Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Are you sure you will be alright?” Sonia asks worriedly.

The connection isn’t the best, the sound slightly distorted and the screen periodically glitching; so it’s almost impressive that Sonia’s voice still manages to come through sounding melodic. Even with the poor quality and jerky imagery Hajime can still make out her furrowed eyebrows and soft frown as she chews on her bottom lip, the skin already red from irritation. That habit had only started about two months ago. Back when the Future Foundation had started calling on them for missions.

Hajime regrets that a little.

“We’ll be fine,” Hajime reassures her for the third time.

Sonia smiles valiantly at his attempt. She lets out a soft sigh and raises a hand to brush a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“I know,” she assures with what Hajime has mentally dubbed as her ‘Princess Smile’. A smile that’s there for the show of it rather than any true measure of how she’s feeling. “I just like to hear you say it. It’s more reassuring than hearing it from myself.”

“Understandable,” Hajime says wryly, turning slightly in his chair to look back at his classmates playing what looks to be an extreme version of Go-Fish. Complete with death threats.

Komaeda’s winning, of course, his most unassuming smile firmly in place and Fuyuhiko looking only a couple moments away from flipping the table as he spits curses at his hand of cards. Gundham is muttering something about dark magic, eyeing Komaeda warily from behind his scarf. Peko and the Imposter share an exasperated look over everyone’s heads.

Fuyuhiko throws his cards at Komaeda in disgust. The cards stop short of actually reaching him and flutter down onto the table.

“Are you fucking cheating?” Fuyuhiko demands, “How the hell do you keep winning?”

Komaeda gives his most irritatingly mild smile. “Luck.”

Hajime coughs to hide his laugh.

Fuyuhiko crosses his arms. “No, you know what? This isn’t luck. This is fucking bullshit.”

There has likely never been a more accurate description of Komaeda’s Ultimate Talent. And Hajime’s Ultimate Talent is literally every talent in existence. He’s the reigning king of bullshit at this point.

(In retrospect, Komaeda’s reaction to the Neo World Program makes a lot more sense. Mysteriously kidnapped and transported to a tropical island paradise by a talking rabbit? A bit unusual but probably barely even a blip on Komaeda’s radar. A life and death killing game? Just another Tuesday in the life of Nagito Komaeda: Luck Edition.)

On Komaeda’s left Gundham gives Komaeda a suspicious look. “Indeed,” Gundham intones gravely into his scarf. “What Dark Force do you command to posses such power?”

“I couldn’t possibly begin to guess,” Komaeda says with a light laugh and close eyed smile. He raises his hands in surrender, his metal arm making a whirring noise at the movement.

If Hajime ignores everything he knows about him Komaeda can easily be mistaken as harmless. It’s decidedly unsettling.

“I don’t know why you expected this to end any differently,” the Imposter, still dressed as Togami, tells Fuyuhiko wryly as Peko pats Fuyuhiko’s shoulder comfortingly. Fuyuhiko definitely does not pout.

They’re all hopeless, Hajime concludes fondly.

Sonia must have either gotten a glimpse of the chaos happening behind him or read the expression on his face too well because she giggles, bringing his attention back to the screen. Her smile is easier now, looser, and realer for it. Hajime smiles back, shrugging.

“Have you talked to Kazuichi’s group?” Sonia asks.

Hajime leans back in his seat. “They’re fine. Kazuichi’s confident everything will go right. To be honest I’m more worried about Mikan being stuck with all those big personalities.”

A team with Ibuki, Akane, and Nekomaru with Mikan sounded like a disaster in Hajime’s opinion. But the three of them were powerhouses, albeit lacking in any form of subtlety. Which was why they were guarding Mikan and Kuzuichi, who’s ultimate skills were too useful to be left unprotected in enemy territory.

Sonia laughs uneasily at that, some measure of humor still present as she says, “We’ll have to apologize to her later.”

Hajime hums in agreement. “You’ll look after everything back home?” Hajime asks because Sonia does better when she has a mission to keep her from feeling helpless.

“Of course!” Sonia answers firmly, smiling so much Hajime has to resist the urge to squint at the brightness of it. “And you all shall be careful right?”

“Of course,” Hajime echoes back and very carefully doesn’t look at the burgundy scarf around her neck (straight from Gundham’s closet if Hajime isn’t wrong. He rarely is anymore). He already knows better than anyone what’s at stake.

Sonia’s beaming smile softens and-

“God,” comes Saionji’s voice from over the video feed, “I’m going to puke. Are you two losers ever going to be done talking?”

Mahiru is already scolding Saionji off camera as Sonia delicately raises a hand to hide her small grin and Hajime lets out a sigh.

From behind him there’s the soft sound of footsteps that Hajime knows are inaudible to everyone else. Komaeda makes so little noise he’s like a ghost most of the time. Hajime turns slightly to angle a questioning look at him.

Komaeda smiles unassumingly back. “I got kicked out,” he says lightly and Hajime squints at him.

He can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

Komaeda doesn’t seem upset, but that doesn’t really tell Hajime anything at all. Unlike most people Komaeda doesn’t seem to realize he can be unhappy about something the normal way. ‘Normal’ not including Komaeda’s usual coping methods of attempted murder and bomb threats.

Hajime’s working on that.

Before Hajime can ask if he’s okay though Komaeda’s gaze flickers to the screen. He places a hand on Hajime’s chair to lean forward. Hajime feels hyper aware of it. (He is with most things lately).

“Ah, Miss Sonia,” Komaeda says with unfailing politeness (and no surprise Hajime notes), “may I ask what you’re calling for?”

Sonia smiles back easily, “Of course you may ask. I was just checking in before your mission.”

Not for the first Hajime feels a rush of gratefulness towards Sonia.

Komaeda’s relationship with the rest of their class is shaky at best, with Hajime being forced to act as both a buffer and bridge between Komaeda and, well, everyone else. Sonia, at least, is on more stable ground with Komaeda than everyone else even if it’s only out of politeness. Sonia is by far the best blessing Hajime could have asked for really.

“Well, I’m sure everything will be fine,” Komaeda answers with a bright smile that still feels subdued. “Hajime will be with us after all.”

“Don’t jinx it, dumbass!” Inserts Saionji’s voice, the camera feed going blurry as Saionji physically wrangles the computer screen towards her.

Komaeda’s already backing down, hands raised in a placating gesture and sheepish smile firmly in place. “That wasn’t my intention.”

The way Saionji glares at Komaeda speaks volumes. It almost looks as if she’s judging his soul and finding it lacking anything remotely appealing. Which, in all honesty, is fair.

“We’ll be careful,” Hajime reiterates before Saionji can make it worse.

Saionji huffs as if she knows what Hajime’s doing, scowling at the camera. She jabs a finger at the screen, “You idiots all better come back alive or I’ll never forgive you! Ever!”

“Thanks...?” Hajime offers drily, fairly certain that was Saionji’s version of expressing concern.

She huffs again looking decidedly unsatisfied even as the video feed moves away from her and back to Sonia, who looks faintly frazzled but decidedly amused.

“My apologies Hajime,” Sonia offers, voice high with barely contained mirth.

Hajime runs a hand through his short hair, offering an uptick of his lips and says, “It’s fine. I know how Saionji is.” Hajime dutifully ignores said person’s protests in the background. His watch beeps. “And that’s our cue.”

Any pleasure in Sonia’s eyes dies but her smile, however brittle, holds up. “Of course. I did not mean to keep you so long. Have a safe mission, I hope everything goes well.”

“Thanks,” Hajime says, more sincerely now. “Do you want to say goodbye to anyone before I go or...?”

For a moment Sonia looks sad and longing, biting her lip as she touches the scarf on her neck, but then it’s gone. Her smile back in place as she says, “No, I have kept you for long enough.”

“Okay,” Hajime agrees, wishing not for the first time that he wasn’t hyper aware of the pain in her smile while lacking all the tools to fix it.

The screen goes black and the hand Komaeda had placed on the back his chair moves away to lightly rest between Hajime’s shoulder blades.

“It’s time then?” Komaeda says lightly, tilting his head towards where the others are sitting.

Hajime smoothly stands up, meeting everyone’s gaze head on. “It’s time.”

Mission Start.

Chapter Text

It starts, like most things do, with a bang.

“Does anyone even know what this shit is supposed to do?” Fuyuhiko asks grumpily, staring at the panel of buttons and the hulking machine behind them.

