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Chapter Text

Midoriya Izumi acknowledges that she is very lucky.

It… It takes a lot for a mute, quirkless girl to have a chance to become a hero. Especially at the hands of her greatest, most precious hero. Who became her father.

She knows this. It was a freak chance she was able to help All-Might in his time of need, and it was a freak chance that All-Might decided her common decency made her worthy of his time, his encouragement, and his quirk.  

His love.

So when her mother and father look at her, one wide-eyed and teary, the other spluttering blood and furious, she knows something is wrong. That her luck has just run out.

“K-Kastuki was accepted into U.A.,” her mother says, simply, and she starts to sob, “And I don’t know what class he was accepted into, b-but I- I know you will see him…. Mistuki emailed me.”

It takes Izumi moments to move, after that announcement, even if it feels like hours.

Her throat hurts.

Itches.

She isn’t surprised that her hands have drifted to touch at the rough, molted flesh that is hidden beneath her large scarf. To touch the ten points that look like starbursts across her throat. It is only something, flickering in the corner of her eye, that prevents her from clutching at her scared throat, nails out. The shadows , she realizes, and that she may be spiraling. They won't hurt her.

They never do.

She forces herself to breathe.

Five things. I see Mama.  I feel the cotton of my All-Might scarf, I can hear Mama’s sobs. I can smell our lavender detergent in my scarf. I can taste blood in my mouth. 

Izumi looks at her mother, and her father simply slips into their waiting arms.

“Never fear,” whispers her father, gently, “I am here .”

Chapter Text

Izumi sniffs.

Her Father winces.

“I’m sorry, Mi-chan,” he says, soft and he is hunched over her. Even now, in his ‘true’ form, he makes her feel safe.

She sniffs again. A large, thin hand runs through her riot of curly hair.

“We could… We could transfer to another school- It’s not too late-”

Izumi slips out of their embrace, eyes wide. Her dream, since she was four years old, was to go to the same school as All-Might. Her dream since she was eight, was to go to the same school as her father. She shakes her head rapidly. Choppily, her hands go to sign:

‘Please, no. Please, please, please, please. You promised.’

It is only when her father carefully holds onto her fingertips that she realizes she’s shaking.

“We’ll petition to have you switch classes if you’re in the same one.”

She bites her lip.

‘ He might not even remember me, ’ she replies, and she breathes deeply to keep her hand steady, ‘ And- and it’s okay. I can handle it. I won’t be alone. I’m never alone. Please. ’

“I know you can handle it, Izmui,” rumbles her father, soft, gentle, “I know you can handle anything.”

Chapter Text

She doesn’t sleep well in the coming weeks leading up to her first day of high school.

But well, Izumi rarely sleeps well. It’s only because Mama is running interference that her father allows her to go to U.A. unescorted. She knows he is worried. He didn’t know much about Bakagou Kastuki, but he knows enough to be downright furious with his acceptance into the U.A. program. But technically, he hasn’t legally done anything wrong. His parents made sure of it. Now, she knows that her former ‘Aunt’ Mistuki still tried to speak to her mother because of their once-held friendship, often sending her missives and updates of the Bakagou family’s lives, but her mother had steadily ignored her for the last six years. Her mother read them but never responded.

But Bakagous were stubborn.

But so were the Yagi/Midoriya, and its that brings Izumi to leave early for school, a large coffee thermos in hand, and waving goodbye to her encouraging mother and her furiously pacing father. Because he knows she needs to make friends unbiased, unencumbered by his presence looming over her shoulder, and he’s upset. But he needs his rest, more then he needs to baby her. Ever since he had given her the One for All nearly a year ago, her father had grown more easily tired. So it takes her a little time to commute from their house to U.A.

Her classroom, 1-A, is empty, and normal, if with an enormous front door… And a yellow lump beneath the teacher’s desk. It takes her a moment to realize that the lump is a sleeping bag and that the bag is occupied. She recognizes the color hair from the teacher’s biography in the faculty list she had studied furiously. She grabs her tablet and selects a chime that she hopes won’t annoy her homeroom teacher.

He wakes up silently, wordlessly, turning his head. His expression is furious, and his eyes flash red while his black hair rustles for a moment with the use of his quirk.

Telepathic, or purely something mental? she guesses, even as she lifts her tablet.

“ I was technically quirkless until a year ago, so please be nice when I can’t control my quirk. Also, as my paperwork states, I don’t really speak, ” she writes, quickly, across her tablet screen. She pauses. Then writes out, “ I know JSL. But I understand that most don’t know it, so I have been given permission to write out my words when need be. If someone named Bakagou is in this class, please keep him away from me. I ask for patience, sensei. ”

No preamble, no good morning, and Midoriya Izumi sort of wished she would sink into the ground and disappear forever. She feels heat in her cheeks, and she knows from experience that her scarlet blush would clash horrendously with her green curls. But she keeps the tablet level and waits silently as the man beneath the desk reads across the screen.

The man beneath the desk, her new homeroom teacher, wiggles. Once. Twice. The yellow sleeping bag is almost comically like a caterpillar. Izumi feels her shoulders hunch. The man blinks at her. His dark eyes are tired, his bag has bags, and he is very, very pale. Lack of sleep? I don’t recognize him, so he must be an underground hero. Night patrol, which would explain his lack of sleep. Prominent enough to garner a much-coveted position as a U.A. teacher, so he must be skilled. She blinks. She knows his name is Aizawa-Sensei, and that is all she knew from the moment she had scoured the faculty list. His official bio had been two words. Hero-Teacher. And the rest had been a redaction for his privacy and a thorough, if not very illuminating list of his degrees, of which he had four, and his credentials.

Aizawa-sensei wiggles out from under the desk, and in quick movement that she can barely trace it, he is kneeling over her. He really towers over her, even if he is kneeling. He would roughly be around All-Might’s shoulder in his ‘full’ form. He blinks at her again. He looks down at the red shoes on her feet. Looks back to look her in the eye.

“You’re a late trigger,” he says, simply. His voice is raspy and nearly as deep as her father’s.

Izumi nods. Her hands are clutching each of the corners of her tablet and the pen, and she knows for a fact that her cheeks are even redder.

“Well. Good to know. As for the JSL-”

‘ Hello, ’ he signs, hands even, even if they are a little choppy, ‘ My name is Aizawa… Grumpy Cat. ’

She feels her lips quirk at his signed name, which he tacks on at the end of his fingerspelled surname. She tilts her head.

‘ May I ask who gave you the name? ’

Aizwa-sensei sighs. But he talks as he signs.

“Present-Mic. Also, Midnight, Present-Mic, Nezu-sensei, and Chiyo-sensei also know JSL. You shouldn’t find difficulty communicating with most of your teachers. If you prefer to write out your words, feel free.”

She nods quickly and signs a quick, formal thank you.

He stares down at her, blinking.

“Midoriya Izumi,” he says, and he frowns, “You shattered your leg on exam day.”

Izumi feels her face heat up again. She nods.

“Did you panic when the girl got trapped?”

Izumi nods again.

“We can work on that, problem child. As for this Bakagou kid, I’ve gotten seven separate emails and five calls from your father.”

Izumi drops her head.

“I’ll keep him away from you. If it becomes an issue, we will transfer him to Class B. Now… Where did you get that coffee?”

She blinks.

‘ Home’, she signs.

Aizawa-sensei sighs.

“Figures. Welp. We’re going to the teacher's lounge. Come along, problem child.”

She giggles silently as he goes. Because he doesn’t come out from his sleeping bag, the entire way.

Chapter Text

Izumi tops off her coffee, with the permission of Aizawa-sensei, who asked her politely and in a tired drawl to place his mug, a cat one, on his head, after she mixed in three spoonfuls of sugar, and chocolate sauce on top of it, and made the cup half cream. Despite herself, Izumi giggled at the request. But she did her best to balance it very carefully on the top of his head. Aizwa-sensei wiggles and shuffles his way, his coffee mug, huge, perched precisely on his head.

Not a single drop is spilled. She is impressed.

She is even more impressed by the fact that every teacher and student is giving Aizawa-sensei an enormous distance as they walk through school. Some stares, which has her cheeks flushed in a near-permanent state, but that was nearly expected at this point. The classroom, when she got back, was still empty.

“Your seat is by the window, at the front,” says Aizawa-sensei, a hand snaking out to get his coffee, “The Bakugou boy will be in the opposite corner. You good with that?”

He sat at his desk, still in the sleeping bag. Izumi went to her desk. She looked at her teacher and gave a firm nod.

“Now text your father to stop harassing me.”

Izumi groaned silently and let her head drop into her hands.

Chapter Text

The first to enter the classroom, after her, is the glasses-wearing loud boy from the exams. He had given her a stern scolding after she had given out a recorded ‘whoo’ from her tablet, annoyed at her interruption, even when Present Mic had called for it. She squeaks, slightly, as he frog-marches towards her, his indoor loafers making a firm stomp as he approached. She lifts her tablet, automatically, waiting for whatever-

The boy bows.

“Good morning!” he says, very formally, “My name is Ida Tenya. I am very pleased to meet you. We were in the same testing group.”

She blinks.

Aizawa-sensei is gone, she realizes with a blink. Under the desk? She blinks again. Carefully, she writes out an answer, and she realizes the boy, Ida-san, is completely patient as she writes it out.

The boy smiles.

He signs a greeting to her, polite, but rather choppy. She realizes for all his strictness, he's kinder than she guessed.

She signs, 'I can hear just fine, Ida-san.'

The boy furrows his brow, and signs back, 'It's good practice.'

She smiles. The boy's smile grows.

Izumi wonders if she's made a friend when he takes a seat next to her.

Chapter Text

The pretty girl she had saved during the exam- she beams when she spots her, next in her window seat. Waves enthusiastically.

“Hi!” she chirps, and her brown eyes gleam, her round cheeks flush prettily in a way that Izumi envies, it is such a pale and nice color to her own usual tomato red, “You made it, I’m so happy!”

Izumi greeted a hello with her tablet, smiling back.

“You were so cool!” gushed the girl, “You swooped in, and caught me in your arms, kicked away the 0-pointer with a BANG- And when you flew -”  

Indigo sparks, power flowing through her-

"Smile,' Mi-chan.

She felt her face- tomato red. She ducked it automatically. The girl beamed.

"I'm Uraraka Ochako. Call me Ochako-chan!"

She wrote out, 'I'm Midoriya Izumi.'

Ochako beamed.

"Can I call you Izumi-chan?"

She nods, blushing. Ochako pumped her fists.

Izumi wondered if she made yet another friend.

Chapter Text

That's a burn scar, Izumi thinks.

It startles her. To see something on her own body on someone else. The boy's scar is over his eye. Molted, bubbled skin. Shinny underneath the red of half his hair. Larger than her own.  She wonders what caused it. It's different than her own scars. Whilst her's are scattered, paler skin against a soft pink, his is completely darker pink, streaming down his face.

Liquid, maybe? She thinks, and she is immediately ashamed of the thought. When people look at her throat, do they think the same?  

The boy realizes she's staring.

And she turns red. Mortification and shame creep into her.

'Sorry,' She mouths. It's barely enough to convey what she actually feels about her thoughtless staring.

He's scowling at her, eyes tight. She lowers her scarf. Just a few inches. His eyes go wide. She smiles, apologetically. She brings the scarf up. It's not an excuse for her behavior. It's a reason. It is strange to see something she knows so well on herself on someone else. It's a selfish thing of her, to stare at it, and she is sorry. But she hopes the boy sees it and realizes that she hadn't looked at him in disgust, pity or morbid curiosity. Those stares had made her feel the smallest, back when she had first healed from the attack.

The boy's scowl eases. His eyes, two different colors, one a dark blue and another a grey, widened at the sight of her own scars. Even if she's quick to hide them. They hold eyes for a second, and something passes between them, unsaid.

The boy claims the seat behind her.

He doesn't introduce himself. Izumi is okay with that. She smiles brightly at Ida and Ochako-chan.

Tension in the boy's shoulder drops.

Chapter Text

It’s the scent of sweetness that hits her first. Caramel .

An achingly familiar scent. Sometimes she is hit with that scent, and it makes her shake. She still can’t eat anything with caramel in it without throwing up.

This is not one of those times.

Izumi is frozen and stiff. Next to her, Ida-san and Ochako-chan alike swivel when the doors to the classroom slam open. She breathes.

Looks.

She is hit with such a heavy feeling of familiarity that she nearly sobs. Her hands curl into fists. He looks so much like his mother. His hair is the same, his face the same even if it's thinner. His eyes are narrowed in the same expression he wore so much.

Annoyed .

Once she had done everything to make that expression go away. Izumi blinks as he surveys the classroom. His red eyes look at her- Ida-san goes up, scolding, about the respect of the classroom space and the artisans who made the door- He looks away.

She wretches her head forward.

Like she knew it would happen- Bakugou Kastuki doesn’t recognize her.

Izumi breathes easier. And she realizes that Aizawa-sensei is looking at her. His dark eyes focused on her, peaking around his desk.

She blinks quickly. She signs, ‘Okay’.

Dark eyes close.

Izumi breathes.

Chapter Text

"That's not your seat, Bakugou," drawls out Aizawa Sensei.

Bakugou scowls, one that has Izumi clawing at the edges of her tablet. She shifted in her seat the second he entered. Her torso is facing his way. As she is. Her back is not to him. It never will be again. She sees the boy, the one with the burn scar, tense. His eyes are locked on her. She tries to smile. It comes out more like a baring of her teeth.

"Eh," the deepness of his voice shocks her, "Where the hell do I sit then?"

Kachan’s voice is so- she blinks quickly. Bile rises in her throat. He's Bakugou,  she reminds herself.

He isn't her friend.

He isn't her anything.

Nails break the skin. A shadow creeps across her hands. She wants to hide. She wants to run. Indigo and blue sparks. Teal. Green. Yellow. Her breath hitches-

"Breathe, problem child," a soothing voice. Izumi looks up to see Aizawa-sensei in her space. Looming.

Bakugou is no longer in her line of sight.

His hair is up. His eyes are a different color- Her sparks die.

Eraserhead, the erasure hero. Combative underground hero fights near quirkless. One of my favorites after Dad. Notoriously private and secretive.

Her heart beats in her chest. She knows her face is slowly gaining the color it lost.

Izumi breathes.

She signs, ' Thank you.'

Hair drops.

"Listen up," he barks, "Find your seats. Bakugou, far corner."

He drops a candy on her desk. It has a cat on the wrapper. She feels her shoulders ease slightly. She hiccups a sound that is almost a laugh. Her hand curls around the candy.

"Now, get ready. We have assessments."

The flavor of the candy is lychee.

Chapter Text

There's a depressing amount of girls in the class, but Izumi at least hopes it'll make getting undressed in front of them less stressful.

Like she expects, as soon as she unwraps her scarf-

Someone lets out a startled gasp. Izumi ignores it, and keeps changing.

The blue of the PE uniform is a startling sight on her. She can admit. She never thought she would make it this far. Not as a quirkless four-year-old. Not even as an eight-year-old who just wanted to do the right thing.

"Do you require a hair tie?"

A pretty girl, much taller than her, is holding out a container full of hair ties. She isn’t looking at her neck. Only her face. Izumi holds out her own limited edition 'All Might' scrunchie. She shakes her head. The girl smiles, gently, cheeks flushing slightly.

“Oh, well,” she spoke politely, and formerly, “I am Yaoyorozu Momo. Pleased to meet you.”

"That's so cute!" A girl with pink skin crows, "Do you need any help with your hair? Mine used to be just as long! My curls were killer too."

Izumi smiles. She shakes her head. Quickly, and efficiently, she pulls her waist-length hair back into a tight braid.

