Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was always difficult to tell how a person would break.

Even after years upon centuries of experience, predicting in what way someone would shatter was a particular and fussy art. One could press all the right seams, tap at just the right angle, and a person could still surprise you. People were unpredictable like that. For the most part, it was easy to see what decision someone could make. Logic prevailed, however skewed the logic was person to person. But with someone on the edge, logic became a thing of memory. It bowed down to inner emotion, to the want and the need. Sometimes someone splintered towards who they were previously, becoming sorely rigid in who they thought they were or who they were expected to be. But other times, they could split off and become the complete opposite. They could find themselves as a complete reflection, the antithesis, to their past self. Sometimes it was a mix of both, though humanity did often prefer to stick to the ease of black-and-white options.

Midoriya Izuku was a boy full of potential and determination, just begging to be directed. He was a boy on the precipice– of something great or terrible, it was only a matter of which way the shoe fell. It had been a particular effort to lead him towards the more violent shattering, the kind that would fashion him into a mindless but devoted soldier to the cause. The preparations had been long, but not long enough.

Perhaps there had been an element of underestimation. Perhaps Midoriya Izuku was simply so full of potential that he couldn’t be honed to be anything but an utter catalyst, a head-of-the-pack harbinger of change. Maybe it was simply impossible for him to fall into the following or orderly role. The boy did what he thought was right, after all. Nothing more, nothing less. It was a ream of work, convincing him of more villainous ideals, but he had seemed to be on the right track. He was on the right track even after the shattering, setting aside the unexpected takeover of leadership.

So how, pray tell, had the boy failed so spectacularly? The plan was well crafted. The “players” were picked with intent. The instructions had been all quite clear. And yet, the League had come out the loser in almost every possible way. They lost three useful pawns, were unable to capture the additional but simple second objective, and narrowly fumbled the main goal! Not to mention losing Midoriya Izuku himself, arguably one of the most valuable pieces on the board. All in one fell swoop. 

There was no plan for Midoriya Izuku to succeed right off the bat. As was with Tomura, failures were a part of the process. It was to be anticipated. Still, a failure of this magnitude had not been foreseen. And all after Midoriya Izuku had been so kindly allowed to head the League. It was honestly a wonder that Tomura had allowed it, or that no fight had occurred. That had been the expectation, truly. For Tomura and Midoriya Izuku to fight for the lead, and for their competition to drive them further until one came up on top. While that hadn’t quite been the plan, as Midoriya Izuku was originally meant to be a useful second-hand, it was what seemed likely after the boy shattered. Yet he’d fully taken over with next to no resistance from Tomura. Though that was all the same; a strong successor was required, and both Tomura and Midoriya Izuku were suitable enough. It had been deemed that both of their bodies could withstand many quirks simply due to their “genetics.” The plan could succeed whichever boy took the leading role, so no move had been made to interfere with who took that place. It had, again, still been a surprise to see Midoriya Izuku come out on top, temporarily or not. Tomura was becoming more contemplative though, and that showed promise. If that had reached a high enough peak, maybe Midoriya Izuku wouldn’t have stayed on top for much longer. And then the years spent on Tomura were of utter importance and not useless in comparison to the relative ease with which Midoriya Izuku was brought to fruition. But regardless, with Midoriya Izuku captured, perhaps the results showed the same. Tomura was still free, still the last one standing. That would demonstrate the boy’s deserving of his place, if all went well.

As it was, it did not largely matter whether the prevailing successor was particularly clever minded. It would be a joy, because sharper people were simply more enjoyable, but it was not required as long as they weren’t practically brain-dead. All that was required was a good and true thirst for bloodshed, revenge, anything of that sort. And a smart successor could not be a true hindrance; there was little worry as to if either boy would figure out the truth of the matter. Both were devoted and followed faithfully. It was almost a non-chance that they’d question enough to reach the truth.

Regardless, Midoriya Izuku’s failure left a conundrum. 

Had the boy been simply underdeveloped, not left to develop long enough? Were the players not as well picked as hoped? Perhaps he had never been suited to a true, evil villainy in the first place… Bah, that was ridiculous. Anyone could be a villain, especially Midoriya Izuku. So where was the catch in the fabric?

Hmm… In retrospect, there was a chance it was simply the way he shattered. Midoriya Izuku had crumbled into something completely opposing who he was before, and maybe that was the snag. The usage of Outrage certainly did not aid in that, but it had been necessary to direct the shattering at all. Without it, the chance of Midoriya Izuku crumbling into nothing or into something completely unrefined was too great. He needed to be ever so more volatile, but the extremes to which he came was conceivably too far, too fast. The crowning feature of Midoriya Izuku had been his intelligence and planning, after all. So clever and scrappy. His shattering had muted that, to an extent. Yes, that was it. That was the mistake, one largely out of feasible control. While Outrage was a factor, the quirk was also one that affected every person slightly differently. The entire situation had been carefully curated, but there was always at least one next-to-unpredictable variable in any plan. This one had simply not turned out as hoped. 

Midoriya Izuku’s shattering had stolen away the careful part of his careful intelligence. And that had been his undoing.

A valuable lesson, for sure. But not one that would sink any ships. Murphy’s Law, yet again. Plan for the worst. It could be that boy was not quite a lost cause yet, but resources wouldn’t be wasted upon a simple opportunely attained piece. The boy didn’t even know anything particularly important; he’d always traveled with Kurogiri’s warp gates and never needed to know their addresses. Though it was doubtful that he would reveal anything substantial; he cared far too much about them to do that. Tomura was still the crowning jewel, the one that would devastate All Might the most. Midoriya Izuku still had potential, but it would not be the job of the League of Villains to rescue him. If he wanted to prove he had what it took, he could escape and reach out himself. And, if he couldn’t, then so be it.

All for One had more important pieces to place, and more important plans to execute.

Midoriya Izuku woke up in an unfamiliar space. When he opened his eyes, he was not greeted by familiar gray walls and his desk of careful plans and analysis notebooks or his closet and his full to bursting bookshelf. But he didn’t realize any of that, yet. No, the first thing Izuku noticed was his killer headache. His eyes slammed shut as soon as bright light hit them, and he groaned. Instinctually his right hand moved to rub at his eyes, but Izuku suddenly went wide-awake when he noticed his wrist was restrained. A look through squinted eyes showed both of his wrists locked to the bars of a hospital bed with handcuffs. 

A heavy fog reigned over Izuku, as if a mental weight had been placed on his mind. Thinking with any amount of coherence was like trying to push through molasses, and yet he felt hollowed out. Empty and clear, like a breeze would flow right through a hole in his chest, but also dead tired. Like how one felt after a good workout; worn, but refreshed even through the exhaustion. It was a strange simultaneous dynamic. But, ever trained, Izuku slowly started to blink open and adjust his eyes to the bright lights. He needed to know where he was and what was going on, no matter how much the fatigue tried to drag him back to the blankness that wanted to masquerade as sleep.

When he’d adjusted enough to be able to see Izuku realized he was not actually in a hospital room, despite the hospital bed he was in. The bed’s back was raised, allowing him to survey his surroundings without as much strain. There were no windows, just a large mirror on the wall to his right and a door on the opposite. Mirror aside, the walls themselves were blank and there was no other furniture aside from the bed he was anchored to. It honestly looked more like a police interrogation room than… Oh. Oh no.

The fog did not recede, but a moment of mental clarity finally graced Izuku. He’d been captured. Shit! That was bad. Like, really bad. What did the heroes and police know? What– wait, how had he been captured? The last thing he remembered was…

At that moment, as he watched Kacchan living like nothing had happened and like he had done nothing and like Izuku had never existed and like he deserved to be happy while Izuku was left like this, he felt

something

in

him–

Wait. No, that wasn’t what he last remembered. After that it was blurry, but still. There was… more. After that. He’d… What happened? Truly, what had he been doing? It was like everything he could even begin to brush over was under a warped, red film. It was there, but every memory was so soaked in anger that they were almost completely removed from himself. He wanted to claw through the static obscured barrier to understand what he’d been doing even just a day ago, but his brain was working against him. The headache he’d distracted from earlier had only grown and the focus needed to recover even the blurry images he’d managed was waning. Against his will, he dropped back into a warped and static-filled doze. 

An unidentifiable amount of time later, Izuku woke again. The sleep had been restless, filled with hazy flashes of faces and movement. And, though he felt clearer now, Izuku was not refreshed. Adjusting to the brightness was easier this time, but he still glared at the piercing, cold white lights. For a moment he just laid there, completely helpless and with no idea what to do. What could he do, handcuffed to a hospital bed? Thinking about anything felt impossible; he could feel his eyes begin to glaze and the beginnings of a headache begin to form the moment he tried. For a small while, Izuku simply resisted drifting off again, back to that red haze. He was almost about to fail and lose himself again when he heard a shuffle and immediately lasered in on the sound. The noise led his gaze to the door, where the knob had begun to turn. Izuku tensed.

The door opened with no fanfare, and two people walked into the room. One was reasonably tall, dressed in a long tan coat and sporting short dark hair. If they just added a hat, they’d look like the most stereotypical detective alive. They held the door open, allowing the other person to enter. They were a head shorter, with gray hair and drooping blue eyes. They were dressed in a white lab coat, but the ornate and gothic black collar around their neck broke the illusion of a doctor quickly enough. They had a lanyard, one that had a picture of them and the words “GUEST” in large bold letters beneath it, but any identifying information on it was too far away to be read. 

The trademark detective dragged a plastic chair behind them. They wordlessly offered it to the not-doctor, who shook their head in response. After the not-doctor shook their head again, even more firmly this time, and walked over to lean against the wall, the detective sighed and sat in the chair themself. When they were situated, they finally addressed Izuku.

“Hello,” the detective said, a friendly smile on their bland face. Dark and tired but, somehow, trustworthy eyes stared at him. If Izuku were less trained or less perceptive, he wouldn’t have seen the slight strain beneath the veneer. “I’m Detective Tsukauchi Naomasa, he/him, and he’s Tieren Ellis. We’re here to ask you a few questions, Midoriya.”

It took real effort not to flinch at them using his family name. Izuku hadn’t heard someone use that in… months. Even before the hazy period in his memories, which he was also relatively sure no one used his family name during.

“My quirk tells me when someone lies, just so you are aware.” Fascinating, but bad news. If Izuku weren’t so unbalanced at the moment, he’d be internally spiraling with questions about it. The detective's smile strained a little more visibly when Izuku made no effort to respond or even truly acknowledge his words, but not in a way that was angry or annoyed. Izuku couldn’t place it. “How much do you remember?”

And wasn’t that the million-dollar question? “Not enough” was the answer, but Izuku wasn’t just going to say that. Plus, this was law enforcement. Being cooperative was not going to be the first plan. Still, with no idea what to say, he just shrugged. 

Detective Tsukauchi leaned forward and clasped his hands together, elbows resting his weight on his legs. “Look, we know you were a part of the League of Villains. You were affected by a number of emotionally and mentally manipulative quirks during that time. Do you remember any of this?”

“What?” Against his will, the word slipped out from Izuku’s lips. Because– what? What did that mean?

“Do you remember anything?”

“What… What do you mean? Quirks?”

“You were affected by multiple different manipulation quirks that affected your emotional and mental state. I… assume you don’t remember this?”

That… no. Izuku didn’t remember that because it didn’t happen. Sensei didn’t. This officer was lying. It was an insane lie to try, but it was a lie. Sensei didn’t, and he wouldn’t.

But… he could.

A sharp static cut through Izuku’s head. The pain had Izuku jolting forwards, chest heaving at the ringing in his ears and the static blocking out every other sense. The cuffs kept him from gripping his hair, but in his state he hardly noticed the cuffs digging into his wrists as he absently kept trying to bring his hands up. He curled forward, back hunching and legs drawing into him. Restrained as he was he couldn’t quite curl into a real ball, but his body certainly tried. His eyes snapped shut and his breath came quick, only increasing in pace with every passing moment.

Sensei wouldn’t do that, not to Izuku. But despite that resounding, clear, and overwhelming truth that was seared into Izuku’s brain and ringing in his ears, a horrible doubt creeped into the corners. Why wouldn’t Sensei do that? He could. He had the quirks to. And Sensei, however kind, was a villain. Izuku was too, so he knew it just as well. Villains would do a lot for their goal. So– would Sensei…?

Wouldn’t he? Wouldn’t he?

Through static screaming in his ears, Izuku barely registered the sound of a door opening and closing and rapid footsteps. A few seconds passed. Then a hand was on Izuku’s back, rubbing circles. A deep and unbothered voice, rough but calm, filtered through his ears.

“I’ve always been more of a cat person, but I did have a dog once when I was very young. Her name was Batman, like the hero from that old pre-quirk franchise. My dad was a huge old comics fan, and I somehow grew up with Batman as a foundational hero even with actual pros on the streets. I insisted on the name and my parents thought it was funny, so she was Batman. That dog lived up to the name, though. Always managed to disappear and appear without anyone noticing at all. Even when she was old and creaky, she kept doing it. Even better at it than our sneaky cat. No one knew how she was so good at just appearing and disappearing, even though she walked maybe two steps a minute when we were looking.”

The story was meaningless and easy, and Izuku found himself focusing on what little of it he could process. As Izuku’s mind grabbed onto the words, the static receded. The hand on his back was an unfamiliar gesture, but not one that was unwelcome. His breath slowed into something that actually got air into his lungs, and Izuku could finally look to see someone he vaguely recognized standing next to his bed. It was… a hero. Long dark hair, dark clothes, gray scarf– Eraserhead. An underground hero, the view of which tried to pull a memory from the deep recesses of that red haze. That threatened to draw Izuku back into the static, but Eraserhead didn’t stop talking or rubbing those slow, consistent circles and it kept Izuku in reality. He wasn’t even looking at Izuku, instead staring blankly at the wall past him. It should’ve seemed sterile and uncomfortably detached, to the point where Izuku would be shrinking away from the uncaring touch. But the touch wasn’t uncaring. Just… calm. No pressure, no expectation, just someone talking about their childhood pet and staring off into space. 

When Izuku was mostly back to himself, breathing coming almost easy, the hero stepped back and finally met Izuku’s eyes. His expression wasn’t mushy or sentimental or even pitying. Like before, it was just calm. Against all reason, it was reassuring. Eraserhead gave Izuku a small nod, firm and resolute. And then he walked over to where Teiren stood and leaned on the wall, right next to the not-doctor. 

The detective sent Eraserhead a look, one that Izuku couldn’t decipher, and turned back to Izuku. By then, he was feeling more present. The static lingered in the back of his mind with the doubt that had set off the whole “episode” in the first place, but Izuku purposefully didn’t linger on it. 

“Midoriya, are you comfortable to continue? Or would you prefer we come back later?”

On one hand, Izuku still felt shaky and he didn’t want to answer any questions at all and hearing that name made him want to grimace. On the other… He took a short but deep breath and chose to ignore the rule of resistant silence. “Let's just– get it over with.”

The detective’s mouth turned down for a moment, but he nodded anyway. “Let’s skip to… Here, how much do you remember of the past months since your… disappearance?”

“Uh…” Izuku’s face scrunched. “What’s the date?”

“August 10th.”

August 10th. The last clear memory Izuku had (he pushed away the past feeling of something in his chest shattering) was on the day of the Sports Festival. That was… May? The 6th, he was relatively sure. But that meant– Nearly three months. Three months of red fog and static and next to nothing else but being captured to show for it. What could that be, other than the result of a quirk? 

Or a few quirks?

Izuku shook his head to pull himself back again, the blur of beige from the detective’s coat reminding him that there was a question to answer here. He could lie, say that he did remember all of it– or vice versa, that he remembered none of it. The detective could be bluffing about his supposed lie detecting quirk. But Izuku was simply too tired. There was no room in him to lie and deal with the possible consequences, not now. He could simply not answer, but Izuku had his own questions to ask and he’d gain no capital by refusing questions. An answer for an answer, perhaps. Give and get.

Swallowing hard, Izuku hoped he was making the right choice. “The last thing I really remember is seeing– ah, the end of the Sports Festival. On TV, I mean. So, May? Sixth, maybe?” Izuku could specify, say that he had a few hazy flashes after that, but he was already showing some of his hand here– no need to reveal the whole thing quite yet. 

The detective nodded, accepting the information. If he really was telling the truth about his quirk, that acceptance meant telling truths but leaving out details was allowed. Or Detective Tsukauchi was just not telling Izuku that he knew it was a half-lie of omission, but Izuku got the feeling he’d be told to try and answer again if he lied.

Though the detective accepted it, Izuku’s large gap of memory didn’t seem to sit well with the man. Izuku could relate. “That was also the day after…” Detective Tsukauchi said, almost to himself. It took Izuku a moment to process and follow what the man was talking about. When he realized, walls immediately slammed down around him and any will he had to answer questions evaporated. It must have been obvious on his face, because the detective grimaced. “I’m sorry, I–” he started.

“Please–” Izuku cut him off then swallowed the instinctive fear. Despite how strangely friendly the detective and hero had been so far, there was still risk to any resisting. His hands gripped the sheets beneath them with a white-knuckled firmness. “Please. I don’t want to answer anything else. Please.”

And, somehow, his request landed. Izuku had almost expected to be rejected outright, for the detective to prove his pretty words from before were just that. But Detective Tsukauchi nodded and stood, bowing when he was up. “I apologize for dredging up some unpleasant memories and emotions, Midoriya. I hope you can forgive me. I will be required to return eventually, to ask more questions, but for now I will let you rest.”

With those sincere words, the man left with the folding chair tucked under his arm. This time Eraserhead was the one to open the door for the other two, and they all left promptly. Izuku was left feeling strangely considered. The instant Izuku had asked, they’d left. No pestering, no questions, no urging past his wishes. Even when he’d lost himself earlier, they hadn’t even given him a disapproving look. It could be a trick. It had to be. Sensei would tell him it was.

But, despite the cuffs still clasped to his wrists, no ice crept into his veins. In fact, Izuku felt oddly… warm. 

In a room full of nothing with nothing at all to occupy him, all Izuku could do was think. After Detective Tsukauchi, Tieren, and Eraserhead left, Izuku found he couldn’t fall asleep again to pass the time. All the thoughts and ideas and memories crowded for space in his head, and he tentatively decided to try to access some of them. They would hopefully answer a number of his questions, like: why was he here? Were Tomura and Kurogiri safe? How did he get captured? Were manipulative quirks used on him? What would happen next? 

Well, that last one was probably for the future to answer. But the others, those were probably accessible with what was hidden in his own mind. Izuku laid back in the bed, pressing a button he’d noticed nearby to let him recline just a bit more. He used what little wiggle room he had to pull his blanket over his lap. When comfortable, Izuku’s eyes landed on the blank ceiling for a moment before he took a deep breath and closed them.

It was painful to relive, but he needed to start from the last memory he had. The haze was strongest right after that, but there was a portion of time there that was just void. No matter how he tried, nothing could be dredged up. In the weirdest way, it wasn’t like those memories were obscured– just straight-up gone. He’d look back at the moment right before then jump to a not insignificant amount of time later, like a record skipping a whole song.

The soonest thread that he could pick up after that was dripping in static, but Izuku took a deep breath and strained his mind to remember. The first thing that he could really register was just pure rage. A light imitation of the emotion slipped through Izuku’s body when the memory surfaced, and even that felt almost scalding. There wasn’t much more to recall, he felt. He got flashes of Sensei’s warehouse, and some of the bar. There was a strange lack of Tomura and Kurogiri, though. Just passing glances. No milkshakes, no video games, no breakfast cooking, no joint-rants. Just glances. Izuku could barely comprehend how any past version of him would ignore his closest people, his family. Yet, in those glimpses, the other two villains had barely been present or important. Like… NPCs. It couldn’t be right, but what little Izuku’s mind could offer him painted the image of him completely pulling away from Tomura and Kurogiri. In the first couple of weeks he could piece together, the image of Sensei and the warehouse was almost constant. There was so much rage, superimposed over every single flash of memory. Izuku had no clue how he hadn’t simply collapsed; that amount of anger was exhausting to even look back on.

All of it felt so removed from him. That was the oddest part. In many of the few full “scenes” he could dredge up, Izuku could infer what logic he may have employed to get to the next action. But it was nothing like him. If he’d been there as he was now, he never would have pushed Tomura and Kurogiri away or acted as he had. 

The static and difficulty in remembering simply what happened to him was disturbing, but Izuku wouldn’t back down now. He wanted his answers. So, despite the headache that was slowly mounting into a migraine, Izuku pushed further. After that period of void and small flashes was… an attack. In a city– Hosu. Yes, Hosu. Right before, Izuku had met someone. Sensei had suggested the meeting, he was pretty sure, but whoever he’d met with had made that simmering fury surge violently. The person Izuku had met was a villain, definitely, but who? A katana… knives… fancy, uppity speech and… a particular moral code. A murderer. No, not just that. A killer. The Hero Killer– Stain. Izuku had met Stain. Holy shit, Izuku had met—and fought —the Hero Killer. Even though the wisps of that meeting were more than fuzzy, Izuku cringed at every glimpse he caught. He’d been so undiplomatic, it was almost like he hadn’t even wanted the villain on his side in the first place. The logic he’d been following was lost to the static, and Izuku was left unable to understand his own faulty planning. 

The attack itself was… Fuck, he’d stuck three noumu on a city! Innocents! He’d gone after Stain! Not, not just that; he’d gone after Stain to kill him. And what had that gained? What did any of it even do? Thank every god that Izuku hadn’t actually succeeded, but he’d tried to kill someone. He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t. So why had he?

You know why, a vicious voice in the back of his mind hissed. It felt like that furious version of himself, removed and yet still part of him. Izuku pushed it back, refocusing on following the timeline. The League gained new members after the attack and Stain’s arrest. Izuku could even remember all their names if he really pulled. Dabi and Toga Himiko were first, he was sure. After that he couldn’t figure an order, but it was Mr. Compress, Twice, Moonfish, Magne, and Muscular. By then, the rage had started to really weigh on him. Izuku had felt like a string about to snap, and he’d stormed out the door during the first recruitment. Somehow, he’d ended up at a mall. And he’d run into Ka– Bakugou. 

If he strained, he could remember the ranting. He could remember himself going on and on about the things that pissed him off, taking joy in Bakugou’s rare silence and hoping that his ex-friend was feeling particularly rattled. When Bakugou's classmate showed up, Izuku had left. Back then, Izuku hadn’t really seemed to care all that much. That version of him—Onryou—was decided and one-minded. Onryou had wanted Bakugou’s head on a spike, and taunting him was far from much to ask. But Izuku now? And before that haze? He hadn’t been nearly ready to confront his quickly souring feelings towards the boy he’d known his entire life. It had been easier to focus his frustration on All Might and the hero industry, rather than confront the people closer to him. What changed?

You know what, Onryou’s voice whispered, a broken record.

It wasn’t long after that that Onryou had struck again, at a summer camp. That attack was clearer, likely due to the recency. Izuku realized that this was likely the event that led to his capture. With that in mind, he thoroughly examined what he could recall.

Sensei had supplied information on the camp location and such, and Onryou had jumped at the chance to attack the class that housed Bakugou directly. The attack itself was as blurry as the rest of his memories, but easier to clear through. Sensei had made the request for Ragdoll to be retrieved, and Onryou had been set to do that before joining many of the others in scouring the forest for Bakugou. But, right as he’d gotten Ragdoll knocked out and prepared to call in Kurogiri, his comm had activated. Dabi and Twice had told him that Muscular went off plan and left the Twice clones to attack the lodge alone, completely going against the plan. Of the new members, Onryou had marked Muscular and Moonfish as both two of the strongest and the most unpredictable. They were most likely to disobey orders, so Onryou had given them ones that would supposedly fit their go-to memos. Moonfish to go out and attack indiscriminately to drum up fear and a distraction, and Muscular to attack the lodge where there would definitely be heroes to pummel for the same reasons. And yet…

Izuku shivered at the memory of the boiling fury that had sent him barreling straight towards Muscular. The trackers placed in the two least trustworthy members’ comms were useful in that instance. The strange thing was, Onryou rushed off to get Muscular before just getting Ragdoll through a portal. It wouldn’t have taken long. But instead of completing his easy mission, he’d left her laid out on the ground. Knocked out, but not captured like he was ordered. Izuku couldn’t figure out why Onryou would do it. Angry as he had been, it hadn’t been to the point of neglecting direct orders from Sensei. Onryou may have been obtuse at times, stupid at others, but he was still Izuku. Still a planner. Why, then, had he made so many easily preventable mistakes? 