One the guards at Fuyuhiko’s feet groans tries to roll over. Fuyuhiko kicks him in the stomach without pause. For a moment Hajime feels something akin to pity as he watches the Remnant of Despair wheeze on floor before the feeling is gone again.

“We’ll have to wait until Kazuichi gets here,” Hajime offers, watching Imposter—Byakuya for now—pick through pockets for anything of value; Komaeda watching him curiously as Peko and Gundham stand guard outside.

Hajime had been told, in no uncertain terms, by Togami that Komaeda wasn’t allowed out of his sight. We have enough problems without him adding to them, Togami had said caustically, scowling at Komaeda who’d waved cheerfully at him in response. Komaeda didn’t have much in the way of self preservation, but then he didn’t really need it in the first place with how his luck worked.

Fuyuhiko, bless him, only nods in acceptance, and doesn’t say anything about how Hajime could just look at the machine himself, because he knows Hajime is a little weird about using his Ultimate Talents at times. Not for the first time Hajime feels utterly thankful for Fuyuhiko’s friendship. It’s something he’s been experiencing a lot over the past few months.

“It looks very complicated,” Komaeda comments lightly, apparently having meandered over while Hajime had been lost in thought. “I wonder what it does?”

Hajime resists the urge to physically drag Komaeda away from the control board, if only barely. He settles for tugging lightly at his sleeve.

“I don’t know and I don’t care,” Fuyuhiko says bluntly, “but don’t. Fucking. Touch it,” he adds forcefully, glaring at Komaeda like he’s just daring him to try.

Komaeda laughs sheepishly, raising his hands in surrender and even takes a prudent step away from the panel. “Well, I’m sure you don’t have any reason to be concerned,” he says brightly but thankfully leaves the as an Ultimate unsaid.

Unraveling Komaeda’s hero worship is a work in progress. Hajime is just glad that there’s been any kind of progress at all considering.

And of course that’s about when everything goes wrong.

There’s a commotion outside-

One of the Remnants of Despair pretending to be knocked out on the floor lunges at Hajime during the distraction-

Komaeda stumbles back in surprise, catching himself on the panel and accidentally pressing some important looking button-

Hajime doesn’t remember much of anything beyond that except for a blinding light.

When Hajime wakes up it’s to Komeada hovering worriedly over him and a bright blue (not a poisonous red) sky behind him. It’s all eerily similar to how Hajime woke up in the Neo World Program.

“Am I dead?” Hajime asks, nonplussed.

“What the fuck,” Fuyuhiko says from somewhere in the background, unimpressed with Hajime’s apparent conclusion.

Komeada shares a concerned glance with someone (Fuyuhiko?) out of Hajime’s view and says, “Not as far as we can tell.”

Hajime gamely sits up at the confirmation, Komaeda shuffling back a few steps to give him space, and looks around. Well. At least he’s not on a beach this time.

They’re in some kind of closed off area (private property?) with a large structure in front of them. The building’s structure isn’t consistent with that of a house or mansion though. Actually the structure almost seems kind of familiar...

It’s Fuyuhiko, the only one here besides Komaeda, that says it first; outraged at the universe. “Is that a motherfucking school?”

Hajime’s liking this less and less already.

“ This ,” Fuyuhiko declares gravely, glaring at Komeada hard enough to kill, “is your fault.”

Tellingly neither Hajime nor Komaeda refute that.

“It could be worse?” Hajime offers, sounding dubious despite himself.

Fuyuhiko doesn’t look at all impressed by this reasoning and Komaeda is staring whimsically off into the distance, lost in thought. Yeah, Hajime doesn’t believe himself either.

“Where the fuck even are we?” Fuyuhiko gripes at no one in particular, aiming a glare towards the sky.

Komaeda hums thoughtfully. “I have a theory about that actually.”

Hajime almost doesn’t want to ask. “Which is?”

Komaeda lightly claps his hands together, the sound odd with his metal hand. “Well,” he starts brightly, “none of us know what that machine was supposed to do but we know that the Remnants of Despair were trying to gather more followers. And spread more despair, of course.”

Of course.

Hajime and Fuyuhiko stare at Komaeda blankly.

Komaeda smiles winsomely. “So I’m thinking that they decided to take their recruitment measures a bit farther away from home. Like, ah, perhaps a dimension away from ours.”

“In plain Japanese would be great,” Fuyuhiko says drily.

“He’s saying we’re in another world. Or dimension; however you want to phrase it,” Hajime summarizes, distantly, running that theory through his head and scrutinizing it.

Fuyuhiko blinks. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He asks them, sounding more irritated at the situation than anything else.

Komaeda shrugs. “It fits,” he offers, somewhat blandly, reminding Hajime of the tone he would take during class trials. “The sky is blue, the air is clean and the building is perfectly intact from what we can see.”

A stark contrast to their own decaying world. And more than that it’s not even that impossible a theory to consider when you account for Hajime’s and Komaeda’s combined luck. Which is perhaps the craziest part about this entire situation.

What even is Hajime’s life anymore?

“So was the Neo World Program,” Fuyuhiko points out caustically, arms crossed.

Komaeda folds his arms together loosely. “A good point,” he says, seemingly delighted at being contradicted; or maybe just at the interaction itself. “But this is noticeably different. The Neo World Program was almost... too perfect in some ways.”

It hadn’t been noticeably because nobody had ever considered that what they were experiencing wasn’t real. In retrospect though it was obvious. Little details had often been lost in the program. It was why Komaeda had been able to prance around a tropical island in a jacket without breaking a sweat or feeling too hot.

(And that was while ignoring the more obvious things. Like suddenly being transported to a tropical island from a classroom in the blink of an eye. Or the perfect and suspiciously timed weather. Or robot Nekomaru. Again, obvious in retrospect but an impossible idea to come to in the moment.)

“Well,” Hajime says dryly, “unless the world miraculously recovered in the time we were unconscious then this is the best theory we have. Though I guess time travel is an option too.”

Fuyuhiko makes a face. “But- seriously? Another world? That’s what we’re going with?” He asks incredulously.

Hajime can’t believe it either. “Unfortunately.”

“Well,” Komaeda says idly, rocking back and forth on his heels, “now that that’s decided what should we now?”

That was the big question wasn’t it?

Unfortunately in next second they were suddenly surrounded so the question would have to wait.

“Tea?” The tiny, furry creature in front of him asks jovially.

Hajime’s having flashbacks to Monokuma. Judging by Komaeda’s rapid blinking and Fuyuhiko’s strained expression Hajime isn’t the only one either.

Hajime keeps his expression purposefully flat. “Tea is fine.”

And if it’s poisoned even better. At least then he’ll be put out of his misery.

The two adults that had dumped them into the office they’re currently sitting in stand behind the mysterious creature. One of them is buff enough to give Nekomaru a run for his money, with a smile permanently frozen onto his face, and wearing spandex. Hajime can hear Togami’s scathing commentary at the clothing choice across time and space. The other one is practically a shadow in comparison; dressed in all black and practically dead on his feet.

Fuyuhiko scowls at the creature suspiciously but it seems unfazed as it pours out four cups of tea. The tiny creature (mouse?) claps it’s paws together, smiling brightly at them once the tea is passed out. Hajime downs his tea with a blank face and waits.

.

.

.

.

.

Nope, still alive. Which means he actually has to deal with all this.

Damnit.

“I’m Nedzu,” the creature says chirpily. “Am I a mouse? Am I a bear? But more importantly I’m the Principal of U.A. High School-“ Oh, god it is a Monokuma situation all over again, Hajime thinks, hiding his horrified expression behind his teacup. “-and I’d like to ask you how you managed to get past our security undetected and onto school grounds.”

Komaeda smiles winningly back at Nedzu because nothing fazes him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he offers sincerely and Hajime genuinely wonders how he functions. “But I’m afraid we have no idea. We just happened to wake up there.”

“Is that so?” The creature asks lightly and Hajime genuinely can’t tell if it (he?) believes them or not even as the darker adult glowers at them. It’s like trying to figure out Komaeda all over again.

That’s a horrifying thought. One Nagito Komaeda is already too much for any world, let alone two in the same one.

“You said we’re in U.A. High School?” Komaeda asks curiously, his tone just the right balance between light and inquisitive.

Nedzu peers at them curiously, like they’re nifty little puzzles for him to solve. “Indeed.”

“Hmm,” Komaeda lets out an absentminded hum. “I’ve never heard of it before.”