"Oh wow, I just gave up on my curls," the girl fluffs her hair, "So I cut it off! I'm Asiduo Mina, by the way."

Ochako-chan chimes in for her. She was gripping her arm gently.

"I'm Uraraka Ochako, she's Midoriya Izumi!"

Izumi blushes. Waves gently. Both girls wave back.

"You're built!" Says Asidou-San, with a cheer, "Like I didn't see it because of how tiny you are, but Izumi-chan you are thick. Thick thighs save lives ~"

Izumi blushes even harder and giggles at the cheerful way she says it. She was muscular, lean, and well-built, she knew. Her legs, her strongest body part, were especially so. She was proud of what she looked like since it was the work she had put into supporting her father’s quirk. 

"Impressive.”

She smiled wide at the praise.

"Izumi-chan saved me on exam day!"

Izumi shakes her head.

"But you did. I fell and got pinned- And Izumi zoomed in, all pretty lights, and scooped me up in her arms, and when it looked like the 0-pointer was gonna catch up to us- she," Ochako-chan kicks high, uncaring of her underwear, "Pulled a total Mierko move. It was so cool! "

All the girls crowded. They were smiling. Warm. Izumi timidly smiles. 

"Cool!"

Chapter Text

The girl is wearing her scarf again when she comes out dressed in the school gym uniform. It's All-Might brand, the expensive armored type. Her hair tie is also All-Might brand.

She must be a fan , thought Shoto, wealthy.

He can't help but think of the marks on her neck. Burn scars. They're tiny. Little mottled and worried things across her thin neck,  stark pink against the cream of her freckled skin. He can only assume it's fingertips. Because there are ten of them.

Someone with a fire-adjacent quirk put their hands on her.

The entire time she had been present- Shoto noticed she didn't talk. 

Not a single word. Only signed, or wrote out text to those who didn’t understand. Something is deep and glacial inside him at the realization. Her reaction to the Bakugou boy.

Shoto has seen it before. 

All of his siblings do something similar with Endeavor. Does she know him? Had he caused her scars?  He never expected a peer to be... Similar to him.

Todoroki arrogance, he thinks, and disgust twists in his stomach at the thought.

He also never expected the possibility to a peer in his class being anything like his father. That too, twists disgust in him. 

"Problem child," drawls their teacher, "You got the highest score on the public entrance exam. Get up here."

Shoto can admit that throws him for a loop. He blinks. The girl. The girl blushes a red so deep it matches his hair. He stills as the Bakugou boy snaps his head toward her. The tension ran up his spine. The fists he makes. The way that the girl is trying desperately not to look at the boy but her entire body seems to be attuned to him. Anticipating and ready for a blow.

Shoto has seen it all before. 

She makes a sign with her hands. Quick and graceful. There is a glimmer of something in their Teacher's eyes. He hands her a softball.

"Throw it."

Physical assessments then.  He is surprised by the mundanity of it, too. He estimates perhaps its an assessment of what level they are, for the school to better tailor their education as Heros. The girl tilts her head. All the blush fades from her face. Something else takes her face- determination. She takes a deep breath and winds up. 

She throws. A graceful arc.

She hums. Gives a determined little nod.

"Not bad. 70 meters."

A whoop from the girls. Bakagou is frowning, his red eyes narrowing. I'll keep my eye on him. The instructor tosses another ball to the girl.

"Do it again. With your quirk."

The girl blinks.

Turns to him. Moves her hand rapidly, around the ball. Their teacher follows it all with patient eyes.

"I got you," he taps at the corner of his eyes.

She frowns.

"Just fucking throw it, greenie!" Snarls Bakugou.

She freezes. The girl shakes. Once. Twice. But she squares her shoulders. Taps the corner of her eyes.

The instructor nods, face serious.

The girl breathes.

She smiles. It's trembling and her eyes are watery.

Sparks fly. Green. And then indigo- Shoto watches with sharp interest as the girl's red sneakers lift off the ground. She floats. Blue sparks. Yellow. And power lights her up from within. It's an interesting quirk. Some sort of energy quirk? Light? Shoto isn’t sure. Black, outlined teal whips exit her and cradles the ball. Her watery smile turns true. Something fierce shifts in her struggling smile, turning near feral in its intensity.

"Hold," says the instructor, "Don't push it. You break a limb again, we are going to have words ."

"YOU GOT THIS IZUMI-CHAN!" The round face girl that had loitered at the girl's desk calls.

The girl begins her wind up, and let's fly. It's a beautiful throw. It breaks through the clouds. The girl, Izumi-san, floats, lighting sparkling around her. She's beaming.

" Deku! ?"

Izumi-san's smile dies .

Chapter Text

Izumi… Izumi has to turn. Bakugou is staring at her with wide, wide eyes. His fingertips- they're sparking. Explosions across the pads of his palms.

She remembers when she was five the first time his quirk triggered. The way that Bakugou had jumped at the light and thrust his hands far away from himself, and how he had blinked and gaped at the power at his literal fingertips.  She remembers her awe at Kachan's amazing quirk, and how very much she wanted her own to be just as great. The admiration she had held for that little boy with the scarlet eyes and the loud, boisterous voice had been a very innocent, sweet love that she is still unsure she has stopped feeling. She knew when she saw him again when she had first thought Kachan, that emotion in her hasn't died. That her hope is to stand next to him.

It's a difficult thing, she knows, to let go of hope. It is her greatest strength- her father's words. It is her greats vulnerability, her mother's.

But she did not let it go. Even when he... When he tried to snatch it out of her hands himself.

Because Izumi remembers at eight how it was to see those explosions millimeters from her eyes. The white spots that had appeared in her vision, the smoky grit in her eyes. The way the sounds had made her ears ring. The force of it had knocked her off of her feet. She doesn't remember when Bakugou had climbed atop of her, exploding fingertips out. She remembers the pain, however. She remembers his yells.

They sound just like now.

Something in her narrows.

Adrenaline floods. Her hands tremble. Her chest starts to heave.

"YOU HAVE A QUIRK?!"

Of course, he focuses on that.

He's moving.

Something in Izumi does as well.

Shadows grow, and flood around her like rolling clouds, dark and thick. Purple and heavy. Purple sparks.

Aizawa-sensei gasps.

En-ni-kun , Izumi thinks, and her breath shudders. 

En does not speak. He rarely does. When he does, it is pointed, important things. He gives her his quirk as he always does, silently, often, and without any give or take. Only tells her of control or how to wield it well when she cannot handle it. She can handle it. She directs the shadows as En-ni-kun taught her.

Bakugou keeps coming. 

Bakugou's quirk is explosion. Flashes across the Shadowscreen purple in violent red hues.

Something fragile in her is pulled taut. Something in her moves more.  

A chorus of eight voices rings in her ears.

' We are here.'

Izumi is never alone. Never again. That is the ultimate gift her father has granted her. Bakagou barely makes it three feet. Swearing. Screaming in En-ni-kun's Smokescreen. Slowly, something else rises. Anger. Teal-touched whips of black light catch Bakugou as he gives a mad right swing. 

Daigoro-ni-kun , she thinks, as ‘Blackwhip’ grips at Bakugou.

‘ Heck, Mi-chan, I ain’t gonna let this little shit touch you," his voice snarled. He is angry.

The strands grow.

Anger claws at her heart. Spikes like thorns throughout her. Rips and tears. 

Fury is so much easier to express than her fear.

She breathes a silent snarl as the boy is held back. The black-teal tendrils hold him back. He snarls back like he always did. Struggles, but the energy quirk holds them back. She breathes. Something settles. She wants to cry. Is crying? Her chest settles from its heaving movement. 

Violet shadow.

Thank you En-ni-kun.

She feels his warmth, even as he doesn't say a word. She parts the smoke as Bakugou screams.

Daigoro-ni-kun, thank you.

'All fucking yours, keep him down Mi-chan.'

She takes over from Daigoro-ni-kun, twisting the black whip tendril as she restrains Bakugou as she was taught in a takedown, grips his wrists, and wrenches his hands together and near his face to prevent his quirk from going off without damage to him, slams his legs together.

He snarls a wordless, guttural scream as he falls, nearly flat on his face. She twists him last moment to land on his safely on his side.

" DEKU !"

The name means nothing. The boy- the boy isn't anything to her. He is not Kachan. He is gone. He has been gone since Bakugou scared her throat. She keeps him in place for her safety. She looks to her instructor. With one hand, she signs,

'Now what?'

Aizawa-sensei swallows, and then his eyes are red and his hair is afloat.

"Did you just attempt an assault on a fellow student?" He asks in a deadly quiet voice, "Midoriya let him go. I got him."

Izumi breathes. She slowly lets him go. She breathes as no sparks issue from Bakugou’s hands. Bakugou is let go. He is caught in Aizawa-sensei's capture scarf. She steps back, floating. Automatically. Lowering her center of gravity. Her legs were wider, lifting her fists. Get ready to move, Gran Torino had preached. Sir Nighteye always told her to assess the situation. 

‘ I have you, Mi-chan,’ Nana-sensei calls in her head.

Izumi floats higher. Izumi waits. Blackwhip tendrils alive across her back.

"Fucking let me go, Hobo-"

"I am your instructor. I let you go the second you stop throwing a fit like a toddler. I repeat my question. Did you just attempt an assault on a fellow student? "

Bakugou glares.

"She's the one who used her fucking quirk on me!"

Izumi huffs. Her hands curl into fists. Blackwhip writhes. Bakugou throws an angry glare her way.

Something curls in her stomach. She lifts her chin. Bakugous are stubborn.

But so is she.

She keeps her head high. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away as she once had.

She has faced worse monsters than him.

Chapter Text

Shoto thinks of the sparks that had lit Bakugou's hands. 

His hands.

It was him. He hurt Izumi-san.

Some part of him had doubted. Or maybe some parted him had hoped he had been wrong. He wonders how old the boy had been when he tried to wring Midoriya-san's neck. How old was she? The scars are old ones, just like his own scar. He… He doesn’t know how to feel that a peer could put their hands on another peer, scar, a peer, like this.

But it is not always those who are older who have power over others.

His hands are shaking so hard. In fists. He feels his dull nails bite into the callouses of his hands. He feels the beading of blood gathering in his hands.

"Bakugou this is how it's going to go. You take one more crack. Interrupt my class one more time, you're expelled ."

Bakugou furiously glares. But he stills.

"I've had explicit requests by Midoriya's parents to keep you two apart. If you don't comply, at the worst expulsion or removal to class B is the least in your future. Understand?"

"Yeah," he snarls, all blustering. 

Shoto finds him tiresome already.

“Yeah, what?”

“ Yeah, sir. ”

The instructor drops him. The boy bares his teeth.

“Quirk assessment test,” Sensei barks, “Lowest score is expelled. Midoriya, you will get deducted points every time you hurt yourself. Considering the conditions of your quirk.”

The girl nods, firm, and slowly the tendrils around her back retreat. She takes a single deep breath, and the sparks around her die. The last to leave is the indigo and the green ones- she lands delicately on her red sneakers.

Bakugou’s eyes stay on her.

Shoto… Shoto makes it a priority to slide between that gaze and the tiny green-haired girl. She looks at him, blinking quickly. Her pupils are wide. Adrenaline.  He takes a breath just before he does. Unfurls his hands. He will not loom over the girl with his hands in fists. He breathes deeply through his nose. He can't show his anger.

She will think I am like them.

“Well done,” he mummers, quietly, "Your throw was impressive."

What he found more impressive was her stance against the one who hurt her.

But she doesn't need praise for that.

She blushes. Her surprise hits him. The boy called her quirkless. She must have triggered it late . He's heard of people like that. But her smile is bright when she looks at him. She signs something. Shoto doesn’t understand.

“She’s telling you, ‘thank you’!” claims the boy in glasses, who is smiling at Midorya.

His face is tense. He too, did not like the display put on by her abuser.

She smiles at him. Repeats the gesture. The boy responds with a gesture of his own.

Shoto quietly resolves to learn sign language himself. 

He would understand Midoriya Izumi. More so than their painful similarities. 

Chapter Text

“I’m… Todoroki Shoto,” mummers the boy with the scar, quietly. He looks at her, his duo-colored eyes firmly looking into her's, “Please call me Shoto.”

She quickly gets her tablet from Ochako-chan and writes out her introduction. The girl's brow is furrowed, and her usual face shifts into a frown. Izumi manages a smile, holding the girl's hands in a quick squeeze of thanks. Her own hands are shaking. Rage. Sadness. Both. I don't know what I feel more. She feels like she's landed in a space with little air, too bright space. Shoto-san's voice- she can admit it. The calm, startingly deep voice settles something in her. If she could talk, she would be babbling. But his voice would have made her pause. And now, she realized with startling clarity that both he and Ida were blocking her line of sight, tall boys that made Bakugou disappear. It... It made her beating heart start to slow. They had just seen a fraction of what she could do. But they weren't smothering her. They were talking to her.

She breathed. She breathed. 

‘Nice to meet you, Shoto-san.’

“Nice to meet you, Midoriya-san.”

‘... Please call me Izumi.’

“Izumi-san, then.”

Izumi smiles. Is she making another friend? Both Ida-san and Ochako-chan have been incredibly kind and eager. Enthusiastically making up for her natural shyness… It’s been… Some time for her. She’s been isolated since her mama remarried, she was switched to being homeschooled and trained exclusively.

It’s nice.

Really nice.

“Who do you think will make first place in the assessment?” murmured Shoto-san.

She hummed.

Wrote out, ‘Hard to tell. I am not sure of everyone’s abilities.’

“Did you not score highest in the exams?”

‘The entrance exam’s physical aspect was very straightforward combat and bonus rescue,’ she returned, shaking her head, ‘It’s easy to say that as someone with an energy quirk, and combat training, I would do very well. But this is more tactical. Practical application of quirks would be much harder to tell.’

He stared at her. She blushed. Her heart was no longer racing at all.

‘Sorry- I ramble,’ she wrote, ducking her head.

Shoto-san tilted his head.

“No… That was informative. Well, reasoned.”

She blinked. And beamed.

“But I believe I will score the highest.”

She blinked again. The boy looked thoughtfully across their classmates.

“If it comes to tactical skills.”

And she is surprised by his small smile. It softens the hard, quiet face of his. She realizes his smile is startling sweet, for all that it's small.

She smiles back.

Chapter Text

No one is expelled.

She gets third place in class ranking, right below Shoto-san and the kind girl who had offered her a hair tie. Her use of metabolic quirk had been… Fascinating. Well thought out. To be able to create anything!

She vibrates in her spot, questions running through her mind… The girl is an alchemist! Equivalent exchange, she thinks, gleefully of the ancient anime her father loved. She looks at Shoto-san. He is frowning, looking thoughtfully at the girl. Yaoyorozu-san. She deserves first place.

“I made a tactical error,” he mummers.

She is braver than she thinks. She nudges him slightly with her hip. He jumps, slightly in place. She’s smiling, and lifts her tablet to show him what she wrote;

‘You underestimated people. Your use of your quirk was excellent. You do need to work on your temperature management, but other than that, you performed nearly top of all of our ’

“...What do you mean, temperature management?”

She fidgets.

‘Your quirk is ice, yes? So your body is somewhat used to the cold, but if you push yourself, the cold starts affecting your body’s internal temperature. It fatigues you and puts you at risk for frostbite. You need to find a way to better regulate your temperature to combat this. I suggest asking for warmers in your hero costume. There’s still time to adjust your input design.’

He frowned at her.

“It isn’t.”

She blinked.

“It isn’t cold. Or ice… It’s… Technical classification is Icy-Hot.”

She blinked again. Looks at the burn on the boy’s face.