Tranquilizing and leaving Muscular to be captured as a punishment was also not a good decision. It would have been better to take him back and discipline him, or just hand him over to Sensei, instead of leaving him to spill any League secrets the heroes could get out of him. Hell, even killing him, however horrifying the thought, would’ve been more in line with Sensei’s teaching or any common villainous reasoning. And then, a cherry on top, Onryou left the ones Muscular had been about to murder without doing a thing to them. That was more than simply illogical. That was out of Onryou’s character. The memory itself was strangely clear, yet his emotions and thought processes in that moment were lost to him. He’d stared at the purple-haired student, the Izuku of now recognizing him as the winner of the Sports Festival. It was obvious the guy was awake, even though the kid in his arms was passed out. But then, instead of tranquilizing or—and Izuku hated it, but Onyrou very well could have been okay with it—killing them, Onryou just… left. And Izuku was beginning to get the idea that perhaps Onryou had been less mindlessly angry than he’d previously thought.

To replace Muscular’s original spot, Onryou had gone to the lodge. There he’d fought a hero and lost– that was when he was captured. Who was that hero? Izuku, through the copious pain in his head, was only finding it more and more difficult to get all the memories sorted. Dark hair, dark outfit, scarf, yellow goggles– Eraserhead? He’d fought Eraserhead? Mortification rose in his chest and Izuku really wished he could hold his face in his hands. That was the same hero that had calmed him down earlier. Onryou had been a talker, insulting and going off at anything that moved. Why did Eraserhead help him? Of all people, why him?

Ugh, something else. Focus on something else. Something that… Hm. Something did actually jump out at Izuku, other than Onryou’s occasionally strange decisions– Tomura and Kurogiri. Izuku loved them. They were his family. But Onryou had shut them out and, now this was the odd part, Tomura had let him. Though Izuku’s immediate post-snapping memories were just void, after that Tomura hadn’t protested, thrown any tantrums, or even tried to insert himself into what was going on. He’d just stepped back, checked out. Kurogiri was loyal and almost completely impassive on his own, so his lack of proactivity made sense. But Tomura? Tomura did what he wanted, and one of the things he hated most was being pulled back from anything he wanted to be a part of. And Tomura had started the League; why had he let Onryou take over? It didn’t make sense. It… made Izuku miss their talks. He could ask, and they would explain, and then they’d play a game. Later, he’d help Kurogiri make breakfast, or lunch, or dinner. So badly, he wanted to do those things. He wanted one of Kurogiri’s milkshakes. He wanted to hear Tomura’s voice. He wanted a hug.

Instead, Izuku was handcuffed to a hospital bed and under police and hero custody. Homesickness like never before settled onto Izuku’s shoulders, and he realized he could only be sure of one thing: he was alone, and completely and utterly lost. More than just physically, too.

Quirkless as he was, Izuku was well aware of the cracks in society from the moment he was old enough to comprehend them. He’d thought that, when he became a hero, he could fix all of it then focus on defeating villains. Even though he eventually realized it wasn’t nearly that simple when he got older, he still held the irrational idea that he could fix things if he just became a hero. When he gave up on heroism, and then his life soon after, he’d been convinced that there was no way to change anything. That maybe it all was just– how it was.

Then he met Tomura. And Sensei. And he thought that, just maybe, things could be fixed. Not in the way he thought, but maybe he could help fix it all from the other side. He’d found out about more and more corruption until he came to the conclusion that they’d need to tear it down before they could build it back up again better. This time around, he had Tomura and Kurogiri and Sensei by his side. With them, how could they fail? Before he had stood alone, but now he had support and a mentor that knew so much. This had to be the right path. 

Even with that conclusion, Izuku’s steps had stalled. Some part of him, however buried, clung to the stupid, idealistic idea that it could all be fixed with flowers and roses. But that would fail. He’d tried; he’d asked the number one hero himself and found that there really was no place for people like him anywhere other than six feet under. He’d seen the proof of corruption. He’d seen that the hero industry was woefully drenched in tar. There was no fixing it at that point. Yet part of him still hesitated at the door, unable to take the final step and fully stand with Sensei.

And then– 

( He felt something in him– )

And then he snapped. He fell fully into villainy. He threw his entire weight behind Sensei. But, in the end, what did it actually do? What did it fix? Who did it help? The citizens of Hosu were terrorized just because Izuku had a bone to pick with a killer that didn’t even live there. The innocent students in UA were hurt and attacked again, with him at the helm this time, and yet no change was made. Change took time, yes, but this only seemed to drive everything in the opposite direction. What was he saving? Who was he helping? 

Nothing. No one. And Izuku was left with a simple question: now what? Not just with his specific predicament, but on a wider scale. Now, what? He’d tried to be good and nice and talk instead of yell. It didn’t pan out. He tried the direct route, yelled and screamed and lashed out to get people to just listen. It went too far and fell through. What was there left to do? Destroying the world to build it up against would hurt people in the process. Trying to change it as it was now was an impossible task. The people with enough power to push for change were easy to fall to their own corruption; those with enough power to make their voices heard didn’t care enough to speak up. Despite Izuku’s faith in Sensei, he was beginning to wonder. Was change even possible at all? Was it all just hopeless?

Izuku didn’t know. He just– didn’t know.

Chapter Text

During the fight, the boy seemed ready to burst with anger. Talkative, prone to insults, and vicious above all else. The Midoriya Izuku sitting in the makeshift holding room was far, far from that. From the moment the kid woke up, despite his determination to not steep his expectations on the boy, Aizawa Shouta had been surprised by how completely different Midoriya was. Just a day or two ago he’d been struggling in his bonds constantly and practically snapping his teeth at anyone that made the mistake of stepping within range. A stark contrast from that, Midoriya had been shaky and borderline timid after Tieren’s colleague used her quirk, Dispersal. Tieren had confirmed that Midoriya was still at least affected by the quirks used on him; it wasn’t as easy as removing every single manipulation and effect with a snap of a finger. The most Dispersal could do was get rid of what had currently been muddying Midoriya, such as the rage-inducing quirk. It did not erase what had been done to him before, even if it could give a new sort of clarity to those memories. Now it was Midoriya’s job, in a way, to sort through the mess of what was left behind in his memories and psyche. It was Shouta and the rest of the heroes’ duty to aid the boy in that. That was if the case seemed truly possible, as the whole committee had decided. After seeing him yesterday, Shouta was as sure as he could be that it was.

In the present, Shouta and Tsukauchi entered Midoriya’s room for the second time. When they entered, the boy was awake and staring at the ceiling. The lights had dimmed at some point after being given dinner to let him get some sleep, but he hadn’t seemed all there then. He still didn’t seem all there now, even after a night to rest. Being let up to go use the bathroom or having his handcuffs taken off completely didn’t shake the apparent listlessness that had taken over Midoriya. Shouta’s hands wanted to clench just thinking about it. At the very least, the kid turned to look when Shouta closed the door behind them. 

“Hello, Midoriya,” Tsukauchi said, radiating assurance. Midoriya did not seem enthused. The man was good at being reassuring, but Shouta could see through it easily. He was nervous. Likely thanks to Midoriya’s episode yesterday. 

Midoriya did not answer verbally. Just nodded respectfully, which was honestly better than nothing. Tsukauchi had passed on taking a chair inside this time, so he stood a short pace away from the foot of Midoriya’s bed. Shouta leaned on the wall behind him and felt the mass hidden within his capture weapon wiggle.

“Hello, Midoriya-kun!” Nedzu said, popping out from the folds. “It’s me, the one that could be a dog, mouse, or a bear! But, more importantly, I’m Principal Nedzu!”

Shouta leaned his head to the side to allow Nedzu more room and better balance. The principal clambered down, using the end of the weapon as a sort of rappel. He hopped up onto the end of the hospital bed. Midoriya’s worn and weary eyes followed the principal, barely affected.

“We are here to discuss with you what comes next, which I am quite sure you have been wondering about.” Nedzu sat down the side of the bed, his shoes hanging off of it and his torso turned to face Midoriya. He was using his most friendly but more down-to-earth voice. 

“Am I being sent to prison?” Midoriya asked, voice flat and just plain tired. Shouta’s instincts twitched again. Immediately, Nedzu’s head shook.

“No, far from it! We have found that you are unable to be held accountable for your actions, so it was not ethical to place you in a prison or anything of the sort. Say, did you ever want to go to UA?”

Did you ever want to be a hero? Nedzu did not ask. Bakugou had claimed as such, but…

“I…” Midoriya’s eyebrows furrowed. He barely seemed present. 

Sensing his hesitation, Nedzu swooped back in. “We are offering you a place to stay at UA while your case is ironed out and the rest of the League of Villains are handled. You can of course choose to refuse, but the only other option would be some sort of remote and hidden place– likely some sort of holding facility.”

Nedzu placed a paw closer to Midoriya’s hand. Carefully did not touch him, but offered comfort all the same. “You wouldn’t be a student exactly, but there is a place for you at UA. One I think you may deserve.”

Midoriya’s eyes snapped up from where they’d drifted down to focus on Nedzu’s paw. There was a new clarity there, and his gaze flicked from the principal, to Shouta, to Tsukauchi, then back to Nedzu. His eyebrows were furrowed, but his eyes were blown wide. 

“You… What?” His voice was somewhat hoarse, dry.

“UA. We plan to install dorms, and you would be housed with Eraserhead and Present Mic for safety’s sake. How does that sound, Midoriya?”

The kid flinched and his hands, holding the blankets with a white-knuckled grip, were shaking. Shouta met Midoriya’s eyes, almost blankly. As much as Shouta agreed with Nedzu that this would be the best path for Midoriya, he was also not going to imply that it was the only one. Midoriya deserved more than a decision made for him, the stars above knew he’d probably had enough of that at this point.

Though Shouta couldn’t be sure what it was, Midoriya seemed to find something in Shouta’s blank stare that hardened his resolve. The kid turned his attention back to Nedzu, and swallowed thickly.

“I remember now. Ev– Well, a majority of what happened.” Midoriya’s voice grew stronger with every word. His hands stayed clenched in his lap, resting on his blanket-covered thighs. “I’m not completely clueless. And I– I won’t tell you much about the League. I refuse to.” Here, Midoriya became more than the shaking lamb of a boy he’d been so far. A glimpse of the strength that Onryou had exuded through every pore emerged in Midoriya– different, but strong all the same.

“I’ll do my best to help you keep innocents safe. But I won’t help you capture them.” There was a hard set to Midoriya’s expression. His eyes were narrowed, and his mouth thinned into a firm line. It dared them to try and demand otherwise.

“Done and done!” Nedzu said, breaking the tenseness that had blanketed the room. The principal clapped his paws together cheerfully. Midoriya seemed to reorient and shrink again, the strength re-hidden away behind a nervous stutter and trembling hands. “We welcome any information you decide to share with us, but you are first and foremost here to improve yourself and become a functioning member of society again!”

At the words “functioning member of society,” Midoriya’s face twitched like he smelled something rotten, but he did not say anything aloud. Still, Shouta filed it away for future examination. He didn’t doubt Nedzu had done the same.

“Now!” Nedzu hopped off the bed. “We will return to bring you to your new living quarters soon! Anything you need will be supplied by UA upon request, including the furniture and clothing you will inevitably be needing. Oh, and I must inform you,” Nedzu turned from where he had been meandering slowly towards the door. “There will be mandatory counseling with our on-campus counselor.”

Though it was small and quickly contained, there was no hiding Midoriya’s full-body twitch at that. But, even though Nedzu gave him a moment to respond, Midoriya did not try to go back on his decision. He stayed resolute, even as the principal grinned and he, the detective, and Shouta began to file out the door. Shouta was the last one out, and he paused to turn back at Midoriya when his hand was resting on the door, prepared to close it. Words weren’t particularly Shouta’s strong suit, especially emotional ones, so he just inclined his head in what he hoped was a reassuring nod while keeping eye contact. 

Shouta was surprised by a warm crinkling to Midoriya’s eyes. It wasn’t quite a smile. But it was something. Shouta returned it with an almost-smile of his own, and closed the door behind him. 

The first appointment Inui Ryou had with Midoriya Izuku ended early.

It was clear to see that Midoriya’s case was fragile, and Ryou had tried to treat it as such. But somewhere along the way, something had gone wrong. The introductions had been fine, if uncomfortable on Midoriya’s end, but that was far from rare with the students Ryou had seen before. So he’d just stayed gentle and pressed on. How was he settling in? Did he like his room? How were the academic level assessments going? Just normal, easy questions. Midoriya had answered without trouble. It was going alright, his room was nice, the assessments were fine. But the discomfort had not faded. Ryou didn’t want to bring it up directly, but he was almost on the verge of doing so when Midoriya abruptly stood.

“I’m sorry,” he’d said with a bow. “I can’t. I-I just– Later. I’ll come back later. Sorry.” And then he’d practically run from the room. It was good that Aizawa was to wait nearby for Midoriya’s first appointment, else Midoriya may have either felt forced to stay or left without supervision. 

As unsatisfying as it could be, Ryou knew not to chase or to do more than follow where Midoriya seemed comfortable with taking the situation. Pushing therapy on him would only push him further away from the idea as a whole. So Ryou reached out to Aizawa, and Midoriya through him, and from there they organized another meeting. Ryou made sure to specify that Midoriya was to choose when, and that he’d follow whatever the boy decided. 

It was two days later that he found himself waiting in his office again. Aizawa, just like last time, opened the door and let Midoriya in. The man would need to come back for Midoriya to be brought wherever next, as per the rules. 

In a few short steps, Midoriya was dropping back into the chair across from Ryou. He looked up, lips thin. “I’m sorry again, for before. I just… I haven’t really needed to talk to a– uh, a therapist before.”

“It’s quite alright. This goes at your pace, Midoriya.” Ryou hesitated for a moment, but continued. “I know I can be intimidating as well, so it’s perfectly understandable.”

“Oh, no it’s not that at all!” Midoriya rushed to say. “I just… I’ve only really talked so much with like one other person? It felt… weird. Wrong, I guess to uh– talk like that. To someone else.”

It was sad to hear that the sharing of simple, trivial information felt wrong to Midoriya. It could relate to his past, which was likely pretty lonely due to quirk discrimination. But it could also be a symptom of the quirks used on Midoriya, something to put him off of giving out any information. Or a mix of both. Of course, Ryou didn’t point out either possibility. Inappropriate as it would be aside, Ryou didn’t want to dwell on the bastards that had manipulated the kid. It wouldn’t do to devolve into barking and growling. “Well, what would you be comfortable talking to me about?”

This seemed to stump Midoriya. “Uh… I don’t know. I guess, what’s happened recently? Remembering past stuff is a little bit…” He shrugged.

Ryou nodded. “Entirely fair. What about we start over with stuff like yesterday, just with a bit more detail?” When Midoriya nodded his assent, Ryou carried on. “How was moving into UA?”

For the first time, Midoriya seemed to perk up a bit. “It was cool! I just said it was just alright yesterday, but…” He paused, losing a bit of his wind. 

“Remember, this is all confidential,” Ryou said gently, “As long as you’re not in danger of hurting yourself or others, nothing we speak of here leaves the room.”

“Right.” Midoriya swallowed, but pushed past whatever was trying to smother his words. “I– Well, I’m kind of not a fan of a lot of heroes anymore, but it was still crazy to see so many walking around. Even weirder to see a few out of costume. I almost didn’t recognize Present Mic! Or, uh, Yamada. I knew he and Eraserhead were married, but seeing them in person together really makes it obvious. Yamada showed me around and then gave me some oyakodon he made. It was good, but he said he only really knew how to make donburi and was a disaster at anything else. Apparently Eraserhead– er, Aizawa is the better cook of them two, even if he never wants to bother enough to do it. It was actually kind of fun…”

Midoriya trailed off of his rambling, face pinching. Ryou leaned forward and Midoriya refocused when he saw the movement. “Are you alright?” Ryou asked.

“I…” His lips thinned. “You actually can’t tell anyone about this, alright? I don’t want you to use any of this against my– Against Tomura. The League.”

“Of course not,” Ryou said. Some officials had wanted him to leak anything he could to them, but over his dead body would he violate client confidentiality.

“It reminded me of Tomura and Kurogiri. It wasn’t very alike, but I made food with Kurogiri before and we’d all eat together. I just…” Midoriya’s hands dug into his arms where they were crossed. “I miss them a lot. They’re my family.”

Ah, that explained quite a bit. Ryou didn’t want to dig too deep too soon, but this seemed to be leading to deeper waters. “You were close with them,” he said, not a question but urging him to continue regardless.

“Yeah. They’re the first ones that really saw me and welcomed me anyway. Sen–” Midoriya seemed to choke on that word. But, with eyebrows drawn together in both determination and frustration, he recovered soon enough. “Sensei. Sensei did too. But…”

“But?” Ryou tentatively prompted.

“I think he’s–” Midoriya winced, but held up a shaking hand to cut off Ryou when he opened his mouth to say they could pursue a different subject. “Ugh. This kind of proves it, honestly. I think he’s why– Why I don’t remember the past few months. Why it’s hard to even think about.”

It hadn’t even been a week since Midoriya was released from the quirks binding him, and he was already trying to push through whatever control lingered. Ryou wanted to tell him to be careful and cautious, but something about Midoriya’s determination made him hesitate. This boy was pushing through so much conditioning and, very likely, more than just quirk-related manipulation. It felt wrong to tell him to handle it differently when he was the only one who knew what it felt like to be going through something so unprecedented.

“He was– He– I trust him. I’m supposed to trust him. I do trust him. But,” Midoriya released his arms finally, but his fists tightened into white-knuckled grips immediately after. “But who else? Who else could have used that many quirks on me? And I know it had to be quirks. That anger, the way my memories feel– it can’t be anything else. It was him. It has to be. He helped me. He saved me. But– did he? Did he really? Tomura was the one that found me. He was the one that stopped me. What did Sensei do? He told me so much, and he wasn’t wrong. He wasn’t wrong. Heroes are corrupt. But the quirks… What else was he not telling me? What was he hiding? What was he doing to me?”

“Midoriya…” Ryou was at a loss, but Midoriya barely seemed present enough to notice him anyway.

“He was lying to me. But so were heroes. Everyone was lying. Everyone is lying. What else is there? What is left? Heroes, villains… All corrupt. What am I supposed to do anymore? How do I help?” Tears welled up in Midoriya’s eyes. “Can it even be helped?”

“Midoriya.” Ryou spoke more firmly this time. The boy finally broke a bit out of his spiral, enough to look back at Ryou. “I can’t tell you what to believe. I doubt you’d want me to, either. But I can tell you that nothing is hopeless. That’s why I’m a hero. That’s why Aizawa and Yamada and all of my other colleagues are heroes. We want to help. We try. That’s all we can do.”

Midoriya scoffed, and Ryou’s heart sank as he watched all of the boy’s walls immediately rise back up. “Yeah. I should’ve expected that.”

After that, Midoriya was unwilling to talk about any deeper subjects. But that was honestly more expected than the amount of more sensitive topics they’d already touched upon on what was essentially their first appointment. Most of Midoriya’s past was thus barred, so they went into more detail about the more overt details of Midoriya’s past week. Still, it was all stiff and Midoriya was noticeably more snippy. 

Once the hour was up, Aizawa and Midoriya left and Ryou was left to consider his next approach. He’d said something wrong, certainly. But it could be a number of things. Maybe the reminder that Ryou was a hero made Midoriya uncomfortable, or maybe it was simply the concept of hope itself that Midoriya resented at this point in his journey. Regardless, it was not something that could be figured out by going over it over and over. Ryou would simply need to build more of a rapport with the kid and ask him to explain it.

Additionally, he could also see evidence of mood swings. That wasn’t exactly unheard of with a teenager, but Midoriya’s case was specialized. The quirk effects were dispelled, but not eradicated. Dismissing the mood swings without considering their possible connection to these aftereffects would be stupid. Ryou would need to get to know Midoriya more, but if the shyness was his “original” and the anger his “altered” state… Well, it was something to consider. Despite whoever he was before though, this was Midoriya now. And it would be imperative to make it clear that they would not be trying to force him to be who he used to be.

In the meantime, there was one thing Ryou could say for sure: Midoriya needed some more socialization. He was being isolated, though not literally. He was only really able to exist freely within the apartment he lived in, not even a place he considered home, with what were essentially his two main parole officers in school full of even more of them. Only leaving to do assessments with the principal of UA or head to a therapy appointment had to be suffocating. Though they couldn’t just set the boy free to do whatever he wanted, making real progress would require loosening the leash so to say. He needed, at the very least, some friends his age.

With that thought still weighing on him a few hours later, Ryou called Aizawa. The hero picked up almost immediately, as he tended to.

“Inui,” Aizawa greeted simply.

“Aizawa. Are you free to talk? Not for long, but without Midoriya listening.”

“Yes. What is this about?” Aizawa couldn’t quite hide the slight worry under the layers of laziness he heaped upon his tone.

“Nothing to immediately worry about, but Midoriya can’t keep going as he is. He needs to socialize, make friends his age.”

“He knows Bakugou. Could that work?”

Inui hesitated. He hadn’t quite thought of that. Though… “He has a particular aversion to his past. It may not be wise to bring him in right away. We also may want to reintroduce them in a controlled environment, just to be safe.”

 A beat of silence. “Hm. The hero students move in in four days and I see their parents tomorrow to get in-person permission and the waivers signed.”

“That could work… Do you think they’d be amicable to making a friend of someone who helped attack them, though? Who is still, to an extent, a threat? That may be damaging, or worse, risky.”

“The waivers cover the possibility of interaction; we always intended him to socialize with the other students. But to try the waters, we do a test run. Ask the students themselves, and if any volunteer we let one of them have some time to talk with him and monitor it.”

“If you think 1-A could handle that, then it could work. I trust you to assess this as their homeroom teacher.” Plus, Aizawa was notoriously protective of his students. If he was okay with this, then it wasn’t for no reason. Not that Ryou could voice that in such a way; Aizawa would be praying on his downfall for weeks after, and it was always best to have Aizawa on one’s own side.

Succinct as ever, Aizawa dropped the call after a curt goodbye. Ryou wrote up and sent an email to Nedzu explaining their idea, but he held no delusion that the principal didn’t already know. Nedzu was respectful enough not to eavesdrop on therapy sessions, but not respectful enough to not eavesdrop on their phone calls. Ryou would be offended, but he was far used to Nedzu’s machinations. The principal was kind enough to not use his incredible genius for anything truly villainous; Ryou was content enough to let him have his smaller evils.

The air was buzzing with all of their combined excited anticipation. Uraraka Ochako threw a bright look at Todoroki, who returned it with a blank stare. But that was fine, she knew he was all bubbles and rainbows inside as always. She tried to turn to Iida to exchange a fun word, but he was busy yelling at the rest of the class to line up orderly at the front steps so they could listen to whatever Aizawa-sensei was there to say. Rolling her eyes, Ochako realized she needed to drag another friend into this group of theirs that could properly scheme and trade fun looks with her. Shinsou had potential, but he was Todoroki’s bestie and he seemed more fond of sarcasm. And he wasn’t in 1-A yet, but that was only a matter of time. The scheming though, that was certainly an idea…

“Welcome to the dorms. Come on in,” Aizawa-sensei said as soon as they were all present and relatively quiet, abruptly and with no flourish at all. He turned to open the doors and allow them inside, and the entire class surged forward.