“You’re kidding right?” The darkly dressed adult says, landing somewhere between dismissive, condescending and otherworldly tired. “It’s known as the best hero school world wide. There’s no way you haven’t heard of it.”

Hajime, Komaeda and Fuyuhiko exchange glances. That’s another point towards dimensional travel.

“Hero school?” Hajime finally asks when no else does because Fuyuhiko is still being stubbornly silent and Komeada is gently blowing on his hot tea.

Dark and brooding stares at them disbelievingly even as Nedzu helpfully pipes up with, “A school for training upcoming heroes.”

Fuyuhiko looks like he’s given up on life. “And that’s... normal?” He says faintly, incredulously.

As someone from a crime family the whole idea probably sounds ridiculous and vaguely insulting. Hajime supposes that Hope’s Peak had followed a similar line of thinking though; training students in their chosen talent to help better the world, or something.

And look how that had turned out.

Now both adults—even Smiles—is staring at them like they think they’re either joking, lying, or brain damaged. Only Nedzu seems unfazed, smiling at them just as cheerfully as before.

“How did you get here again?” Nedzu asks as disarmingly as possible.

“A machinery accident,” Hajime says, straight faced.

Fuyuhiko chokes on the tea he finally stopped eyeing suspiciously. Komaeda graciously passes him some napkins and doesn’t seem to notice the looks given to his metal arm. It’s a toss up on whether or not Komaeda is actually oblivious or just expertly ignoring it though.

Komaeda helpfully fills the other people in the room in before they decide to send them all to a mental hospital. Although maybe that wouldn’t be remiss in Komaeda’s case. “We believe we’re from another dimension and have accidentally ended up in your world.”

Fuyuhiko groans loudly, sinking further into the couch, like just hearing the words physically pains him. The adults are still staring at them like they’re crazy. Hajime can’t really blame them.

Nedzu serenely takes another sip of tea. “That’s quite the interesting story,” he offers blithely.

Smiles makes a choking noise. “I think I need to make a call,” he says weakly, edging towards the door.

“Yes, you do that,” Nedzu says pleasantly before turning back to them. “In the meantime would you like some more tea while we wait?”

Hajime didn’t sign up for this. He wants a refund.

Chapter Text

“This is bullshit,” Fuyuhiko says, glaring at the changing room door like the people on the other side of it will spontaneously combust under its power.

Hajime wishes him luck in the endeavor.

Komaeda pauses in buttoning up his new uniform to give Fuyuhiko a puzzled look. “Is it? I think it’s a rather generous deal so far. They’re providing us with food and housing after all. Attending their hero school seems like a small price to pay in exchange.”

The thing about Komaeda is that it’s easy to forget that there’s actually a brain somewhere in there. Komaeda always tends to be more clever than he lets on with his unassuming smile, mild mannered attitude, and occasional bouts of craziness covering up the fact he’s ten steps ahead of everyone else—questionable thought process aside.

Fuyuhiko clearly remembers this at the same time Hajime does based on the sour look on his face. “It’s stupid,” he says anyway, sounding more petulant than pissed off now. “We’re not even high school students anymore. We could actually be doing something. We could be looking for them to see if they’re here, or finding someway back.”

Hajime sighs because he doesn’t really want to be doing this either but, “They have more resources than we do and they actually know the city. They have a better chance of finding them, or a way back, than we do at this point.”

Fuyuhiko crosses his arms to scowl at the wall as Komaeda finishes with his tie, Hajime reaching out automatically to straighten it to unnecessary perfection. His robot arm isn’t the best with fine motor skills (yet, Hajime is still working out some things). Komaeda beams at him in thanks.

There’s still a few days before the school year starts but, predictably, the school uniform is the only kind of clothing the school kept in stock.

“Don’t worry,” Komaeda says lightly, smoothing down his shirt, placid smile firmly in place, “if anyone can handle themselves it would be those three. I’m sure they’re fine.”

He has a point.

“But- hero students?” Fuyuhiko says with palpable disgust.

There’s some kind of bitter irony in training to be heroes after they’ve already destroyed the world. Well, a world anyway.

“I think it’s rather fascinating,” Komaeda says airily. “An entire society built around heroics-“

“It’s a ticking time bomb,” Fuyuhiko interjects bluntly. “Remember Hope’s Peak?”

Komaeda’s still smiling, but there’s something noticeably brittle about it, and his eyes are dead. No one has a response to that.

“I don’t trust them,” Fuyuhiko finishes bluntly, glancing at the door to make it obvious who he means. It’s a statement of fact more than anything else.

“At this point we don’t have a choice,” Hajime says grimly, finally finished buttoning up his own shirt and starting on his tie.

“Besides,” Komaeda adds, back to being disproportionately cheerful, “they don’t exactly trust us either. It’s not like we’ve told them everything.”

Or anything really.

Hajime’s innermost nature is that of a criminal mastermind on the run from the International Police; with him only barely trusting inanimate objects, much less people. (Thanks for that Izuru. And Monokuma.)

(There’s also some irony thrown in there too considering that he actually is thought to be a criminal mastermind on the run from the Future Foundation by most of the world.)

So Hajime doesn’t really tell the “heroes” anything, with Fuyuhiko and Komaeda following his lead. Though Hajime does make sure to offhandedly mention that there might be others who ended up in this world.

After several more vague, mostly non-answers with someone that was apparently a human lie detector—because superpowers were actually a thing in this world—Nedzu has seemingly decided to leave them be for now.

Hajime doesn’t think for a second that it’s over.

“Just look at it this way,” Hajime says wryly, “worst comes to worst we’ll bail and win a few million dollars so that we can commission for a way back.”

It’s a valid plan when you have two people with Ultimate Luck on your side.

Fuyuhiko visibly considers that, sighing as he ducks his head down. “Fine. We’ll do that. But if they try anything-“

“-I’ll handle it,” Hajime says resolutely, tightening his own tie.

And that’s the end of that. Hajime hasn’t let them down before and he’s not starting now. Being the Ultimate Ultimate has to be good for something.

Recover Girl is a short woman that apparently acts as the school nurse. It should also be noted that Hajime doesn’t do hospitals or anything remotely resembling them.

(-days of unending testing and cutting into his flesh- needles and smiling scientists (doctors?) prodding him- he couldn’t breathe- couldn’t remember his own name- boredboredboredboredbored- this world is so boring-

“You’re Izuru Kamukura.”)

“I’m not going in there,” Hajime reiterates stonily, unmoved.

Recovery Girl frowns severely up at him. “I need to give all of you a checkup.”

Her gaze darts specifically to Komaeda and his arm. Which, okay, yeah, Hajime gets why they’re here. He’s still not going in.

“He said he didn’t want to,” Fuyuhiko growls, positioning himself just slightly in front of Hajime defensively. It’s a nice gesture.

Dark and brooding—Shouta Aizawa, apparently—scowls at them, Fuyuhiko scowling back more often than not. Hajime kind of expects them to try and kill each other before the day is over.

Komaeda, ever the peacemaker when he isn’t actively raining destruction down on their heads, gives Recovery Girl his sweetest smile and says diplomatically, “Would you be open to doing that out here-“ He motions to the hallway. “-as opposed to the infirmary? My friend has had a bad experience with doctors and hospitals you see.”

That’s certainly one way of putting it. It also neatly sidesteps Komaeda’s own discomfort with hospitals. Not because Komaeda’s trying to actively hide it, but because his own discomfort genuinely doesn’t factor in for him. Hajime’s going to need to work on that.

Recovery Girl’s frown softens in the face of Komaeda’s earnest expression and reasoning. As always Komaeda has people right where he wants them to be.  It’s a little baffling considering how socially inept he can be at times.

“I understand dear,” she says and pats Hajime’s leg comfortingly. “I’ll go get some things,” Recovery Girl continues as she hobbles back into the infirmary. “You boys wait here.”

The checkups go mostly as expected barring a few... hiccups.

(“How did you lose an arm?” Aizawa asks bluntly. Recovery girl smacks his arm with her clipboard at the lack of tact.

Hajime covers Komaeda’s mouth with his hand before he can answer. Less the words ‘I cut it off’ ever be spoken aloud.

“It was an accident,” Hajime says instead, making an effort to keep his face straight.

Aizawa squints at them dubiously, gaze lingering on where Hajime’s hand is keeping Komaeda from answering. “An accident,” he repeats flatly.