‘I’m sorry,’ she writes out, furiously, ‘I’ve touched on a sensitive subject.’

She bows. His hands, larger than she would ever think, one super cold and the other almost hot to the touch, catch her shoulders.

“Don’t.”

She points to her scars underneath her scarf, and writes out, quickly, ‘I wouldn’t want people to talk about it either. I really am sorry, Shoto-san.’

“It… It is fine. Thank you for the suggestion, Izumi-san. May I give you feedback?”

She nods.

"You hold back. Your control is poor as a result. You are too focused on what could go wrong."

She blinks.

"Sensei says you hurt yourself?"

She bites her lip. 

'I can break bones very easily.'

Duo-colored eyes go wide.

"So it is the fear of pain that holds you back?"

Izumi snorts. Shakes her head.

'The discharge could also hurt people. I worry over that more , ' she underlines for emphasis.

Shoto-san is thoughtful.

"I noticed you took notes during the assessment you did not participate in. What were they?"

She breathes. Shyly, she opens up her notes.

'For Future Hero Analysis, U.A., Vol. I' proclaims the file.

Shoto stares. 

"You are dedicated. May I read this?"

She nods. She is surprised when he pulls out his cell phone.

"Will you send it?"

She sends it over, clicking carefully on 'Todoroki' in her options. 

He gives her a small nod. She returns it.

"Thank you."

Izumi blushes.

Chapter Text

School is ridiculously normal. They are filled in their classes, and required readings- They don't attend the opening ceremony, thanks to the quirk assessment test, and Izumi doesn't mind. She looks over the orientation material with seriousness. 

A chime on her tablet. She sighs. Her father again.

"Problem Child," a voice from under the desk. It is tired and drawling.

Izumi feels her lips twitch. Homeroom is nearly over. They are on break. Hence why she has the sound on.

"...Is that your father again ?" 

She signs yes. Aizawa-sensei groans. 

"I am going to have a one and one with your parents."

Izumi slumps in her seat. 

Aizawa-sensei crawls in his sleeping bag. His hands wiggle out.

'Is he always like this with you?' He signs. In his agitation, his hands had turned choppy. Clumsily. 

Her eyes slide to Ida. He and Koda-san are the only ones in the classroom who understands her signs.

"Ida and Koda, face the wall."

"Yes, Aizawa-sensei!"

She sighs. I suppose this is… this was bound to happen.

'We met in dangerous circumstances. He worries.'

'Oh?'

She bites her lip.

'Father is a former side-kick,' She lies, naturally, 'I was with him when he… When he received his career-ending injury. Add to the fact my quirk status-'

"So you get a helicopter parent that's going to drive me to homicide," he drawls, out loud.

Izumi drops her head on the desk.

'Yes?' She signs it with a hesitant air.

"Parent-teacher conference it is."

'He has a busy schedule,' She signs, 'He's a hero consultant.'

"I don't know a Midoriya consultant."

She lifts her head. Shakes it.

'His family name is Yagi.'

He stills. Does he know? Not many people in hero community have the clearance-

'Are you telling me your father is All-Might's former secretary?!' His signs are quick.

She grins sheepishly.  Nods at her father's civilian disguise. He doesn't have clearance then.

"... Problem Child, will a certain Hero ever… visit?" Aizawa-sensei sounds horrified.

Izumi is too. She shakes her head rapidly. She prays no, her father will never make an appearance as All-Might. 

"... I'll schedule a meeting with your parents tomorrow," he hisses. Then he switches to sign, 'Are you seeing a quirk counselor?'

Izumi's cheek burn. She nods, hesitantly.

'Name?'

She bites her lip. Well…

' Ser Nighteye.'

That causes Aizawa-sensei to drop his head on his desk and bang against it for a moment.

" Why?!"

She shrugs.

'Father and Mother trust him.'

'None of this was in your paperwork!'

She frowns. Did Dad do this? He's private, yes, but I had thought that it was only my 'late trigger' status that had been kept out of the paperwork because of One for All. 

Aizawa-sensei sighs.

"Stay after school, and I will be asking you for all contact and relative information. As apparently, your files are out of date."

She nods, quickly.

She ignores the crimson eyes glaring at her from across the room.

Chapter Text

“Deku,” its Bakugou, his voice a growl.

She ignores it. Keeps walking, head high. She just has to reach the gates. Just reach the gates and to the cafe across the street-

“De- Oh for fucks sake- Izumi. ”

She stops.

She can’t remember the last time Bakugou said her real name. He had called her the nickname Mimi, very quickly when they were children. And then had shifted to ‘Deku’ after her quirkless diagnosis.

She is very sad.

Suddenly, she remembers Kachan the boy before the quirks. The way they would do everything together. She is very very sad for the little Mimi he had hurt so long ago. And all that followed. She breathes quickly through her nose. She turns.

He’s glaring.

But, well, its Bakugou. She is not surprised by his hostility.

“It’s been nearly six fucking years and you won’t even fucking look at me.”

She feels her sadness go away. She blinks very evenly, frowning at him.

‘What do you want, Bakugou-san?’ she writes it out, deliberately slow.

“Why the fuck aren’t you talking? You used to never shut the fuck up.”

She stares at him.

And stares.

He doesn’t even remember. I thought he wouldn’t recognize me. I didn’t think he forget what he did.

Her jaw drops. Then snaps back up, and she grinds her teeth. She burst into tears. She’s always been a crier. He rolls his eyes.

He rolls his eyes at her tears.

“Seriously, what the fuck you cry baby-”

She grabs the edge of her scarf. Stares him straight in the eye.

Tugs it free.

Her scared throat makes him stop talking. His red eyes go wide.

She isn’t surprised when sparks explode across his hands. Or when she flinches back so viciously her sneakers skid on the cobblestones. She lowers herself to the ground, legs out, center of gravity firm in a fighting stance.

That seems to startle him.

His mouth drops further as he stares at her, chest heaving.

“Mimi-” he barks, hands out.

One for All activates, lightning flies. All colors. Her chest is heaving hard. His mouth parts even more. She lifts her hand in a gesture for him to ‘ stop ’.

‘No,’ she mouths.

Tears drip down her eyes.

He stares at her with stunned disbelief. She jerks her head up, easing out of her stance when he seems to freeze. 

‘Leave me alone, Bakugou,’ she writes out, on the tablet, hands shaking with rage, ‘I want you to treat me like a stranger. As far as I’m concerned, I don’t know you. I don’t want to. We may be classmates, but we aren’t anything else.’

She turns away.

Chapter Text

Her hands are still shaking when she crosses the gates, clutching her scarf and tablet in her hands. Her chest is heaving.

For the first time in a long time, Izumi wants to scream.

Wants to scream loud and desperate-

She huffs.

Barely a noise. She won't scream. She won't. 

She has to hold her words.

Something in her wrenched, something in her felt helpless all over again. She remembers- She remembers how much she had spoken. How many words slip past my lips, sometimes tripping over themselves as I spoke.  She knew she was… She was trying so hard- to keep it all together. She tosses, angrily, both her tablet and her All-Might scarf. Let everyone see what he did to me. They skid, satisfying her for a second. The noise she couldn’t make with her own throat- made in a different way, sharp and clattering. She’s crying so hard. Sobs. Silent. Body convulsing. 

Then she sees her father’s colors on the ground through the haze of tears and she feels stupid and small for doing it. 

She breathes sharply through her nose. And blinks as someone else picks up her tablet and scarf alike.

“These yours?” the person’s voice is raspy.

When she turns, she is suddenly aware of the fact that her scars are exposed. Even if she wanted it, she swallows. She wears her scarf because her father was paranoid, and because it's easier to avoid stares. The person with her tablet and scarf has really dry skin, a quirk factor, maybe? She gives a tentative nod. He smiles. It is a mildly terrifying thing. Too many teeth. Too much pull at his dry skin. But she’s long been immune to horrific looking people. Her father, after all, looks skeletal and coughs up blood regularly. This boy- man? is barely on her radar of alarming for his appearance.

“Why’d you throw it?”

She frowns slightly, a blush on her cheeks. Tears still leaking down her face. She signs, quickly, and watches as his eyes follow her hands, ‘Sorry, I don’t speak.’

He huffs.

“Yeah, I don’t understand.”

She blinks, and gestures for her tablet. He hands it to her, carefully, his large hands dodging her skin. Was he subconsciously doing it? She frowned, slightly. She shouldn’t analyze at the moment. He probably didn’t like physical contact.

She writes out the same as she had signed.

The man smiles again. He has starling white hair, against pale, dry skin, with a faint bluish tinge. His eyes are red. She shivers. Despite herself. Red eyes have never boded well for her.

“I got that much. Why’d you throw the tantrum?”

She flushes. Looks back at the school. She doesn’t see Bakugou. She scowls.

“Bad day at school?” His eyes flicker to the large walls, he whistles, and she blinks as she recognizes the video game chime of an enemy approaching.

‘Something like that,' she writes out, '... Just. Just. A bad memory. I'm fine now.'

She bows. He smiles. There was an edge to his smile—a tightness to it.

Izumi does not think much of it.

“Just-” his eyes linger on her throat, and he frowns, slightly.

She smiles again and bows lower again. Red eyes stay on her.

‘I’m okay now. Thank you for your kindness,’ she writes out, ‘Truly. Not many would stop for a crying girl. Thank you, really. It takes more for someone to help someone else. Thank you.’

She bows yet again. Gathers her scarf, throws it hastily around her neck, and goes.

Chapter Text

Her father is pacing when she comes home. She signs thanks to Uncle Nighteye, who, as promised, picked her up promptly at a cafe just across the school's complex. The owner allowed her to slip past the kitchens and be picked up without any fuss. Not that Uncle Nighteye stands out, even in his hero costume. Which is why he was the one assigned to any emergency pick-up and drop-off. He pats her head. His golden eyes are soft.

"Her home-room teacher is requesting a meeting," says her father with a cough. He wrings his hands.

Automatically, Izumi and Uncle Night have a handkerchief in hand. Delicately, her father plucks it from Izumi's hand.

"Toshinori, did you harass that poor sensei when I asked you not to?" Her mother's voice is a sigh.

Her father cringes, even as he grips her handkerchief and dabs at the blood on his lips. 

"Nooooo?" 

Her mother appears with a frown, hands on her hips. Her father wilts. Uncle Nighteye winces.

"Yagi Toshinori. Do not lie to me."

"I had to make sure-"

"Izumi has a right to a normal high school experience without you hovering. "

"I just-" he runs a skeletal hand through his hair, "I just want her safe. That boy-"

'Doesn't even remember what he did,' Izumi signs.

Green eyes flood with tears.

"Izumi," her mother sobs.

She shrugs. Uncle Nigheye places a hand on her shoulder. Squeezes gently.

All-Might appears in a puff of smoke. Her mother tsks. 

" Toshinori."

Her father deflates to his true form. His hands are fists.

They're also shaking.

Blood leaks from his lips.

"DOESN'T EVEN REMEMBER?!" His voice is a boom.

Izumi sighs. Shrugs again.

"I- I- he nearly killed you. "

'Mistuki-san must have protected him from that fact,' she signs, '... And it was not Bakugou who nearly killed me. It was…'

Even signed, Izumi cannot bring herself to speak the name.

Her voice, even in her hands, dies.

Furry burns in blue eyes. She looks down at her feet.

Her father drops to his knees. He brings her close. She shudders as she claws at his baggy shirt. 

"Shh, Mi-chan, " he whispers, "You don't have to say a word."

She sighs against his thin neck.

I never do. Never again.

Chapter Text

DEKU DEKU DEKU DEKU DEKU .

Bakugou Kastuki cannot remember boarding the train. 

But he's unlocking the house door. He can't even remember anything beyond emerald eyes and skidding quirkless shoes.

Null shoes. Wide footed freaks of a begone age. Pebbles in the fucking path. DEKU DEKU DEKU DEKU DEKU.

When he sees the old Hag, he- he can't even speak.

Like Deku.

Something deep and visceral shakes through him. He hadn't thought of Dek- Izumi, Mimi-chan , in years. Why think much on a childhood friend that moved away? Of a girl who had trailed behind him with wide smiles and fucking nerd mumbles? Especially when she stopped being his friend? She was quirkless. Never to be his equal.

A pebble in his path to greatness.

Kachan!

Kastuki shudders. He remembers how much he had fucking hated her. Quirkless. Quirkless shit that always fucking held out her hand like he fucking needed her. Who would always get up when she was pushed down.

Kachan!

When Kastuki was four years old, he knew that people weren't equal. He knew people were fucking better than others.

Deku had been such a fucking good example.

Weak.

Quirkless.

Crybaby.

Nerd.

"What did I do?" He asks. And it is the calmest he's spoken to his mother in years.

Kastuki knows he did something to Izumi. 

The Hag freezes.

"What do you mean, Kastuki?"

Stars across a pale throat. Ten. Ten. His hands twitch.

"What did I do to De- Izumi ? "

Her expression changes. Anger. He is used to that from the Hag. He's gotten it all his life. But her scowl is harder, even as she snorts.

"You didn't do anything. Beyond being a little shit."

"I saw her throat. "

"You were fucking kids. An accidental quirk firing off isn't rare. Izumi got to the emergency room in time."

In time. In time . As if she was close to- what? Permanent damage? Death?

Katsuki can't breathe.

Is that what Mimi felt?

"What the fuck do you mean in time?" His voice is still calm.

Kastuki feels as if he's watching this play out from very far away.

"It was an accident," she insists. 

Bakugou knows it wasn't. He... He knew his fucking temper.

He can't even remember it. When it happened. It was always so fucking easy to get mad at Mimi-chan. She was also so- Kindearnestsweet- fucking thinking she was better than him.

"She can't talk."

Something shifts in Hag's face. Her face is in disbelief. She's blinking quickly.

"Where did you even see her?"

"She's… She's at U.A."

"In the general courses? Good for Izumi. That's excellent for someone like her."

He swallows something thick in his throat.

"No. Hero course."

His mother blinks.

Blinks again.

"How did she manage to do that quirkless ?"

"... she isn't quirkless."

His mother blinks. And blinks again.

Kastuki sees a kaleidoscope of colored sparks. Smoke and black-teal whips across Izumi's frail shoulders. The light in her emerald eyes. The light streaming through her now green curls. As a child, her curls had been snowy white. It was why it had taken him even a moment to realize that Izumi was the greenie girl he had to beat into the ground. He wonders why she had started to dye it, or if it had changed to match her mother's after her quirk hit. Physical change wasn't abnormal with quirks. But he has no idea how her mother's attraction quirk and father's fire breathing had made her have fucking energy manipulation.

"Huh. All that Inko suffered for that kid was for nothing. What was her quirk? Poor Inko thought she was stuck with a fucking Null."

Something drops in Kastuki's stomach. He stares at his mother's smiling face. How many times had called Izumi a null? A quirkless weakling.

Deku.

Freak. Stay down. Stay down and don't get up- OnlyIcanprotectyou- Stay down. Stay done. DEKU DEKU DEKU DEKU DEKU.

Katsuki's hands burst-

Red sneakers skid. Wide, wide green eyes.

Izumi is afraid of him. The sparks stop.

Mimi is afraid of me. KACHAN-KACHAN YOUR QUIRK IS SO AMAZING-

  ‘I want you to treat me like a stranger. As far as I’m concerned, I don’t know you. I don’t want to. We may be classmates, but we aren’t anything else.’

Freak. Stay down. Stay down and don't get up- OnlyIcanprotectyou- Stay down. Stay down. DEKUDEKUDEKUDEKUDEKU.

"WHAT THE FUCK DID I DO TO HER ?!" He roars.

The Hag sneers.