“One class to each building,” Aizawa-sensei said as they entered. “Girls on the right, boys on the left. The first floor is a common area. Your dining hall, baths, and laundry rooms are all here.”

The building had looked large and fancy from the outside, but the inside more than rose up to match. The living area had a super nice TV and some ultra-cushy couches. It was all open-plan, and off to the right was a dining space with four entire dining tables and a fully decked out kitchen. There was even a damn courtyard. Iida looked at her worriedly as Ochako swayed on her feet. It was way too swanky! Most of the class looked around in awe, aside from the rich kids.

“The rooms start on the second floor. Four boys rooms and four girls rooms on each floor, five floors in all. One student in each room. You’ve got air conditioners, toilets, refrigerators, and closets. Enjoy the luxuries.” Each room came basically equipped with a desk, a bed, a rolling chair– an entire freaking veranda! Ochako’s jaw dropped.

Yaomomo tapped her bottom lip with her, as usual, perfectly manicured nail. “The closets here are similar to mine back home. The room’s a bit small, but I’ll make do.”

This was nicer than Ochako’s entire apartment, nicer than her parent’s house! She swayed again, and this time Iida and Todoroki had to each put a hand behind one of her shoulders to push her back to her feet. Aizawa-sensei gave each of them their room assignments, then ordered them to all round up in the common area again. His serious tone had all of them snapping to listen, shaken out of their excitement. 

When they were organized again, mostly thanks to the combined efforts of Iida and Yaomomo, Aizawa-sensei stood near the door and addressed them all.

“You are all aware that we have a non-student being held on campus. We spoke with you and your parents about it, but I will go over it again for those of you that decided to space out during that conversation. You know who you are.” All eyes turned to the Bakusquad– except for the group’s main namesake, ironically enough. Ochako and her two best friends exchanged their own glances though, knowing full well the situation. None of them had been mentally or physically absent from that conversation, that was for sure.

Movement caught Ochako’s eye, and when she turned to follow it she landed on Bakugou. He was… Well, he was shaking. He was standing in just the right angle so that she could see his face from across their rough-semi-circle crowd around their teacher.

When Todoroki and Shinsou had shared what they’d seen at the summer camp, it had been cause for suspicion for sure. How and why did Bakugou have such a reaction to Onryou specifically? They’d all agreed that Bakugou had some kind of information they didn’t, maybe even knew Onryou himself. This only furthered that point, if in a strange way. Bakugou had shaken before, in anger. But his face… Wow, it was weird. Eyebrows twitching and face scrunched, like it was trying to make three different expressions at once. Ochako’s own eyebrows resisted the urge to skyrocket to her hairline when Kirishima’s hand reached over to the closer one of Bakugou’s. It drew attention to how clenched they were, shaking even more violently than the rest of him. But Kirishima’s hand nudged Bakugou’s fist insistently until it released, and then Kirishima was lacing their fingers together. The conflicted expression on Bakugou’s face washed away into a completely different emotion. His mouth went flat and taught, eyes wide and brows pinched. His face was only a little red, but Ochako noticed his burning ears standing out against blond hair. For the moment, Ochako’s suspicion was put aside for a small smirk to appear on her face. Well, well, well… 

Aizawa-sensei began speaking again, wrenching Ochako’s attention back suddenly. “One of the League of Villains members was judged to not have been responsible for his own actions and, due to the complications of such a case, is being held at UA for some time. Midoriya Izuku, alias Onryou, will not hurt or attack you. Regardless, he is to be monitored at all times. He will join the class at times, as I am his main guardian. Do impress that his past as a villain does not give you permission to harass him, nor permission for him to harass you.” Aizawa-sensei crossed his arms, staring them down with a stern glare for a moment. He let up after they were thoroughly intimidated. “With that reiterated, I need a volunteer. We need to see how he will react when interacting with another student his age.”

Immediately, Ochako’s eyes snapped to her friends. She, Todoroki, and Iida all threw a number of expressions back and forth in a matter of seconds. She could hear the argument as if it was being spoken aloud. Iida’s last interaction with Onryou had been rocky at best and traumatic at worst. Plus, he wasn’t quite accepting of Onryou’s morals and found it difficult to keep quiet about that sort of thing. It was probably best to avoid anything that could spark an argument, so that eliminated Iida. Todoroki had potential, but he was socially inept at the best of times. He had a straight-forward charm to him, plus that whole prince-ly vibe, but that had a possibility of putting Onryou off. As much as it boiled her blood to need to consider, his parentage could spark friction too. Ochako, not that she wanted to toot her own horn, thought that she could be reasonably friendly most of the time. She had the best chance here. Iida and Todoroki visibly came to the same conclusion right as she did. They all nodded once, then dispersed from their impromptu huddle. 

“I’ll do it!” Ochako blurted loudly, her arm shooting up. Everyone else had been murmuring and unsure for the half minute or so they had been deliberating, and they all stared at her enthusiasm. Bakugou in particular was looking at her strangely, even Kirishima’s hand in his not distracting him this time.

While her name hadn’t been released to the press, it wasn’t a secret within the class that she had been on the scene at Stain’s arrest. Onryou being there was also not released to the masses, but all of 1-A had been at least informed that a possible new League of Villains member had been there and fighting Stain.

Aizawa-sensei gave her a look of his own. “Enthusiastic, are we,” he said, without the inflection that would mark a question. Ochako answered it anyway.

“We fought together! That bonds people, Sensei!” she said seriously, stressing her words for the maximum effect.

Their teacher just sighed, closing his eyes tightly before opening them again to address the whole class again. “Right. With that sorted, we need to cover one more thing. We didn’t address it explicitly, but you may know that the training camp was meant to prepare you for your provisional licenses. That is still the goal.”

The class murmured amongst themselves again, but Aizawa-sensei spoke sharply to re-wrangle their attention. “This is important, so listen up. In the coming weeks, you will train with us and on your own to prepare. Provisional licenses are only usually obtained in second year, but you’re all special cases. We want this batch of UA student heroes to be able to defend themselves come another attack, so you all better succeed.

“Today is set aside for settling in. Uraraka, come to the teachers room tomorrow at eleven. The rest of you, I recommend you start training. Dismissed.” With that, Aizawa-sensei strode out the front door and shut it soundly behind him.

In his wake, the class was quiet. But, in true 1-A fashion, it was only for a moment.

“Damn, I think that’s the most I’ve heard him speak outside of class,” Kaminari said, shattering the ice from Aizawa-sensei’s grim reminders.

“Wait, you’re right!”

“I am not looking forward to unpacking all the stuff I brought–”

“Shit, I knew that I forgot something–!”

Chatter filled the air as everyone broke off into groups. Aizawa-sensei had left the paper with room assignments on one of the dining room tables, and everyone took pictures of it and headed off to their rooms where their stuff was waiting to be unpacked. Ochako didn’t have too many boxes, so she finished much earlier than some of the others. Iida had a horde of books to organize, and Todoroki was doing something that was apparently quite loud and involved enough boxes that they spilled out into the hallway. The rest of the class were mostly still busy, except for a notable few that ended up hanging out in the common area. 

Shouji, Ojiro, and Tsu were the first ones finished aside from her. When she entered the common area, Shouji and Ojiro were hopefully fiddling with the TV to check out if it had a game system yet. Tsu was sitting on the couch, a book in her lap. Ochako plopped down on the couch right next to her friend, who turned to her and stared for a solid few seconds before she said anything.

“So, kero, you’re going to speak with… Midoriya, was it?” she asked.

“Ah, yeah. I think I could give him a good welcome to the class,” Ochako said, not untruthfully. 

Tsu made a noncommittal noise, then turned to look at Shouji and Ojiro. “You think any of the others brought any type of console they’d be willing to share?” she said, veering abruptly without a care. Ochako was relieved; Tsu could be stubborn, but she also wasn’t a particularly curious person. If she wasn’t fixated on getting answers, she wouldn’t pry.

“I’d place my bets on Kaminari having a switch or something we can use. Or any of the Bakusquad really, except for Bakugou.”

“I agree, kero. In the meantime, maybe a movie?” When Ochako nodded enthusiastically, Tsu picked up the remote. They called Shouji and Ojiro back over to the couch and brought up a classic All Might movie that was old enough to be free.

Later that night, after dinner, the class had a fun little competition to find the best room. Satou won with his delicious sweets as an unintentional bribe. Ochako was comforted to know that she wasn’t the only one with a relatively simple room, although Todoroki’s complete renovations made everyone else’s simple by comparison. Bakugou was unwilling to let any of them into his room, only even joining the tour at all because the Bakusquad, specifically Kirishima, had dragged him along. Whenever he started to make a move to slip away, one of his friends would swoop in and stop him. Eventually Kirishima ended up with an arm constantly around Bakugou’s shoulders, which neither of them seemed to be upset about actually. It wasn’t like it was unusual, anyways. When it ended, much later than Bakugou would normally be up, he and Kirishima headed to their floor pretty much immediately. Ochako’s loose idea of looping him into a conversation about Onryou/Midoriya was dashed, but it didn’t dampen her much. The whole event had been a nice distraction from all of the responsibilities and more that would fall upon them the next day, well worth the lost opportunity.

While everyone else retreated to their rooms, Ochako stalled with Iida and Todoroki. Gathered in the common room with most of the lights off, they called Shinsou and brought him up to speed. As always, Ochako felt impatient for when Shinsou would be able to just join their class and not need to be caught up on everything separately.

“The fact that he’s here is weird,” Shinsou’s voice came from the phone in Todoroki’s hand. “He’s a villain, normally he’d just be put somewhere else. But if Aizawa-sensei said that he wasn’t ‘responsible for his actions…’”

“Then maybe he was forced to be a villain. But… he sounded so sincere,” Ochako said. She tapped a finger on her arm where they were crossed across her chest. “He could’ve been threatened into it, but he was talking all about the ideals well. Like he really believed in them.”

“He could have been brainwashed,” Shinsou suggested. “With a quirk or otherwise.”

Todoroki nodded. “If he’s trustworthy enough to be here now, it’s probably from a quirk. With the right quirk, the one affecting him could be removed a lot faster than he could be un-brainwashed in the manual way, probably.”

“It could explain him leaving you during the summer attack, Shinsou,” Iida said. “Maybe he resisted the brainwashing enough to leave you be.”

“Asking about that tomorrow is probably too soon. But then, what do I even say?” Ochako dragged her hands down her cheeks in stress.

Iida straightened and pushed his glasses up, going into his orderly-advice-mode. “Act as you would with any new student. For now, we simply need to get a read on him as a general person. The teachers must have decided he was safe to interact with, or they have a good way to keep things from getting out of hand, but, still, it is best to confirm that he is able to be reasoned with.”

“We don’t know what he knows, or the details of his beliefs. But we can find that out later,” Todoroki agreed.

“For now,” Shinsou said with a bit of humor in his tone, “maybe just try to make a friend.”

“Yeah,” Ochako said, coming out more serious than she’d intended. “Just… make a friend.”

Chapter Text

It was a bit awkward not talking with Mic-sensei as they walked, Ochako far too nervous to make conversation. But her teacher caught on quickly and handled it with grace, giving her space and just being a comforting presence. She was glad that he had been the one waiting to guide her when she showed up at the teacher’s room. 

After a few minutes, they approached an average classroom door that Ochako, for some reason, hadn’t expected. Mic-sensei leapt forward to hold it open for Ochako and she stepped through with a short thanks, Mic-sensei giving her a short head pat as she passed. Aizawa-sensei stood lazily in the front, to the right and leaning on the wall behind the teacher’s podium. The room itself was just like any other random classroom, though everything except two of the chairs were cleared out. The two spared chairs were awkwardly facing each other in the center of the room just a few paces apart, one of them occupied by someone Ochako didn’t immediately recognize. 

Messy dark green hair, freckles, and wide green eyes. Onryou. Midoriya Izuku. Even if Ochako had never seen him unmasked and up close, it wasn’t exactly a hard puzzle to solve. Midoriya looked at Ochako with a reservedness that didn’t fit the image she’d formed in her head after speaking to the furious Onryou. His eyes before had been glazed and dreary, though bright with fury. Here that anger was gone, replaced with a clarity that only now Ochako noticed had been lacking in Onryou’s gaze. 

“Have fun!” Mic-sensei said cheerily, breaking the strangely thick silence. The door slid closed, but Ochako doubted that Mic-sensei had left. She wasn’t quite as perceptive as some of her classmates, nor did she doubt the stealth skills of her pro-hero teacher, but the clomp of Mic-sensei’s boots on floor was usually at least somewhat audible even through a UA door. 

“I don’t think I need to go over rules. Don’t be idiots. Ask to leave whenever you want, but don’t wake me up if it’s not an emergency.” With that, her teacher pulled his sleeping bag out of nowhere and zipped up. He slumped against the wall, seemingly out cold. Ochako knew better.

Out of habit, she went to exchange a look with Midoriya. It was one she’d shared with her classmates or sent at Iida and Todoroki plenty of times, always whenever Aizawa-sensei was on one of his “logical ruses” again. She was unreasonably surprised to see an identical expression shot right back at her. They realized it at the same time and both looked away.

Ochako grabbed the hem of her skirt and chewed on the inside of her mouth, trying to think of anything, absolutely anything that she could talk about. Only questions that were far too forward or about the League came to mind, so she bit her tongue and kept searching. Midoriya didn’t fill the silence, and it lasted for a good minute before Ochako decided she was fed up. 

With a frustrated huff, Ochako released her skirt and marched over to Midoriya. She sat forcefully in the chair across from him, and she was surprised to see him almost cowering. Way different from Onroyu, then. He looked like he was expecting to get scolded by a teacher, and he avoided her eyes. 

“Well,” said Ochako loudly. “You’re a bit different from last time.”

Midoriya’s head jerked up, eyebrows drawn together. He looked at her more intensely for a moment, and only then his eyes widened and his eyebrows shot high. Damn, he hadn’t even remembered her?

“Dang, alright. Forgettable much? I fought Stain with you,” she said rather boldly. When nervous in doubt, be big in presence and happy in spirit. Smiles were always important, too! Smiles made good impressions and spread joy. “To refresh, I’m Uraraka Ochako, she/her.”

“Ah… S-sorry,” Midoriya said haltingly. “I don’t really– I don’t really remember that much. Fr-from these last few months. I can recall some bits, but it-it’s all… A bit blurry.” Well, that was different. Voice changer aside, the tone was worlds away from before. Definitely weird, and added points to the brainwashed theory. 

“Well that explains it! We fought together, and I thought it was at least a bit memorable.” Ochako grinned wryly, and Midoriya returned it, albeit shy. Then he paused and looked down at himself, almost like he was surprised at his own response.

“I’m… surprised. That you didn’t alre-already know. About my memory.”

“We weren’t really told anything,” Ochako said. Her eyes darted to Aizawa-sensei in the corner. She didn’t want to give up too much about UA to be safe, but the teachers hadn’t told her not to tell Midoriya anything in particular. “Aizawa-sensei just asked for one of us to interact with you, and I volunteered.”

Midoriya looked vaguely disturbed by this. “Wh-why would you do that? I’m– I’m a villain. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t exactly n-nice, last time I talked to you.”

“Eh, you were trying to kill Stain, not me or Iida,” Ochako said, waving her hand dismissively. In reality it did discomfort her that he had been trying to kill anyone at all, but it was also true that he hadn’t tried to truly hurt her or her friends. She stood by the fact that killing was wrong no matter the victim, but, well, Stain was a serial killer. She could understand the wish to bring him down, even if she didn’t want him dead. Also those were the actions of Onryou, and he was only seeming more and more removed from Midoriya.

Her nonchalance had Midoriya looking at her with new and slightly alarmed eyes. She just shrugged. What did he want her to say? 

“It’s not like you were that wrong, really. I don’t really agree that All Might needs to die, but heroes aren’t infallible.” The memory of Todoroki’s voice as he recounted what Endeavor did to his family flashed through Ochako’s mind. “I know for a fact that some heroes would be better off behind bars, that's for sure.”

Midoriya’s face was slack, his eyes wide. “You… You really think so?”

“I used to think more black and white, but… Well, things are a lot more complicated than I used to think. I’m not gonna go around letting villains do whatever they want, but– you know. I don’t know if I believe in pure evil anymore, just as much as I know heroes aren’t all good.”

“But…” Midoriya finally shook the shock off. His eyes narrowed, and Ochako was suddenly reminded that this was still some version of Onryou that she was speaking to. “But you’re still at UA. You’re still training to be a hero.” 

“I mean, yeah. I still want to save people and have a job. I want to support my parents.”

“But you’re going to support the system that perpetuates heroes that, as you just admitted, would be better off behind bars?”

Woah, okay. Definitely Onryou. And where did that stutter go? “I mean, yeah? I can’t fix the system if I’m not close enough to affect it.”

“Really?” Midoriya was starting to look agitated. Somewhere in the back of her mind Iida’s voice was going haywire, but Ochako was a little miffed too. “You’re going to join a corrupt system… on purpose. That’s just making it worse.”

“Well, what would you have me do?” Ochako crossed her arms in a huff. “I’m not gonna go villain and try to tear it down. That hurts, like, infinitely more people, and doesn’t even solve anything. It just tears down the people that want to help, too. That’s just a lose-lose!”

“Exactly!” Midoriya said, flinging his arms out.

Ochako blinked once, then twice. “What? Weren’t you just…?”

But something had ignited in Midoriya, and his hands began to gesture wildly. “If we tear it down, ‘go villain,’ it just hurts a ton of people! And it doesn’t even do anything in the end except create a vacuum of power for more corrupt people to fill. It’s not like most villains are any more qualified to lead us into a new system– or, at least, a good one. So fix it from the inside, you say? But every other hero with good intentions thought the same thing, and take a good look– Nothing’s improved! Hound Dog said that they ‘just try’ because it’s ‘all they can do,’ but what kind of answer is that? That just sounds like an excuse to not get up and actually do something. And working within the system, just saving whoever you can, isn’t gonna help anything long-term! How do you fix the system if it’s got your wrists in cuffs? If the system is your power, how the hell do you use your power to fix it? And even if I thought I could become a hero to try that out, no the hell I couldn’t! The fact that I’m a villain aside, I tried to be a hero and, newsflash, that went bottom up real quick. I can’t be a hero to fix it, and clearly no one else has been able to. Outside doesn’t work, inside doesn't work. Going villain will never fix anything, and going hero hasn’t gotten us anywhere. So what then? What do we do? Is fixing it even possible? Or is it actually, really just hopeless?”

Midoriya heaved a heavy breath and slumped in his chair, seeming for all the world like he really believed that it was, in fact, just hopeless. Ochako… well, she needed a second to process all of that. There wasn't anything Ochako immediately objected to, and she was faced with a sense of deja vu. Onryou hadn’t been wrong either in some respects, but he’d been convinced that tearing it down was the only thing to do. He was seemingly ignorant of the pain it would cause. Midoriya now had that base covered, but he hadn’t come to a different solution. Now he was just… drifting. No idea what to do next. Ochako looked upon him with new eyes.

Him, a captured villain. And her, a mere hero student. Both wanted to fix things. Both puny in the face of an enormous system that would do everything in its power to stop the change.

“I… think you’re right about a lot of it. And I don’t really have any solid answers either,” Ochako started. Midoriya looked up at her again, startled to be reminded of her presence. “But they do exist, even if I don’t have them right now. And it’s not hopeless. I don’t think anything’s hopeless. We just need to find the hope and where to follow it, even if it takes a bit of time.”

For a moment, there was just quiet. “I don’t know how to find it anymore,” Midoriya said hoarsely. 

“I think you just need to meet my friends,” Ochako said, trying a smile. Midoriya laughed, but he just sounded exhausted.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Some of them have seen some of the worst parts of hero society and they still manage to find hope. They don’t seem it, but they’re very hopeful. They still want to be heroes even after what they’ve been through. I think you’d like them.”

“Well, uh… I am a villain, and I did just kind of yell at you. I don’t think they’d really appreciate that.”

“Eh, it happens.” Ochako shrugged. “We’re hero students too, we beat each other up for training and have heated philosophical arguments all the time. And you’re not a villain anymore, right?”

Midoriya’s mouth pressed into a fine line as he began to fidget. “I don’t actually… know about that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I kinda wasn’t re-really in control while I was active and all but… I did—and do—believe in the ideals. Does that make a villain? I believed in it b-before I was… Onryou. And I thought I was a villain at the time. I was with– with the League. Before they were the League, but still.”

“Are you… still with the League?”

“I… I don’t know.” Midoriya seemed to wilt, his hands grasping at the fabric of his pants. 

Ochako itched to reach out. But that felt off-limits here. She took a breath and kept an open mind. “Well, I don’t know what happened to you. Your story and all of that. But I do know that you don’t seem too bad for a villain or a League of Villains member. So, let’s just start over.” Ochako stood up and brushed her skirt primly. She cleared her throat, summoned up a wide smile, and offered a hand to Midoriya. “Hi, nice to meet you. I’m Uraraka Ochako. Do you want to be friends?”

Midoriya looked up at her through the hair falling over his face and softly snorted, but weakly returned the smile. He tried to stand up to match her, but his foot caught on one of the chair legs. His arms windmilled and he let out a yelp as he tried to regain balance and he began to tilt forward. Just as momentum started to take and he really began to plummet, Ochako reached out a hand to activate her quirk on instinct. Midoriya ended up horizontal, staring at the ground and all limbs scrambling for any kind of purchase. Ochako, through her laughter, managed to right him and deactivate her quirk.

“It’s bad luck to fall on our first meeting!” Ochako said. Midoriya chuckled, looking mildly disoriented from his first experience being weightless. 

“Wait, wait, it’s my turn.” He straightened fully and held out his own hand. “I’m… Midoriya Izuku, nice to meet you. I… I think I’d like to be friends too.”

Ochako grinned and grabbed his hand firmly, being sure to keep her pinky from touching down and sending him floating again. The moment was broken by the loud growl of Ochako’s stomach. 

“It’s close to lunch,” Aizawa-sensei said on cue, rising from his sleeping bag with the same energy as a vampire from a coffin. “Uraraka, go back to the dorms and eat. Midoriya, with me.”

With a smile and wave, Ochako stepped over to the door. Aizawa-sensei approached Midoriya, who’d returned her gesture with a considerably larger amount of timidness. When the door slid open and she stepped out, she was unsurprised to see Mic-sensei still there. He flashed her a smile and slipped past her into the classroom. The door slid shut behind him.

Moments passed, and the smile slipped from Ochako’s face.

Despite her big words and her cheer, Ochako was shaken yet again by Midoriya’s points. Before, Onryou’s preaching had its flaws for her to hook into. So, while it had revolutionized her thinking a bit and opened her up to the idea that hero society wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, it left enough room for her to still be firm in her own ideas. Heroes were good, even if parts of the system were rotted. There was a way to fix it. But, now… She swallowed thickly, and remembered that she needed to leave before the others opened the door to find her standing there like an idiot. Her feet finally started to move as water rushed in Ochako’s ears.

Midoriya was right. How did they fix this? It couldn’t be hopeless, it just couldn’t, yet Ochako was coming up empty. Word by word, Midoriya had taken each bright idea Ochako thought was foolproof and upended it. Truly, Ochako should probably be more worried about a villain getting into her head and convincing her of villainous ideas. But were they villainous ideas if they condemned the villains too? Midoriya could also be trying to just manipulate her. But with what, logic? Logic that didn’t even seek to villainize her? Despite every cell in her body wanting to believe that she could just stay on her track and not acknowledge anything Midoriya brought up, she couldn’t ignore it. It really did seem that the system was horribly corrupted, down deep enough that none of the heroes Ochako knew to be true and good could reach it. 