“It was very tragic,” Komaeda adds when Hajime finally releases him, giving his most air headed smile.

Aizawa squints harder.)

(“And how did you lose an eye?” Recovery Girl asks; this time with considerably more tact and sympathy.

Not that it helps much.

“None of your fucking business,” Fuyuhiko deadpans.)

Though drawing blood turns out to be... interesting.

(“Nope,” Hajime says immediately, “not happening. No needles.“

“It’s just so I can take some blood, it’ll be perfectly harmless,” Recovery Girl says patiently but there’s something else in her gaze now. Knowing? Understanding maybe?

Hajime would have been able to read it if panic wasn’t chilling every inch of his body and making it painful to breathe.

“No needles,” Hajime repeats, squeezing Komaeda’s hand hard enough for it to be painful but Komaeda only gently squeezes back.

Recovery Girl drops it.)

(“It’s... pink,” Recovery Girl says blankly, staring at the vial of blood with what might be fascination.

Considering she lives in a world where superpowers are normal Hajime feels like this shouldn’t be quite so surprising.

Komaeda peers dubiously at them. “Are you sure? It looks red to me.”

“It’s pink,” Recovery Girl insists.

Komaeda shrugs. “If you say so,” he humors, sounding like he doesn’t believe her at all.

“Why is it pink?” Aizawa asks, staring at them like he’s not quite sure what he’s looking at anymore.

Fuyuhiko gives the blood a dismissive once over. “I’m pretty sure it’s red,” he corrects blandly.

Aizawa looks like he wants to tear out his hair.)

And then, of course, there’s Komaeda.

(Recovery Girl blinks rapidly at him, clipboard lowering. “I’m sorry, what was that dear?”

Komaeda smiles whimsically. He might as well be talking about the weather for all the effect the conversation has on him. “I have stage 3 malignant lymphoma and frontotemporal lobe dementia,” he informs obliviously, losing absolutely none of his cheer.

Recovery Girl stares at him like she’s not sure how he’s alive. Or functioning. And she doesn’t even know the half of it.

Her expression reminds Hajime a little of the way Sonia reads cookbooks. Head tilted with a little bit of confusion, some interest, and a healthy dose of oh my, what is that added on top.

Fuyuhiko, who this is new information for, stares at Komaeda like he’s having an epiphany; muttering something about how it ‘explains his dumbass behavior and suicidal tendencies’. Hajime pretends not to hear any of it, because he’s nice like that.

“What the fuck,” Aizawa says, looking like he wants a drink.)

But overall it doesn’t go too badly. And by that Hajime means no one dies, which is really more than he’d been hoping for. Hajime’s expectations are actually through the floor but that’s okay because he likes them there.

The buildings are all standing.

It’s not a revelation. Or, well, it shouldn’t be.

Except. There are buildings standing. Intact. With no obvious signs damage.

There’s no rubble in the street either, or broken down cars. No blood, ranging from years to days old, splattered across the walls and grounds like a bad paint job everywhere you look. No smoke covering the sky like a blanket and the taste of ash in your mouth every time you breath. No corpses littering the ground and the rotting smell of decay in the air.

Fresh air. The sun is shining. People are chatting casually and laughing as they walk down the street. And the buildings are all intact.

This is what the world is supposed to be like, Hajime reminds himself, feeling uncomfortably out of his depth. This is normal for someone that hasn’t come from a post apocalyptic world in ruins.

Junko fucking Enoshima, he thinks. It feels like catchphrase at this point.

Next to Hajime Komaeda is wearing a smile that looks decidedly plastic as he toys with the edge of his sleeve. On his other side Fuyuhiko hunches his shoulders in defensively, strung tight and reminding Hajime of nothing more than a feral cat bristling defensively. He kindly keeps this observation to himself.

“Are you ready kiddies?” Midnight asks them brightly.

Midnight is a hero that could benefit from a few dozen Sexual Harassment Seminars. Hajime thanks just about every being in the universe, including Komaeda and his disastrous luck, that Teruteru is unable to meet her. Unfortunately, they’re stuck with her for this outing since Aizawa had unapologetically bailed as soon as he heard the word ‘shopping’. And probably just to get away from them too.

“Why are we even here?” Fuyuhiko complains as Komaeda peers curiously at the surrounding shops.

“As cute as you are in those uniforms-“ Midnight comments flirtatiously.

“Sexual harassment,” Hajime repeats forcefully, ignoring the resulting wink Midnight gives him, and prudently takes several steps away, dragging Komaeda with him.

“-you’ll need more clothes if you’re going to stay here,” she finishes with unnecessary and dramatic flourish.

Hajime can’t argue with that. Though Fuyuhiko looks like he desperately wants to. He also looks like he wants to be anywhere but here and Hajime has never related more to a person.

“We don’t have any money,” Hajime addresses.

Midnight waves a dismissive hand. “No need to worry about that. Nedzu has it covered,” she reassures.

It’s not reassuring at all. Hajime doesn’t really want to owe the talking mouse any more than they already do.

“We’ll pay you back,” Hajime says instead.

Midnight laughs. “How polite,” she coos.

That’s not what it is at all, but arguing with her seems like more work than it is to just leave her in her delusion.

“Lets try this one,” Komaeda decides brightly, pointing at a nearby clothing store.

Hajime and Fuyuhiko exchange looks.

There’s only two options any choice Nagito Komaeda makes can be; extremely lucky or extremely unlucky. Hajime shrugs at Fuyuhiko. Komaeda is a hazard to society, but as long as he’s with Hajime then chances are that they’ll all make it out alive. At least, that was the Future Foundations logic when they paired Hajime and Komaeda together on missions.

(“Komaeda’s luck makes him too valuable to kill but too dangerous to live,” Togami had said flatly. “This way we can optimize his potential without needlessly endangering everyone he comes into contact with.”)

So they go. Reluctantly. With Midnight blissfully ignorant to her potentially impending doom as she cheerfully follows Komaeda into the store.

“What the hell are we even looking for?” Fuyuhiko asks distractedly with vague irritation, frowning as he shifts through clothing hangers.

Nothing on that rack will have anything in his size but Hajime’s not about to tell him that.

“Shirts, pants, a couple of jackets,” Hajime lists, glancing down at Fuyuhiko. “No suits,” he adds because he’s not sure Fuyuhiko has ever dressed casually a day in his life. The hospital gown notwithstanding.

Fuyuhiko grimaces like that is worst part about this whole situation.

By another rack Midnight is trying to convince Komaeda to try on something with too many frills. Komaeda is holding out though, however apologetically. Sometimes Hajime forgets that before the world went to shit Komaeda was a functioning- wait, no- semi-functioning person for most of his life.

“Do you want me to pick some clothes out for you?” Hajime asks wryly, running his hands over a shirt that’s the same shade of green as Komaeda’s 55 jacket. “I’m sure I have an Ultimate-“ Fashionista. “-Stylist in me somewhere.”

Fuyuhiko snorts, eyeing the clothes balefully. “I think I’ll manage,” he says dryly. “It can’t be that fucking hard.”

Hajime’s lips quirk up helplessly in response. “If you say so.”

“I think I found everything I need,” Komaeda announces as he drifts over, a pile of clothes in his arms; noticeably lacking anything with frills as Midnight pouts in the background. “I’m going to go check out.”

“Do you want me to go with?” Hajime asks.

Komaeda smiles but it has nothing to do with how he’s feeling. He chuckles, eyes dark. “I’ll be fine. The checkout station is only 8ft away after all.”

(Togami scowled fiercely down at Hajime and Komaeda. “3 meters,” he said abruptly. “I don’t want either of you more than 3 meters apart at any given moment.”

“... That seems a little excessive,” Hajime had offered.

“Did I ask you? 3 meters or you don’t go on the mission at all,” Togami reiterated.

They go on the mission.)

“Fair enough,” Hajime says now.

Komaeda opens his mouth to say something-

And a truck busts through the side of the store. There’s surprisingly little screaming even as Midnight rushes over to check on them. The citizens must be used to stuff like this in a hero society.

“Are you okay?” She asks urgently, expression serious as she checks them over.

“We’re fine,” Hajime offers, helping Komaeda up off the ground as Fuyuhiko swears vehemently at the pile of clothes that fell on top of him. “We got lucky.”

Hah.

Komaeda gives his pile of clothes on the ground a speculative look. Hajime can see bits of rubble in his hair and some dust smeared across part of his cheek.