"DON'T FUCK YELL AT ME YOU FUCKING BRAT! YOU'RE QUIRK MISFIRED. IZUMI WAS FINE!"

But she wasn't. She wasn't. Freak. Stay down. Stay down and don't get up- OnlyIcanprotectyou- Stay down. Stay down. DEKUDEKUDEKUDEKUDEKU.

Kastuki gets no answers.

His thoughts swirling.

Stay down and don't get up- Stay down. Stay down. DEKUDEKUDEKUDEKUDEKU.

Kastuki finds himself growing angrier.

She left after I- I- She left and became a fucking different person. But it fucking doesn't matter. Mimi Stay down. Stay down and don't get up- OnlyIcanprotectyou - Stay down. Stay down. 

DEKU DEKU DEKU DEKU DEKU. DEKU DEKU DEKU DEKU DEKU.DEKU DEKU DEKU DEKU DEKU.

DEKU.

DEKU.

DEKU.

DEKU.

DEKU.

DEKU.

Mimi.

Deku means worthless.

Mimi means-

  ‘I want you to treat me like a stranger. As far as I’m concerned, I don’t know you. I don’t want to. We may be classmates, but we aren’t anything else.’

Fine, he settles on, tasting blood in his mouth. His hands are exploding now.

Katsuki barely realizes.

That green-haired bitch is a stranger. An extra. And what are extras?

Fucking pebbles in my path .

Chapter Text

"Now, for today's agenda, we have to choose the class president," drawled Aizawa-sensei. 

Everyone nearly fell over. Izumi blinked at the mundane nature of it, she settled onto her desk at UA on her second day, and she was surprised. She looked across the room.

Ida-san or Yaoyorozu-San.

Her eyes accidentally caught Bakagou’s. His teeth bared. It wasn't- it wasn't a smile. Izumi only looked away.

"I nominate Izumi-chan!" Ochako-chan chirped.

Izumi jolts. Looks at her beaming neighbor.

She makes an 'x' with her arms. Shakes her head.

"You would be excellent," said Shoto-san, behind her.

She blushes.  Makes the 'x' again.

'I have training. After school and before. I wouldn't have time.'

"Midoriya-San has training! Before and after school," Translates Ida-san, his face stiff, "But you would make an excellent class president, Midoriya-san."

It looked like it physically pained him to say such. She could how desperately he wanted the position. She giggled. She shook her head.

'I wouldn't have the proper time to attend any necessary meetings. It would be unfair to the class.'

"I don't care. Decide amongst yourselves… Midoriya, do you train before and after school?" Her teacher sounds displeased.

She sinks slightly in her chair.

'Is this why both your guardians and your quirk councilor have denied my attempts at meetings in the next month?'

Izumi wishes to crawl into a hole. Her teacher lives up to his sign name in the displeased nature of his face.

'Yes…?' 

He frowns. Sighs.

'Why are they dodging my meetings?'

She looks away. Blushes harder. Shrugs.

"Problem-child. "

She looks back. 

'Can I at least have access to your training schedule and routine to forward it to your heroics teacher?'

She bites her lip.

'Now?'

"Now."

She sends him her schedule.

She waits. Aizawa-sensei blinks rapidly as he reads.

" Problem-Child outside now. "

She blinks. 

"Everyone else, put it to a vote. Midoriya isn't in the running."

Izumi follows her furious teacher outside.

Chapter Text

"Tell me you aren't doing this."

Aizawa Shota is many things. An easily startled man, never in his goddamn life.

The schedule that Midoriya has?

That's fucking startling.

The girl blinks up at him. Confused and flustered red. She's titchy. Small and wide-eyed. She reminds him of a startled kitten. Considering Shota has three rescues in his apartment, that probably isn't the best thing to compare one of his students to.

I shouldn't get attach ed, he reminds himself sternly. Midoriya was his student, his responsibility, yes. Anything else? An emotional attachment was not the best idea. And Midoriya was reckless. But, not apparently, as reckless as her guardians. So much for helicopter parents.   An insidious thought. 

Was Yagi Toshinori attempting to live his dreams as a top hero through Izumi?  

Shota had done his research. Of fucking course he had. Yagi had graduated from U.A. nearly forty years ago, the only quirkless graduate in their heroic course. He had been nearly expelled for faking a quirk in the first place but instead had changed the rules of quirk status rules at the school. If he wasn't such a nag, but somehow dodging his attempts at a meeting, Shota would have been impressed. Would have liked his student's stepfather. His own 'non-combative' quirk had forced him to kick ass at the Sports Festival.

Yagi had forced his way through sheer force alone. And Shota appreciates stubbornness like that on a cosmic level.

Yet he had still ended up as a secretary in the All-Might agency before his injury, for all the promise had shown. He hadn't even placed in the top 500 in the daylight rankings, which most daylight heroes seem to care about.

Was Izumi just working herself to the bone to fulfill lost dreams?

Not on my fucking watch.

"This isn't a feasible schedule to uphold with your schooling."

She frowned. A little crumple between her dark brows.

"You're going to injure yourself at this rate. You can't do this amount of exercise and perform your best."

She licks her lips.

'I have too.'

"That- no you don't," Shota was already filling out a child protective service inquiry in his head.

'No, sensei,  you don't understand. 'All'- My quirk puts a physical strain on my body. The only successful way we have been able to combat that strain is building up my endurance, and partially my muscle mass. I am only able to access- safely, about 5 percent of my power. Even if my control is perfect. And it never is.'

She hangs her head.

Shota stared and forced his mouth shut. She's stronger than I thought. Holy fucking shit .

"Why isn't this in your file?"

She shrugs.

'Father and Ser Nighteye filled it out. I'm sorry, sensei.'

Shota might just strangle her father and her quirk counselor.

Nemuri would help me get away with it.

"We need to revise your schedule with your doctor, and your quirk counselor present."

She wilts.

'Doctor Shield is busy.'

It takes a moment for the name to click.

David Shield.

David Shield is her medical doctor. 

"He's not a medical doctor!"

'He is!'

"That's- Midoriya he's an engineer with a heroics specialty. "

'Uncle David is a medical Doctor as of four years ago.'

Uncle. Holy fucking nepotism. Did Yagi sway all of All-Might's agencies and affiliates in picking up degrees for Izumi? What was the fucking OP where they met?!

The only one that occurred five years ago- Toxic Chainsaw. But there had been no reported civilian or staff injuries. Shota realizes that he doesn't have the clearance to find out, and that unsettles him. His clearance is pretty fucking high.

"How often do you see your medical doctor?"

'Twice a month.'

"Does Shield-sensei commute or-"

'He does now.'

She has been living on I-Island. 

That shouldn't surprise him. But it does. Another thing that is absent from her file. Her schooling had just been stated as homeschooling, and no former residence like one of the greatest think tanks in the world had been mentioned. He breathes.

"I need to meet with your parents, Midoriya."

She looks at her shoes. Shota feels remorse clawing at his chest.

She trusted me. She trusted me when she talked about Bakugou. About her late trigger when her own father didn't. A stranger. She trusted a stranger.

Shota feels a wrench in his chest.

"Izumi," she jolts at her name, looking at him with wide emerald eyes, "I'm not angry at you. I just want you to do your best here at U.A. But to do that I have to be aware of all pertinent details."

She breathes. Nods. Her face is full of a determination that feels like a mirror to his younger self.

'Yes, Aizawa-sensei. I'll talk to my parents. I promise.'

Her face is devastatingly earnest. Shota suddenly feels a hundred years old, just looking at the wide-eyed trust.

You think a kid with scars and such a secretive past would be more wary. 

But she isn't. Midoriya Izumi is so earnest beneath her trauma.

A childhood accident with a bully. An incident that is so classified that it is not even mentioned in official heroic records. A late fucking quirk trigger after that.

Late triggers are usually done in distress. How recent is that distress? She said less than a year. A couple of months, at worst? Shota knows he should ask that question.

"You have heroics this afternoon. How tired are you?" He asks, instead. He is scolding himself for how gentle his voice is.

She blinks. Tilts her head.

'Not at all.'

He sees the stubborn jut of her chin, the determination in her emerald eyes. Just like the first day when she talked about Bakugou.

The ferocity of a kitten. With the drive of a fucking jaguar, he thinks, whimsically as he looks at her freckled face.

"I'll be supervising, as the instructor is a new one. If you are tired, if you need to stop, don't hesitate, Izumi."

She nods, seriously.

It's instinct. It's too forward.

But he ruffles her green curls with a hand so gentle it barely muses a strand.

"Get to lunch, Problem-child."

The smile he gives her is brilliant.

Chapter Text

She wiggles in place.

Shoto is very aware of the movement. And it's only because, down the table, Bakugou’s eyes trace the movement as well. Izumi-san is enjoying katsudon with an innocent, childlike glee. Shoto's own meal is the same. Even though his own meals are supposed to be prepared by his chef, personally approved by his nutritionist.

He does not care. 

At first, it was because he made it a point to follow behind Izumi-san during lunch the line, as it was the only feasible time for Bakugou to speak to her. Or to attempt to drag her away to his sparsely populated side of the table. Silently, it seems that Ida-san and Uraraka-San have allied themselves with him. They bring their lunch, but they help flank Izumi-san as they leave for the cafeteria, and Bakugou has silently, surprisingly, but furious nonetheless faltered in the wake of them.

Now he follows Izumi-san because he enjoys her silent, but cheerful company and because her food choices are all similar to what his nutritionist would have chosen for him. A small, unintrusive rebellion. Watching Izumi-san ignoring the tactics of her own childhood tormentor-

It has made Shoto feel brave.

If only for the petty rebellion of choosing something for himself.

"The notes you made," he says quietly, evenly.

Izumi-San turns completely to him. She does that. Every time someone speaks, she turns her full attention to them. Her emerald eyes are steady and focused on the speaker in a way that almost feels like a physical weight.

Shoto has found himself speaking, more so than usual, to have that attention on himself. To keep her gaze from flickering to Bakugou as it can if her attention is not held. Always in a wary, vigilant curiosity that has something in Shoto seething. He is not naturally expressive. That had been beaten out of him quickly. His father is an explosive hero, has a fiery temper, and he wishes Shoto to be more, always more than him, and eventually All-Might. He is not verbose. But Izumi-san invokes that in him.

Or he invokes it for Izumi-San.

"The notes are detailed," he finishes, and he takes a deep breath.

Izumi blushes. Flickers her emerald eyes on the table. 

"They are thoughtful observations. If you are unopposed- May you send them to me as you update?"

Her head whips up. Her lips part. Shoto absently notes that they are pouty, full, and pale pink.

"What notes? Do you already have notes, Izumi-chan?" Uraraka-san is smiling.

Emerald eyes turn from him. But as they are not to Bakugou, Shoto is not opposed.

"She has made observations. On all of us. It is a brilliant analysis of our quirks, fighting, and tactical skills. A most helpful resource for the future."

Emerald eyes on him again. Her face blooms with a blush, red as his hair. Shoto traces the movement of the red as it crosses her skin.

She signs. Shoto follows the movements of her hands.

"She says she be happy to share," said Ida, and his dark eyes gleamed, "And I must admit, I am also curious-"

"You still do that?!" Came Bakugou’s rather harsh voice.

Izumi stills. Shoto frowns at the way her body tenses.

She stares at her plate.

"Hey, Nerd, I asked-"

She made signs. 

Ida frowned.

"She's asking you not to speak to her."

Sparks across Bakugou’s hands. Izumi’s shoulders hunch, but she is glaring at her meal.

“And I’m telling Mimi you can’t-” the boy’s voice is hard and loud, and Izumi’s head jerks up, she glares.

The boy stops talking.

Stares at her. Green eyes and red locked for too long in Shoto’s opinion. Her ability to glare at the boy-

It makes Shoto brave.

“Izumi-san,” she turns to him.

He meets her emerald eyes with his, steady.

“We can finish our meals elsewhere,” he said, whispering.

The girl blinks, rapidly. She nods, sharp and ready. She grabs her food tray. Ida and Uraraka scramble for their lunch.

“MIMI-”

They leave without a glance back, and without the boy having a chance to grab his lunchbox. One-handed, Izumi-san signs something.

“She says thank you,” said Ida, his voice softly irritated.

Shoto shrugs, and carefully bumps his shoulder against Izumi-san’s. When he loses contact, his shoulder remains warm long after that.

Chapter Text

"I'm your heroics professor, Ida-sensei, otherwise known as Igiunium, the Turbo Hero! And, just to get this out of the way, yes, Tenya-kun is my little bro," The man grinned, “And that’s not going to affect at all how I grade him.”

Ida-sensei looked so much like Ida-san, but softer in everything he was. It’s especially apparent when they're standing next to each other. Ida-sensei is taller, but they look more or less the same height because of his slouch. Izumi cannot see her classmate slouching at all, and the contrast makes her nearly laugh. Ida-sensei’s expressions, his tone, are all softer than his younger brother's. His way of moving was languid, not choppy at all, and Izumi watched as he stood, hero costume on, save the famous staple of his knight helmet, hands on hips. Izumi shifts in her red sneakers, adjusting her armored scarf carefully over her uniform. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees that Shoto-san has shifted even closer than before, as soon as Ida-sensei called his brother over. Shoto-san, once again, she sees, is making sure, that she can’t even see Bakugou, and that he cannot see her. She wouldn’t have thought something so simple could soothe her in regards to this, but, well, she is soothed by the lack of visuals. Because, from what she had observed, Shoto-san was more than capable of stopping him if he actually tried something. Tension she didn’t know she had been carrying the first day of school slipped right off her back, with Shoto-san standing next to her, ready.  

"My brother would never let his ties to me cloud his assessment of me. His integrity, his honor, would not allow such!" Ida said, voice proud.

Izumi smiles.

Because despite everything, when Ida-sensei ruffles his brother’s hair, he leans into the touch, and grins, even as protests the movement. The casual little amount of affection, the interaction of Ida’s protest- it warms her heart.

“Now, first assignment in Heroics 101!” the teacher smiles and claps his hands in a lazy movement, and Ida-san steps back in a march to the rest of their class, pink in the cheeks, and he slides next to Shoto-san again, but Shoto-san doesn’t move away from his close position, “We have what I like to call, budget managing!”

Awaza-sensei sighs next to him. But his lips twitch in a way that Izumi thinks he’s suppressing a smirk.

“Igiunium, explain it properly.”

“Right, got it Eraserhead. The first assignment,” Ida-sensei reaches for control on his hip. On the far side of the gym, a mechanism clicks, and she watches with interest as an enormous panel slides up to reveal row after row of ‘one-pointers’ from the entrance exam, “What we are to the exam is your take-downs of a villain. The goal of this exercise is to demonstrate your current martial abilities, as well as your mastery of your respective quirks, all without harming the subject of your take-down, and your environment. We are heroes, we must maintain a level of control of ourselves and be aware of the amount of damage we inflict on all levels. Remember that the Agency you make, or join is responsible for damages on your behalf. Any significant damage to your environment or your perp in this scenario will reflect on your score. Your goal is to restrain your perp, not destroy it. You will have three minutes, and be aware that the AI system of the robot is slightly alerted from the exam. They have a learning AI that will adapt to your level throughout your exercise.”

“All of these Villian Bots have been outfitted with pressure sensors- any amount of force to ‘vital’ to human equivalent areas will factor into that score. They have a maximum threshold that will blow out, and any significant amount of blown sensors is a failing grade,” said Aizawa-sensei.