Worst of all, the corruption was hurting people. Everyone, even. Before she hadn’t paid it much mind. But with every detail she learned about the hero system, a new layer of rot was revealed. Cases like Todoroki’s family, left to suffer under a hero that barely deserved his title. Situations like Shinsou, whose quirk set him under scrutiny that he never earned. Villains like Midoriya, who seemed like just a normal kid who slipped through the cracks. How many other villains were like that? People with quirks deemed villainous, like Shinsou, having enough and finally hitting back? People that suffered under heroes, like Todoroki, till they broke? Even her. Ochako never wanted to break the law, but how many people like her fell on even harder times and simply felt like there was no other choice? How many people became villains because they were forced to, for one reason or another? How many were simply cast out from society for who they were?

All the same, villains weren’t there to save society, far from it. Villainy was, as she’d argued before, a lose-lose. Destroy the problem, destroy the solution, destroy it all until there’s only a vacuum left for more corruption to fill. Like Midoriya said.

Going villain will never fix anything, and going hero hasn’t gotten us anywhere.

So lost in her thoughts, Ochako almost crashed right into the dorm's front door. She shifted back so she wasn’t quite nose-to-nose with the door and opened it so she could head inside. The common room was quite empty, except for one person.

“Oh, hi Todoroki. What are you doing here?” 

He held up his hand, showing a splint on two of his fingers. “Recovery Girl wanted me to sit with my injuries a bit so I’d be more careful next time.”

“How’d you break them?” Ochako slipped off her shoes, placed them on the rack, and entered the common area. Todoroki sat at one of the dining tables with a bowl of soba, slurping them lousy as she approached.

“Bakugou,” Todoroki replied, followed by another slurp. Ochako nodded commiseratingly and passed by him to rifle through the fridge for her own lunch. The onigiri that Iida and Satou had kindly prepared that morning—”For anyone to pick up as a quick meal!”—sat invitingly on the middle shelf, and she snagged two of them for herself. After securing a plate, she sat across from Todoroki and got started on her food.

“Shinsou was at training,” Shouto said.

Uraraka looked up at him in surprise, forgetting her manners enough to speak with her mouth full. “Wait, really? Why?” 

“Apparently he’s training for the license exam too. If he passes that, he officially joins the hero course next semester.”

“That’s so cool! I can’t wait to spar with him. It’ll be cool to finally have him in class with the rest of us. Is he at the dorms yet?”

Todoroki shook his head as Ochako took another bite. “Not yet. If he passes he’ll join us. How was talking with Onryou?” 

Ochako paused to swallow, her lightening mood sinking again. 

“It was pretty okay. His name’s Midoriya, though. He’s… very different. From how Onryou was.” Todoroki inclined his head, and Ochako sighed. “Really, it was fine. He was actually quite nice, and he was more shy than he was scary or villainous. But when we started talking, we got into the whole villainy thing again and he… brought up some good points. New ones, too. He’s come to the conclusion that the hero community is too corrupt to be saved, but that villainy also just messes everything up. He…”

Going villain will never fix anything.

And going hero hasn’t gotten us anywhere.

Ochako swallowed again, but not because of any food this time. “They were some really good points. I mean, how would we fix it? How do we just go in and make the system better? People before us have tried, and nothing’s changed. How… Is it even possible to fix any of it?”

The onigiri on her plate were only partially eaten, and Ochako would love to scarf them down. But her mind was too loud, everything Midoriya had said ringing in her ears. It was hard enough to keep a can-do attitude while fighting uphill in a class of amazing hero students, even setting aside the constant villain attacks. It was utterly impossible to keep brave in the face of such insurmountable odds.

 “I think… that villains are people that have decided to give up.”

Ochako’s head snapped up to stare at Todoroki.

“Heroes and villains… the balance is so fragile. And it’s all a lot bigger than any of us. But there are also people who will be hurt if we don’t do anything about it, and I can’t let that happen.” Todoroki stared into his bowl, eyes unfocused while Ochako was burning two holes into his head. “If we give up here, we’ll never have even tried. We’d be giving up on the people still left to be saved– including the villains. I don’t want to let one more person slip through the cracks, and I can save so many more by being a hero. I can reach places that villains and civilians can’t. Just because it hasn’t been done yet doesn’t mean it isn’t possible. And things have changed. Not by much, but it has. And if we keep going, we can change it even more. Exponentially.

“None of us are a match for the entire hero system. But I… We’re not one person. And there are more that will want to help. With enough people, we can flood it with enough good and fight it publicly enough that no one can ignore it anymore.”

And with that, the air suddenly felt so much clearer. It was the most Ochako had ever heard Todoroki speak at once, and that alone was enough to shock her, but his words took her focus front and center. Giving up was allowing it to become worse. Giving up was the opposite of what they were learning here at UA. Todoroki was right. If they all worked together, actually built up a platform… hope wouldn’t be quite as distant. Of course it would be overwhelming and impossible for one person; it wasn’t a one-person job.

A grin overtook Ochako’s face, and she glowed at the reminder of everything she’d believed and wanted but hadn’t the words to describe. When she said Midoriya needed to meet her friends? Even if Todoroki hadn’t been who she’d expected it from, that– that was exactly what she had meant.

Aizawa and Yamada sat on either side of Izuku, talking amongst themselves while he sat silently. Well, it was more accurate to say that Yamada was talking at Aizawa. Not that Aizawa wasn’t listening, but… Well, Izuku could’ve been fooled into thinking so if he hadn’t gotten more used to these two by living here. Izuku turned over the conversation he had with Uraraka again and again as he ate, like he was trying to memorize the ridges and texture of it. She wasn’t like him at all, even if Izuku didn’t expect every hero student to be the same. It was just strange to see a hero student be so ready to consider and even agree with his opinions at all, especially after years of being so violently refused by a prospective one. 

He took another bite of udon, chewing through his thoughts with it. She didn’t seem all bad, but she was still a hero student. She was like Hound Dog in her unrealistic hope. Just becoming a hero because it’s what most were conditioned to want, warping logic to fit the ideal. Saying that they’ll “try to fix things” but never having an actual plan or idea or even a real want to go out and do something. Abstract goals were easier to excuse inaction for. The one big difference was that Hound Dog was an adult, a licensed hero that had become too comfortable in his passivity. Uraraka was a student, someone that still had big ideas and lofty goals and actual intent. Izuku felt almost pretentious, like he was looking down upon someone his age for being young and naive. But he’d felt the same way a while back, and now that he’d glimpsed the inner workings, it was much harder to imagine a way to cleanly fix it all. He may be a broken record, but it just kept coming back down to it. Again, and again, and again. Hopeless.

For so long the hope had been all he had, all he was. Hopeless hope, but hope. Heroism, then villainy, now what? If Izuku held no hope for anything anymore, where did that leave him? Who was he without it?

“...Midoriya?” 

After a beat, he realized that he was being addressed. “Huh?”

Yamada smiled, throwing a casual finger gun at Aizawa. “I have some students I promised to watch over training this afternoon, but Shouta over here’s free. You want to go over some of the results from your assessments with him?”

“Uh, sure.” Izuku shoved more noodles into his mouth to avoid saying anything else. He’d already gone over the results with Nedzu, but the conclusions, i.e. the classes he’d be placed in, were yet to be decided. This was probably about that. 

Lunch finished somewhat soon after that. Izuku stayed tuned in this time but didn’t talk much, while Yamada carried the lion’s share of the conversation as usual. Aizawa didn’t even speak real words, just grunted his answers. When Yamada ran out to meet his students, Aizawa and Izuku moved to take care of dishes in a comfortable silence.

That was something Izuku honestly hadn’t expected from living here with two people he didn’t know. (If Izuku had a nickel…) It’d taken a while for Izuku to fit in with Kurogiri and Tomura, mostly because they were both very odd people. Tomura was standoffish at best and outright mean at worst, but they had broken the ice after a few weeks and that changed a lot. Kurogiri became a comforting presence over time and was never anything but cordial, but he was also hard to read and hard to connect with before one got comfortable. After the initial hurdles though, it was a family Izuku thrived in. 

Here, the people were very different. For one, there were more than two people. Sure, Izuku only lived with two of them, but the rest of the UA staff were impossible to simply never run into. He miraculously managed to avoid All Might completely, but he had a sneaking suspicion that Nedzu and the rest were in on that. Sometimes Izuku would be sure he saw the emaciated form of the hero lurking around only for him or Izuku to be swooped up into a conversation or something by another teacher. It couldn’t last forever surely, but for now Izuku would cling to the avoidance until his fingers bled.

Midnight’s humor was raunchy and a bit discomforting, but once you got used to it she became the best partner in crime. She was always up to some pranking or shenanigans, especially against Aizawa and Yamada. Vlad King was surprisingly chill with Izuku. He sympathized with and assured Izuku that he’d always be there if he needed help, though there was a weird sense of disconnect since he seemed to consider Izuku a part of Class 1-A (because Aizawa was one of his guardians, maybe?). Thirteen was there only occasionally, but they always had a kind thing to say and were a very admirable rescue hero that Izuku’d always respected. Cementoss was dull, but reasonable and very nice. Snipe’s accented twang always took Izuku off guard, but he gave good advice and recommendations for curly hair products. Power Loader was eternally exhausted by his class of enthusiastic support students, even though they hadn’t even been allowed back on campus yet, but he seemed friendly enough. Weirdly insecure about his height though, which Snipe always harped on him about. Despite himself, Izuku was starstruck by all of them for a good few days. 

Aizawa and Yamada themselves were also a lot less difficult to mesh with than the villains had been, even in the start. Tomura and Kurogiri would always be his family and thus his favorites, but neither of Izuku’s new “guards” were quite as standoffish or intimidating right off the bat. Yamada was the most exuberant and friendly person Izuku had met in a long time, and he always managed to get past awkwardness and keep the tone light. Aizawa was pushing the standoffish and intimidating thing at the start, but it soon became obvious that he was just tired and didn’t care for social norms. It made Izuku anxious, but Aizawa’s dead voice droning on about his childhood pet would always renter his mind and assuage his worries. Even better, neither of them pressed him for anything. No prying questions, nothing at all. Not even after this morning’s conversation with Uraraka, at least not yet. He also worried about needing to answer things from that detective at some point, but Yamada and Aizawa hadn’t mentioned it yet. 

Plus, there was this. Izuku took the last wet bowl from Aizawa and dried it with the towel before placing it back into the cupboard right with the other ones. Izuku started to wipe down the counters while Aizawa washed out the sink. All in silence. A bit more than a year ago, Izuku would be itching to fill that silence and be rattling off anything he could think of. But after living with Kurogiri and Tomura, he’d learned the art of simply coexisting with another person. Izuku had sat and done his work while Tomura played a game many times, and cleaning up together after cooking with Kurogiri had been daily. Even through the removedness and distortion of the past few months in his mind, he’d still missed those moments. This wasn’t exactly the same, but it satiated him at least a little.

Everything washed and cleaned, Izuku and Aizawa ended up in the living room. They sat on the couch, a few papers scattered across the small table in front of it. The hero picked a page from the mess and handed Izuku a list of classes he’d be taking. A number of them would actually be done in Nedzu’s office online. He was on a good level, on the higher end of where he’d need to be as a first year actually, but due to his unique situation, he wasn't going to be fully integrated with the students right away. He’d accompany Aizawa to the classes he taught to the first years, but the rest would be delegated to his laptop. Sooner or later he would extend to accompanying Yamada as well, and then they’d escalate from there. 

Honestly, Izuku was thankful for the graduality. He hadn’t been in a proper classroom in a year, and though he’d kept up learning with Sensei, the idea of going back to classes in person and full-time immediately set his nerves on edge. At that point he may have considered actually trying to escape, despite knowing that UA was pretty much inescapable where he was concerned and being unsure about being back under Sensei’s thumb anyways.

“There is also one other matter to address before classes begin again,” Aizawa said, leaning back on the couch. The lines of his face were as neutral as ever, but the hair on Izuku’s neck was still raised. He was proven right a moment later.

“Bakugou.”

Something red-hot and snarling skittered down Izuku’s spine. His hands spasmed and twitched, like they wanted to crush something. The same red haze that surrounded his memories crept into the edges of his vision, and he only just managed to blink it away and into submission. His body was still taught like a live wire, and he certainly hadn’t done any job—let alone a good one—at hiding his reaction. 

Still, after a moment's pause, Aizawa continued. Cautiously, slowly. “He is in Class 1-A. If you join me for classes, you will see him there. It would be best to meet him beforehand so anything drastic will not happen in a less controlled environment. What are your thoughts on that?”

There was a thought ringing in his head, over and over. It was the only thing that was even remotely legible in the haze, but it, being more like a cloud of vindictive, homicidal rage, didn’t translate well into words. The closest approximation could read like this:

Bakugou Katsuki must die. He must die. Must kill him. Die. Kill. Hurt. Kill. Kill.

And then, a rush of breath. Izuku had started holding in his air, so paralyzed by his own thoughts. That feeling of air escaping rapidly cleared his mind, if only for a moment, and when he became aware again he noticed a hand on his back, right below his neck and a bit to the side, almost on his shoulder. There was a static trying to clamp its hands over Izuku’s ears, but he fought through the noise to hear Aizawa’s voice.

“...and after maybe a full hour of searching, we found her on the roof. It was after that that my dad took her in to get tested for a quirk. When he came back, it was with the news that, no, Batman did not have a quirk. She was just… like that. We never figured out how she managed to get on the roof, but thankfully she didn’t do it again. Our cats did it too over the years, but an old rat of a dog scaling a building is a bit more–”

“Thanks,” Izuku rasped. He swallowed. “Thanks. I’m good now.” That was a lie, his mind was rebelling in the form of a splitting headache. But the red haze was somewhat faded and he could, if only barely, manage through the static. It was so very clearly the aftermath of, and even if this hurt to think, the many quirks that Sensei had souped him up with. It urged him to go on a rampage and take advantage of every kindness and bit of trust that had been miraculously extended to him. Izuku didn’t quite have a reason for accepting any of it, really, aside from having nothing else to do and nowhere else to go. They were probably just trying to lure him into cooperating enough to squeeze all the information they could out of him before locking him up. He didn’t trust these people and he certainly didn’t believe them like he used to. 

But, now… he trusted Sensei even less. At least the heroes had never used a quirk to control him directly. As much as he cared for Kurogiri and Tomura, and he was sure they’d never manipulate him like Sensei, they were very likely to have been manipulated themselves. So he cooperated with the heroes—just enough to suggest that he was starting to trust them—while slowly sinking into despair, losing hope in anything.

All the while, the embers of whatever rage-inducer Sensei had used on him pulled at him like a burning rope. It compelled him to scream and bite and claw at these heroes. To stay quiet and not do what he was about to do. It wanted him to be angry and to lash out. And, truly, he probably would lose control and do so at some point. 

The Izuku from a year or two ago would fold under the pressure. It would be too much for that wimpy middle schooler. But the Izuku of now had trained, improved, and fought. And won. It’d taught him that he was far stronger than he’d thought, and that he wasn’t okay with just letting himself be forced one way or another. He’d do what he wanted to, quirk affects be damned.

“I’ll meet him. …Bakugou. You should be there, and I should… probably be restained. But… I’ll do it.”

Chapter Text

Of all people, it was the Cockatoo that ended up bringing Katsuki to the meeting place. The asshole had to walk with him all the way from the dorms to some random room in the main school building. It was on some floor Katsuki’d never been to. The door was still big and absurd, but lacked the windows a classroom normally would have. As they stood outside, Present Mic turned to Katsuki, his face hardened.

“Okay listener, ground rules. Don’t get too close to him, which doubles as don’t cross the table. He’s requested to be restrained, so his hands will be cuffed. You will be sitting on the other side, but it’s a big table so you will be out of range of any harm. Your parents signed to agree on this, but you can back out at any time. Just say the word, and this meeting is over. He has the same privilege, don’t push it if he uses it. Eraser will be sitting with him and I will with you, but there are heroes on standby should anything go wrong. Again, just say the word.”

Katsuki drank in the words and nodded firmly. He wasn’t gonna fuck this up. The hero nodded in return and smiled, like he was trying to cheer Katsuki up or some shit, before approaching the door and using a card scanner. The door swung rather than slid, and Katsuki walked in with the Cockatoo clipping his heels.

Immediately, Katsuki’s eyes landed on him. Midoriya Izuku. The nerd. He wasn’t meeting Katsuki’s gaze, just staring down at his own handcuffed wrists like his life depended on catching the barest movement there. Katsuki sat down at the seat waiting for him, not bothering to acknowledge either of the heroes in the room.

A heavy silence weighed upon all of them, but Katsuki hesitated to break it. The nerd had asked to be restrained, he thought yet again. The most he’d been told about the nerd’s situation was that, while Katsuki was right that there was a quirk effect upon him, the nerd was actually the nerd. That quirk effect was why he was being let off lighter, so it’d obviously had to do with him becoming a villain, but Katsuki was not briefed on what exactly it was. He itched to ask. But he wouldn’t.

“What–” Katsuki couldn’t ignore the way the nerd flinched. He swallowed thickly. Tried again. “What should I call you?”

The nerd looked up, eyebrows raised and surprise evident for just a moment. Then the expression, as soon as he saw Katsuki, shuttered. The innocent surprise was twisted by a twitch that turned into a grimace. His body jerked, like it instinctively was trying to lunge forward but was cut off. The nerd looked back down, eyes shut tight. After a moment he even lowered his forehead so he could rest it on his hands. Katsuki almost wanted to ask again, but there was something in his throat stopping him. Moments before he was going to have to say something, anything, to either get out or make something happen, the nerd spoke.

“I don’t– I don’t know. I don’t know what… what to call you. Either.” It wasn’t normal stuttering. It was like each word was being forced out, one by one, through some sort of pain. Fucking hell, it really did sound like pain. Was it pain?

Katsuki didn’t know how to respond, but he had to. “I’m not… You’re… You make the– fuck, the boundaries. Or. Whatever. I’m– I’m the asshole that fucked it. I won’t call you– I won’t call you that. Not again. But…”

“But family name… is– wrong.” Katsuki’s gaze snapped from where it had been wandering on the far wall to meet the nerd’s. He was looking at Katsuki. His face was twisted in– fuck, it really was pain. But still, the nerd looked at him straight on. “I… I feel the same. You’re not… You’re not– Kacchan. But I can’t… use– Bakugou. ” Even though his face was already twisted, his nose still scrunched more at the family name. Katsuki winced too.

“First name? I… I can’t use yours. But– You– Fuck. You know me. If you’re fucking comfortable, or whatever, first name… works.” This was physically painful. Wait, fuck, bad use of words. This was probably actually, genuinely physically painful for the nerd for whatever fucked up reason that had him choked up and sweating bullets. But it was also unbelievably uncomfortable for everyone involved, physical pain aside.

“You… Okay. You–” The nerd huffed. Laughed, however small and strange. “You’re… different.”

“I had some time to… Well, I realized I was being a fucker. Like– a major asshole. I don’t think… This isn’t the right– Fuck. Damn it. I can’t apologize here. Not like fucking this. You’re in goddamn handcuffs. But I know that what I did was fucked. I’m… I’m seeing a therapist and shit. Told my parents and A– I told them about… you. The shit I did. I don’t know how these fuckers havent expelled me, yet. We didn’t tell Aldera because fuck them, but… you’re here and all.”

“I mean, I– Well, I didn’t tell them. About you.”

“You– didn’t?”

“I haven’t. Nothing.” 

“What the fuck. Why?” Eyebags-sensei and Loudmouth-sensei were staring lasers into Katsuki and the nerd. But that was far from on his list of concerns at the moment.

“I don’t know.” The nerd jerked his head back, eyes shut tight with clear effort. “How much– What do you know? About– me? My, uh, my situation?”

Katsuki’s fingers scratched idly at his arm where they were crossed. He resisted the urge to dig in deeper, or to look away. “Not much. There was something about a quirk? And you were a villain. But that’s it.”

“That’s… not much.” The nerd forced his eyes open and met Katsuki’s gaze, face twitching. “I was a villain. I do– I believe in the ideas. Society’s– It– it’s all screwed up. But… I wasn’t ready to– to go in full. But the– someone– he… He used a quirk. Quirks. On me. He made me angry, and made me hate you. I already– I already was mad at you. And… And All– All Might.” He had to spit the hero’s name through grit teeth. Hasty, like it burned. “I already hated him. But he made me hate you. Like, really, really hate you. I wanted– It’s hard to remember. These last few months are– fuzzy. But even now, I have this– this urge. To jump out and just… hurt you. I think I’m supposed to– to kill you. Whenever I think about you… I get so angry. I don’t– It doesn’t feel– It’s just… off. It hurts. To not hate you. But I don’t. I can’t. I won’t.”

“How?” There was a void in Katsuki’s chest. It was consuming everything. “How do you not… hate me?”

“I don’t… I hate what you did. I hate how you can be. But hating you– it just isn’t… I think I should. Hate you. I would, if you were like before. If he hadn’t… made me hate you. I think I might’ve grown to. But you aren’t. And he did. So I just– can’t. And I can’t let him make me.”

“Does it hurt? To talk to me now?” It was a stupid question. Katsuki knew the answer.

“Yeah.” The nerd took a deep breath. Let it out with a rush of air. “You can call me Izuku. I don’t– You haven’t yet, so I can’t, and I wouldn’t now anyways, so I’m not– forgiving you. Or anything. But you can’t call me– yeah. So. Izuku. I just– You just keep… being– getting better.”

Katsuki didn’t deserve this. The nerd hadn’t seen how much he’d changed, and none of it was even enough. But it wasn’t his fucking choice. Just like it was Kirishima’s, it was the– it was Izuku’s choice to give him a chance. Now it was just Kastuki’s job to prove he could deserve it. “I will. I said it before. You’re not fucking– dead, now. But I will, still. I’ll fucking earn that right. Just watch me.”

“...I will.”

Silence descended again. Katsuki had plenty of things he wanted to ask, like– Why? Why did he run away? Was it because of Katsuki? Who was he with? The League, for all that time? What happened? But this wasn’t the time, or the place. And all other topics felt… walled off. Too normal to speak about in this room and in their first real conversation in over a year. Though, that did remind him of something.

“Why did you come talk to me at the mall? Before the camp.” Izuku’s face pinched as he tried to recall and Katsuki realized that might’ve been a bad question. Before he could say Izuku didn’t need to push to remember, the nerd was speaking.

“That was… It was around the time the League was expanding,” he said, eyes closed. “I was… It’s hard to remember any– any feelings, aside from anger. It gets weirdly dark. But– but I… was upset. About the new recruits. They were– fine. But I was so mad about Stain. His ideals were a lot like mine, but he just– loved All Might. And everyone was just flocking to him. I hated it, I think. It just showed that– that everyone was fooled. That no one saw how All Might really was, or how the idea of– of a ‘Pillar’ is kind of… faulty. I was just so focused on him, and you– and I forgot… I forgot about… Tomura. And Kurogiri.”

The nerd’s eyes popped open and he seemed stricken. “Shit… he was right there… He heard. And– shit, he thinks I– Oh, oh no.” 

“What?” Katsuki asked.

“It was just a coincidence. I just– saw you there, and I was already pissed, so I double flipped-out.” The words came out stumbling, tripping over themselves like Izuku was in a hurry to just get past them. Izuku’s eyes darted away from where they’d flickered towards Katsuki. “But Tomura– I ran out, and I think I said– said something about– no one seeing that All Might– and Tomura! He was there– what did he think? He’s been so distant… Fuck. And I can’t talk to him. Fuck.” He started to pant, breaths coming in short and sentences even more broken than before. Katsuki twitched, as if to go and help, but a hand landed on his shoulder. 

“We’ll go,” Present Mic said, firm. Katsuki could do nothing but nod and follow the hero in standing up and walking out the door. He managed to catch one more glimpse of Izuku hunched in on himself, fists clenched where they were still restrained. Aizawa-sensei had moved closer, leaning in with a hand on Izuku's shoulder. The teacher was speaking quietly, but all Katsuki could focus on was the wide-eyed look of horror and despair on Izuku’s face.