“Do you think this means we get a discount?” Komaeda asks, eyeing the hole in the wall thoughtfully.

Hajime and Fuyuhiko sigh. For the first time Midnight looks like she might be comprehending exactly what kind people she and U.A. have gotten involved with.

Chapter Text

“They’re missing?” Sonia repeats, voice high.

To his credit Togami doesn’t look any happier than her, frowning over the feed as he says, “That’s what I said.”

It’s only years of etiquette lessons that keep Sonia from breaking composure completely. “But they’re not-?” She can’t even finish the sentence.

Sympathy is not a tried and true Togami expression, so Sonia wouldn’t go so far as to say that’s the look he gives her now; but something in his harsh expression eases at her worried one.

“We didn’t find any bodies,” Togami says evenly.

He’s too realistic to give her false reassurances and promises. Sonia can almost appreciate that. Later, when she doesn’t quite feel like she’s coming apart at the seems.

Sonia takes a deep breath, in and out. A trick her father had taught her when she was still nervous about the idea of public speaking.

“What happened?” Sonia asks firmly, hands clenched tightly in her dress but at least that’s out of Togami’s sight.

Togami shifts slightly, crossing his arms as he breathes out a deep sigh. “Some of our agents reported a bright light; at first believing it to be some kind of explosion. Upon further investigation they could find that the building had not sustained further damage and there was nothing resembling a flashbang found at the scene. However, Hajime Hinata, Nagito Komaeda, Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu, Peko Pekoyama, Gundham Tanaka and the Imposter were found missing.”

Togami’s tone is clinically detached. Recounting facts more than anything else.

“It’s possible,” Togami adds, almost absently, as he presses a finger to side of his glasses, “that more people are missing as well if those six are.”

Missing, Sonia reminds herself, not dead. “Do you know what happened?”

Togami’s resulting scowl says that; no, they don’t. “At this point we can only speculate,” he says bluntly. “But the Remnants were working on a machine and it’s purpose was unknown; which is part of what caught our attention in the first place. It’s... possible that this machine has something to do with their little disappearing act,” Togami adds, sounding like it pains him to admit to something so uncertain. “Souda’s currently examining the machine as we speak.”

“But they’re not dead,” Sonia presses lightly.

Togami dips his head in acknowledgement. “As far as we know.” Something relaxes in Sonia’s chest. “I also find it hard to believe,” he adds wryly, “that anything could kill them so easily with both Hinata and Komaeda present.”

If they’re lucky. But then when aren’t those two? And sometimes luck is the deciding factor.

“I understand,” Sonia says, mustering a smile; however brittle it must look. “I shall head over shortly.”

“That’s unnecessary,” Togami says matter-of-factly. “Your presence won’t help anything-“

“I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood,” Sonia says sweetly. “I am done waiting and I will be seeing you shortly.”

Togami looks vaguely irritated now, mouth pressed into a thin line. It’s difficult to remember sometimes that Togami’s a year younger than Sonia what with the confidence and authority he wears around himself like a cloak. Or a shield. It’s more obvious now; in the tightness around his eyes and the exhaustion weighing down his shoulders.

They’re both leaders but Sonia wonders why Togami seems so much stronger than her. Perhaps it’s simply a matter of the difference in strength between them.

Novoselic is long gone. Burnt to the ground and torn apart by Sonia’s own hands when she was an Ultimate Despair. She can almost taste the ashes.

“Very well,” Togami concedes imperiously, obviously disgruntled. “I’ll arrange for your trip. Should I expect the rest of your merry band of idiots to follow along too?”

Sonia smiles and gently brushes some hair away from her eyes. It’s a delicate and pretty smile. It does absolutely nothing to hide the fire burning in her eyes.

“I believe you should.”

The dorm rooms they’ll be staying at turn out to only be partially built. Most of the rooms are unfinished; some entirely lacking things like walls and proper flooring.

“This is your room,” Aizawa says, though the complete lack of energy he puts into talking makes it sound closer to a mumble.

The room is sparse. There’s a window on the back wall and a few bedrolls placed on the floor for them. But the roof is still attached and there’s no blood or corpses that they have to share the room with; so it’s already leagues better than most other places that they’ve hunkered down in.

“We’re working on the other rooms,” Aizawa continues, “so you won’t be sharing this one for long.”

“It’s fine,” Hajime says flatly. “We’d rather share a room.”

It’s safer that way.

Aizawa pauses, giving him a scrutinizing look before glancing at Fuyuhiko and Komaeda as if to double check this statement. Fuyuhiko simply scowls at him and tosses his new belongings onto one of the bedrolls. Komaeda just smiles back unassumingly, seemingly unbothered.

Based on Aizawa’s heavy sigh he’s not going to be the one to push the issue with them.

“Someone will come get you for breakfast,” Aizawa says, rubbing his forehead like he has migraine. “Don’t do anything stupid in the meantime.”

His piece said Aizawa ambles away, oblivious to the fact Hajime has... appropriated his phone; Komaeda gently shutting the door behind him.

“I think that went well,” Komaeda says brightly to no one in particular.

Fuyuhiko snorts.

Hajime just sighs because he’s tired. “It could be worse,” he offers but he can’t work any optimism into his voice without it feeling hollow.

Hajime feels like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. There’s too many alarm bells blaring in Hajime’s head for him to just ignore them.

“Hajime?”

Hajime blinks back to the present at Komaeda’s worried voice. “I’m fine,” he says automatically, before he’s even registered the concern on both their faces.

Fuyuhiko and Komaeda look decidedly unconvinced.

“It’s okay if you’re not,” Komaeda says earnestly.

Hajime squints at him dubiously. He can’t exactly pinpoint why, but the statement feels a little hypocritical coming from him.

Fuyuhiko just sighs like they’re both hopeless and he’s the only sane man here. “Look,” Fuyuhiko starts bluntly, “I know you were made to be more perfect than God or some shit but we can help you, you know. It’s not just all on you.”

“Not that we’re doubting you,” Komaeda is quick to reassure. “But we’d be happy if Hajime would rely on us sometimes too.” Komaeda smiles winningly and it should not be so pretty, Hajime thinks.

Hajime lets out a breath. “Thanks,” he says with a wry smile, focusing on the warmth suffusing his chest. “I’ll try to remember that.”

Komaeda beams like this is the greatest day of his life and Fuyuhiko mutters a, “You fucking better,” while staring awkwardly at the wall because feelings.

Hajime can’t help but huff out a laugh because they’re all idiots, himself included. But they’ll get through this.

(The world isn’t quite so boring when you have people to share it with.)

“Anything?” Peko asks cooly, arms crossed.

“Nothing,” Imposter—Byakuya—informs bluntly, taking a sip of coffee.

The cafe is noisy with the low hum of conversation and bursts of laughter filling up the space. The normalcy is jarring.

“They seem to have vanished into the abyss,” Gundham intones gravely as he absently pets one of his hamsters.

The TV in the corner plays a colorful commercial and Peko loosely wraps her hands around her cup of tea, grounding herself using the warm ceramic.

“It’s possible that they’re not in this world with us,” Byakuya admits sensibly.

“-But it’s also possible that we just haven’t found them yet,” Peko finishes, staring into the distance.

Looking outside the window the blue sky is still a novelty. Peko’s world has been stained red with death and destruction for the past few years. She doesn’t quite remember how to live in a world without it.

Byakuya dips his head in acknowledgement. “Either way we can’t afford to continue looking for them like this,” he says. “My pickpocketing skills will only keep us afloat so far,” he adds somewhat wryly.

But with no identification or history they have no way of getting a job. Well. Not a normal one at least.

“I have an idea,” Peko says slowly, staring grimly down into the depths of her tea.

Every world, no matter which one, has an underworld; and Peko is well versed in navigating it.

There’s something distinctly awkward about sitting in a room of hero hopefuls, excited about saving people, while knowing you’ve committed mass murder, Hajime decides; keeping his gaze firmly on Aizawa’s phone as he googles whatever comes to mind. It only took him five tries to guess the password. (It was hizashigetout5656).

Hajime didn’t think it was possible but, somehow, U.A. manages to be even more pretentious than Hope’s Peak just through their use of architecture alone. The classroom door is just overkill.

Fuyuhiko hasn’t stopped scowling since they entered the classroom; looking like he’s on the cusp of either murder or suicide. Komaeda, sitting on Hajime’s other side, has the smile of someone who’s reality filter is set on ‘high’. Dissociation at its finest really.