Izumi shifts, even as her mind is buzzing with the implications of the exercise. Her mind whirls to how the robots moved during the exam, and how surprisingly delicate they were to even five percent of One for All. Even if she tried to mitigate her strength, her body’s automatic response to try to thrust on all cylinders was a factor in her poor control. A leaking vessel that cannot properly contain its contents, she thinks morosely, an exploding egg in the microwave . Her energy discharge- it isn’t necessarily destructive to anything around her, but sometimes it could slip into that if she is sloppy with her input of One for All. She has no idea what the threshold on the sensors is and thinks very readily that is her largest obstacle... This was the exact opposite of what the exam had been, and, in her opinion a much more difficult task, especially for her. She frowned, slightly, thinking quickly. Her fingertips itched to draw out a battle plan, but the teachers were still in lecture mode.

“And as you know, when you confirmed your acceptance into the school, you got a set of parameters for the design of your hero costume,” further drawls Aizawa-sensei.

Ida-sensei presses another button.

Another panel slides up, and a series of metal suitcases marked with numbers are revealed.

“All numbers are assigned from your quirk assessment yesterday. All proto-type costumes are subject to review and edits as you go to your Third year, even if you didn’t make the deadline yesterday to make adjustments to it, for now, everyone work with this today. As a reminder, any additional equipment or modifications that you are bringing in that are not from official UA sources or preapproved channels is to be cleared by me, and your heroics instructor Ida-sensei. Costumes and equipment are to be removed and returned to school after each exercise that requires them until you are officially licensed as heroes. Any failure to comply with this is subject to disciplinary action, including expulsion.” 

“For the first official time, Class 1-A,” Ida-Sensei grins, blindingly brilliant, “Suit up!”

Chapter Text

The first thing that Izumi realizes is that the design firm in charge of her hero costume-

Forgot her pants.

She stares, even as she gingerly lifts her custom out of the suitcase, and realizes that yes, she wasn’t missing fabric- it was a design choice. For, no doubt, aesthetic appeal. Apparently, her request for a full-body leotard had given the designer the inspiration of following more closely to Mirko’s costume, and Izmui wondered if it was because of her own muscular thighs or for her hood attachments- she had to provide in her measurements, after all, and the comparison wouldn’t be hard to make. If you squinted, her hood attachments didn’t look like her father’s hair, but bunny ears. The only difference was that the piece was high-necked, closer to her chin, and skin-tight, instead of a faux fur ruff, and had the large hood with the ‘rabbit’ ears she had requested to appear like her father’s own hair. There wasn’t a cape in sight, a fact that mildly disappointed her.

‘Maybe you can make a request, Izumi-chan’, Nana-sensei’s voice in her head was vaguely disappointed as well. Jet Stream, after all, had had a cape.

‘Didn’t you ever see that movie, Nana-chan, ‘ NO CAPES! ’’ chimed in Shinomori-shishō, his voice accented.   

Colorful images flash.

She suppressed a snot.

She wondered who would have a stronger heart attack from the design of her costume- Her father or Uncle David. Uncle David had not so subtly been trying to strong-arm her father into allowing him to design her costume and equipment- 

But her father would see the long length of her unprotected thighs and calves have a stroke.

She blinked.

At least it has the colors I asked for.

The costume was primordial green, to match her hair, with bold red accents in her protective knee, and arm guards, as well as thick, supportive red boots. The inside of the hood was dark, and the mouthguard was distinctly mouth-like, another nod to her father. The only additional colors were diamond patches stitched into her utility belt. A color for every single one of the Users of One for All. She smiled, and slipped on the costume, quickly and effectively as she secured the belt last. She slipped it on, and quickly pinned her hair pack and out of her face. Braids and pinned and secured out of her face. She lifted the hood and her mouth guard, and placed her goggles against her braids. She was examining the back of her leotard, making sure that it covered everything, even as she lifted her leg, high, against her torso.

No riding up at least. 

"Izumi-chan, you look so cute!" Squealed Ochako-chan. 

She blinked. And then gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up to Orachako’s cute costume, pink and space-themed. Fitting for her gravity quirk. She grimaced and tugged at the edge of her leotard.

Ochako-chan grimaced too. Pulled at the collar of her costume.

"Yeah, I hear you! I didn't ask for the costume to be this tight. And the heels! The springs are much higher than what I asked for."

She taps her heels, and it springs a little. She’s frowning at her shoe. 

"I did not ask for such… Low cut," mentions Yaoyorozu-San, fussing with the expanse of her very deep v, "I requested a series of removable patches so I can access my quirk across my stomach… And pants. I wished for pants. They made a skirt of my utility belt instead. I made an effort to cut much of my hair to provide for the material of the costume, and they did not use it all."

Izumi sighed behind her mask and pointed at her own nearly bare legs. Yaoyorozu-San frowned deeper.

"I fear we are a victim of the marketing aspect of heroes," fussed the taller girl, in a very formal tone. 

"Well," chirped Ashido-san, puffing up her curls, "You could ask for a formal request of costume design. I specifically asked for a utility belt to hold some tools. I didn’t get it. I also asked for pockets in my vest.”

She points to her very skin-tight costume, and indeed, the lack of pockets and belt.

“I asked for my costume to become visible, but they only gave me visible accessories,” said Hagakure-san, and her usually cheerful voice sounded upset. She wiggled her gloved fingers, “They asked for a lot of my hair- I have a pixie cut now! But I’m afraid with just the visible accessories people will think I’m… Um. Naked. Not a lot of civilians know about the DNA-specific cloth that most of the costume is made of. It’s why I requested a costume that I did.”

“I’m missing pockets and belts too, and my pants are waaay too tight,” said Jiro-san, sighing as she tugged at her short jacket.

“I think we should make a formal complaint, my costume is tighter than I asked for. I wonder if the boys are missing as much,” said Asui-san, frowning too.

“We will see, and possibly speak to Aizawa-sensei after the exercise,” said Yaoyorozu-San.

“We’re behind you Class President!”

“Hundred percent.”

Izumi thrusts up two thumbs.

Yaoyorozu-San smiled, slightly, a faint pink on her cheeks.

Chapter Text

She is stretching the second they are outside of the changing rooms, watching with careful eyes as Yaoyorozu-san walks around to each of the boys with a determined look on her face. Each boy she talks to has the set of her mouth turning a little firm, has her brows furrowing deeper.

“It’s good to be alive,” mentions one of the boys.

He’s the smallest in the class, and he is hungrily eying the way her leg is flush against her torso, at-

He’s looking at my butt and at my-

Izumi squeaks. Lowers her leg and backs away. Is… Is his nose bleeding?

“ Oi, ” Bakugo snarls, “The fuck you looking at, asshole!?”

Izumi blinks. Blinks again.

“God’s gifts,” replies the boy, blithely. He swipes at his bleeding nose.

Disgust curls in her stomach.  She can’t quite remember his name. She feels herself blush, hot with shame, and even if they can’t see it past her mouth guard and hood, she feels her hands press in front of her thighs. She suddenly wished she had kept her tights on.

“Fucking look the other way, or I’ll fucking knock your head off.”

Despite herself- Despite herself, Izumi can’t help but wonder at his defense. She frowns.

“Look man, I’m just enjoying the view-” says the small boy, hotly, and he shoots her a double thumbs up, “You look good.”

She frowns. Flicks her left hand to her wrist, and with practiced movements, types out on her interface.

“Your compliment is unwanted and gross,” chimes an automated voice, sweet and familiar. It… It isn’t Izumi’s voice. It’s Nana-sensei ’s. Modulated and made from the very few recordings of her voice. A request she had made to her father’s teacher, quietly, to have her live on more than just in him and in her. She had granted it, with the only request that the voice always sounded cheerful.

Because even your voice had to ‘smile’. For the reassurance of everyone. Father had cried when she had told him Nana-sensei had granted her request. Bakugou is staring at her wrist, frowning, scowling, really, and she isn’t surprised.

“Whoa, that’s so cool, Izumi-chan!” 

Suddenly, Ochako-chan, Shoto-san, and Ida-san are crowding her. Delicately, Orchako-chan is threading an arm through hers.

“Let’s stretch together, you can teach me to be as bendy as you!” She heel kicks, a little sloppily, up.

Ida-san chops in front of himself, “Uraraka-san, you will only hurt yourself if you attempt such a stretch so soon, you should start with more moderate exercise if you are not already that flexible-”

“Are you alright?” breathes Shoto-san, even as Ochako-chan and Ida-san start a mild back and forth.

She swallows slightly. For practice, she types out on the ‘whisper’ mode, “The boy was gross. I’m okay.”

He looks down at the sound device. She smiles.

“It’s much faster to type. And for the sake of civilians and other emergency services I might come into contact with, vocal communication is essential.”

And she felt- felt braver, to have Nana-sensei be her hero voice. And proud .

His brows furrow.

“Which method do you prefer to communicate with?”

She blinked.

“Sign,” she types out.

He nods. A small, almost invisible smile passes across his face.

“I hired a language tutor. I hope to learn quickly.”

Izumi feels her face blush again, warm and hot around her ears.

“My trainer agreed that it would be beneficial to know it. You have pointed out an aspect of hero work that I never considered before. Thank you, Izumi-san.”

Warmth blooms in her chest. She bashfully ducks her head.

The gross boy is quickly forgotten.

Chapter Text

Izumi watched with focused eyes, her electric pencil flying across her tablet. She hums. She had developed a habit of writing without actually looking down. A needed trait when she needed to process her thoughts, now that she didn’t speak with her voice. She hummed, the most noise she could bear to make.

' Great move,' mentions Nana-sensei, humming cheerfully, ‘She should smile, though. Such a serious hero will scare away the kids!’

She feels everyone in her head, crowding and observing as Yaoyorozu-San moves. She writes out their thoughts as well. One of the advantages of having several adult heroes in your head is their experience. Like always, the one voice that had the most combat experience did not speak. She did feel her father, slightly, weaker, but the presence did not speak. Her father was not a vocal presence in her head, something they all had to guess was connected to the fact that he was actually alive , unlike the other users of ‘ One for Al l’. The thought that she would only confirm this theory one way or another one day disturbed her, she could admit, as much as the possibility comforted her.

She tries not to think about it, either way.  

Their class president’s solution of fighting the robots was straight out of the ancient comic books, with Yaoyorozu-san focusing on restraints with sticky wires that sparked out of her skin. Her assault was gentle, if thorough, with several wires exploding out of her exposed skin, her palms, her stomach, her legs, and her chest. She touched the ground, quickly, catching the robot’s limbs. Much as she seemed to dislike her costume, she wasn’t foolish to not use the amount of skin.

Yaoyorozu-san, Izumi realized, wasn’t classically trained in any sort of fighting style that she could pinpoint, but was very flexible, fast, and quick on her feet. Beautifully so.

Gymnastics, she settles on, watching as she dodges a swipe of the last free limb. She bent backward so cleanly and far back her head nearly touched the ground, whilst her thighs at the same time exploded out her wires and clenched at the Robot’s last limb, supporting her easily, and seemingly without effort.

‘Ab control’, whistled Hikage-ni-kun, and he crowded closer in her head, ‘ Do you think you could do that, Mimi-chan? ’

She tilts her head, yet she nods absently. Out of everyone, Hikage-ni-kun was the one who that demanded she care for her body the most. Considering how much physical fitness affected her control and her ability not to tear herself apart, she understood his intensity. She blinked. He flashed another movie.

She blinked.

That was very green-tinted. And a lot of latex.

Somehow, even as a ghostly presence in her head, she can feel Hikage-ni-kun pouting. 

“Fifteen seconds!” called out Ida-Sensei, grinning, “Not a single pressure point exceed.”

Izumi marked the time, carefully.

‘Slow, that could lead to her death,’ grumbled Kudo-san.

‘Precise ,’ returned Nana-sensei cheerfully. 

The rest threw in their two cents, and Izumi dutifully wrote the relevant things down. Even as she carefully guessed the consistency of the substance that Yaoyorozu-san’s wires. Her eyes focused.  

Chapter Text

Shoto-San is next.

She signs, ‘good luck’, and then types it out before Ida-san can even translate. Nana-sensei's voice makes his lips twitch. Almost a smile and Izumi grins in response. He gives her a nod, and she smiles wider. 

Her electronic pencil is poised.

It ends quickly . His confidence in the wake of the quirk assessment wasn’t coming from anything. The boy is quick to ice the villain bot in a minuscule flex of his hand. He barely moves. Izumi blinks and quickly scribbles out notes. The Robot is contained, and she realizes that his time is exactly the amount of time it took for his ice to reach him from ten meters away. She does not think there will be a faster time, from what she remembers of everyone else’s quirk assessments. 

Four seconds. An average speed of five kilometers per hour. Is that the regular speed of his quirk? Or was it controlled and purposeful so as not to break the pressure sensors? An approximate height to encase a ‘Victory Robot’ is over five meters in height, three meters in width, and six meters in length. The weight must be massive to keep it from moving-

‘ Too brutal’, mentions Nana-sensei, she felt her Father’s master click her tongue.

‘Tch, the brat could kill someone if they are like that too long,’ mentioned Daigoro-ni-kun, with a heavy growl.

She hums slightly in agreement. The immobilization was efficient - but it could hurt someone very easily. The ice was time-sensitive. A set amount of time could lead to frostbite, more time could lead to hyperthermia, loss of extremities, or even death. She made quick note of it, and further mentioned that the technique would be inefficient long term and against mass amounts of people.

“Well done, well done~” cheered Ida-Sensei, grinning. 

Izumi scribbled on, gathering the comments of the previous users.

“I remind you that all students will receive a written assessment of today’s exercise for any mistakes and corrections. But you’ve passed Todoroki-san. For now, I’ll ask, Todoroki-san, can you remove the ice? Or do I have to get the crane to reset for your next classmate?”

“Shoto. I go by Shoto,” mentioned Shoto-san, voice flat.

“Right, right, Shoto-san it is! Can you?”

Shoto-san waved a hand, and the ice melted quickly. Ida-Sensei grinned and pressed a button. A couple of cleaner robots, just like with Yaoyorozu-san, removed any lingering debris and water.

Two seconds. That was even quicker.

Izumi kept writing, quickly. 

“Number three, ah, Midoriya-san?”

She jumps. Signs present, one-handed, and looks up from her tablet. The Heroics teacher grinned. She thinks, that when he smiled, he looked the most different from Ida-san. 

“Right, you have about two minutes for the water to dry completely. Are you ready?” 

‘Ready, but I'll stretch if I have two minutes,’ she signs and quickly hands off her tablet to Ochako-chan’s waiting hands.

The other girl beamed. She beamed back. Izumi immediately began to stretch. 

“Great! When the floor is dry, move forward. I’ll start your timer the second you enter the ring.”

‘Thank you, Ida-Sensei.’

“My sign name is ‘Knight’, So call me Knight-sensei in JSL!’” he tells her.

She smiled.

“Tenya is ‘Squire’, by the way.”

Her friend blushed and chopped the air for a moment.

“Ida-Sensei!”

“Come on, come lil bro, you earned that name!"

Chapter Text

She steps into the ring, and the chorus in her head ends with three words.

‘ We are here, ’ all their voices tell her.

Izumi smiles, brilliantly, because she knows a smile could save someone as much as her efforts, and she is moving.

She doesn’t think she can make Shoto-san’s insane time. She doesn’t think she can be as creative as Yaoyorozu-san. Already, her mind is going to the capture tape she had found in her Hero kit, glad that the Costume department had included that much. Izumi knows she is fast , and she will apprehend the Villian Bot as best she can. She dodges a few hits, gauging the speed, and strength of each lunge against her. 10 kilometers per hour, technically quirkless speed and easy to dodge, force of the punch is about 2500 Newton, she calculates. The weight of the Vilian bot, she guesses, by the fact that it is made of plated steel or maybe a steel alloy, and is probably about a ton or so, maybe heavier depending on the mechanism that powers it. The fact that it can punch as delicately as a quirkless person is an amount of precision that she wouldn’t normally guess for something of its size and weight…   The AI is supposed to be learning, and adjusting to the person it's combating. Curious, she ramps up to one percent of ‘One for All’. 