The first two times Shouta had calmed Midoriya down, it’d been a strange sort of quirk-echo-attack. The situation, while mirroring a panic attack of sorts, had ultimately been because of the quirks used upon the kid. Nothing to do but talk him through it and give him something else to latch onto. It wasn’t something that Shouta could use some sort of protocol with like one sometimes could with panic attacks. 

This time, though, it was a panic attack. Shouta caught onto that quickly, removing the handcuffs then shifting gears into asking about five things Midoriya could see, four he could feel, etcetera etcetera. Over time and answering, the kid calmed. His breathing went back to a more normal pace. Still, Shouta didn’t remove his hand from where it laid on Midoriya’s shoulder. The kid refused to clarify what triggered it, not that Shouta had pressured him with anything more than a gentle question. Then he asked if Midoriya would like to go see Inui. Shouta wasn’t expecting a yes, but the kid hadn’t immediately rejected the idea. Instead, he hesitated.

“Hound Dog… he can’t tell anyone anything? About what I say?” 

The idea was almost absurd to Shouta, but he’d known Inui much better and for far longer than the kid had. “Officials have knocked on his door before, but he upholds patient confidentiality firmly. I’ve seen him start growling at just the idea.”

Midoriya’s face was scrunched, his eyebrows drawn and eyes wary, but his posture eased. Still, he shook his head. “I don’t think I want to talk to him about this. Yet, I guess.” 

“Is there someone else you’d want to talk to? Or something you want to do?” Shouta was no good at this sort of thing; best to give him an out to speak with someone less prickly. It would probably suit the kid better than whatever blunt nothings Shouta could say. But, instead of rejecting the idea outright, or even bringing up someone that he wanted to speak with, Midoriya hesitated. His eyes roamed the low edges of the room avoidantly. 

Well… This probably wasn’t it, and it was going to come out a bit stiff, but Shouta had to say it. He didn’t want to come off as unapproachable. “I’m not… Mic or Hound Dog might be better at this, but I’m your guardian. If you need it, I can be there too.”

Unexpectedly, Midoriya’s shoulders lost some tension. Shouta hadn’t even thought that the kid trusted him much at all. He was a hero, one that had even fought Midoriya. And the kid really couldn't have had many good experiences with teachers. His file was filled with statements about him that lined up more with Bakugou’s behavior than Midoriya’s, and his quirkless status surely had something to do with it. So why, against all of that, did Midoriya trust him enough to want to speak with him about this? Part of Shouta still reasoned that maybe he was misreading things, and that that wasn’t where this was leading. But then Midoriya spoke again.

“Would that… really be okay?”

As a seasoned underground pro, Shouta was ashamed of how noticeably he went, if only slightly, taught. He relaxed and responded before Midoriya could backtrack or think that Shouta’s reaction meant something that it didn’t. “Of course. I’m… here to support you.”

The kid worked his jaw for a second. Opened his mouth. Then, like he was opening up the floodgates, words tumbled out far quicker than he could possibly be thinking them through.

“I just… Before. I was so angry and focused on Katsuki and– and All Might, that… that I forgot about Tomura. He hates All Might, like I do– did? Whatever. At the time, he, out of all people, would have shared my exact beliefs. But I completely– I completely and utterly forgot about him. I spoke about hating All Might and Stain and hero society, all things he also believes, all while acting like no one got it but me. And I took over the League! And he let me! He didn’t say a thing. I just… I don’t understand. How I could forget about him, how he could let me stomp all over him and his own goals. Just– why? Did I forget something? Did something happen that drove him away?”

By the end of it, Midoriya was breathing heavily and his hands were clenched tight enough to be turning his fingers white. Shouta gave his shoulder a small squeeze, and the pressure eased just a little. 

“I can’t say that I…” Shouta concealed a wince. “…know Shigaraki well enough to guess what he was thinking. But the way you talk about him implies that you’re close. Maybe he was just letting you have your time at the lead?” Shouta was doing his best to ward off the hero in him that wanted to dig for answers, instead purposing it into asking questions that would—hopefully—help Midoriya process.

Midoriya paused, but shook his head. “No, he’s not like that. We’re like… I guess we’re like… brothers. We fight and stuff, like over games and philosophy. If he wanted it, he wouldn’t have just let me have it. Even if he did, the League was always his project. He’d… He would’ve said or done something, anything, when I started taking over. Or when I did something stupid with it. Unless something… happened.”

“That lines up more with what I saw of him. Stepping aside really does seem out of character. I wonder if… Ah.” Shouta paused. Still, Midoriya figured him out after a few seconds.

“You can… You can talk about my— the whole… brainwashing thing. I– I know. Maybe– maybe Sensei did something. But I just– it was weird. Sensei usually didn’t… He wasn’t as involved as you might think? I saw him a lot, but… Tomura was usually only spoken to through speakers. He was a bit upset about that—me seeing Sensei more—back when I, well, joined up. But I also don’t… The first week after my– my– my memories– Ugh. The first week after things went… blurry is– super dark. I don’t remember, like, anything. From that time. So maybe… maybe we fought. Or Sensei really did do something.”

Every time Shouta heard about this “Sensei,” his resentment only grew stronger. If—when?—Midoriya ever joined his class, Shouta would never make the kid call him that. “This… Sensei of yours was the one to manipulate you, then?”

Midoriya’s mouth thinned into a line. “Yeah. I… I know you’ll probably use this in the investigation. It’s… whatever. I don’t know Sensei’s name or alias, no one ever told me. But he…” The kid winced, a hand going to his head. “I– I can’t tell you much about– him. It’s… ugh, it’s hard to say anything. But– yeah. He wa-was. It couldn’t have been anyone else.”

“Hey, don’t force yourself. If it hurts, you don’t need to tell me,” Shouta said, leaning forward. “And I won’t report this. Any of this conversation at all, especially if you don’t want me to.”

The look Midoriya gave him was skeptical at best. “Really? You don’t even have the therapist agreement thing that Hound Dog does.”

“It’s true that I don’t have that, but I still won’t. I’m a teacher, and I know how to keep my mouth shut when a student tells me something private. And, more than that, I’m your guardian. That… doesn’t need to mean anything you don’t want it to mean. But regardless of how you want to frame it, I am responsible for your wellbeing and that includes your mental and emotional health. And I–” Shouta shoved aside the reservations he had with immense effort. The kid needed to hear this, Shouta’s own emotional constipation be damned. Still, he couldn’t help looking away as he spoke the words. “Me and Hizashi both care about you. I won’t betray your trust.”

When Shouta looked back at the kid, Midoriya was staring at him. His brows were twitching back and forth between furrowed and unfurrowed. 

“You’re… not lying. You won’t tell.” It wasn’t phrased like a question, but all the same it was.

“I’m not.”

“And I’m… supposed to believe that?” That stung a little, but it was to be expected. 

“I would hope, but it’s really just up to you.”

More silence. Then, quietly, “I really shouldn’t believe you.”

Shouta, as slowly as he could possibly manage, reached over to pull the kid into a side hug. He didn’t quite let his weight rest on Shouta, but he didn’t pull away. They stayed like that for some time before Midoriya spoke up again. “You’ve probably heard of him. Of Sensei.” 

“I have?”

“Ye-yeah. He… he can take– take and give quir-quirks.”

Lightning raced up Shouta’s spine. The fear-fueled fairy-tale. The boogeyman himself. Shouta’d heard rumors, even considered that some of them were furthered by his own quirk, but this was completely different. His mind flashed back to what All Might had said at that initial briefing. 

“Are we sure that he is truly quirkless? Or that… He is still quirkless?”

At the moment he’d entertained that the hero had been alluding to the boogeyman, but he hadn’t taken it seriously. Now with Midoriya saying the same thing… Rumors always had a source. The fairytale, however improbable it’d seemed, come to life. What a day. That, though, opened a dangerous possibility.

“And he didn’t give you one?”

Shouta felt the kid’s head shake while he spoke, hasty to correct the thought. “No. I’m… Well, I’m happy now that he didn’t, but even before– I was grateful he didn’t.”

That wasn’t what Shouta would have expected, for sure. “Why’s that?”

“I worked… a lot. To be strong, without a quirk. It would’ve been– felt… Like, an insult? Disrespectful? That makes it sound like I was the Sensei there, which of course I really wasn’t, but…”

“No, I think I get it. You never needed one, anyways.” Midoriya scoffed, and Shouta realized how that sounded.  “You being quirkless was never the problem, Midoriya. It was the fault of everyone around you that they couldn’t realize your worth, quirk aside.”

“Sure. A-and I could-could’ve become a hero with-without one too, of course,” he said with palpable sarcasm. Yet, Shouta could hear the straining line of fragility in his voice. This wasn’t just a flippant joke.

“You could have.” Regrettably, Midoriya jolted back to sitting upright. Though Shouta wasn’t always a big fan of physical contact, the trust Midoriya was displaying made Shouta appreciate it. 

The kid turned to Shouta, eyes wild. “What?”

“I’ll admit, it wouldn’t be easy. And you’d have much better chances if you went underground. But I think you could’ve done it.”

The chair screeched back when Midoriya stood abruptly. “Bullshit.” It was less like he spoke and more like the word simply fell from Midoriya’s mouth. Feeling awkward, Shouta scratched his cheek as he continued.

“People would do everything to get in your way. You’d need to be careful, dedicated, and willing to weather a lot of cruelty. I don’t know if just anyone could do it, but becoming a hero isn’t easy for just anyone in the first place.” 

“Y-you said… I…” Midoriya’s whole face twitched. Periodically, it flickered through disbelief, scrutiny, and, strangely enough, fear. Shouta resisted the urge to reach out again and met the kid’s eyes steadily.

“I did. I think you would have risen to the challenge. You did—and do—have the potential. You have the heart.”

“I can’t… I couldn’t… He said…” The kid’s jaw snapped shut to cut off the rest of his sentence.

Shouta winced at the reminder, but he had to get this out of the way. “I apologize for not telling you before, but me and Hizashi know about you meeting All Might. I know what you asked, and what he told you.”

“You– what?” Midoriya seemed not to know how to feel, let alone what to say. He stumbled back and fell into his chair, eyes never leaving Shouta’s face. It felt wrong to be looked at in fear by someone so young. But Shouta suspected that Midoriya needed to hear this, regardless of how scary it would be.

“He was wrong. You never needed a quirk.” 

Midoriya’s head ducked down as he began to shake. His hands gripped the folds of his pants with a death grip. Wet spots began to litter the fabric and he curled into himself even more. His breath came quick and shallow, hitches and sniffles stuttering every other inhale.

“You always could’ve become a hero.”

Halfway through their trek out of the main UA building, Izuku gathered enough courage to speak.

“…Sorry,” he said hoarsely.

“For what?” Aizawa responded, in his specific way that almost seemed absentminded but definitely wasn’t. Izuku scowled, but it was weak. Aizawa noticed anyway. “Yeah, fair enough. But don’t be sorry. I want to help you.”

It was hard to believe it. It was hard to wrap his mind around the idea at all. And yet, against reason, Izuku wanted to trust him. Maybe it was how this was the third time Aizawa had helped him out of some kind of mental turmoil, maybe it was because Aizawa was an underground hero and one of the most respected ones. Maybe, despite Izuku’s past, it was because Aizawa was a teacher.

Maybe there was no reason at all. 

“You understand how that– that sounds,” Izuku mumbled. 

“I get it more than you’d think.” Aizawa cast a calm but open look at Izuku. “I myself was quite untrusting when I was your age. Some people were… uncomfortable with the abilities of my quirk.”

Another person branded with a villainous quirk, then. Many villains, including a number Izuku had met, had a similar story. It was strange to see that story behind a hero. With no response, the conversation lulled. Izuku took a catalog of himself. His legs felt embarrassingly weak, he still had to rub away some wetness from his eyes, and his throat constricted if he didn’t swallow frequently. Aizawa’s words still echoed within his mind, not helping with the rest of it all. 

This was absurd. Izuku shouldn’t even be entertaining this. More than he shouldn’t trust Aizawa, he certainly shouldn’t believe what he said. With now many people that’d told Izuku otherwise, what did one contrary opinion mean? What did one hero saying he could do it stand against the dozens that had implored upon him that, no, he couldn’t? 

“You always could’ve become a hero.”

Out of so many people, out of a world that was utterly convinced of the opposite, Aizawa believed in him. Yeah, absurd. Just… absurd. Izuku was forced to use his sleeve to wipe his eyes again. Aizawa placed a hand on his shoulder, and Izuku felt an immense warmth fill his chest. That urge to trust and care surged from within him, foreign after months of distancing himself from that naivety. Aizawa—and the other UA teachers, too—had just been so infuriatingly kind.

It couldn’t be real.

Instantly, the hand on his shoulder wasn’t comforting. It was burning, and there was an explosion about to erupt there. Fear surged in his chest, screaming till Izuku’s ears started to ring. He needed to run, to escape. He couldn’t move.

This place was too nice. Too much. Too kind. Nothing like this was ever real. None of it ever lasted. His stay with the League, before they were the League, was at least believable. He was training to join their cause. There were moments of despair and pain and loneliness when Sensei ordered for him to reflect in his room alone after a bad lesson. The fear from Sensei’s presence, the trials and the pain of a stupid mistake during training left to teach him caution– it all made it real. Without any of that, it would have been too perfect. And now, here at UA, it was exactly that. If he’d refused to give information to Sensei like he’d done with these heroes, he’d have felt that ice in his veins for days. Where was the pain? The fear? Where was the catch?

A small shake to his shoulder made Izuku look back up to Aizawa. They were outside their campus apartment, the door slightly ajar with Aizawa’s free hand on the doorknob. The hero’s dark eyes pierced him clear through and Izuku swallowed, knowing that he’d failed in concealing a thing.

“Midoriya, are you okay?”

Izuku’s fists clenched and his nails dug into his palms. Anger threw itself in front of the fear. Suddenly he became acutely aware of the weight of the metal cuff on his left wrist, flat but large and covering almost a third of his forearm. He roughly jerked his shoulder out of Aizawa’s gentle grip. “I’m fine.”

Steps firm, Izuku stalked his way to his room. There was a rule that he wasn’t supposed to close the door fully, but he practically slammed it anyway. He felt like a child throwing a tantrum, but that thought didn’t do anything to calm him down. Tears began to pool in his eyes and he grit his teeth in frustration. Without even bothering to change out of his uniform, he crawled into his bed and curled into a ball and pressed his back and side against the corner. Fury ignited in his gut, warm and welcoming like an old friend. His jaw hurt from how tight it had become. 

The fingers of his right hand roamed back and forth over the abrupt transition from the hard metal of his cuff to the soft skin of his wrist.

Always be a hero… yeah, fucking right. Izuku was always going to fail. There was no way he could’ve. No use in even having tried. He would’ve been refused somewhere, no one would have been willing to help or train him, and certainly no world where he made it on his own. He couldn’t have. He couldn’t. All Might– fuck, no matter how much he hated the hero just a bit ago and no matter how complicated his feelings were on him now, All Might had been right. He’d fucked up a lot that day, especially by telling Izuku of his weakness, but he hadn’t been wrong that Izuku couldn’t be a hero without a quirk. It was simply what it was. All inevitable.

There was a soft knock on the door, and then it cracked open. Izuku glared at it, but no one was peeking through.

“Midoriya. Are you alright?”

That name, that stupid name… “Don’t call me that,” he spat, with venom.

A pause. “Okay. Are you alright?”

Was he alright? Was he alright? Nothing was alright. It hadn’t been, not for a long while. When was the last time he was fully alright? Not being manipulated by some villain he never even learned the name of, not under some sort of parole, not being tormented by someone he once considered a friend. When was the last time Izuku had been carefree? Happy?

“May I come in?” Aizawa said after Izuku didn’t answer. 

Izuku pressed his lips into a firm line and, against the screaming static of mistrust in his head, let out a nearly silent “Okay.”

There was a creak as the door opened. Izuku didn’t move, still curled up with his face shoved into the arms he had wrapped around his knees. He stayed that way as the bed shifted under Aizawa’s weight when he sat down, closer to the edge with a solid buffer of space between him and Izuku.

“I’m… sorry if I said something to upset you. Would you prefer to wait for Hizashi to come back? He might have a better understanding of how to speak with you.”

Yeah, like Izuku was a kicked kitten. Yamada was good at it, made it so easy to forget how deliberate it was, but Izuku didn’t want to be coddled. And the very idea of yet another person witnessing any of Izuku’s weaknesses made his chest constrict. He shook his head. 

“Do you want me to leave?”

“I know you want to,” he said, before he could catch the words and keep them in. Aizawa was always offering for Izuku to speak to someone else, to take the close conversations elsewhere. It made shame curl in Izuku’s gut; the one adult he felt even relatively okay with being straight with would always rather be anywhere than with him. Typical. And yet Izuku picked the selfish option, time after time keeping Aizawa near even when the man clearly didn’t like the idea. But hey, he was a villain, right? He was supposed to be selfish. The shame was stupid. He shouldn’t be feeling it.

A hand touched down softly on Izuku’s bicep, right below his shoulder. “Mi– Problem Child, how did I give you that impression?” There was a shock and concern in his tone that actually made Izuku pause and look up. Aizawa was leaning over slightly, brows pulled together and eyes searching Izuku’s face.

There was a block in Izuku’s throat, but he tried to swallow it down. “Whenever we talk you always… Bring up going to Hound Dog, or to Yamada, or whatever. I know you don’t like– this. You don’t have to do it, I know you didn’t want– don’t want me getting in the way of your life. I’m just some villain you gotta watch.”

Aizawa didn’t flinch, but Izuku could actually see him suppress one. He looked oddly stricken. “Kid…” His mouth snapped shut and he visibly gathered himself, eyes closing for a second before they opened with a sort of determination and locked on Izuku’s. “I’m sorry that I came off like that. To be completely honest, I’m just– not the best with this sort of thing. I tend to be kind of removed, and I thought you might like someone more… emotionally available. But, and I don’t care if you need me to say this a hundred times, I care. I care about you, Problem Child. I want to help, and not just because I was assigned to look after you. I want to give you anything you need to feel happy, safe, and secure. Yeah, I didn’t sign up for this, but I accepted it. And I’m glad I did.”

For the last couple of weeks, Izuku had found a sort of comfort in Aizawa’s detachedness. As compared to the touchy-feely gooey stuff that had felt too close for comfort, it was like a breath of fresh air. Izuku still valued that candidness. But, seeing Aizawa’s face drop some of the impassiveness, seeing it soft and open… 

It reminded him of…

The water that he was trying to desperately blink away from his eyes started to overflow. Izuku raised his hands to hide his face and wipe at it at the same time. Despite his best efforts, the tears only got more intense. There was a bleeding wound on Izuku’s chest, opening up a cavern that exposed his beating heart. Part of him expected for it to happen again. For Aizawa to reach forward and tear it out, to say it. Those words that had ruined everything. 

I’m so glad.

A pang rang through Izuku’s chest and he lurched forward, legs loosening to allow his arms to come up and press his clasped hands against his heart. To hide it, to keep it safe, to make it forget everything, to tear it out himself, to crush it before Aizawa got the chance. Aizawa himself moved forward and Izuku screwed his eyes shut braced for impact and then– a single arm wrapped around him, pulling him into Aizawa’s side. Just like before, not even an hour ago.

“Go on, cry it out. I’ve got you.”

Two arms around him, tandem sobbing, knees pressed against the hard floor. A warm voice in his ear, worrying worrying worrying. Dark green hair, smelling like that familiar shampoo that he never even realized he’d missed because he’d been too damn focused on doing anything but missing.

Mom.

“She said… She was– She was glad…” He couldn’t breathe. “She thought I… I-I couldn’t– She was better off… I can’t– I couldn’t… I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

“It’s alright, Problem Child.”

“I can’t… I couldn’t– I-I couldn’t. A hero. I can’t be a hero.” One of his hands reached up to bury itself in his hair. He grabbed at it, pulling a little to keep him present. To keep him from going back. The wound in his chest was growing. His heart was shaking like it was ready to burst.

“You can. You could.” Aizawa was unrelenting. The arm around Izuku shifted and Aizawa’s hand met Izuku’s, untangling it from his hair and giving it a small squeeze before letting go. 

“No, no. No. If I could– No. I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

And something in his chest snapped. Izuku roughly shoved away from Aizawa, eyes wild and hands twitching, grasping at the air. “If I could be a hero from the– from the start, then what was the fu-fucking point of a-any of this?!” he shouted, the tears warping his vision and turning Aizawa into a dark blur. “If I could’ve been a hero, then why did I join the League? Why was I gone? Why did she die? If I was just fucking there, then maybe… Maybe she…”

Would have lived.

Anger flared, hot acid spilling over and into his voice. “And– and all you heroes can do about any of it is whine and tap your feet and say, oh golly, we’re trying. But what the fuck do you actually do? When do you actually make a real difference? I’m sick and tired of the platitudes! All Might can claim anyone can be a hero, but when he’s actually faced with someone that might have it a little harder– I guess he was just fucking with us after all! Hound Dog can donate a buck or two to a charity here or there, but his costume still includes a fucking muzzle. He may be fine with it, but what about the people that think, ‘huh, I guess then it’s perfectly normal and okay to muzzle my kid?’”

Izuku wanted to hurt. He wanted to push and push and make this actually hurt Aizawa. Make one of these people finally crack, make them finally stop being so– so damn nice. “Present Mic can drone on and on about activism and doing better for the world on his pointless fucking radio, but the next thing you know he’s interviewing some hero that has been shown to publicly hate the quirkless or be bigoted against mutants. He’s just as bad as the rest of them. No one ever says what they mean. No one ever actually tries. And I– I’m not even allowed to. So no, I can’t be a hero. I couldn’t, I can’t, and I wish I’d never wanted to. She– I would have been better off. We all would’ve. You’re– you’re all just fucking frauds anyway.” 

Izuku turned his head to the side, removing Aizawa from his point of view. Clasped his hands together with his arms around his legs, tugging them close to his chest again to close off the wound. Everything was still as he waited for it to happen. For the man to finally do something real. For yelling, for a hit, for some proof that life was still what it was supposed to be. For Aizawa to finally understand that it was a villain that he was being forced to watch over. For him to leave.

Hands landed on his shoulders. Not gently, but certainly not hard at all. Izuku still finched, his gaze shooting to Aizawa. His eyes were glowing and his hair was floating for just a single moment before he blinked and it was back to normal. An emotional quirk usage, probably.

Only then did Izuku truly realize how much he’d just fucked up.

He shoved Aizawa. Yelled at him. Insulted his husband. If there was a time now to send him away, to lock him up for good, this was it. He may have forced Aizawa to drop the niceties, but he’d also just secured a pair of cuffs. The real kind, the ones that would weigh something and restrain his movement. Secured a good hit to the face too, maybe even a new scar. And, shit, had the proving even been worth it? The anger abruptly drained away, leaving a cold fear in its place. This was it.

“It is not your fault.”

What? Izuku actually looked at Aizawa, at his expression. It was not one of rage. Oddly enough, it was more… stricken. Determined, even. Izuku’s legs slumped until he was completely left open, his wound exposed once again. 

“What happened to your mother was not your fault. Before I say anything else, I need to say that.”

“But–”

“Nope. No.” Aizawa shook him once, just lightly, with each denial. “Her passing was not caused by you. Sure, in some other life, maybe it went different. Maybe she was somewhere else, maybe the timing was better. But it wasn’t. What-if’s won’t bring her back or even dictate blame.” The hero paused, his jaw working and eyes drifting before sharpening back to focus. “It’s easy to fall into the pit of self blame. Especially as a hero. It happens to all of us. To me. But when we can, we need to remember that we are not made up only of our failures, but also our successes. Sometimes our best isn’t enough, and sometimes bad things just plain old happen. All we can do is pick up the pieces and try again. To do better next time, to learn from the experience. Wallowing won’t undo the past, or save the next person that you want to save.”

(At Aizawa’s words, a face flashed through Izuku’s mind. An idea, a concept, the notion of a possibility. It slipped into the back of his mind, unimportant in the shadow of everything else happening.)