The last time Hajime was in high school the Izuru Kamukura project happened and the world literally ended. At least this can’t likely get any worse than that, Hajime thinks dryly.

“Hey!” A... school uniform greets cheerfully, bouncing up to them. As in, literally, just the school uniform. “So, who are you guys? I don’t remember seeing you at the entrance exam.”

Hajime grabs Fuyuhiko’s arm before he can instinctively reach for the kitchen knife hidden in his uniform without looking up from Aizawa’s phone.

“Who the fuck are you?” Fuyuhiko returns gruffly, settling at the lack of a threat.

The girl laughs, seemingly unfazed by Fuyuhiko’s Don’t Fuck With Me demeanor. “I’m Toru Hagakure!” She says brightly, pressing her hands together if the way her sleeves are positioned mean anything. “You?”

“None of your fucking business.”

Hajime sighs. This is just going great.

“Wow, talk about hostile,” a boy with tape dispensers for elbows comments from two desks over.

“Don’t mind him,” Hajime offers blandly, unable to fit any actual reassurance into his voice. Emoting is difficult for him sometimes. Another thing he can trace back to Izuru.

Fuyuhiko huffs, slouching further into his chair with... Fuyuhiko would probably stab him for saying so but, that’s definitely a pout.

“So you guys know each other?” Hagakure asks curiously. Hajime can almost picture her glancing between the three of them.

Komaeda smiles back at her. If Hajime squints hard enough he can see flowers floating around him. What the hell.

“We went to the same school together,” Komaeda says cheerily, laying a hand on Hajime’s thigh. Hajime feels the warmth like a brand.

“It must be nice to already know some people at a new school!” She says brightly, still here, and Hajime has the horrible feeling that she’s just adopted them as some sort of pet project.

“You could say that,” Komaeda offers magnanimously with an odd smile. “We have... extenuating circumstances you see.”

Hajime can hear Hagakure take a breath, likely about to ask them another question, but Aizawa interrupts by abruptly making his presence known to the class.

Oh, thank god.

Unsurprisingly it doesn’t go well. At all.

This was always going to be a disaster, and Hajime has never pretended to think any differently. He just might have been underestimating how bad it would be. His mistake really.

It starts like this:

“Hinata, my phone,” Aizawa says bluntly after the class gathers out on the field. Hajime was wondering when he’d figure it out.

Fuyuhiko snorts and Komaeda’s smile looks vaguely amused now rather than fixed. Hajime just sighs, tossing it to him; the phone hitting Aizawa’s hand with a satisfying smack.

It’s a little late considering Hajime has already googled the entire history of quirks, read a few hundred articles about quirks and quirk laws, pieced together the current political climate, memorized all his classmates name’s and abilities, and watched a few dozen cat videos on it. (Because it was nice to know that there were normal, non-talking, animals in this world too.)

“Don’t steal my phone again,” Aizawa warns.

One of the students—the one with literal engines in his legs (Tenya Iida, Hajime recalls)—drops his jaw, scandalized. Hajime wonders what his reaction would be if Hajime told him that stealing a phone was the least of his crimes. Down right adorable in comparison in fact.

“I’ve tortured and killed more people than you will ever meet.”

“I’ve brought entire cities to ruin.”

“I helped end the world because I was bored.”

Hajime doesn’t say anything, of course, because for now he’s stuck with this (shitty) idea of being a hero student until further notice. But Hajime can’t say it’s not tempting as Iida sputters indignantly about how stealing a teachers phone is ‘wholly inappropriate’ and how he ‘needs to be setting an example as a future hero’. Fuyuhiko, about as impressed with the speech as Hajime is, flips him off; earning even more outraged sputtering. Hajime is pretty sure he hears Hagakure giggle.

Aizawa sighs like he’s not being paid enough for this. “Moving on,” he says tiredly. “We’re going to be having quirk apprehension tests.”

It’s probably worth noting that Hajime, Komaeda and Fuyuhiko don’t actually have quirks. Though Komaeda and Hajime might as well have one.

And, of course, can’t forget this:

“-the person that comes in last gets expelled,” Aizawa says with obvious relish, grinning like a madman; to the horror of the entire class.

Fuyuhiko raises his hand. Hajime is a honestly surprised he bothered with that much as he says, “Can I be expelled now to skip these stupid fucking tests?”

Based on the looks the rest class gives him, Fuyuhiko isn’t earning anyone’s favor with that stunt.

Hajime wants to sigh. Or bang his head against the wall. He’s keeping his options open.

Aizawa doesn’t even deign to look at him as he says, “No, Kuzuryu.”

Aizawa probably regrets saying that now, because Fuyuhiko seems to have made it his life’s mission to force Aizawa to expel him. Basically, Fuyuhiko throws all the tests. As obviously as possibly.

Aizawa’s eye is starting to develop a twitch.

Komaeda is only slightly better, if only because he’s not actively trying to fail. His illness just makes him that physically unfit.

Komaeda still somehow ends up coming in at 1st place though, because almost all of his test scores conveniently glitch out on Aizawa’s phone and nothing Aizawa does will change them back to normal. Aizawa looks like he’s contemplating throwing his phone at the nearest wall when Komaeda’s Ball Throw score comes back as an infinity symbol despite the ball landing barely a couple feet away.

“Is this even allowed?” Someone whispers theatrically to the rest of the class. (Denki Kaminari, Hajime notes.)

Hajime kind of wishes he had popcorn.

In contrast Hajime is doing well enough for a quirkless human that Aizawa is giving him odd—borderline suspicious—looks. The benefits of being a former lab rat and all that. If one ignores Komaeda’s bullshit score then Hajime is in fifth place.

And then there’s Izuku Midoriya.

“Did- did he just break his motherfucking finger?” Fuyuhiko says, somewhere between outraged and disbelieving even as Aizawa physically restrains Katsuki Bakugo from killing Midoriya. Hajime doesn’t even want to know. “For a fucking test?”

“You don’t really have room to talk after throwing said tests,” Hajime comments dryly as everyone watches the drama unfolding like it’s prime time entertainment; shifting just slightly to keep All Might’s hiding place is his periphery view.

There’s definitely something going on there. All Might hasn’t been seen for more than three hours a day ever since his abrupt absence some years ago. An injury maybe?

Fuyuhiko scoffs dismissively. “Yeah, but I sure as hell didn’t get myself hospitalized during one.”

Can’t argue with that.

“Is he okay?” Komaeda asks with what might be genuine concern, peering at Midoriya as Bakugo finally gives up on murdering him for the time being.

If this is what a future hero looks like then this world is in trouble.

Likely feeling their judgmental stares Bakugo turns and practically snarls at them. “What?! You extras have something to say?!”

Komaeda, gifted with saying exactly the wrong thing at the wrong time, smiles sweetly and says condescendingly, “Oh, nothing. We were just surprised by how... unheroic you are.”

Aizawa manages to stop Bakugo from physically attacking Komaeda, but it’s a close thing.

Chapter Text

“It’s come to my attention,” Nedzu announces brightly at the end of their first day, “that you might need phones.”

“... No shit,” Fuyuhiko deadpans, the epitome of tact and diplomacy. Not.

Aizawa, undoubtedly the reason for this conversation, stares studiously at the wall like if he just concentrates hard enough he won’t be stuck in a room with all of them having this conversation. It doesn’t work like that though.

Hajime would know, since he also really doesn’t want to be here.

Nedzu’s office hasn’t changed at all from their last visit. Tastefully decorated, mostly in shades of white, and three cups of tea that might as well be part of the decor cooling in front of them.

Nedzu just nods serenely, still smiling cutely. “Excellent, I’m glad we agree. I’ll work on getting you some.”

Monokuma had always been smiling too, face frozen in an uncharitable grin as he laughed; like everything was just a big fat joke that only he knew the punch line too. It had always been too easy to forget how dangerous he was under the joke he always made out of himself—right up until he threw it in your face.

In this moment though Nedzu’s smile is closer to Komaeda’s than Monokuma’s though. A tad oblivious, a little too sweet, and definitely knowing more than they’re saying. This is almost worse in a way. It’s like trying to play clue in the dark; a lot more annoying and infinitely more uncertain.

Fuyuhiko makes a face at Nedzu’s offer like he thinks it’s a trap.

Komaeda just says brightly, “We would appreciate it,” with total sincerity.

