wouldn’t attack my family.”
Izuku let out a nervous laugh. “Actually, I was thinking you meant Gran Turino.”
Now Niichan was staring at them as if they had grown another hydra head. “How do you know that name?”
“He’s my teacher,” Izuku blurted out, only for Niichan to hiss and let out a loud stream of foul, flagrant curses.
“And you said I needed to watch my language,” Bakugou grumbled.
Now that Izuku thought about it, the nature of the yōkai attack had been weird. Last time, Niichan had cornered All-Might in the relative privacy of USJ. Comparatively, Hosu City was a public arena. The oni hadn't been lured onto the train by the scent of demigods. No, it chased after an unconscious pro. It wanted to hurt an innocent mortal. The very idea felt wrong.
But if Niichan knew Gran Turino when even Izuku didn't... just what had his teacher gotten into? Or better yet: what nonsense had Niichan done to know Gran Turino by name?
With each new creatively foul swear leaving Niichan’s mouth, the train car started to tilt off its shaky foundation. It leaned closer and closer to the precipice, and just when it seemed to drop them towards the hard concrete– Niichan summoned a bright white force field to protect them from the inevitable wreck. He pulled the boys close to his side as the train car careened off the tracks and onto the city street below.
As they floated towards the ground, two of the high-rises near them immediately burst into flame. Bakugou and Izuku turned to stare at Niichan.
“That wasn’t my fault,” Niichan sighed as he wiped his brow. He leaned forward, placing his hands on his knees as he caught his breath, “Actually, why don’t you catch me up on everything that’s happened since you got here and we’ll go put the fire out ourselves?”
Bakugou narrowed his eyes. “Only if you put the Mist up again.”
“Consider it done,” Niichan promised as his gaze fell down to Izuku’s sword resting on Izuku’s right hip.
“And you’re coming home with us after all this,” Izuku reminded him. “You promised.”
Niichan snorted as he slapped his younger brothers on their backs and nudged them towards the growing chaos ahead. “To think, I used to be able to boss you two around. How quickly the tables turn.”