“You– you’re just… She– I don’t… even know why I care,” Izuku said, looking away. His hands were shaking in his lap. “She was… She said… She was happy when I gave up. She thought I was weak. I shouldn’t care. I also– I shouldn’t–”

I shouldn’t believe you.

It really seemed like Aizawa just had that effect, huh?

“Problem Child, of course you care.” Aizawa’s voice was a kind sort of exasperated. The type that was comforting, rather than aggravating. As he spoke, his hands moved from Izuku’s shoulders to loosely clasp around his biceps. It sent that warmth through Izuku’s veins again. “When it comes to parents or guardians, complicated relationships are just part of the deal. You can hate her and love her at the same time. Every good thing she did doesn’t erase the bad, and the bad doesn’t erase the good. I don’t know the details of your relationship, but you are allowed to feel more than one thing about her.”

A full-body shudder wracked Izuku. This was so different from what Sensei had said. He’d been insistent that Izuku should be mad. Time passed, and it only got more and more difficult to recall a single good thing about his mom. All he could think about were all the times she wasn't there, or the times she was in the worst way. But, now, Izuku couldn’t help but remember it all. Every birthday that no one but Mom had been present at. She’d always managed to make it an amazing day anyways, so full of love and joy that he’d forget that he ever wanted another person there at all. All the hero merch she bought him, that she had clearly saved up for and listened intently to his rambles to pick out. The genuine parental care that he’d missed in the past months, only getting small doses from Kurogiri, of all people. The genuine care that Sensei could never hope to emulate in any way that wasn’t a cheap imitation. 

The genuine care that Aizawa just wouldn’t stop emulating.

But a nagging feeling kept Izuku from relaxing just yet. He focused on Aizawa again with narrowed eyes. “And everything else? How do you answer that?”

Aizawa released Izuku’s arms and he felt a fleeting terror before the hero was turning so he could lean against the wall, still close enough to Izuku for their arms to be touching. He sighed and looked right at Izuku. His expression nothing but open and simple.

“You’re right. We’re hypocrites. All Might’s an idiot, but that’s old news,” Aizawa said, waving his hand dismissively. His tone turned back to serious as he continued. “I don’t think Hound Dog or Hizashi knew about those things you said, but you’ve probably got a hundred more examples up in there where whoever did whatever knew exactly what they were doing. I think we should tell Hound Dog and Hizashi about those issues of theirs so they can try to be better, but regardless, they’ve—we’ve—let you down. We didn’t save you when you needed it most, and every day we neglect to save hundreds more in the same position.

“So, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for every hero that has failed you. For every one that overlooked your pain, or dismissed you, or told you something that was never true. The only thing I can personally promise you is that I can try. I’m sorry that that’s it, but I’m only one person. And change of this scale takes time. Nedzu and the rest of the UA staff have been working for years to make things better, I can tell you the specifics later, but the point is that we’re old and we’re jaded. That’s why we need you, and this school. Herolings with big dreams for the future, innovative support students, management to guide the way, and diverse general education students to fill in every other gap. Young, fresh faced idealists that remind us what we’re supposed to be fighting for. That the childish ideal of a perfect world is exactly what we should hold as our standard. That the impossible dream isn’t as impossible if we just keep working at it. And that’s especially why you shouldn’t blame yourself. We need people like you.”

“Like… me?” The words felt gooey in his mouth.

“Yeah. Like you. People that will fight for the future, even if we old heroes get a bit sidetracked.” Aizawa’s arm slowly raised and slotted itself around Izuku’s shoulders. Why did he keep doing that? Initiating touch. The strange, clear atmosphere had Izuku asking the question again, this time out loud. Aizawa hummed, low and baritone. He wasn’t looking at Izuku anymore, but Izuku was beginning to realize that Aizawa looking away didn’t mean dishonesty. In fact, it often meant the exact opposite. 

“I wouldn’t consider myself a touchy-feely person. But with some people it’s comforting.”

Izuku still wanted to ask questions. He wanted to know exactly how UA was apparently fighting for change. He wanted to examine every staff member and grill Aizawa and Nedzu for details. And he would, later.  But, right now… Aizawa’s arm around him just made him want to relish in the moment. Because Izuku was " some people. " He didn’t exactly know what that meant, but it felt significant.

It felt like a promise.

Chapter Text

UA’s doors really were gigantic. Especially the gym doors. It was definitely to accommodate mutations, but it really was just so intimidating. Izuku swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to un-intimidate himself. This was surreal. Standing in front of a UA gym, in a UA gym uniform, like he was about to go to hero training. A bit of guilt gnawed at his edges, but he shoved it away. Swallowed again. 

“Sure you’re ready?”

Izuku turned his head to look at Yamada. “I’m… Yeah.”

“You can back out at any time.” Yamada squeezed Izuku’s shoulder gently. “This is just a first try.”

Closing his eyes, Izuku took a deep breath. He opened them again and gave Yamada a resolute nod. Yamada grinned, and opened the door.

They were greeted with the big sight and loud sounds of hero training. Inside the gym were towers of rocky-looking concrete, either being used as obstacles to jump on or as sounding boards for attacks. Explosions came from a corner of the room, and interchanging fire and ice shot up from another. Rocks rained down and crashed and floated in the air. 

Cementoss and Aizawa stood near the entrance but further into the room, monitoring the controlled chaos and the former making more concrete when needed. When Yamada and Izuku entered, the teachers turned to greet them.

“Hello. Mic, Midoriya. It’s just about time for break,” Cementoss said. 

Aizawa didn’t speak, just giving them his version of a greeting look as he lifted a hand to his ear. “Eraserhead in. Midnight, Ectoplasm, wrap it up for break. Over.”

A second later, the noise began to die down. Rocks slowly stopped being thrown all over the place, and the explosions and fire waned. Students navigated their way through the wreckage, meeting up and continuing in clumps when their paths intersected. They all came towards the entrance, Midnight and Ectoplasm among them. Eventually, everyone was gathered.

It was hard not to stare at them all. Izuku had never seen the majority of them in their hero costumes, and the ones he had seen were also hard to avoid because they were all staring so intently at him. Uraraka waved, a big grin on her face, and Izuku waved timidly back. The group around her just so happened to contain pretty much all of the students Izuku recognized, except for Katsuki. He was off with a different group, one that Izuku only knew from the Sports Festival broadcast. Izuku avoided looking directly at any of them.

“Class.” When Aizawa spoke, they all snapped to attention. It was pretty impressive. “This is Midoriya Izuku. You may know him as Onryou. You have already been informed of the situation. There will be no harassment, and he will be here to interact with you during this thirty minute break. Do not crowd him. I will be watching.” He flashed his quirk and the hero students stood up straighter.

“Yes, Sensei!” they chorused. Aizawa alertly narrowed his eyes at them for a moment, then let his shoulders slump again.

“Dismissed.” Murmuring immediately started up. Aizawa took a step back, nodding at Izuku, who swallowed thickly at the number of eyes on him. Uraraka was kind enough to step forward before anyone else could.

 “Hey, Midoriya!” She hesitated when he winced. “Ah, was I too loud?”

“Oh, no. Just, that name has… uh, a bit of baggage.” he shrugged helplessly. 

“Is there something else you want to be called?”

Izuku felt his face go hot. He tugged at his fingers and avoided her eyes. “Not… really. You can just say Midoriya. It’s… fine.”

“No way!” Uraraka bounced on the balls of her feet, her hands coming up in determined fists. “You don’t want to be called that, so we won’t call you that. We’ll just need to come up with something else.”

While Izuku stammered some nonsense syllables, Uraraka waved her friends over. She introduced each of them one by one. Shinsou was the one that won the Sports Festival, but Izuku had no information other than that. Iida was obviously of the famous Iidaten hero family, and Izuku couldn’t help the way his eyes narrowed and his lips thinned when he was introduced. That same distrust was extended to Todoroki, though Izuku couldn’t be too suspicious. Those old, buried images of the injured Todoroki children from so many months ago still haunted Izuku. The reports may have tapered off after a certain date, Izuku couldn’t discern how it was important, and they completely stopped after Todoroki Touya’s death, but that meant nothing. They had been few and far between in the first place, official visits having been clearly reserved only for truly serious injuries. That meant there was more in between. Perhaps there had been some incident with Touya, and after that Endeavor got a bit more careful, but it in no way meant the so-called hero had somehow quit being a shitstain cold-turkey. Izuku didn’t have any evidence, certainly no way to prove that even those old reports had been more than simple accidents, but he had his hunch. 

Overall, none of them immediately raised Izuku’s hackles. They were in fact very civil and polite, if one could count exhausted, uptight, and really hard to read as such. Izuku politely picked his way through each introduction, but the knot in his chest was still tightly bound.

“Anyways, we need to come up with a new name for him!” Uraraka said with a clap of her hands. “Ideas?”

“I’d say Midori, because of all the green, but that’s pretty much what it was before…” Shinsou’s hands were shoved in his pockets, face half-hidden in the scarf around his neck. The scarf was an exact carbon copy of Aizawa’s, actually. Seemed like the man had himself a successor.  “What about Hikui?” he said, deadpan.

“I’m not that short!” Izuku said, forgetting his nervousness.

“Uraraka is shorter.” Todoroki was matter-of-fact, but Uraraka still squawked in offense. 

“Perhaps we take part of Midoriya and add it to something else,” Iida mused to himself. 

“Actually, I think…” Izuku cut in. He glanced at Aizawa, who was off to the side talking to the other heroes. “There’s a lot of baggage, but it’s not– all bad. I’m… You can call me Midoriya. I’d like you to call me Midoriya.”

None of them skipped a beat, either nodding or making some noise of confirmation. This group was somehow nothing like Izuku thought, which was strange because Izuku had no clue what he’d expected. They were so quick to take what he said and just go with it, no questions or prying. All very kind and open. Strange. They knew he was a villain, but did they know he was quirkless?

Would they be so kind if they knew?

It was impulsive. It was stupid, in every strategic and social way. Absolutely unnecessary, too. But Izuku found himself speaking anyway. “I’m quirkless, by the way.”

Iida was visibly shocked, his body jerking a little. Shinsou’s tired stare went a bit more intense, a much more subtle reaction, but Todoroki had zero change in expression. Iida’s mouth opened but Uraraka beat him to the punch, a smile taking over her initial surprise.

“Wow! You’re super strong then. I thought you had some sort of agility or speed quirk,” Uraraka said, like it was the easiest thing in the world. Like it was just that simple.

Todoroki and Shinsou nodded. Iida, still surprised, did as well after a moment. “I did not give it much thought, but I too had assumed that. You must have trained extensively,” he said, sounding just a bit mystified. Maybe even impressed.

Izuku’s legs felt weak. “That’s it?” he said, surprised by how faint his voice was.

“What else would there be?” Todoroki asked, tilting his head. Shinsou placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I’ll explain it to you later.” Shinsou looked at Izuku now. Expression unreadable in a way that was more ominous than blank like Todoroki, he waited a moment. Somehow, it felt more understanding than intimidating. Then, “Why did you spare me, back at the summer camp?”

“I– Ah–” Izuku reeled at the abrupt shift. “I don’t– I mean, I kind of remember that, but I don’t– I don’t really remember? It’s hard to, ah, understand a lot. I’m kind of, mostly, as clueless as you. To what I was thinking at the time, I mean.”

Shinsou nodded, Uraraka giving him an annoyed look, but Izuku honestly preferred the change in conversation. As difficult as it could be to talk about the time he was Onryou, it was weirdly a lot less stressful than stuff related to his quirklessness. 

“Does that mean you don’t remember why you attacked Stain?” Todoroki asked.

“I mean,” Izuku held his arms to himself, not sure about this topic. “I kind of do? He insulted my—well, Onryou’s—whole goals, and so Onryou wanted to get even, I guess. Naturally,” he tacked on with quiet sarcasm.

“While I must say it disturbed me that you intended to kill Stain, I have little room to speak. And I still must thank you,” Iida said, pushing up his glasses and bowing formally. “Your interference saved my life.”

Izuku’s hands waved wildly. “I– Uh, you don’t need to thank me. It wasn’t anything at all.” 

“Don’t say that!” Uraraka chimed in. “You were a bit scary, but your fighting was super impressive. Got any tips?”

Izuku’s hands slowed to a stop and he timidly lifted his shoulders. “Well, I don’t know your fighting style. I might be able to still give a few general pointers though?”

“Why don’t I just show you?” Uraraka asked, bouncing on the balls of her feet at the idea of a fight. 

“Uh… I don’t think I’m allowed to fight…” Izuku wasn’t totally sure about that, but honestly he didn’t feel very comfortable fighting them anyway. With Katsuki in the room, he was a little worried about somehow falling too into a fighting mood and just launching himself at him with murderous intent.

“I can just spar with one of the others! You can give both of us pointers.” She sounded so excited and Izuku really couldn’t think of any other reasons not to, so he nodded hesitantly. Uraraka gave a little jump when he did, and then turned to face the rest of the class. “Anyone wanna spar and get pointers from Midoriya?” she called.

“Ughhh,” someone said, the one with blond hair and a black lightning bolt design on it. Kaminari Denki, Izuku thought unbidden. Huh. Apparently Onryou had watched the Sports Festival at one point, with enough closeness that Izuku was remembering students even now. “Aren’t we supposed to be on break?”

“Well you don’t have to do it, Kaminari.” Uraraka waved them off and rolled her eyes playfully. “Anyone actually interested to get some tips from someone who’s been out there on the other side of the field?”

Shinsou, Iida, and Todoroki seemed like they were about to volunteer, but someone with a huge dark ponytail raised their hand hesitantly before they could. Before Izuku could comb his mind for their name, Uraraka waved them over and filled Izuku in as she did.  “That’s Yaomomo! Or, Yaoyorozu Momo. Her quirk is creation, and she can make anything she knows the components and stuff of. It’s actually a super complicated quirk, and she’s super smart; the first in our class!”

Yaoyorozu blushed at the praise. “Uraraka, you flatter me too much.” She turned to Izuku and smiled. “Nice to meet you, Midoriya-kun.”

“N-nice to meet you too, Yaoyorozu-san,” Izuku managed. He swallowed and addressed both Yaoyorozu and Uraraka. “D-do you want to spar with or wi-without quirks?”

They decided on quirks, at least at first. Then, after moving over to a less populated area that was still within the eyesight of the front door and the heroes, they established the general area to stay in and got in position. Izuku felt like he was in some sort of weird dream. He’d never trained with other people, and even if he wasn’t sparring, this was a completely different experience. It made his heart race a little.

Hands shaking ever so slightly, Izuku raised one to the air and called the match. Immediately, Uraraka darted forward. Yaoyorozu reached to her arm, where a metal staff emerged with a sparkling pink light. She pulled it out and brandished it with a determined look on her face. When Uraraka got close, she tried to duck under the guard but Yaoyorozu lept back, deftly avoiding Uraraka’s outstretched hand.

The fight continued in a similar fashion. Uraraka punched and grappled and lunged, while Yaoyorozu dodged and ducked and drew out more weapons or shields whenever Uraraka sent one into the air and out of reach. Not to say that Yaoyorozu threw around her weapon’s like they’d never run out, but she did seem to rely on her staff and shield combination quite a bit. The match ended with Uraraka pinning Yaoyorozu to the floor, both arms caught in a lock that Uraraka could pull at as a warning whenever Yaoyorozu tried to create something. Izuku called Uraraka’s win, and both girls disengaged and walked over to join him.

Iida congratulated Uraraka on her victory, and Shinsou and Todoroki stopped their whispering to do the same. Izuku took a moment to put his thoughts in order, his curled pointer finger pressed to his lips.

“Uraraka, what are the features of your hero costume?” Izuku asked when his thoughts finally bubbled over. He realized that he’d interrupted her chatting with the others after he spoke, but before he could apologize Uraraka was responding, unbothered.

“I got these big boots to cushion me, and there are springs in the heels. They can also shoot some air if I need a boost and can’t push off something. My head unit works as comms and it also helps with the pressure changes I feel when I use my quirk. My wristlets are also for acupuncture so I get less nauseous, and in my belt I have a staff and… uh, a knife.” She scratched the back of her head. “I didn’t have a staff or a knife before, but seeing you and Stain fight taught me that I needed a few non-quirk weapons on hand, especially with a non-offensive quirk like mine. I still don’t know how to use them super well, so they’re more of a backup just-in-case thing. I prefer bare hand to hand. But, that’s the gist.”

Izuku nodded, then looked at Yaoyorozu. “What’s your costume’s rundown?”

The girl seemed a bit down from her loss, but she remained regal and kept her head up as she answered. “Since my quirk needs space to create, I have as much skin open as I can to pull out bigger objects. I would have had more, but regulations restrained my options. I can create most supplies myself, but my belts are available for utility and small storage when needed. The back here is where my book goes; it has many more complicated details of objects I may need in the field and are less likely to remember. It stays put with professional grade magnets. I also have a cape for winter, which still allows room and access for creation while keeping me warm.”

“Ok…” Izuku’s hands twitched for a notebook, but he didn’t have one. Even if he did, he’d be hesitant to write. He didn’t want the heroes to worry that he was trying to gather information on the students. With a deep preparatory breath, Izuku looked at Uraraka first. 

“Your fighting is great for a student.” Uraraka grinned and her shoulders squared. “The hand to hand is definitely better than I think I remember it being before, and I agree that it’s best to wait on using your weapons till you’re more experienced with them. Your costume is well constructed, but I would recommend some more armor around vulnerable places and perhaps a long-range weapon you can use when it inevitably comes up. It doesn’t need to be anything big, but it would be useful to have. More tech and support gear in general is always great, but do be careful with relying on it too much. Your biggest flaw right now is simply inexperience, which is easily solved with just more training, and one other thing I’ll touch on in a minute.” Izuku turned to Yaoyorozu, who straightened.

“Your costume has a good idea behind it, but it needs some major revisions. Having that much skin open to attack is risky, but I do understand it is necessary for ease of quirk use and it’s your choice at the end of the day. Still, I would recommend at least closing the front up more if only for more support. You can add quick release clasps that can be pulled open or just forced open by whatever you’re creating in a pinch, and open up a back panel too. And some armor around vital places is always a good idea. You need better shoes, full stop. There’s a lot of potential for shoes and secret storage or just durability that comes in handy in emergency situations. And your double belt– that needs to be majorly reconstructed. It may be fine now, but it will restrict movement you will need at some point. Best to make it one chunky belt, a more snug one that ideally rests closer to your waist for less restriction, and add a less bulky compartment for your book. You could split the book into two editions to keep in smaller pockets." Yaoyorozu looked thoughtful, nodding along with his stream of words. 

“Now, your quirk. On one hand, you shouldn't rely on it as much as I saw you doing, but you also need to utilize its potential way more! It’s super powerful! I’d recommend following Uraraka's path and find some type of weaponless combat to become more versed in, to cover that base. But usage wise, I understand that you need to know the make and composition of whatever you create. That means you need to know it down to the chemical compounds, right?” She nodded, considering. “Okay. So, you’re smart. Brilliant, probably. I trust that you’ve learned how to make things like medical gauze, weapons, and other stuff like that. But you can branch out. This was just sparring, sure, but you can be much more creative. You could make dust or something you can toss into the air to distract or blind your opponents, though if you want to do that you should invest in goggles, and you could also use the objects coming out of your skin as a weapon in of itself. Stuff like making a thin layer of armor right before an attack or creating a projectile as you throw your arm, if that would work. I’d need to know more for more specifics. But that means a lot more drilling, especially on reaction time. Speaking of which, your fighting. I touched on it when I talked about weaponless combat, but you need to learn how to get in close and use your quirk like I mentioned. I think some lessons with Aizawa could be helpful, but if you can it might be a good idea to speak with other people that have manifesting quirks to see how they trained their speed. It really depends on your preference what you want to focus on, long range or close combat, but either way you still need to be able to defend yourself in a worst-case scenario where you don’t have your quirk or any good supplies.”

As he spoke, Izuku’s hands swept through the air; a pattern of gestures that made perfect sense only to him. He pulled them a bit closer in a definitive swoop, moving on to address both of them. “The biggest flaw both of you have, though, is that you fight like heroes. I think that Uraraka knows what I mean, but what I’m trying to say is that you’re just too nice. Maybe the hero fights you see on TV are like that, but a lot of real fights are fast. Dirty. It’s really about who can get the first punch in, most of the time. You may be fighting to incapacitate, but many villains are fighting to kill. This was just sparring, so I get the restraint, but I really recommend treating these fights more like life or death. There’s probably a line somewhere between real enough and too brutal, but I’m not the best person to ask about that. The bottom line is that you need to drop any idea you have that you will fight like a good guy, because in an uphill fight there will be no good guy when you die because you weren’t giving it your all. I…” Izuku’s mouth stalled as he came back to himself, realizing just how long he’d been rambling and how it’d sounded the whole time.

“But, uh, that’s just what I saw. Thought. Sorry,” he finished lamely.

Yaoyorozu shook her head and gave him a dignified smile. “Sorry for what? This is all valuable insight. I never thought of it like that; thank you for the advice.”

“Yeah, it’ll be super helpful. Thanks!” Uraraka chimed in.

Izuku stammered, his shoulders rounding and face going hot. They didn’t think it was creepy? He was sure that he’d low key started to mutter at some points, and people tended to find that strange. “N-no problem at all!” 

“I would also like to hear your insight,” Todoroki said.

Iida shook his head. “Unless it’s a quirkless spar, it is best to refrain. It’s still break, after all, and your quirk tends to cause more destruction and ruckus!”

Todoroki nodded, that being reasonable enough, but he still looked at Izuku. His gaze was intimidating, though it seemed not all all intentional. “Is there any advice you could give me on my costume? Or my quirk?”

Once he described his costume’s features and a base description of his quirk, it didn’t take long for Izuku to devolve into another long soliloquy. The costume was relatively simple, but functional. It could use some extra bits and such here and there, and it could certainly use a design upgrade, but it was very fine as it was. Todoroki’s quirk, on the other hand, sent Izuku’s analysis brain into overdrive. He rambled on and on about potential moves with such a power, and he wondered aloud if Todoroki could use both at the same time. Apparently he had trouble with it now, but it was something he was working on and it was theoretically possible. The ideas that raced through Izuku’s brain and right out through his mouth felt endless, and he was out of breath by the end.

Before he could relax, Shinsou was stepping forward and asking for his help too. His costume was new and very much a prototype, mostly just to get him through the license exam they were all training for now, but really well thought out as it was. Izuku still had a field day with the potential, and when Shinsou, though slightly reluctantly, shared his quirk? For a solid four seconds, Izuku just stared at Shinsou, who shifted uncomfortably, with a slack jaw. His mind rushed with a world of amazement and possibility, and when his thoughts started up in a comprehensible order again, he practically jumped in glee as he chattered a mile a minute. Whenever he stopped to take a breath, Shinsou would answer one of the many questions Izuku proposed, and that would set Izuku back off again. 

By the end of it, he was red in the face and practically panting. Though his body was warm and overheated simply because of excitement—he hadn’t gotten to analyze in real time just for fun in so long!—he barely noticed. It felt like he was basking in the sun after a cold, dark winter. His heart was light and airy, his feet barely brushing the ground.

“I can’t– Just, wow! All of your quirks, gosh, I– You’re all gonna be great heroes!” he said in an excited, breathless rush. He smiled at the thought of it. “Maybe even better than All–”

And then, reality all came flooding back. 

Take a swan dive–

Realistic–

I’m so glad–

A symbol of revolution!

A heavy blanket of static fell over Izuku’s head. His jaw snapped shut and the light in his chest shuttered. Right. Heroes, villains… Reality. These students might be good now, their potential off the charts, but it wouldn’t last. Inevitably, they would become licensed heroes, and they would slowly but surely be overcome by society. By all the corruption and rot. The static grew louder, and Izuku winced and raised a hand to the side of his head. This wasn’t…

A hand fell on Izuku’s shoulder and he flinched, attention immediately going to who was touching him. It was… a redhead. The one that Kach– Katsuki had been with at the mall. Kirishima Eijirou, his mind supplied frighteningly easily. 