The Villian Bot speeds up half a second later. 

30 kph, force of 3000 N. 40 kph, 3500 N. I need to test my limits. Nana-sensei, if I may?

‘ It’s your’s Mi-Chan.’  

Izumi breathes, sharply through her nose, even as she activates ‘Float’. Her feet lift off the ground, her body feels lighter, and like always, ‘Float’ makes something bright and warm lift inside her. Around her, Nana-sensei’s indigo surges around, covering her. She smiles, wider, her expression joyful. 

Three percent! Egg in the microwave, egg in the microwave! 70 kph, 5000 Ns! Reaching quirk level speeds.

She watches, taking in the careful calculation of the AI’s decisions against her speed, her easy and quick maneuvering. She bends over backward as it sweeps at her head, and immediately twists to the side to get further distance. 

Basic protocol, she remembers, grimacing as she twists away from the next punch, watching as it throws a ton of dust and stone around her on the concrete floors. She floats to the side and uses the momentum of its next strike to vault above it. The ‘Victory’ twists on a dime. Faster than one percent. She cycles more power. Two percent. 

“You have committed a crime,” she types, dodging a fierce lunge by the Robot’s arms, floating above it. Nana-sensei’s voice rings out, “You are being detained by order of the law. Please surrender peacefully. If you continue to attack I will be forced to apprehend you by force.”

The Villain bot stuns her.

Because it- It stops in its tracks with a squeal of its tires on concrete and brings forth its massive armored hands in a gesture that seems to be waiting for restraints. Despite herself, Izumi freezes. Drops her height in an instant, and skids to a stop. She squeaks as she flexes her knees, landing in a defensive crouch, ready to bounce back.

The ‘Victory’ doesn’t move. 

Ida-sensei starts laughing.

“Whoa! I didn’t think anyone would figure it out! Thirty seconds,” says Ida-sensei, proudly, grinning to ear, “ Good job, Midoriya-chan! You pass. Oh, can I call you Midoriya-chan?”

She blinks. Nods. Then she blinks again. And then she flushes as Ida-sensei claps, grinning ear to ear. The rest of the class is spluttering. In her head, a chorus of shouts, curses, and laughter, fills her mind. She shakes her head slightly.

“I inputted this vocal command in case someone would think to speak to villain bot,” said Ida-sensei, voice growing serious, “In our line of work, combat is most hero's first thought. And while that readiness is something necessary for a hero, you shouldn't forget there's another way. This is an example of the fact that speaking to a criminal might be the most efficient way to apprehend them. It’s a basic example, but it’s something you should all keep in mind when you go forward into your path as heroes.”

Izumi’s heart pounds. Ida-sensei grins at her, warm, gleaming. She beams back. It was a careful, well-thought-out lesson. She hadn’t even thought of the Villain Bot stopping. She had only hoped to get practice typing in an ultra-mobile situation. She had practiced such a thing against Torino-jiji, but that had been Torino-jiji. This was a similarly controlled situation, but its movements were new to her, unlike Torino-jiji. She had spent the better part of three years getting an understanding of why her Father was so afraid of the man who sometimes called her Nana-chan and would give her taiyaki. Then the last six months leading up to school with him no longer holding back, and she could freely say she was terrified of Torino-jiji.  Respected. Loved the old man to bits. 

But terrified. 

A boy, with red hair and grinning around the black guards on his face, cries out, “HOW MANLY!” 

She giggles at his expression.

“However, now that Midoriya-chan has figured it out, the command will be removed from the rest of the combat rounds today. Midoriya-chan, would you like to go again for another round for a bonus on your grade for today?”

Izumi doesn’t hesitate again. She nods quickly. 

“Outermost of the ring to reset, then!”

Chapter Text

Mimi-chan moves like a dancer; the thought is intrusive and hits him like a truck.

“You have committed a crime,” she types out, a woman’s voice rings out. And then she’s shrouded in black smoke as the Bot lunges, “You are being detained by order of the law. Please surrender peacefully. If you continue to attack I will be forced to apprehend you by force.”

Next to him, the Ponytail bitch hums.

“Oh, very good she seems to be practicing basic procedures during the exercise, even if the Robot won’t stop. Midoriya-san is dedicated.”

Black smoke swirls. The Villain Bot adjusts, and he realizes as it hones in on Deku that the Robot has some sort of infrared camera. Deku adjusts, the black smoke disappearing. She is moving, floating, quick and fast, her braid a banner behind her, along with her emerald hood with the ear attachments.  

Like All-Might, he thinks and knows. 

He vaguely remembers a crayon sketch in a notebook. All-Mighty Girl or something like that. A jank white bunny-looking thing that had been so fucking dorky, green and red accents. He sees hints of it in this costume. The green hood is a fucking tribute to All-Might still and to that stupid childhood drawing. As is the mouth guard that looks like a smiling mouth. Bakugou swallows thickly, sweat dripping down his face, his hands in fists. The voice that comes out of Deku’s wrist is a woman’s voice, but it doesn’t sound like Aunty Inko or any hero that he remembers Deku being obsessed with, or even any current female hero he can name. And it has to be a hero. A hero she admires, he wouldn’t put past Deku’s hero-otaku tendencies to be the reason for a specific voice. 

Treat me like a stranger.

She was fucking Deku . A pebble on the path- If he knew her. But, something he is realizing over the past few days of class, is that he doesn’t know Midoriya Izumi. He may know some things about her because she was the little girl he used to call Mimi-chan, but the girl in front of him was nothing like the girl he once knew. The girl he knew could have never done this, could never be this good. 

Couldn’t possibly be this all along. Fucking fuck.

He’s embarrassed that he is fighting the sting of tears. The Ponytail bitch with the insane quirk hadn’t broken a single sensor and took down the robot in less than thirteen seconds. Half and Half Bastard had done everything in four seconds, and again, not broken a sensor. 

Deku did everything in twenty on her second try.

Twenty seconds. Including her ‘talking bit’.

He… he doesn't know if he can do better. He knows he can do something similar, but better?

Doubt creeps in.

She took down the Villain Bot in under twenty seconds, strategically using the capture tape that she kept on her hip belt, all in tandem with the black tendrils that came out of her back. While the Creator quirk girl had fucking done dozens upon dozens of strings to keep the bot down, Deku had done it by specifically wrapping and pinning its limbs and waist in certain key points. Seven in total, and the wire held fast. 

She had completed the exercise twice .

She grinned.

She grinned and he remembered her face when they first met, the open, tooth-gap smile, All-Might onsey, and white curls stuck around her face.  It leaves her face when Ingenium-sensei asks her a very specific question.

“Can you go all out, Midoriya-chan, just in a combat sense? According to Eraserhead-san, you’re only capable of using five percent of your full quirk, right?”

The world narrows into focus, black at the edges.

She’s fucking holding back. All this time, she’s holding back. 

The girl makes hand motions. The strangest thing about the time that has passed, beyond Deku’s hair no longer being stark white, is the fact that she doesn’t say a fucking word.

She couldn’t shut up, once. Now she barely makes a sound.

She’s holding fucking back.

“I got you, Problem Child,” gruffs Hobo-sensei, and he taps the corner of his eyes.

She’s holding fucking back.

Deku bites her lips. Signs some more. Both teachers sign something back. Her shoulders shrug.

She’s holding fucking back.

Deku steps back in the ring.

She’s holding fucking back.

Deku floats and charges up, her entire skin going red hot like something molten. Around her, she’s fucking sparkling different colors, but mostly pink and indigo and green.

She’s holding fucking back.

It’s lightning across her now, not cutesy fucking little sparkles. Different colored lightning, pink, indigo, and green. The ground beneath her feet crackles like it's an anime or some ridiculous shit like that.  

She’s was holding fucking back.

She does a single, in-place flip, one leg snapping out like a javelin. 

He feels the pressure of the kick. Braces for it, while some of the class is knocked clean over. She doesn’t even need to make physical contact. Even Deku is pushed back a few inches. 

The Villain Bot shatters.

Fucking shatters.

Deku lands gently on her red combat boots and winces. Because the ground in front of her kick had been wrecked . Concrete gauged out like a fucking wave. That’s how much strength her kick had. 

She isn’t a fucking pebble.

She’s a fucking mountain.

Kastuki feels his hands tremble. In fists. Sweat mares his brow. He never- He never expected this much competition in school. He’s been the best of the fucking best, pions and extras all around him since he was four years old.

It’s not supposed to be like this, and he hates how helpless he sounds, even in his head, I’m the fucking best. Me.

“Considering how well you all understand the exercise going forward, I’d like to make this point now. Midoriya-chan’s kick-enhanced quirk is the equivalent of breaking every single bone in a person’s body, along with rupturing major organs,” says Ingenium-sensei, calmly, his goofy face going straight, serious. He straightens, his dark eyes intent on the class, “We are Heroes . What we do is to protect, to serve our community. As Heroes, we must understand our quirks could harm as much as it hurts. Shoto-san’s quirk left longer than fifteen minutes, could cause frostbite and hyperthermia. Prolonged contact with that ice could mean loss of extremities, organ function failure, and death. Yaoyorozu-san’s wires, made of titanium, pulled just the wrong way during the capture could lead to broken bones, and strangulation for the wire connected to the neck if the perp is struggling and a person. All of your assessments will have a report by the end of the day, for you all to keep in mind going forward in my Heroics class.”

The class is deadly silent.

Ingenium-sensei smiles, crooked and goofy.

“And, the damage done to the floor could be considered about millions of yens worth. Luckily, we have state-of-the-art repairs that really reduce cost... But, yeah, keep that in mind. Number four? Bakugou-san? You’re next.”

Chapter Text

Izumi hesitates.

For a moment, for a single moment, she doesn’t want to see.

She feels her jaw lock. It shouldn’t be so difficult, she tells herself. He’s not the worst thing she’s ever faced. Watching him in combat shouldn’t freak her out.

But there’s something to say about the catalyst, Izumi thinks, darkly.

She looks at him and watches his tense stance on the rim of the ring. The cleaning bots are repairing the damage on the floors, and from his posture, she knows he’s upset. But, she can’t remember the last time the boy she had once been friends with wasn’t upset. Once, she did everything to keep him smiling. To keep that anger from escalating and hurting others around them. Once she thought he loved her for it.

She knows better now. 

The scars on her neck remind her vividly that some people don't want help. They saw help as a form of pity, as a form of weakness, and lashed out accordingly. That to help them would only hurt her, and that wasn’t a proactive, or healthy use of her time and energy. She as a person could only do so much.

‘Anger issues, and an inferiority complex that circles back around into a superiority complex, ’ that's En-ni-kun, soft and precise. 

Izumi hums.

I know. 

‘ Punk's fucking damages are not your problem,’ and that's Daigoro-ni-kun.

She tenses. Part of her, part of her that always wanted to help, disagreed . But that was only part of her. Only a small bit of the little girl who had been happy to be called Mimi-chan, the little girl who bore the name ‘Deku’ and pretended it didn’t hurt because she had thought that the boy she knew was still her friend. Izumi knew better now. She knows what Bakugou had done to her as a child, beyond sending her to the hospital… Was abuse. Not just the scars on her neck, but each and every word that he had thrown her way for being quirkless had hurt her in ways she was just now coming to terms with, just starting to understand how much it had actually hurt her. His relationship with her was first as a bully, not her childhood friend. Bakugou’s behavior had been unhealthy. Continued to be unhealthy, she knew, just by his-

Everything.

But it wasn’t her responsibility to do anything for Bakugou. Whipping girl, friend, or anything. His demons were his own, she had enough of her own. 

I never said they were. I know the healthiest thing for me is to keep our relationship neutral as classmates. Beyond the fact that he hurt me when we were kids… I don’t know anything about him now. I can guess, and honestly, I think your assessment is right on the money, En-ni-kun. If any of his behavior escalates, I will request a transfer. Either for him or me. I won’t hurt myself for him just because I understand him, just because some part of me still loves him. But… But Ka-chan needs to be better on his own at this point.  

‘ We are here, Mi-chan, ’ says Nana-sensei, voice warm and firm. 

She smiled, slightly.

Thank you, she thought to them all. 

She feels them, feels them solid and reassuring all at once inside her.

“Izumi-chan, do you need your tablet?” and that’s Ochako-chan.

Izumi blinks. Hands automatically gesturing for the object. It slots easily into her hands. The weight is comfortable. She remembers fondly, when she was nine years old, that David-Oji-kun had taken one look at her scribbled notebooks, spluttered about security risks, and built her the first model of her tablet. She was currently on model fifteen, and it was the first tablet to have input from Melissa-nee-chan. The pen she used was exclusively her design.

Izumi smiles. Next to her Ochako-chan smiles.

“Oh, are your notes on all of us getting updates every exercise?” and that’s Ida-san, stretching next to her. He’s stretching, paying extra mind to his legs, she notes. 

She nods. Looks in front of her. Breathes. The repair on the ring seems to be needed more than usual.

Oops, she thinks, wryly. 

“Why?”

She hums, and taps the second word in the title of the document, ‘'For Future Hero Analysis, U.A., Vol. I’.

She writes out to the benefit of her two non-signing classmates, ‘I will be a hero. It’s important to analyze, at least for me, other techniques and strategies. Like how I used Yaoyorozu-San’s idea.’

Ida-san stares at her.

“You have been trained,” mentioned Shoto-san, voice quiet.

“I agree!” said Ida-san, “Why observe any more techniques?”

She hums.

‘You can learn from anyone,’ she writes out.

She feels them. The people in her, the techniques they’ve passed down to her. She breathes and continues.

‘I’ve learned and relied on so many people,’ she writes to them, carefully and thoughtfully, thinking of everyone who has helped her, ‘So many wonderful people have helped me reach where I am. They were all different, so many different skills. You’d be surprised how much you can learn. I don’t think I’ll ever stop learning. This file, and my observations, help me a lot break down what I can learn.’

“Even from Bakugou?” and that’s Shoto-san, his voice growing tight.

Izumi takes a deep breath.

“Ka-chan, you’ll be the best hero!”

“You bet I will, Mimi-chan, I’ll be number one!”

“And I’ll be right next to you!”

When she smiles this time, it’s wistful. Sad. But she smiles nonetheless. 

‘I know him, better for worse,’ she writes to them, ‘Personal feelings aside, Bakugou-san is… Is a beast. ’

Shoto-san’s gaze locks of the underlined ‘ beast .’

She frowns. She further explains.

‘When we were children, I knew he would be a pro-hero,’ she writes out, and her hands tremble on the pen, ‘I don’t doubt that’s true now. He has the strength and the dedication to do it. Again, personal feelings aside, I know he’s strong. I will observe him because I can learn from him.’

“Did something bad happen between you two, Izumi-chan?” and that’s Ochako-chan, blinking rapidly at her, “I realized there was some history to it, I mean, he calls you Deku? Like a nickname? But you don’t seem to happy with him and-”

‘Deku means wooden puppet. It’s what he started calling me after I was diagnosed as quirkless as a child. Because I was supposed to be as useless as a wooden puppet.’

Ochako-chan’s eyes are wide. Ida-san, next to her, sputters. Shoto-san, however, jerks slightly. She shrugs. 

“Oh. I thought- I thought it was like ‘Dekiru’, you can do it,” she said, and she looked horrified.

Izmui blinked. And blinked again. Something- Something in her unwinds at the confusion. At the slight word change of a name that hurt her so much. She looks at her new friend and smiles again.