Hajime squints at Komaeda, wondering if his ease with Nedzu is a Komaeda being Komaeda thing or a Komaeda being... Komaeda thing. With one being significantly more dangerous than the other.

(The difference between Komaeda just being whimsically baffling and him actively plotting something. The hard part is in figuring out when one becomes the other.)

“I also heard you all caused quite a stir today!” Nedzu adds lightly, amusement clinging to his voice.

Aizawa’s eye twitches at the reminder.

Komaeda laughs nervously, holding up one of his hands. “Our apologies. We didn’t mean to cause you any trouble.”

Fuyuhiko looks like he disagrees, but Nedzu just laughs.

“Oh no!” Nedzu says carelessly. “I think it could be a good thing!” There’s a hint of teeth in his smile as he says kindly, “The world of heroics could use some shaking up. Especially now.”

Always knows more than he’s saying, Hajime reminds himself, feeling detached. And Nedzu definitely knows something.

“Glad we could help,” Hajime says dryly, playing along.

Nedzu smiles even sweeter and Hajime kind of wants to throw his cup of tea at his face. He doesn’t.

“Well,” Nedzu says, clasping his paws together, “I believe I’ve taken up enough of your time. You must be tired.”

Hajime knows a dismissal when he hears one.

“What do you think?” Nedzu asks, deceptively mild, as he watches the trio make their way back to the dorms outside his office window.

Kuzuryu looks angry; hands shoved into his pockets and shoulders stiff. Or maybe defensive is a better word than anger. Like he’s waiting for an attack and his gruff demeanor is just camouflage to hide that fact.

Komaeda’s head is turned enough for Nedzu to vaguely make out his air headed smile, relaxed as if this is just another day for him. He hides behind false smiles and underestimation as easily as Nedzu himself does. ‘Mentally and physically ill’ Recovery Girl had written in her report.

In contrast Hinata is carefully calm and controlled. His walk is confident but not reaching into overconfidence. He walks like nothing can touch him. The fond looks and exasperated smiles he saves specifically for his friends—as well as his hand that’s holding Komaeda’s—speaks a very different story though.

Nedzu has always been fond of a good mystery.

“They’re definitely not normal civilians,” is Aizawa’s verdict. He’s camped out in the corner of the room like he’s trying to become one with the shadows there, his back to the wall.

“I thought so too,” Nedzu agrees idly.

“I haven’t seen much from Kuzuryu,” Aizawa mumbles into his scarf. “But there’s definitely something going on with Hinata, and Komaeda isn’t exactly normal either from what I’ve seen.”

Nedzu has watched the footage from the Quirk Apprehension Test.

“They said they didn’t have quirks right?” Aizawa confirms.

“Indeed they did,” Nedzu agrees.

To Detective Tsukauchi no less. And, in spite of the fact that most of their answers were so vague it was impossible to parse anything of real value from them, they’d been upfront about that at least. Even seeming faintly baffled at the idea of quirks.

Hm. Interesting.

“Is it safe for them to stay here?” Aizawa asks bluntly, ever straightforward.

Nedzu is rather fond of that trait of his after spending most of his life in a whirlwind of mind games and hidden motives.

“Better here where we can keep an eye on them then out in the world unsupervised,” Nedzu says.

Aizawa doesn’t seem to completely agree, but he doesn’t verbally disagree either and Nedzu will take what he can get. The file Tsukauchi had delivered this morning sits prominently on his desk. A harrowing reminder of what could be at stake here.

“They’re hiding something from us,” Fuyuhiko says the instant they’re back in their room, scowling heatedly.

“Without a doubt,” Hajime agrees blandly.

“So?” Fuyuhiko asks expectantly, crossing his arms as he leans against the closed door. “What’re we going to do?”

Hajime has a lot of bad experiences with secrets blowing up in his face at the most inopportune time.

Hajime turns to Komaeda. “Any ideas?”

Komaeda smiles. “Oh,” he says, mild as milk. “I might have a few.”

Fuyuhiko actually looks concerned. Hajime almost pities U.A.

“Dude,” Kaminari says. “What happened to your arm?” He asks, staring at Komaeda’s prosthetic.

Apparently tact is dead.

“Dude,” Sero says, staring at Kaminari disbelieving. “You can’t just ask someone that.”

Even Bakugo, who’s been alternating between glaring murder at Komaeda and Midoriya respectively since the start of class, looks wrong footed at this new revelation.

Komaeda blinks, glancing down at his arm as if just remembering the prosthetic is there. “Oh, this?” He gives a wave with said arm. “I cut it off,” he says breezily, smiling vacantly.

Fuyuhiko facepalms.

Hajime stares at the ceiling exasperatedly, almost wishing it would cave in and save them all from this conversation. Almost. He doesn’t want to jinx them.

Kaminari laughs awkwardly. “That’s... that’s a joke right?”

Sero looks like he’s seriously contemplating taping Kaminari’s mouth shut now. It would be an improvement.

Komaeda just continues to smile airily, like none of this has anything to do with him.

Fuyuhiko slams his locker door shut, glaring with vitriol at their gawking classmates. For someone barely taller than 5ft and sporting an impressive baby face Fuyuhiko knows how to shut people up. Ultimate Yakuza indeed.

“How about you all just fuck off and mind your own damn business?” Fuyuhiko snaps, very obviously pissed off and his eyepatch a stark reminder.

None of them like being reminded of how deep the pit Junko Enoshima shoved them into really goes.

“Kuzuryu!” Iida gasps, scandalized as he waves his arms around. “Language!”

Hajime can’t tell if Iida’s brave, oblivious, or suicidal. He’s betting on option 2 though.

“Sorry,” Fuyuhiko says insincerely. “Fuck off please.”

Which likely hadn’t been what Iida was going for, but was probably the best he was going to get.

“Okay,” Hajime interrupts blandly. “I think it’s time to go.”

Preferably before someone ended up in a body bag.

“What the FUCK are you guys wearing?!” Bakugo snaps, his volume never seeming to get any lower than a shout.

It’s probably a valid question considering what everyone else is wearing. The rest of their male classmates are just still too busy awkwardly avoiding looking at them after the locker room incident to ask, and the girls are too polite to do anything but eye them curiously.

Hajime and Fuyuhiko had settled for black suits. Fuyuhiko’s is pinstriped of course. He looks more like himself than he has in days. Komaeda hadn’t even bothered with that level of professionalism; wearing an almost exact copy of what he had in Neo World Program.

When someone from the support course had hesitantly brought up the idea of wearing something more... heroic Fuyuhiko’s response had been a point blank, “I’d rather kill myself.”

The subject had been dropped rather quickly after that.

Fuyuhiko looks just as unimpressed with Bakugo’s question now as he did then. “These are our hero costumes,” he says, palpable disgust on the last two words.

“Oh!” Hagakure says brightly, like she’s had an epiphany. “Are you guys going to be underground heroes?”

Not a bad excuse.

“Sure,” Hajime says vaguely, probably not the least bit convincing. He probably has an Ultimate Acting talent somewhere but honestly, why bother?

Hagakure’s hero costume is literally just a pair of gloves. It’s a smart choice honestly; allowing her to let allies know where she is and communicate silently with hand gestures but easily removable so she can fully utilize her quirk. Hajime briefly wonders if this means she isn’t wearing anything else- and nope. Not thinking about it.

Hopefully though the school would’ve found a way to keep one of their students from walking around completely naked; regardless of if anyone else can see them. The longer they stay here the more often Hajime wonders how U.A.—and Hope’s Peak for that matter—hasn’t been sued within an inch of its life.

“Like fuck!” Bakugo exclaims. “Are you shitheads even taking this seriously?!”

“Not really, no,” Hajime says bluntly.

Fuyuhiko snorts at his frank response and Komaeda’s smile ticks up into something realer. Hajime will take his wins where he can get them.

“HAH?!” A vein pops on Bakugo’s face, clearly displeased about his answer. “Then why are you extras even here!? GET LOST!”

“I could say the same about you,” Komaeda comments, innocence turned up to eleven.

“Oh snap,” Ashido gasps dramatically in the background.

“You got something to say Dead Boy Walking?!” Bakugo snarls like a particularly ferocious dog.

The nickname fits, Hajime thinks wryly. Probably a little too well actually; even if Bakugo was likely only referencing Komaeda’s ghostly appearance with his white hair and sickly pale skin.