“Hey, are you alright?” Kirishima asked. Izuku took a step back, and Kirishima’s hand fell back to his side. Izuku shuddered as he drew his arms close to himself.

“I… I’m fine. It’s fine. Sorry.”

“No apologies, man! It’s all good. Feel free to shoo us away, but we’re always here if you need help, or to talk, or anything!” Kirishima smiled, and his sharp teeth drew Izuku’s eyes. “You don’t know us too well yet, but all of us would love to be your friends.”

Shaky breath. Exhale. Izuku scrounged up a smile of his own. It was cracked at the edges and painfully obvious. “Th–” Izuku’s voice jumped, and he cleared his throat. “Thanks. But– I-I’m good.”

Without any conscious decision to, Izuku’s eyes slid past Kirishima’s shoulder and locked onto… Katsuki. Suddenly, there was a lump in his throat that Izuku struggled to swallow. Katsuki stared back at him, unfamiliarly subdued. Perhaps noticing the strange atmosphere, Kirishima took a few steps back so he was no longer between them. 

“...Izuku,” Katsuki said haltingly.

“Katsuki,” Izuku responded. 

The world felt silent, still. Izuku wasn’t restrained. The heroes were nearby, but he could probably get a few hits in before they could stop him. Cementoss, Midnight, and Yamada were capable heroes, but Aizawa’s reaction time was stronger. But Aizawa using his quirk would do nothing more than disarm Katsuki of his quirk, Yamada couldn’t even use his quirk if he didn’t want to hurt them, which he wouldn’t since Katsuki would be in the line of fire, and Midnight’s quirk would knock out her fellow heroes before it ever reached Izuku– even if she used her flogger to direct the mist. 

That wasn’t to say that Izuku wouldn’t be stopped almost immediately, because he certainly would. Aizawa’s capture weapon would shoot out, and Cementoss, unburdened by possible casualty, would send out his cement, and Midnight would quickly get close enough that she wouldn’t be a danger to her fellow heroes. And that wasn’t even mentioning any of the hoard of hero students also in the near vicinity.

So, Katsuki was perfectly safe. No risk. 

Izuku’s right hand twitched. His left reached around the front of his body to grab it. “What… are you working on?”

“...Ultimate moves.”

“What’s– What’s yours?”

“Armor-Piercing Shot,” Katsuki was still stiff, but he wasn’t such a statue anymore. His shoulders were rounded rather than straight as a line.

“...Cool.”

Izuku couldn’t help but marvel at it all. Him and Katsuki, a relatively calm conversation. Stilted and strange and new, but sort of wonderful. The Izuku from two years ago would have given up anything to have this civil of a conversation with Katsuki. There had been no room to think about it a few days ago; Izuku had been utterly unused to the pain and resistance that came with forcing himself not to outright attack Katsuki. Now, after that first meeting, it was less. Not nothing, but less. And Izuku got the feeling that if he kept up with the exposure, it would whittle away to nothing.

If he kept it up. That was still to be determined. Izuku was still to be determined, really. The path from here was shrouded and unstable. Izuku still wasn’t sure where it led, or even where he wanted it to lead.

A presence came into existence behind Izuku, and he turned his head a little to see Aizawa standing there. The hero slowly reached up, Izuku didn’t move away, and then there was a hand on his shoulder. The warmth washed away any tension that still lingered there. 

“Hellspawn?” Aizawa asked, raising a brow at the gathered students. They straightened, but before any of them could try to explain, Izuku cut in.

“It’s alright. I just… got a bit scrambled. They were all great.” Aizawa looked down at him, sternness fading, and nodded.

“Alright,” he said, then turned to address his class. “Time's almost up. I assume, since you were sparring, you’re all very eager to get back to work.” Groans came from the still collapsed other collection of students, but the closer group all seemed to ignite with excitement. Izuku smiled, if a bit weakly. 

While the students and teachers dispersed again, Aizawa brought Izuku back to Yamada. The voice hero ruffled Izuku’s hair and replaced Aizwa’s hand with an arm across Izuku’s shoulders. It was a bit awkward thanks to the height difference, but like everything Yamada did, it was large and fun and completely in character. He waved Aizawa away, and he and Izuku headed back to the main UA building.

“So, how was it?” Yamada asked, looking at Izuku over the rim of his sunglasses. “The little listeners behave?”

“They were… nice. I freaked out at the end, though,” Izuku admitted. “I just– there’s this static that comes up in my head, and I think it’s like… residue. From the quirks that were used on me. And it always comes up at the worst times just to– remind me. Tell me that it’s all… wrong, somehow.”

“Wrong?”

Izuku’s shoulders hiked as he searched for the right words. “Part of it is just… mean. Angry. It hates everything, everyone. This place, heroes, me. It’s almost like a part of me that’s still Onryou. Not really me, but… like me.”

“If it’s so mean, then I think it’s a safe bet and a good thing you don’t see it as you.” Yamada squeezed his shoulder lightly, pulling Izuku into him and giving him an earnest look. “Because you definitely may and can be angry, but you’re certainly not mean. And it’s not your fault that it’s happening.” 

Izuku couldn’t look at Yamada as he spoke. 

“But… what if I agree with it?”

“With all of it?” Yamada asked, steps slowing some. His voice was still light, no graveness to his tone. 

No, not all of it. But enough. “The part that doesn’t like heroes.”

Yamada brought them to a stop. He came to stand in front of Izuku, and knelt so they were eye to eye. His hands held Izuku’s biceps, but it was gentle. “Listener, you’re allowed to agree and believe whatever you want. If there’s one thing we’ll never do, it’s demand you like us. But we do hope that you at least believe us, me, when I say that we want you here. We like that you’re here, we like you, and we only want you the best. Whatever that looks like is yours to decide, though our goal is to make it at least mostly legal.”

Izuku dragged his sleeve across his eyes and laughed, a little wetly. “‘Mostly’ legal?”

Yamada’s responding laugh was a lot more boisterous than Izuku’s but still more subdued than he tended to be. “Yeah! I can’t quite condone anything, but… Well, if you want to pirate a movie or two, that’s between us.” He gave an exaggerated wink. Izuku couldn’t stifle the chuckle that jumped out of his mouth and it only made Yamada smile wider.

“But,” Yamada said, straightening with a dramatic flourish, “we’re pretty well off, being that I have three freakin’ jobs, five between me and Shouta, so you can just use our money for that stuff!” He returned his arm to Izuku’s shoulders and they went back to walking. “But of course, there are some places that we’d rather not give our money. And we don’t want to support them and their practices but we also don’t want to deprive ourselves of epic content, so I’d say that’s when we can have a bit of fun–” Yamada lowered his voice and cupped a hand over the side of his mouth, “breaking the law.”

This time, Izuku didn’t try to hide his laughter at all.

Yagi Toshinori was just a man. A normal, flawed man. He was a hero and a symbol to many, but he was no less just a person. That had never been a secret to him.

His smile was performative to make others believe that it was all going to be okay, but it did have the side effect of smoothing his rougher edges and hiding the flaws unbecoming of the Symbol of Peace. Perhaps, after all the years of wearing that smile, he’d started to fool himself too. 

Saving that boy, Midoriya Izuku he now knew, had abruptly stumbled into him revealing his secret. But he knew a fanboy when he saw one, and Toshinori was sure the young boy wouldn’t endanger his hero by spreading it around. It hurt to see someone like how he had once been, desperate for heroism that was simply out of reach. He let down the boy, reminded so much of himself that he took advantage of the air of honesty to fully explain his reasons by using his own experiences as an example. It was sad to do so, and Toshinori wished he’d been able to honestly say the kid could do it, but he couldn’t. It was a line of work simply not suited for someone like him. With villains like All for One out there, a quirkless kid was just not up for the task. The stars above knew that Toshinori couldn’t have managed it, if not for Shimura Nana and One for All. And it wasn’t as if Toshinori could hand over his quirk to any hopeful but hopeless kid that wanted to be a hero, even if they really did remind him of himself so much that it hurt.

Toshinori now wished he’d just done that then and there, despite knowing that he really couldn’t and shouldn’t have with the information he’d had at the time. Because later, after that some boy had run in to save another kid, Toshinori had lost sight of him. He’d slipped away into the crowd while Toshinori had been caught up in the media. And after that, it’d been impossible to figure out where the kid had gone. He’d been average-looking, enough that a simple description would glean nothing from anyone nearby if asked. It was such a horrible shame, because Toshinori had wanted to stop that boy and rescind his earlier proclamation that he couldn’t be a hero. 

Midoriya had been a hero, more than Toshinori. When the other kid had been choking on sludge, Toshinori had stood and felt sorry for himself while Midoriya had rushed in to actually do something. That will and drive was wonderful, something impossible to be taught. With One for All, the boy truly could’ve become an amazing hero. In the minutes after the rush of the fight, before the reality that he’d disappeared had set in, Toshinori had seen a glimpse of a bright and glorious future. One where that boy went on to become a new symbol, maybe one better than Toshinori ever could’ve hoped to be.

That hope was dashed when the sun set and the boy was well and truly gone. 

Though Togata Mirio was wonderful, from what Mirai had shared when they finally met up to discuss him as an option for his successor, that boy with the green hair wouldn’t leave Toshinori’s mind. Togata was already so far along on his path to heroism, so strong without the aid of One for All. He didn’t really need it, Toshinori reasoned to himself. And, more importantly, it would be cruel to give One for All away to someone that Toshinori didn’t truly choose to have it. Mirai had been the one to find and raise Togata into the fine hero he was; Togata was Mirai’s protege, not Toshinori’s. Not to mention how it would be unfair to Togata himself to have Toshinori so stuck on another boy while half-heartedly trying to make Togata his successor. It simply wasn’t to be.

Mirai had been upset to hear it, and it had certainly soured their first meeting in such a long time. But now the channel of communications was open and Toshnori had faith they would build up again with time.

Togata and Mirai aside, Toshinori’s then impending job at UA would open up many new doors with finding a successor. There was a whole batch of fresh-faced little herolings with worlds of untapped potential to capitalize on. But once again, the notion of a successor was dashed at the emergence of that horrid Noumu. Its mere existence implied that the machinations of All for One were not yet dead. After that, Toshinori had simply decided to wait until All for One himself was reconfirmed to be really and truly gone. Even the smallest chance that he was still active, or that an apprentice or underling was still doing his bidding, was enough to make Toshinori snatch his hand back from the idea of passing One for All along. He would not curse the next user with All for One’s wickedness, not if he had any say. 

So instead of choosing a new successor from the UA first years, he resolved to get to the bottom of the League of Villains. Evidence was low, as was progress. With a warper on their side, tracking them was near impossible. From quirks to physical appearance to names, their descriptions met a resounding silence in every database. Despite Toshinori’s will, the investigation couldn’t be furthered with anything he could offer. For the moment it was best to leave it to the talented detectives and underground heroes who specialized in this type of thing. As such, Toshinori was forced to put it out and focus mainly on getting the hang of being a teacher at UA. That was a struggle in itself, and he was grateful to be excused from tagging along to the summer camp. 

He regretted that immensely now. 

Despite the horror of the news, the League’s attack turned out fairly detrimental for them and victorious on the side of heroes. Multiple villains were captured and no one present was lost to any serious injuries. The real horror came from the information that came after.

Learning that that bright-eyed boy Toshinori had met all those months ago, the one that he’d wanted so badly to make his successor, had become a villain? It broke Toshinori’s heart. Midoriya had such great potential and such a wonderful heroic vigor, how did this happen to him? After seeing footage of the boy, it became immediately clear that something was deeply wrong. Something had happened to change him into that feral creature that snarled at every person that came within a few feet, even if it was to simply drop off food. That, compounded with Toshinori’s worries about the survival of All for One, was enough to make him slip up a bit at the UA staff debriefing. Forgetting where he was and the company he was with, he couldn’t help but ask if, perhaps, Midoriya was no longer quirkless. Nedzu had thankfully averted that question to avoid notice by most of the attendees, but it hadn’t been enough to sway the suspicious nature of Aizawa. 

The dressing-down after the meeting was frankly humiliating, but Toshinori could admit that it was needed. In the past few years, he’d allowed his condition to begin to chew away at his own effectiveness as a hero. He was utterly unused to having to hide something like this, even after six years of it. One for All was easy to covert, aside from dancing around questions about his quirk. Hiding a whole form and an injury that directly affected every part of his life? Plain to say, he’d gotten sloppy. It was foolish of him to tell Midoriya the details of his condition, let alone allow the situation that led to him finding out. 

How he’d treated Midoriya… that was another example of how he’d allowed himself to degrade. He’d allowed his own frustration and fatigue to harsh his words. Midoriya hadn’t deserved to see the dark side of his hero, the one that was an old washed-up disappointment that couldn’t even work for more than three hours a day. He especially hadn’t deserved to be told to be realistic by someone with such an unreal story to his own quirk. But, at the same time, Toshinori didn’t think that he was wrong. Once upon a time he’d been quirkless himself, and he never could have become a hero like that. If he’d continued as he was, he would have failed. He never would have achieved his dream of becoming a symbol. Every year villains got more and more dangerous, and young Midoriya simply wouldn’t have had a chance. Aizawa was kinder than Toshinori had expected, allowing the possibility of a quirkless hero, but Toshinori knew that it was wishful thinking. It just couldn’t be done.

Still, Midoriya deserved an apology. Contents of the conversation aside, Toshinori had delivered his answer with no grace and handled the situation itself incredibly poorly. But Toshinori was surprised to be barred from merely interacting with Midoriya as soon as the boy was approved to stay at UA. Nedzu told him that Midoriya would certainly have an adverse reaction to him, so Toshinori was to stay away at least while the boy was acclimated. Toshinori wished he could just apologize sooner to solve it, but Nedzu’s word was law within the walls of UA. Until, just under two weeks of regular Nedzu lectures, Toshinori was told that he’d be given a chance. 

“You may approach him and Aizawa-san or Yamada-san and ask if you may speak with him. If, and only if, Midoriya-kun agrees, then you may say your piece with Aizawa-san or Yamada-san still present,” Nedzu said rather abruptly. When he finished, he finally set his cup of tea down from where it had been hovering as he spoke. His eyes bored holes into Toshinori, who was frozen in surprise.

It took a beat for him to blink and fully process Nedzu’s words. When he did, he brightened. “Oh, thank you Nedzu! I will be as respectful as possible, I promise you.” He paused. “But… ah, does Aizawa or Mic really need to be there?”

“Yes,” Nezu replied immediately. 

Toshinori wanted to argue. It would be a lot more meaningful for a one-on-one, and Toshinori was a hero. He was technically allowed to be alone with Midoriya per the rules. But this was not an issue to push; it was a chance for him to do better. He wouldn’t argue over the details.

Even though he’d had plenty of things he wanted to say for Midoriya for over a year now, the real and true opportunity was very novel. So, he spent a few days lingering over what to say and how to say it. He wasn’t going to muck up this interaction, not like last time. 

Finally, when he felt ready, Toshinori walked towards the staff room with steel determination. Midoriya tended to spend some time there while Aizawa and Mic focused on their lesson plans and grading papers. There was even a smaller desk moved in, closer to the side of the room, where the boy would do his schoolwork, assigned to him if only to give him something to do while classes were still out.

It was approaching the time that Midoriya and the Aizawa-Yamada couple would normally leave to return to their campus apartment, during which Toshinori intended to intercept them. He’d chosen this day specifically because it was one where Aizawa was set to be visiting the police station for one case or another. The man would no doubt want to be present if he were there, and Toshinori already wasn’t terribly comfortable with not having the conversation one-on-one as it was. More people would shoot his nerves even more than they were. And of the couple, Present Mic was far more favorable when it came to this. Much less intimidating. 

The timing was perfect. Just as he turned the corner where the staff room was located, he saw Mic and Midoriya leaving it. It didn’t take long for the two to notice him. Mic looked as bright as ever, but Midoriya visibly stiffened. Toshinori breathed deeply and stopped a respectful few paces away.

“Hello, Midoriya-shounen. I am here– to request a conversation with you,” he said, head bowed. “I wish to apologize.”

After a few seconds of no response, Toshinori glanced up to see the boy staring at him. Midoriya’s eyebrows were furrowed and his mouth twisted unhappily. Mic’s arm was slung across his shoulders. At Toshinori’s eyes, Midoriya faltered and looked at Mic like he was escaping. 

“Little listener, if you want to then I’ll be there the whole time. But you don’t need to.” As he spoke, Mic’s face softened. It was odd to see the normally exuberant man so gentle.

The boy himself bit his lip. His eyes were shut and his hands were clenched tight, shaking almost imperceptibly. His chest expanded with a large, shuddering breath before he opened his eyes. With immense and clearly gathered courage, he spoke.

“Okay.”

Elation filled Toshinori’s chest, and he beckoned the other two to follow him into the nearby faculty lounge. Mic and Midoriya sat on one couch, Toshinori on the other. Midoriya’s backpack resting next to his feet and the UA training jacket he wore made Toshinori’s heart squeeze. A student in all but name, truly. If only it had turned out that way in the start, if only Toshinori had managed to find the boy after the attack all those months ago. But, if only-s aside, it was time to hero up and be the man the world expected him to be. 

Toshinori planted his hands on his thighs and leaned forward with his head down in a sitting approximation of a bow. “Midoriya-shounen, I sincerely apologize for how I treated you when I met you before.” He raised his head to sincerely meet the boy’s gaze. “I was cruel where I needed to be kind, and I did not consider how anything I said or how I said it would make you feel. I was only focused on myself and my own pain, and was ignorant of yours. I also apologize for being unprofessional; I, as a hero, failed. It was only by luck that your encounter with the sludge villain didn’t result in lasting health damage, and if it had then it would have been my fault. I know that these words do not change my actions, but I hope that they show my regret, will, and hope to improve and do better should anything similar ever happen again. My boy, I am truly sorry.”

Midoriya’s face was almost impassive. His eyebrows only slightly furrowed, though they twitched when he spoke. “...Did-did someone as-ask you to do this?”

“No, not at all,” Toshinori said, shaking his head. “I’ve regretted how I handled that day for a long time, though Aizawa did open my eyes to more mistakes I never realized I made. I wanted to apologize soon after you were brought into UA but Nedzu thought it best to give you space first.”

“Prob-probably best…” Midoriya whispered under his breath before continuing. “I just… why? Wh-why did you say it like that? Why did you s-say that? Why would you tell me about you-your injury at-at all?”

Toshinori winced. “To be fully honest, you reminded me of myself. I was… a late bloomer. For a while, I thought that I was quirkless. I ran out of time, that was a mistake, and once I was already in my weakened form and I heard your dreams… It hit close to home. I was too honest. In my frustration at myself, for letting my weak form show at all, I was too harsh as well.”

“But you-you still stand by it. What you said.” The boy was such a quiet speaker. It did not stop the words from hitting Toshinori like bricks. He could not, would not lie to this boy after everything else. 

“…I know that I never could have been a hero, not without a quirk. And that was back then. Villains have only grown stronger and more vicious. I simply… think that your talents would be worth more elsewhere. I saw your notes, you know. You could be great in support.”

Mic didn’t speak, stayed out of the conversation like he’d been the whole time. But he did stare at Toshinori, eyes hard and unforgiving like Toshinori had never seen on Mic before. It took a herculean effort not to shy away. He was reminded of Aizawa’s glare. Perhaps… Aizawa being present for this would not have been much worse.

“Yeah. Okay,” Midoriya said. His expression was unreadable. Not happy, certainly, but not crushed or upset. Almost blank. Toshinori felt a small glow of hope. Then Midoriya opened his mouth again. “I don’t know how to like you anymore.” He looked down at his lap. “I grew up with you as my idol. You were everything I ever wanted to be. And when you told me that… I’ll never be able to forget it. And now that I’ve thought about you more critically, I-I can’t just ignore all of the problems you both represent an-and facilitate in society.”

Eyes dropping down to study his hands, Toshinori’s heart sank lower and lower with every word. This boy had lost his confidence in All Might. The boy that Toshinori had wished so badly to become his successor. It was deserved, it stung, and it almost felt like a rejection.

“But.” Toshinori’s eyes lifted. Midoriya was looking at him head on. “I don’t think you’re a bad person. Onryou… When I was him, I hated you. But it’s easier to want somebody dead when it’s just the idea of them tha-that angers you. I don’t think death is the answer ever, if we can help it. And you… I think you’re actually quite good. Could be great, if you try to be better. And that’s just the thing. You can say all of this, can claim you want to improve, but unless you actually put it into process, it’s just words. I could– I’ll write out some things. Some problems that you could work on. Maybe I… No, I will. I’ll write out some suggestions too. Don’t take it all from me. There’s always more to improve, and there are things, ideas, I might not have but–” Midoriya’s hands were fists, held in firm place on his knees just like Toshinori’s were before. “But it’s a place to start.”

Determination shone bright in his eyes. There he was, a mere boy taking it upon himself to demand change—improvement—from the number one hero. A boy filled with both the conviction for change and the audacity to actually ask– to fight for it. He really would have made such a perfect hero, a wonderful successor. Toshinori’s heart panged, and the next words simply slipped out unbidden.

“If someone… offered you a quirk, would you take it?”

The brightness immediately vanished. The shutters slammed down, and Midoriya went stony. “That-that’s an awfully cruel question to ask me, All Might.” Toshinori straightened, hands going up as he scrambled to apologize. Before the stutters could form actual words, Midoriya was dropping one more sentence.

“You and I both know how possible that is.”

Toshinori froze. “I… What?” 

“Sensei… I don’t know his villain name, but he hated you personally. He could take and give quirks. You know him, don’t you?”

Cold fear spread from Toshinori’s injured side to the rest of his body. His voice came out grave. “He’s… still alive?”

Midoriya took the confirmation for what it was. Looking solemn, he nodded. Toshinori sucked in a breath. “He was known to me and others as All for One. The most dangerous villain I’ve ever encountered. He was the one to give me my injury. To think, he’s still around…” Toshinori refocused on Midoriya. “I’m sorry, for everything else and for my insensitive question, Midoriya-shounen. I assure you that I will take your words to heart and gratefully take any suggestions you can give me. Now, though, I need to see someone about All for One. Thank you for sharing this information, it– It’s vital.” Toshinori stood and bowed deeply as he spoke. He felt bad to be so harried, but this was an outright confirmation. He needed to share it with Naomasa right away. He rushed to open the door, but was stopped.

“All Might,” Mic said, speaking for the first time in this whole meeting. Toshinori turned to see the man’s arm around Midoriya’s shoulders and Midoriya’s face turned away. His expression was still hard and unforgiving. Foreign. “I’ll admit, you get some credit for being willing to improve. But, and I say this because I know Midoriya won’t, you need to reevaluate your own prejudices.” Toshinori felt awfully like he did when he’d been scolded by Nana or Gran Torino, back when he was a student all that time ago.

The look Mic gave him made Toshinori feel uncomfortably transparent. “Your inability to become a hero without a quirk speaks far more about you than it does him.”

The ground seemed to stick to his feet and his limbs fought him, but Toshinori managed to leave the room. There was a release of pressure when the door shut behind him and he let out a breath of relief. Still, those words echoed in his mind. He had a strong urge to push them away and try to forget them, but the other half of him knew it needed to pick them apart and let the blood run till it came clear. And Toshinori had promised real self reflection and real change, so he would. But just not now. He shook his head, dislodging the feeling for the moment. A thing as heavy as this deserved his attention and his time without rush and an excuse. He could go over himself, the conversation, and Mic’s last comment when he had the time to truly digest and process them.

Later, after he’d told Naomasa the news and worried hard enough to make him cough up a bit of blood, he sat on a stool in Naomasa’s kitchen. The detective was off in his home office space, scrambling over to the files he had to input or grab some bit of information or another. It still wasn’t the time for the examination Toshinori had in mind, but with the warm cup of tea in his hand and the moment to process, he began to fully realize where he stood with Midoriya now. 