‘I like that,’ she tells Ochako-chan, something warm and full in her chest. 

“What?”

‘Dekiru,’ she writes out, a smile on her face, ‘I like it. Really. That’s a good way to think of it. It’s like taking power back from the bad!’

The other girl gave a tentative smile. 

“I… Yeah?”

Izumi nods.

‘Really, good!’

The girl smiles wider.

Chapter Text

Izumi-san had not been incorrect. 

Bakugou is a beast.

Shoto twitches. Gaze focused on the boy as he tore up the ring. He watches Bakugou's apprehension of the ‘Victory’ bot. Watches as percussive beats of the blasts that his gauntlet hands produce, Shoto feels it in his chest. The boy's face is intense: his teeth are bared, his brows furrowed, a maniacal look in his red eyes. Sweat beads down his face, his arms, and his chest. Another word comes to Shoto’s mind.

He is brutal .

Again, Shoto is reminded of Endeavor. It's the same powerful sort of wreckage. Something in him curls in disgust. He watches as the boy blasts behind the Villain Bot, just far away enough to prevent the rupture of the pressure sensors, the backlash of the explosions vibrating. The Villain Bot stumbles.

“ Die! ” Snarls the boy. 

That is a level of sophistication I did not expect of him.

It seems his idea is disorientation and disruption to the robot's actual sensors. It is a surprisingly exact maneuver that has only ruptured two pressure sensors in the Bot’s arms, technically passing. Izumi-san was not right when it came to her measure of Bakugou.  He does have the makings of a pro hero. 

Personal feelings aside, he internally seethes. 

A pro-hero, however, doesn’t mean he's a good person. Shoto would know that better than most. Just like Izumi does. Shoto hadn't come to the UA expecting to find friendship, or anything really, with his classmate. He hadn't expected much except a release from Endeavor's direct supervision, and the chance to observe good heroes up close. The children his age hadn't really crossed his mind if he was honest. Beyond Yaoyorozu-san, whom he vaguely knew, he had expected little interaction with his peers. 

Izumi-san diligently writes, her expression careful. He realizes that she may not vocalize, but she does mouth what she's writing down.

He watches her slightly. His gaze in the last few days is constantly drawn to her, he can admit. It, he acknowledges, had started because he felt… Connected because of their scars. Then it had come in fierce protectiveness at the thought of someone having to be forced to interact like he was with the person who had done so much harm to them. He acknowledges now that… His protectiveness may have been misplaced? She was, admittedly, very formidable in her own right. His mind is still playing the kick she had given in his mind, the power behind it. And the knowledge that wasn’t her fullest potential yet. 

A late trigger, his mind reminds him as he watches her deligient hand glide across her tablet screen, Is an activation of a quirk, later life than five years old. Common reasons are traumatic events. It wasn’t Bakugou. From what I’ve inferred, they’ve stopped seeing each other in elementary school. Izumi-san is too dedicated not to have control of her quirk by now if that was the case.

What hurt her again?

He shifts in place. He is curious by nature, something that Man had tried his damnedest to suppress. He wonders. He remembers her own shame at staring at their similar scars. He doesn’t say anything, even if the question seems to hover on the tip of his tongue constantly.  

“Well done! Forty seconds, two broken sensors in the left leg of your Villain. You pass Bakugou-san!” 

The boy is silent, face tight, hands still in fucking fists. His expression is still intense, and- then, his red eyes look at Izumi-san. Again, he knows it's misplaced. She has proven, time and time again, that physically, Bakugou is not a threat to her. But Shoto feels himself tense up because Izumi-san tenses up she has an uncanny ability to know when Bakugou is looking at her.

She takes a breath, and her tablet screen goes dark. She looks up. 

Green and red meet for a second. 

Shoto seethes at it. Izumi-san, just slightly… Nods. Just a little bob of her head. Those red eyes narrow, and he realizes with a start, that the boy is on the verge of tears. He… realizes, he really doesn’t care. He knows there are grander issues, usually, in the behavior of someone acting so violently. He knows it. His own physiological training had covered this. The act of an aggressor usually came from a bad place… There is a reason for Bakugou’s behavior, but Shoto finds himself very unsympathetic and uncaring for those reasons.

No one has a right to put their hands on someone. No one has the right to belittle someone. Your own hurts are not the reason to put more cruelty into the world.  

His entire body is still tense, and he makes a deliberate decision not to curl his hands into fists. He isn’t like Endeavor, he isn’t like the boy across from him. He will not loom over Izumi-san with his hands in fists. He will not. 

“Alright, next, is you Ida-san,” says Ingenium-sensei.

“YES, T- AH, IDA-SENSEI.”

Izumi-san looks away from Bakugou. 

Bakugou does not look away from her. 

Shoto slips around her and blocks the boy’s line of sight. Izumi-san looks as he sits next to her.

“I know you are occupied with your notes. But I have learned some basic signs. Would you critique during reset time?”

She blinks, large emerald eyes at him, for a moment he is struck by the color. Izmui-san grinned, widely.

She signs, ‘yes’. 

He recognizes that now. He signs back, ‘thank you’.

She stares at his hands, at the movement of his body, before she demonstrates the gesture as well. Shoto follows her hands, carefully.

Chapter Text

Izumi is cheerful as she waves goodbye to her friends, her friends, her first since Melissa-nee-chan. School that day had been good. Bakugou had kept his distance after Heroics Class. She hadn’t broken anything in her body for the first time in months since she had started using ‘One for All’, and she had gone five percent without loosing her concentration! The notes that Aizawa-sensei and Ida-sensei had provided had made her wiggle with delight. Her project, after homework and ‘cool’ down training of the night today was to meet online with all of her female classmates to discuss the notes Yaoyorozu-San had made on their costumes’s shortcomings and the possible forms of complaints they could implement.

They’re planning on going together to Aizawa-sensei in the morning.

It’s going to be great.  

There’s a skip in her step, she can admit. She quickly checks her phone after a cheerful ‘ A Text is  Here! ’ sounds out in her father’s voice. Uncle Nighteye, she thinks, smiling slightly every time the custom ringtone sounded out.

Uncle Ser: Villian in pursuit. Delay of possibly twenty minutes. Please standby. 

Izumi: I’ll order the ‘All-Might’ special Latte from the cafe in 15 minutes for you unless you tell me otherwise, be safe!

Uncle Ser: Thank you! An All-Might fruit tart wouldn’t be remiss!

She sighs. Part of her, she can admit, isn’t very happy about the constant escort. But, another part of her understood the necessary precautions. Her Father was worried. They had managed to keep Mama’s and his wedding under wraps for five years, partly with the help of Uncle David and the majority of the staff on hand. They weren’t the greatest think-tank on earth for nothing. But now that her father was back to more active duty, on Japanese soil, and now that she would get further media exposure during her run at UA… Her father had a lot of enemies. She was a vulnerable element.

She knew this.

She was also fourteen and being forced to be escorted around everywhere .

She hated it. She sighed.

Entered the cafe, and smiled slightly as she gave a passing glance at the arcade area. It was just enough noise to cover any talking she and Ser ever did, and the owner was a subsidiary of the Nighteye Agency. Eyed the machines. She could wrap up her homework-

‘ Plaaaay Miiii-chan, ’ called out Hikage-ni-kun in her head.

She wiggles in place.

Grins.       

I bet I can beat your high score in ‘Space Invaders’ this time, Hikage-ni-kun.

The squawk in her head is echoed by a chorus of laughter. 

Chapter Text

The kid who couldn’t speak was here, again. 

Dispute himself, Shigaraki Tomura froze at the sight of her emerald curls, her stupid fucking All-Might scarf. She was a U.A. kid. Grey and green uniform told him that much. But what she had- what she had written out to him a couple of days ago.

It fucking lingered.

 ‘Not many would stop for a crying girl. Thank you, really. It takes more for someone to help someone else. Thank you.’

Shigaraki didn’t mean to come every day, after that. His scouting had been working on the faintest of rumors that the Number One Hero had been spotted in the area. A brief glimpse that had made the news go wild now that the Hero was back in the country after years of international action on the Hero’s part. Now that he was finally resurfacing on Japanese soil after his fight with Sensei, Shigaraki knew that his time to strike, to kill him, was soon. His curiosity to confirm that distant, incorrect rumor had caused him to stumble across the girl and the Arcade.

He hated most of the decor. 

Fucking hero ass kissing fuckers.  It made him want to crush the idiots that put it together. But, it was one of the few places he could find that catered to the very antique games that had been a staple of his childhood before All-Might’s raid of Sensei’s primary complex. Those antique games he had spent the majority of his time trying to track down. Some of the cabinets were over four hundred years old. If Sensei hadn’t demanded a low profile, he would have raided this place to bring them back with him. They had all of the ‘ Mortal Kombat’ cabinets, which were his favorites. Some were really good replicas, he guessed, the playable ones had to have been gutted and refitted at some point, but it was still classic gameplay. He didn’t have some of them anymore. He wanted them. But for now, this stupid Hero cafe was the only place he could play them. 

He twitched.

He had come by and made a point of making all of the high scores carry his name, but in his time, he had realized the U.A. kid who said those fucking words to him, came every day. She didn't usually stay long. She just would wait for a few minutes of what he guessed was after school, and then slip out the back with a wave at the staff. The staff didn’t so much twitch, and sometimes tried to slip in treats or drinks into her hands on her way out.  Maybe she was the owner's kid?

He frowned. Scratched absently at his neck. 

She was skipping today, and she didn’t sit at her usual table. Instead, she zoomed straight to the antique cabinet section. She went for a game towards the back, a milk shake or something in hand after a staff member caught her midway. Carefully, not sure why he was doing it, he followed. It was one of the oldest games, set in the very back. ‘ Space Invaders ’. Real classic, basic stuff. The girl giggled again. Sweet as sugar. His fingertips twitched. He watched as she played. She was good. Decent, really, and she was zooming through the game with expert twists of her wrists. He watched for half a beat.

The girl turned.

Alert, he thought, faintly, as green eyes met his red. He wondered why a general course student was so freaking alert. Maybe it was the fact that she couldn’t talk? She paid attention or whatever. 

And then he froze because she smiled at him. Because it was a smile that was fucking bright, beaming thing, even as the game was lost behind her. She signed something at him. From what he had looked up, that meant a very basic ‘hello’. The girl then reached quickly for her backpack, bringing out the tablet and pen she used to communicate with normal people. 

‘Hello, again! You’re the man who helped me the other day. Thank you again.’

He twitched. Helped . She thought him shoving her tablet at her, staring at her, fucking meant he had helped her. She smiled wider. Shigaraki scratched at his neck. Smiled himself. Because that was what you did when someone smiled at you, he vaguely remembers. It felt like it was tarring at his lips. He felt blood dribble. The girl didn’t flinch at the ripping of his lips. Just brought out a handkerchief from her pocket and handed it to him. He dabbed at his lips, surprised him by the action.

The handkerchief had rabbits on them. Green little ones. His fingers itched as the cutesy thing touched him. 

“Ah. You’re the kid who had the bad day,” he responds, and he watches her carefully.

‘My name is Midioriya Izumi,’ she writes, careful and precise, ‘Nice to meet you.’

She meant it.

She fucking meant it. He blinked. What the fuck is supposed to do about that? This… Fucking… Hero fan. Was. Happy. To meet him .

Because I did what she thought no one do. She’s a hero fan and I helped her.  

“...Shigaraki Tomura,” he says, after a moment. 

She keeps smiling.

“Have a better day today?” he asks because he… He fucking doesn’t know why.

The girl is still smiling as she nods. He looks across her shoulder. Stares at the lost game of ‘ Space Invaders ’. 

“Trying to get the high score?”

She giggled.

‘My friend has a near-impossible score. I’ve been trying to beat it,’ she wrote. Her characters were quick, and even. 

He felt another tug at his lips.

“Ever play a fighting game?”

She blinked. Shook her head. Her curls bounced. He scratched his neck.

“Ah… Want to play?” 

‘ A text is Here !’ comes t hat Man ’s voice. He stiffens.

She checks her phone. She hums. 

‘My ride isn’t going to be here for a while,’ she writes out, and he feels his tension ease slightly, ‘I’d be happy to play with you.’ 

Not just a hero fan. The scarf was a clue. She liked Him . Maybe that’s why she was a U.A.. Following All Might like a fangirl. Anger rolled in his stomach. He scratched his neck. Gripped her handkerchief of green rabbits.

 ‘Not many would stop for a crying girl. Thank you, really. It takes more for someone to help someone else. Thank you.’

“Dibs on Scorpion,” he said, not sure what else he could say. 

She was still fucking smiling. 

Chapter Text

They played. 

The kid, Midoriya, fangirl, didn't play fighting games.

But. 

She was a quick study. It took her a moment, but she was quickly holding her own. Her choice of character? Sub-Zero. Her strategy? Evolving, and getting to actually be challenging. He watched, absently, as in her impatience, she tugged away her scarf from her mouth.

Scars. 

Scars like hands, young hands, across her throat. They had been peeking at him all day.  Tomura lost the game. It was strange to see her jump and silently cheer at the victory. She didn't make a sound. Even her feet landed without a sound.

‘Good game, Shigaraki-san!’ She was still smiling as she wrote.

She hadn't let up the entire time. 

He shrugged.

“Rematch?”

‘A text is Here!’ comes that Man’s voice. She checked her phone, he stared at the scars. A kid had done this to her. A kid with some sort of fire quirk. The scars looked old. Probably when she was a fucking brat.  

Where were your precious heroes then, fangirl?

He doesn’t know why he doesn’t say this out loud. Usually, he would. 

The girl bows.

‘My ride’s is here. Maybe another time, Shigaraki-san?’

He should tell the fangirl to fuck off. He played- He doesn’t know why he played with the girl he helped. 

He doesn’t.

“Ah, sure kid,” comes out of his lips. 

The girl beams. 

‘See you later!’

Like every other day, the Fangirl slips out the back. Shigaraki watches after her. 

Chapter Text

‘Are you avoiding my home-room teacher?’ she signs, gently.

She's flat on her back, covered in sweat. Her last training of the day was done. She ached, in all the good ways. In her head, all is quiet, satisfied. When she properly exhausts herself, the Users of 'One for All' are quiet. Quelled and tired with her. It's another reason she pushes herself. It's not only her in her mind, with a million thoughts rushing. Next to her, her father sputters so hard, that he sits up and he sprays blood. Absently, she is pushing her dry towel towards him. He blinks down at her. He takes the towel. 

“I am not!” he declares. 

She gives him a flat look. Being who he was, Izumi had realized very quickly that All Might, the greatest hero, was a terrible   liar. The worst, actually. It was one of the things she thought was very humanizing about him... Especially because he was surprisingly clumsy when it came to being around people on a regular baises. She loved, adoerd, her father. But sometimes the face he showed the world reflected little in the person he truly was.   

“Mi-chan!” he says, pleadingly.

She widens her eyes, just slightly. He deflates. Not literally, as he is in his true form already. But he does hunch over with a careful expression.

“He’s asking a lot of pointed questions,” he says, and his voice is serious.

She frowns.

‘He’s my teacher. He’s trying to understand my growth as a heroic student. It’s more suspicious that you’re dodging him. Especially since I’m surrounded by people associated with All-Might. He’s not stupid. He’s making connections unless you give him something plausible in return, he’s going to put things together, Dad.’

He sighs.

“Izumi,” she forces herself to sit up. He only says her full name when he’s serious. 

She looks at him carefully. His deeply shadowed blue eyes are bright, burning intensely.