The boy no longer despised him, or wanted him dead, which was good to hear. There was potential there to make amends. This relationship, at least as a teacher and student or hero and civilian, was not unsalvageable. Yet, a deep sense of loss rose in his diaphragm. Even if he managed to earn Midoriya’s forgiveness eventually, there would never be a day when he would become Toshinori’s successor. There never had been any going back, and that path had been diverted many months ago, but this felt like the point of no return. The final true confirmation. An almost outright rejection.

If he had only made it to Midoriya before he got too far from the second sludge villain attack. If only he had managed to make his offer. Maybe then Midoriya wouldn’t be riddled with the pain he was going through. Maybe he never would have had to suffer as a villain. By the stars, the hero he could’ve been…

Toshinori closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Let it out. When his eyes opened, the world felt more real again. He smiled, attempting to chase away the sorrow, but it was far more rueful and sad than happy.

Maybe in another life.

Chapter Text

“You think they’ll all pass?”

“I got a good feeling about this batch! Shouta thinks they’ve got a really good chance, even if he refuses to say it,” Yamada responded, a wide grin on his face. 

That tracked, though Izuku couldn’t help but feel nervous anyways. This exam marked many things. Obvious ones aside, such as the hero students becoming provisional heroes, it specifically noted the almost full first month since Izuku’d been captured. It was easy to forget that he was a captive; the only restraint he was required to wear was a simple cuff, and he was interacting freely with the students. 

Seeing the days fly by and the end of August approaching had given him a sense of urgency with nowhere to go; there really was no way to escape. If Izuku had learned one thing from Sen– All for One, it was that when the odds were stacked against you, you didn’t buck and go wild out of panic. You had to calm down, sit back, and assess. If the League were going to come and get him, they would have by now. If Izuku wanted to escape on his own, he’d need trust. He couldn’t just throw caution to the wind and try to tear down a door or hop a fence.

And, more importantly, Izuku wasn’t really planning on escaping– At least, not yet. Despite the instinctual urgency, Izuku wasn’t sure he had a place on the outside he wanted to return to. The League may have been named by Tomura then directed by Izuku, but he knew who truly owned it. And as much as Izuku wanted to run back and drag Tomura and Kurogiri out, that was similarly impulsive and stupid. Not even to mention how the two were still undoubtedly loyal to All for One; even if Izuku could get to them, it was unlikely they’d follow him out.

Right now, Izuku didn’t have many allies. None that he could trust in full, anyways. He had partial trust; Tomura and Kurogiri were still his family and… well, the people at UA weren’t too bad. But both groups didn’t align fully with him. His family wouldn’t want him to be anywhere near the heroes, and the heroes wouldn’t like the plans he had for his family. To put it simply.

All Izuku could truly say he had were adversaries. First off: All for One. That was easy. The others? A little harder to pin down. Izuku from last month—or rather, Onryou—would say every single hero was an enemy of his. Izuku still opposed hero society, but he’d been realizing that maybe the corruption was more centered than he thought. If he uprooted the system, pulled out the roots and maybe set in a better core, it would flush out the rot. If the system simply held the villains parading as heroes as what they were, instead of protecting them, then maybe…

Maybe the next generation had a chance.

“Listener, don’t be too worried.” Izuku looked at Yamada, a bit startled. He was leaning forward and peering at Izuku with a crooked smile. “They can be a bit wild, but they’ve got each other’s backs.”

Izuku returned the expression, glad Yamada had already come up with an excuse for him. “Thanks. I think they’ll make it, too.”

A student brushed by them, throwing out a quick “Sorry!” as they passed and making Izuku jump. He pressed a hand to his fluttering heart and Yamada chuckled at his surprise.

Pretty much all of the UA teachers were on campus today—with the new semester coming tomorrow, everyone was rushing to make their final preparations—and by now almost all of the non-first-year-hero-students had arrived. At least, the ones that had opted into the dorms. The larger group had moved in last week, soon after Izuku’s talk with All Might, but a few stragglers had been showing up in the past couple of days. It was strange to see the campus that had been almost completely empty in Izuku’s stay now bustling with movement. Students weren’t in the main building yet, so that was still mostly safe, but Izuku was only just starting to get used to passing by students on their way to their dorms or the gyms. He’d probably have to start wearing a UA uniform soon, if only to not stand out during the school day. The training uniform jacket he’d gotten within his first few days, before he’d been given a truly uncomfortable amount of clothes that had to be way too expensive, had strangely grown on him. Even if it would only be during school hours, it would feel odd to not have it.

Recovered, Izuku and Yamada kept walking. They didn’t really have a destination, they just both agreed that some time out of the staff room before going to the dorms to prepare dinner would be good. Yamada was close to going stir-crazy with all of the stuffy teacher prep, and Izuku was getting very bored. He still wasn’t allowed full internet access and he didn’t have much work to actually do until the semester started. Soon he’d be attending classes again, which was certainly strange, but for now all he could do was write and draw. Analysis was allowed, with the stipulation that Nedzu was allowed to look over it whenever. Izuku figured this was pretty reasonable, considering that that had been his whole specialty in the League and that he’d outright admitted it when going over academics. 

The sun hadn’t quite set yet, but it was on the verge. Vibrant colors brushed the edges of the sky and painted the tips of clouds, and the threat of a beautiful evening sky was imminent. The light refracted off of the mirrored windows of the main UA building and danced over the leaves on the trees, all of it basked in the first touches of the sunset. Izuku stared at the scene, feeling a bone deep longing for something he couldn’t place.

“Mic-sensei!” came a call from behind them, dragging Izuku back into reality. A student, tall, broad, and blonde, ran up with a friendly wave. They reminded Izuku of a mixture between All Might and Yamada, the cheer especially.

“Hello, Togata!” Yamada said. “What’s up?”

Two other people came up with Togata. One with mid length dark hair that covered their face and a slouch, and the other with long sky blue hair and bright, sparkling eyes. “Me and the others were wondering who this kid is! We keep seeing you two or him and Aizawa-sensei around.”

Yamada gave Izuku’s shoulder a little shake and jerked his head at Togata. “He’s Togata Mirio,” he gestured to the dark haired one, “he’s Amajiki Tamaki,” the light blue one, “and she’s Hadou Nejire! Or as you might know them, Lemillion, Suneater, and Nejire-chan! The Big Three!”

Izuku may not have recognized all the names, but his eyes went a little starry at the title. The big three, the top hero students at UA. The ones projected to go the farthest, the best of the best. And, a darker part of him added, not graduated into the rotten system quite yet. His training kept him from devolving into word vomit, but it took a few seconds of awkward silence for Izuku to realize that it was time for him to talk now. 

“Oh– Uh, I’m Midoriya Izuku. I’m not really a student, I’m… uh…” Izuku was stuck between not being able to explain what exactly he was and also not really knowing if he wanted to explain it. Yamada swooped in to rescue him.

“His situation’s a bit complicated, so right now he’s under UA’s custody,” he said. 

“Wow, UA can do that? Has it happened before? What do you mean by complicated? Is he training to be a hero? I can’t tell, what’s his quirk?” Hadou stepped closer and closer to Izuku as she leaned forward, fixing him with a wide-eyed gaze that was somehow both innocent and intimidating. His body froze in terror, though he leaned back to instinctively avoid whatever was happening.

“Don’t worry about her!” Togata said, reaching a hand around Hadou’s shoulders and lugging her back. “She likes answers, but don’t be pressured to answer it all!” Hadou nodded vigorously as Togata spoke, and Izuku breathed a sigh of relief. 

“You guys… So embarrassing…” Amajiki said, his face angled so far down that it was impossible to make out an expression. Togata released Hadou and pulled Amajiki flush to his side. This seemed to help the guy relax a little, his shoulders releasing some tension.

“It’s alright,” Izuku said, “I was just… a little startled. I’m not, uh, training to be a hero, though. Just… here.”

“Cool, cool. Well, what class are you in?” Togata asked.

Izuku tilted his head, to the right, then to the left. What class was he in? Kind of 1-A, kind of multiple others. “It’s… uh, complicated? My homeroom will be 1-A, but I’m not going to be with them all the time…?”

“Oh-ho-ho, noted!” Izuku was relieved that Togata was satisfied enough with that answer, weird as it was. And similarly weird as Togata’s response was, Izuku didn’t really want to question it. He jumped when Togata’s chest and shoulders swelled and fell in a motion of finality. “Welp, it was nice meeting ya, Midoriya! See you both later!”

With that, the trio scurried away, laughing and speaking amongst themselves. Izuku got a sense of deja vu as he felt his poor heart slowly settle again.

“They can be a bit much, but those three are the real deal. They’re thick as thieves, and sure to hit it big right out the gate,” Yamada said, a fond smile pulled across his lips. If Izuku studied it just a little closer, he could maybe even spot some wistfulness there. “I remember them back in first year, before they were even a trio. They’ve come so far.”

Even though he’d only just met them, Izuku could barely imagine the Big Three as anything but together. He didn’t have much more time to dwell before Yamada urged him forward, reminding him that they needed to get to the dorms before the class did so they could get ready. They picked up the pace to Heights Alliance, and barreled their way into the 1-A dorm. Vlad King had called dibs on Lunch Rush for 1-B, and now Izuku, Yamada, and Midnight had banded together to make a congratulatory dinner for 1-A. Or, for those who might’ve failed, a consolation dinner. 

They arrived to see Midnight, or Kayama as she’d started demanding for Izuku to call her, standing outside the front door, her arms laden with bags of supplies. She was in casual clothes, a pair of jeans and a loose sweater with the sleeves rolled up past her elbows. A rare sight. She greeted them with a smile.

“You ready to get down and dirty? I brought you both some aprons.” She lifted up one of her arms to show, alongside the three bags hanging there, three aprons draped over it. One purple, one sage green, and one as yellow as a banana. Yamada and Izuku immediately took the ones clearly meant for them and relieved Kayama of a few bags so they could open the door and get started. It was a group effort to get everything out and into place so they wouldn’t be in the way of anything else. 

While Kayama set aside and started up the rice, Yamada was drawn away by a phone notification. Izuku didn’t think to take notice, finishing up placing the last few supplies, but then Yamada made a high-pitched noise.

“They all passed! Shinsou included!” he said, giddy.

“That’s great!” Izuku said, already planning out the desert with that in mind. He, during another training break he’d visited, had approached Satou and asked him for a recipe under strict secrecy. Satou had provided him with one for a simple but tasty cake, so Izuku had practiced it once or twice with Yamdada and was ready to now make it for real. 

Even though Lunch Rush was reserved for 1-B, he was still kind enough to pre-prepare some basic things so Izuku, Yamada, and Mid– Kayama wouldn’t be completely on their own. This made the cooking a lot less overwhelming, and sped up the process a ton. Which was very necessary, since they now only had the time it would take for the students to receive their physical licenses and ride the bus back over. The testing center wasn’t exactly close, and Aizawa said the card printing process tended to drag, so there was still just enough time to get everything done.

Izuku hadn’t been a great cook last year, but his time working alongside Kurogiri had taught him well. It was a rushed blur of chopping, boiling, cooking, and plating, but by the time Yamada’s phone was lighting up with an imminent arrival warning from Aizawa, they were just placing the finishing touches. Izuku slipped the cake into the fridge and they loaded up all four dining tables with food, just in time for the front door to open. 

The first thing to hit Izuku was all of the noise. It was a jumble of voices layered over each other and following different cadences and lines of conversation. And yet, all of it had a similar tone. Light, and full of joy. In a moment of simple happiness, anxiety forgotten, Izuku stepped forward. 

“Congratulations! We heard you all passed!” He didn’t have a moment to start to doubt himself, to feel presumptuous for inserting himself into their lives, before the class was surging forward.

“Shinsou clutched it!” Mina said, “Todoroki was soooo about to blow it, but Shinsou stopped him and the guy he was arguing with like right away! It was cool as hell!”

“And now we’ve all got our licenses! Shinsou, come on, show him!” Uraraka pulled Shinsou forward, whose usual gloom was blown away in the glow of victory. His face was tinted pink, only barely, but his ears were a burning red. With a pinch of bashfulness, he held up his license. As he did, there was a new round of cheers and chattering, a chorus of oohs and ahhs.

“Psyren… I love the name!” Izuku said, beaming. Shinsou returned it with some modesty, pulling the card close to his chest. Todoroki, as always, was right by Shinsou’s side, smiling that small but ever so warm smile of his. Izuku only wondered where Iida was for a single moment.

“Class! Midoriya and our teachers worked hard to make dinner for us, we must enjoy it before it goes cold!” Iida said, throwing his arms out towards the dining area. Evidently the class hadn’t noticed in their haste to share their triumph, for when they saw the veritable feast it immediately became a race to get to a seat. There were normally four chairs at each table, but to bear the weight of the entire class plus Izuku and the extra teachers, they’d brought out the extras. Izuku ended up at a table with what was beginning to seem like his designated group: Uraraka, Iida, Shinsou, and Todoroki. 

Food was shoved onto his plate and into his bowl before he could blink, and the entire class was shouting thank yous at him,Yamada, and Kayama. Izuku covered his blush by digging in, hungry himself after all the work. It still wasn’t enough to distract from a small squeeze in his chest, and so Izuku pulled his face away from his food to give the room a good look.

The teachers had pulled their chairs over to the counter, leaving the students to take over all the tables themselves. Kayama had each one of her arms around Yamada and Aizawa, that ever so familiar mischievous grin on her face. Izuku could just imagine her encouraging them to drink, or something similar. He could similarly see Aizawa refusing, for a multitude of reasons, and Yamada knowing that it wasn’t a good idea and having no intention to do it and yet playing into the idea anyways. Assured, Izuku’s gaze drifted over the rest of the class.

He hadn’t gotten the chance to get to know many of them, and yet every single one had been kind or welcoming in some way, shape, or form. Izuku had been lost in hopelessness for some time, but now, almost against his will, he felt a swell of something golden in his chest. This group of people– they were incredible. Capable, varied, and determined. And also so, so good. 

Even…

Katsuki was at a table next to Izuku’s, the one with the most rowdy group, of course. He sat between Kirishima and Mina. Mina was standing, fighting with Kaminari over a dish, and jostling Katsuki with every movement. Sero was cheering them on and laughing whenever they spilled something. Katsuki gave Mina a dirty look when she accidentally knocked into him with a particularly large shove, but went back to his food soon enough. On his other side, he was practically flush against Kirishima, whose face was completely concealed by the bowl held up to it as he shoveled food into his mouth. 

As wonderful as these heroes in the making seemed, part of Izuku still wondered. Because– wasn’t every hero like them, at some point? Wasn’t every horrible hero once a young trainee with big dreams and shining eyes? What was stopping this batch from going sour?

Izuku didn’t realize that he’d still been staring in Katsuki’s direction until Katsuki himself suddenly met Izuku’s eyes. Like before, the world seemed to go a bit muffled around them. Those red eyes had once been a source of comfort, a friend. Then they had been an adversary, a source of fear and terror. And then, finally, a different pair of similar red had become family. And now Izuku barely understood how he felt about the original pair. The original pair that seemed… sad? But… why would Katsuki be sad?

The moment was broken by Iida pausing in his eating to speak, drawing Izuku’s attention back. “Thank you once again, Midoriya! I must say, you are a great cook.”

Embarrassed, Izuku dropped his chopsticks to wave his hands. “No, no, it wasn’t just me! Lunch Rush did a lot of the pre-prep, and Yamada and Kayama handled a lot of the actual cooking!”

“I can’t believe you call all the teachers by their family names,” Uraraka said through her stuffed cheeks. “It’s so weird to hear, also since you don’t call them sensei.”

“I mean, they’re not his teachers yet,” Shinsou pointed out. “Plus he, like, lives here. In the teacher dorms, too. They’re pretty much his roommates.”

Uraraka laughed, and Izuku blushed. “I guess?” he said, “I’m not sure how else I’d describe it myself, and it’s more like an apartment complex. We have all our own rooms and kitchens. Maybe more like neighbors, then?”

“Since you do not train, what else do you do throughout the day?” Iida asked.

“Uh, mainly schoolwork? I go to the gym in the mornings sometimes with a chaperone, but other than that I just… write. Analysis, if not work.”

“But school isn’t in session,” Todoroki said.

“Yeah, but I did kind of run away from home last year? I missed some of middle school and stuff, but I also did still follow along while I was, uh, a villain. But I didn’t take any of those system tests, and the work did stop like three months ago, and you know how bad missing just one lesson can be…” The others winced in sympathy, a few nodding with understanding. Izuku rushed to reassure them. “But it’s not too bad! I was already a bit ahead, so it hasn’t been too bad. I mostly just write.”

“Are you not allowed to use a phone? Sounds like hell,” Shinsou said.

“Well, I don’t love it, but I’m allowed to watch TV when there’s one nearby.”

“Would they let you hang out in the dorms with us? There’s a TV and some game consoles you can use!” Uraraka nudged him from where she sat in the chair next to Izuku.

“That sounds nice,” he said, a lilt of hope in his voice. “Maybe I’ll get some new privileges soon. I think there are security cameras here, so if I stay in the common room…”

“I’d love to spend more time with you, Midoriya!” Iida said, glasses shining as he sat straight in his chair. “Perhaps we could tutor you, if you need the help. I would also like to hear some more of your analysis, especially if you are given the time to write it down!”

“Ooh, that does sound nice,” Uraraka said. “I think everyone would love to be given a few pages on what they could do to be better. Only if you want to, of course!”
Todoroki nodded in agreement with Uraraka. “I would very much like to hear your thoughts.”

Izuku’s face was hot as he answered. “I’d love to! I really enjoy doing analysis, it’s no problem at all!”

“I could always use some more advice; I need to catch up to the rest of 1-A.” Shinsou’s voice went a little tight, giddy in his own way, as he implied himself to be a part of 1-A. Which he was, now! “I’m forever in your debt for your help before the exam, your ideas and tips were majorly helpful.” Shinsou bowed his head.

“And I’m so happy you passed! I’m always open to give more! Oh, and that reminds me,” Izuku said, standing up. He gathered himself for a moment, and called out to the rest of the class. “Is everyone almost done? Ready for dessert?” 

A variety of answers were thrown back at him. Many were. And those that weren’t were going to be fine; there was enough to go around, Izuku made sure of it. “Well, not all of you are done, but that’s alright. You’ll still get some.”

Interest piqued, Class 1-A wondered amongst themselves as Izuku went over to the fridge and pulled out the cake. As soon as the door closed and it was out for everyone to see, there was a loud and collective sound of wonder. Izuku carefully walked through the dining area, everyone leaning over to make excited noises and get a look as he passed. When Izuku got back to the table, he placed the cake right in front of Shinsou and watched as his ears went red again.

The cake wasn’t too impressive, the decorations all very simple and amateur. The only thing that was particularly difficult was the size, since it was made to feed over twenty people. It was frosted with lavender and shaped like a circle, frilly borders iced with a darker purple. Across the top, in slightly wobbly lettering the same dark purple, were the words, “Congratulations Shinsou!” Izuku stepped back and held his hands together tightly.

“This cake is for Shinsou, but it’s also for all of you. You all passed a difficult test, and an important step in the heroic process. I sincerely hope you all continue to be kind and capable people, and that you become kind and capable heroes. Still, this cake is for Shinsou because he overcame that step on top of not being in 1-A until today! I know I don’t quite have the right to say this, but welcome! Or, I hope you are welcomed warmly. Once again, congratulations!”

The class devolved into cooing and cheering, but a few loud voices soon made themselves known.

“Oh shut up Midoriya, of course you can say welcome! You’re a part of 1-A too!” said Mina, pointing at him dramatically.

Kirishima echoed the sentiment. “Hell yeah, you’re one of us!”

Yaoyorozu nodded, closing his arms. “You’re just as much of a welcome addition as Shinsou.”

Izuku’s eyes were quickly filling with far too much water. He tried to wipe it away on his sleeve, conscious of the sounds of distress and worry coming from 1-A. Even though he was only slightly successful, he let his arm fall. He shoved down the part of him that warred with all of this, that was still in turmoil, that believed he didn’t want or didn’t deserve any of this. It wasn’t as difficult as it could be when he was on his own, when he was lying on his bed in the middle of the night and drowning in guilt over leaving his family behind. In the presence of 1-A, and Aizawa and Yamada and even Kayama, it was almost easy. 

He gave them his brightest smile, the edges pulling at his cheeks.

“Thank you,” was all he said. 

It was Uraraka that threw her arms around him first. There was a moment where Izuku considered pulling away, but there was no discomfort, no uncomfortable buzz under his skin. So he hesitantly lifted his own arms to return it, and by then Iida was rising to join and so was Shinsou and Todoroki. After them came the rest of the class. They pushed their seats out and ran forward to collapse into a far too large group hug. Some of the more low-key students stuck to the outskirts, but all of them were still there. Izuku found himself laughing along, enjoying the controlled chaos of it all. And, for the first time in a while, he couldn’t feel even a hint of static.

Eventually, they dispersed. Izuku had to insist that he wanted to hand out the cake slices to get everyone back to their seats, where food was quickly finished up and dishes brought to the kitchen. Kouda was kind enough to bring some plates and a utensil to cut with. Izuku handed the first piece to Shinsou, and after that it went by quickly. Every time a compliment was thrown out, Izuku felt his face glow all over again. He deflected some to Satou, the source of the recipe, and he got his fair share of love too. The teachers too, who took the compliments as gracefully as well-known heroes would. Aizawa ate his piece silently, but gave Izuku a thumbs up and an acknowledging nod. That was almost better than every other compliment combined, at least according to the warmth spreading throughout Izuku’s heart. 

Once the cake was eaten, the class attacked the kitchen. A lot of the cooking supplies had been cleaned as they went, as was necessary to prevent buildup, but the rest that was left was still no small amount. The work was split up, and groups took turns cleaning. Izuku and the teachers were counted out, even when Izuku said he could still help. Instead, he was funneled off to hang out in the common room with the non-cleaning groups.

As much as he was beginning to really love being with 1-A, he stuck to the walls where the other loners and stragglers were. A bit of space felt nice after all the emotions earlier. When Shinsou spotted where he was going, he tilted his head, looked at the rest of the friend group that was hanging out on the couches, and looked back at Izuku. Izuku shook his head and waved his hands, miming a big breath in and out and gesturing at the open space around him. Shinsou nodded, eyes unguarded and understanding, and turned his attention back to his own conversation. It was impossible to resist the soft warmth sneaking through Izuku’s limbs and relaxing his shoulders once again. How was it, that it was this easy? Izuku had been under the impression that this feeling, that kindness directed at him, was something of immense effort and horrible odds. People could only be kind so far as they didn’t know who they were being kind to, when it came to Izuku. And now everyone at UA was shattering that usually consistent rule.

Even…

This time when Izuku’s eyes drifted over to land on him, Katsuki was already staring back. His face was smooth and calm, an undisturbed lake. Just looking. Izuku met his gaze with a similar sense of quiet. Katsuki leaned his head to the side and glanced at the door that led to the outside. An offer to talk. Fully and truly, with no one else nearby. It would break the rules and was probably a bad idea. Izuku was unstable as it was. The timing wasn’t ideal in some ways—this was supposed to be a joyful moment, a celebration—but it was also perfect.

When else would there be such a gathering, such a distraction? When else would there be a chance to speak freely? And, despite himself, Izuku wanted to hear what Katsuki had to say. Their first talk had been a ripping of the bandaid, a bare start to something new, but not a full airing of the sheets. This was an opportunity to do that. And, not only did Izuku want to do that, he wanted to know why Katsuki had seemed so down. Mostly he’d been himself, interacting with his friends and shouting like always, but in the moments when everyone else looked away… Well, Izuku wanted to know why. And lastly, he was tired of avoiding it. He was no coward, not anymore. Not after everything he’d seen and done. Izuku pulled his eyes away from the door and gave Katuki a resolute nod. 

No more hiding. 

It was time to face this, once and for all.