“I am doing what I think is best to protect you. The mantle you have taken is a legacy that would be coveted by anyone who truly knows of it,” he says, quietly, “A quirk that can be freely given, with the way you have unlocked the truest potential of One for All- I have never been more afraid than when you first activated Nana-sensei’s ‘Float’ . If anyone were to realize the origins of your quirk, I-”

Carefully, she places a hand on his. 

Her father swallowed thickly. She realizes she's crying, but she's always been a crybaby.

‘I am here,’ she signs, carefully.

He pats at the blood still dripping down his face. And, he smiles. Those were the first words he had ever heard her speak, and because of- because of her- Because of her condition, the only full sentence he had ever heard from her.

“Izumi, know that I am proud to have you carry my legacy. I simply wish to protect you.”

She looks at him. Sniffs.

‘I'm going to hug you.’

He opens his arms wide. 

Izumi hugs him. Even in his true form, there is a strength to her father. His embrace is warm.

“You're sticky, young lady,” he complains, huffing. 

He doesn't let her go. Only squeezes slightly. 

She snorts. 

“I love you, Mi-chan.”

‘I love you, Dad-Might,’ she signs back.

Chapter Text

She’s a small, minuscule sort of woman, with emerald hair, and emerald eyes, and she has a wide, open face. She is crying, and in her hands she holds a thick folder. She hiccups. All-Might winces, his foot mid-way out the window. He blinks. The young woman locks the door behind her. He doesn’t sense a threat, or anything suspicious, which is why he doesn’t lunge at her or launch himself out of his office window. The tears also lead him to believe that this isn’t a social call. 

She’s the most beautiful, kind person, he thinks, faintly.

“Ah,” he says, “Er. Hello, Young Lady-”

The woman is sobs.

“My name,” she cries, nearly wailing, “Is Midoriya Inko. My daughter is missing. ”

She lifts a photograph.

The girl in the picture is probably eight or so. She’s smiling, with a big round face full of freckles, the same emerald eyes as her mother, with large white curls about her face.  She’s wearing an All-Might onesie, and throwing a peace sign at the camera. 

She’s the bravest person I will ever know.

Toshinori stares. This is not the first time someone has infiltrated his agency over a criminal case. It won’t be the last. But, more than likely the case is out of jurisdiction, or not something that needs his particular skill set. Already, in his mind, he’s making a list of heroes that will be better suited to help this desperate mother.  

“Ms. Midioriya,” he says, gently, “I understand that-”

He loves her. He loves her and Izumi to the point that he would die for them. Even more, he will live for them when his time as All Might has truly passed. 

“No,” she snaps, “You don’t understand. She disappeared from the hospital. And- I have reason to understand that her kidnapping was- Was… Was done by someone terrible. ”

The hairs on the back of his neck raise.

I remember this. I remember my raising fear, my anticipation.

I remember being an idiot.

“What do you mean?”

The woman throws the file on his desk. Papers spill. She jerks forward, still crying as she picks through the papers. 

“The hospital’s electricity went out in the two minutes my daughter last had contact with her nurse. She was gone in exactly two minutes. What’s more- I think… The police aren’t- They have misplaced the data for her case four times in the six months since she went missing. Something is wrong. ”

He looks. Two minutes was an incredibly small window. He frowns. He goes to the papers. He starts to go through them, one by one. He cannot read them. They are jumbled images of things he remembers and people he has failed. He doesn’t know why the information isn’t clear to him. He looks up.

This is a memory. No, worse-

The young woman who would become his wife changes. She is no longer as young as she had been. She’s older. Hurt. She’s still crying. Only blood intermingles with the tears, flowing from the top of her head. Half her face is gone, along with an enormous blow to her side. She tetters, ill-balanced. 

Half of his wife is gone.

Her stomach- it is just like his. Entrails flow.  A mess of dripping red and remains of stomach acid, eating away at her flesh. He knows how much that hurts. She smiles, it pulls horribly at the part of her face that is gone. Brain matter drips with her tears.  His wife drops.  Toshinori desperately caught her. He clings to her. His arms nearly fail him. He is weak. He buckles under the weight that once had felt like nothing to him. He is weak. He is weak- He cannot save anyone. He falls to his knees.

His body is a waste. He is no more than bones and failure.

Quirkless. He couldn’t-

“Izumi is dead because of you. You killed our daughter,” Inko whispers through broken teeth, through half a maw. It pulls a wet, squelching sound, and Toshinori feels a scream build in him. It is strangled in the rawness of his throat, in the desperation that is consuming him.

“No, no I will do everything to protect her-” he swears.

“She protected you , the first time you met. How can you call yourself a hero?” his wife counters.

I failed her. I failed her-

“I’ll do better. I will, I promise, I will protec-”

“ It’s too late, Toshinori, you killed her. Why did you have to give her the quirk? Why did you kill our baby? ”

Toshinori jerks, waking with a scream, inflating to All-Might. The remnants of ‘One for All’ are the weakest echoes within him. An ember he desperately clings to since he has passed everything to Izumi. Next to him, his wife jerks awake. Tears and sweat intermingle on his face.

He can't breathe.

He can't.

Izumi, he thinks desperately. He can't move. He is paralyzed. He is weak. A failure- he-

“Toshi?” Inko mumbles. Her hand is on his shoulder, careful and soft. 

His chest heaves. He deflates. He can’t waste even a second. Every second he wasted could mean someone’s life. He is shaking. Dripping with sweat. Blood is gushing from his mouth. For once, it’s because he bit his tongue in his sleep.  He wants to lie. But his wife’s face is careful and serious.

This is the woman who brought together a case file that led him to victory. He knows he couldn’t lie.

“A bad dream,” he mumbles, “Izumi. Izumi died because- Because I gave her the quirk- I- I shouldn’t-”

She cups his face.

“You gave our child the greatest gift, Toshinori.”

“It’s- She’s too young. I should have never-”

“Toshinori. I didn’t mean the quirk. I meant you as her father.”

He stops. Covers his face in his knobby hands.

“Her teacher is asking too many questions,” he tells her, and he has no doubt it was his conversation with Izumi that made him dream up the worse case scenario in his sleep,  “And Principal Nezu isn’t blocking him. I’m losing my mind Inko. And that- that boy is in her class.”

His wife sighs.

“If the Principal, the most intelligent being on Earth, whom you trust, isn’t preventing him, perhaps that means that he trusts Aizawa-san. And as for the Bakugou boy, you can’t protect Izumi from everything. There are some things she is going to have to face on her own... I think... I think he is one of them.”

He lifts his face from his hands.

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Breath, my love,” whispers Inko, calmly.

She is crying. She shares that with their daughter. The ease in which they cry. He cups her face in his hands. She leans into his palms.

“Breath.” 

She takes a breathe.

Once.

Twice.

Keeps it steady. In. Out. It ghosts across his sweat-lined face, because Inko carefully moves his face to hers, and presses their foreheads together. They share air. 

He breathes . 

They stay silent. They breathe together. His heart slows. The sweat on him dries. He breathes.  She presses a kiss to his lips. Soft and just comfortable before she pulls back. Her emerald eyes look nearly black in the lack of light. He rubs his thumbs across the arc of her cheeks. 

“When can you arrange for Mirai, and David to conference for a meeting with Aizawa-san?”

He winces.

“Erh, I haven’t… Exactly- Well, even asked.”

“ Toshinori. ”

“I’ll ask in the morning.”

She kisses him again. Firmly. Whips delicately at the tears and sweat on his face.

“Good. Now, want to cuddle? Or do you want to check on Izumi?”

Something unwinds in him.

“Izumi, then cuddling?”

She hums.

"Of course, dear."

Chapter Text

“ What ?” he snarls.

The girls of his class flinch back. All but Midoriya, who only looks at him grimly in determination. Shota prays for patience, if not, a crowbar to beat the head of the costuming department. He needs Nemuri. She’ll help him get away with this particular murder, he knows it. He needs more coffee-  His problem child slides a latte, with shaved chocolate flakes artfully arranged into a cat’s face in whipped cream across the span of his desk.

Like an offering at an altar.

I am a generous, vengeful god, he thinks, as he snatches up his take-out coffee cup. He may be running on zero hours of sleep. Which is why he nearly misses gripping the to-go cup. He had run what was supposed to be a quick OP last night. Said 'quick' OP had dragged into the early morning of today, and he had just managed to shower in the teacher's locker room downstairs and drag himself up to finish up some paperwork, and then take a nap before class.

Now, here he was, looking down at a very impressively filled-out report by his newest batch of first years.

And ready to murder. Apparently, their first-year costume department thought it fit to sexualize the hero wear. Of his minor students. Without their consent. Specifically to only the female children in his care. To a degree that they didn’t even provide the very easily obtainable sheer and or nude color body armor to replace the amount of costume, they had removed in most of his students. A specifically proprietary armor that Nemuri had personally signed the rights over to the school. In a gesture to maintain bodily autonomy and self-expression to her students. 

That the costuming department was specifically sexualizing.

I need Nemuri, I need the Rat, and I need an alibi. Or at least the Lawyers of UA student representatives, HR, and the data of costuming for the last five years.

It wasn’t strange for them to make minor alterations to the design for practical purposes. At fourteen or fifteen, most of the first-year students wouldn’t be properly informed on what would be best outfitted for them. Even aesthetic changes could be made- it was necessary if the student chose something that was copy-righted, or propriety of something U.A. didn't have access to. This was fucking not the same. Blood would be had, he is sure. But that is neither here nor there. He sips. He nearly starts worshiping the cup. It’s delicious. 

The best coffee he’s had.

“ Midoriya, where did you get this coffee? ”

‘Home.’

Her thermos, he realizes, is in her hand. A little pastry bag dangles from the same hand and viciously wishes he could suppress the way his stomach, empty because he had run low on his on-sight jelly packs, nearly howled at the thought of whatever was in that bag. If I wasn’t a hero, I would steal her pastry, and the coffee machine. He looks mournfully at the cup. The pattern on the cardboard is cat-paws. He has the same at home when he can't be bothered to clean his own thermos. 

“What machine do you use?” he mumbles, even as he brings the coffee closer, he wants to drown in it, “Coffee brand?”

It was a flavored coffee, spiced and chocolate, and just the right edge of bitter, smooth, and non-acidic. He squints.

Problem Child is my favorite, he thinks, fuzzily, just going to get the most head pats. 

His hands twitch.

‘Something Melissa-nee-chan made,’ she signs, ‘The brand is ‘Superman’. It's an American brand.’

He blinks bleary at her.  

“You have a sibling?”

How can the world handle two of these kids? Oh, good god. 

Problem Child shakes her head.

‘A friend from I-Island,’ she replies. 

He nods. Absentaly.

Good. Two such children would be too much. 

“I’m going to handle this. Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I will be speaking to the principal on your behalf. In the meantime, I ask you to wear your PE uniform during exercises. As of now, no one in 1-A is going to be wearing their hero costumes.”

She smiles. Then, again, like an offering, she slides the pastry bag across his desk. He stares at it. Stairs back up at her. He realizes with a jolt, that all of the girls around them have similar pastry bags. 

'For you, Sensei Grumpy-Cat. Thank you so much for having our backs! We are going to go to the student library, and leave you in peace before class.'

"Be back on time," he tells them, sternly.

He clutches at the coffee and the pastry bag. When they are gone, he sits and opens the bag. It’s a lychee-shaped little pastry. A cluster of sponges that are shaped and powdered to look just like the fruit. The lychee sponge has a little cat face drawn on it. He realizes, as he looks at the side of the pastry bag, that it's from a cafe/acarde near campus. It doesn't have this on the menu, he is sure, because he likes eating there. It made him cringe, every time he ordered an 'All-Might' breakfast bowl, but he would die on the hill that it was delicious and anyone could fight him on it. Sleep-deprived as he is, he nearly cries at the gesture. 

She remembers the candy I gave her on the first day. And the fact that I liked my coffee super sweet. 

The cake, like the coffee, is fucking delicious. 

Chapter Text

“Excuse the fuck, you?!” Snarls Nemuri. 

Shota slides his student's notes over the large space between him and Nezu-taichou. 

Nemuri jolts up, and begins to pace.

The chimera is looking at him with a narrowed narrowed-eyed focus that would make most people nervous.  

Lychee is a taste that lingers sweetly on his tongue, reminding him that he has the entirety of his female presenting students counting on him. It's a bitter moment when he realizes he has to drink his fourth of cup of coffee that morning, and that the taste of the break room coffee, one of his favorites, is a step down from what the Problem Child gave him. He already searched the brand on his phone and has put in a request to have it added to the school.  His own order of ‘Superman Spiced Kryptonian Chocolate’, the ‘Batman Toffee Bonanza’, and the ‘Wonder Woman Carmel of Truth’ is already being processed. Three bags for home, three on the next order for the school break room. 

He had also sent an inquiry to I-Island about the machine being made for him. He hopes to catch the engineer, but he couldn’t find a ‘Melissa’ on their website. A personal request had to be made, and he pulled some strings to even get the email to Doctor David Shield. MD. Apparently.  

Sleep-deprived or not, he was effective damn it.

“My female student’s designs were heavily altered. Specifically to be on the sexual side. Without their consent. According to my classes’ report, the boy's costumes for the most part have not been affected the same way. However, we do see a general trend of some modifications of that nature. If you notice, any male student with a... Certain physique has that emphasized. While modifications made to costumes are quite common for the commercial aspect of the Industry, this is always with the hero's input, agency, and decency laws to take into consideration. This affects the brand that our students are attempting to curate... Our own brand could be put into question as well.”

"I'm going to conduct a survey of our elder students," hissed Nemuri.

"I propose an emergency heroic redesign to all of our students, I can have my students in support aid with this until we have this sorted. Mandatory PE uniforms until it's settled?"

Nezu-taicho starts laughing.

Shota smiles, teeth baring.   

Because he knows that the head of the costume department is going to be blacklisted, minimum. Dragged and quartered, metaphorically. Jailed, if Shota has anything to say about it.  Punched in the genitals if Nemuri had anything to say about it. And the principal would make sure his friend could get away with it.

So the sound of the rat laughing is music to his ears.

Chapter Text

The meeting for problem child is scheduled for the end of the day. 

Shota finds the message in his inbox from what is shopping up to be the bane of his existence. 

Yagi Toshinori.

A cheery little smiling All-Might as an emoticon is on his pre-written signature at the end of his email. That little emoticon caused Shota to full-body twitch at this point. 

The emoticon's repeated appearances are what caused the man to be on The List. 

The List, as Shota calls it, is the people that Shota finds absolutely insufferable. 

#1 is still Ms. Joke. Anyone who insists on pushing boundaries of consent can and will forever be on his hit list.

Shit list, he reminds himself, quietly, even as he downs his fifth coffee of the day. His hands are shaking. If Nezu hadn’t banned them because of the… The incident with Present Mic and the impromptu demolition of the USJ building a couple of years back, he would have bought an energy drink from the corner store before class. 

He sends the scheduled meeting to the Problem Child, who is currently listening attentively as the class president mentions, off-handedly, that she’s researching the Costume Department’s alternate contracts needs. Shota feels his lips pull back at the quiet reminder that it took his first years to push forth the problem for it to come to light. Due to the sheer mass of incoming students in the heroics program, the long-standing policy was to delegate and contract out the first years and then have the support department adjust and fine-tune the general costumes. 

That system evidently had caused the head of costuming contracts to get…

Lax in the standards of companies. This was a blight on U.A. The Rat was out for blood. 

Nemuri wanted corpses. 

Shota wanted to deliver good news. 

He stood, gulping his coffee.

“Alright, listen up,” he calls, “New policy. Due to an issue, all student heroic costumes are to be decommissioned and revamped.”

Half his class seemed confused, even furious. 

But the girls.

They beam at him.