Komaeda raises his hands in surrender, laughing nervously and smiling sweetly in a placating manner. His words are none of the above though. “Oh, I just meant that you act like such a stereotypical villain that it’s hard to picture you as a hero.”

“Oh shit,” Sero whispers into the harsh silence.

“Shots fired,” Asui agrees, her voice an odd croak.

“Where’s the fucking popcorn when you need it?” Fuyuhiko wonders aloud.

All Might takes that moment to gracelessly interrupt with the day’s activity. It kind of backfires.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Bakugo explodes, almost literally.

“All partnerships are final,” All Might insists, smile carved like marble onto his face.

Bakugo turns to glare at Komaeda, who beams back sunnily. “I look forward to working with you,” Komaeda says brightly. Hostility doesn’t really mean anything substantial to Komaeda; assuming he can even recognize it.

Hajime feels like he’s watching a catastrophe in motion.

Bakugo looks like he wants to go for Murder Attempt Number 3.

“So,” All Might forges on bravely, “with our villain team decided the hero team will be: Midoriya and Yaoyorozu.”

Based on Midoriya’s terrified squeak this is the stuff of his nightmares—and Bakugo’s dreams considering his bloodthirsty smile.

This is going to end badly.

“I’ll pray for you,” Hajime tells Midoriya seriously.

Midoriya, strangely enough, doesn’t look comforted. Or any less likely to collapse into a puddle of anxiety. Yaoyorozu looks like she’s having second thoughts about everything. Smart girl.

“They’re so dead,” Fuyuhiko says to Hajime the instant the two pairings head for the training grounds.

“Wait, how do you know that?” Kirishima asks curiously.

Fuyuhiko snorts. “Because it’s Komaeda.”

There’s the sound of distant explosions.

Momo feels a little bad about leaving Midoriya behind but part of being a hero is having faith in your comrades. She would just have to trust that he could hold his own for now.

“I was wondering when you’d show up,” Komaeda says lightly, even going so far as to give her a friendly little wave using his flesh and blood hand from where he stands in front of the bomb. His smile is serene. Like Momo doesn’t even register as a threat to him.

Momo doesn’t know much about Komaeda’s quirk but it seems to be something to do with luck or probability based on what she gathered yesterday.

“You’re welcome to try and stop me,” Komaeda adds casually to Momo’s silence, slipping his hands into his pockets.

His smile is lovely. So lovely it sends a jolt of terror down Momo’s spine.

“But, well, you probably shouldn’t push your luck,” Komaeda says  kindly—almost sheepishly—like he’s giving advice rather than issuing a warning. Momo isn’t about to turn back now though.

Momo takes a step forward-

The loudest explosion yet rings throughout the building-

The building caves in beneath her feet-

-and Komaeda’s still smiling.

The screens they’re watching abruptly cut to black as the entire building collapses. All Might’s smile is frozen in what might be panic. The room is dead silent.

“This kind of shit is exactly why we don’t separate Hajime and Komaeda,” Fuyuhiko says into the appropriately terrified silence.

“Exactly?” Jirou repeats dubiously.

“Exactly,” Hajime confirms blandly to the stunned room, expression flat enough to cut yourself on.

Fuyuhiko thinks Hajime should just be happy that Komaeda hadn’t planned on blowing up the building this time. Well, probably. Komaeda’s solutions to most problems were murder and terrorism after all.

Uraraka lets out a strangled noise. “Are- are they alive?” she squeaks out, hand pressed to her mouth in horror.

“Probably,” Hajime says noncommittally, sounding bored.

Fuyuhiko honestly can’t tell if he made some Ultimate Bullshit Calculations in his head to come to that conclusion or if he just has that much faith in Komaeda’s luck. Either way Fuyuhiko’s willing to take his word on it.

“So, uh, what do we even do now that there’s been, you know, an actual emergency?” Kaminari wonders out loud, scratching his head.

On cue panicked yelling breaks out among their classmates and All Might’s still smiling—however strained—as he desperately tries reassure them. In the chaos no one notices Hajime slipping out of the room and Fuyuhiko smirks quietly.

The file is waiting on the top of Nedzu’s desk like it was set out for Hajime to find. Maybe it was. Inside are gruesome pictures; bodies torn apart and used like dolls. The back wall is painted in blood with the words:

tHis WoRLd iS oUrs nOW

And, most damning of all, covering almost every inch of the wall in overlapping writing is:

dEsPAir

The file is dated on the day Hajime and the others arrived. Hajime closes his eyes. The Remnants of Despair came with them.

Chapter Text

Izuku coughs. It’s dark and dusty and he feels like he can’t breathe.

Oh god, where is he?

“Oh good, you’re awake,” says a light voice. “I was starting to worry.”

It takes a moment for him to place it, squinting at the darkness pressing in around him. “Komaeda?” He croaks.

“And you’re lucid! That makes this easier,” says that same bright voice, at odds with everything else around him. An ocean of calm that cannot be moved.

“What-“ Izuku hacks out cough, awkwardly pushing himself even as his body aches in protest. “What happened?”

“You don’t remember?” There’s something about the mild disappointment and borderline condescension in that voice that makes Izuku want to curl up in shame. “I believe Bakugo let out quite a nasty attack and ended up caving in the building.” A long suffering sigh. “What bad luck honestly.”

Izuku remembers a deafening boom- the heat of an explosion- the walls coming down- and then nothing.

Izuku’s eyes are adjusting now, able to make out the vague outline of Komaeda sitting lackadaisically in dark, leaning idly back against a piece of rubble. And another prone figure laying near him.

“Who’s-?”

“Yaoyorozu,” Komaeda answers and Izuku thinks he can make out the shadow of his sweet smile. Izuku shudders. “Apparently we were right above you so when the building came down we landed near each other. She’s still unconscious, though it’s too dark for me to tell much else.”

Izuku tries to swallow but his throat is dry and caked with dust. He coughs again, pressing a hand to mouth and feeling something dripping down his forehead. It takes him a moment to identify the taste of iron catching on his lips. Blood?

“Kacchan?” He asks anyway, trying to breath through his panic.

The darkness makes the space feel too small. Too cramped.

“No idea,” Komaeda says indifferently; tone still that same unshakable, empty cheerfulness that makes Izuku feel cold.

Like Komaeda couldn’t care less what happened to Kacchan. Like he could be dead and Komaeda would still be smiling like it couldn’t even touch him.

“This is perfect though,” Komaeda says brightly.

They’re tapped beneath a building, Kacchan could be dead, and Yaoyorozu could be dying. What about this is ‘perfect’?

Don’t you care? Izuku wants to ask but can’t find his voice underneath his crushing panic.

“I wanted to ask you some questions,” Komaeda continues airily. “As an aspiring hero I mean.”

Izuku feels like a mouse trapped in front of cat. Like he’s being toyed with for entertainment.

“If you died right now,” Komaeda says with a smile that somehow edges into sinister despite being completely unchanged. “How would you feel?”

Izuku swallows thickly and presses further back into the rubble behind him.

In Hajime’s opinion it doesn’t turn out too badly, but then his perspective might be a bit skewed.

Komaeda comes out without a scratch on him. Which shouldn’t even be possible but that pretty much sums up his entire existence so. The greatest tragedy here is his ruined jacket and the amount of conditioner it will take to get his hair color back to white. The whole experience probably doesn’t even reach Komaeda’s top 100 Most Traumatizing Experiences.

Bakugo has a broken leg but is cursing up a storm; so he’s probably alright. Yaoyorozu is unconscious with a concussion but that’s what Recovery Girl is for. Hajime is suddenly feeling enlightened on how the school hasn’t been sued yet.

Midoriya is arguably the worst off. His injuries are relatively minor, with only a few cuts here and there, but he’s also the poor bastard that had to spend a whole hour alone, fully conscious, with Nagito Komaeda. Even now Midoriya is sending Komaeda increasingly unnerved looks every few seconds. Which is a pretty typical symptom to continued exposure to Komaeda.

Hajime decides he’ll only really start to worry if Midoriya starts going off on hope tangents.

But no one’s dead; which makes for a successful day in Hajime’s book.

All Might is the only real casualty and that’s only because Aizawa is going to murder him. May he rest in pieces. And peace, Hajime supposes wryly. As it is Hajime is pretty sure All Might’s been banned from interacting with the class without some form of adult supervision. According to Aizawa, All Might no longer counts as a responsible adult.

The Number 1 Hero ladies and gentlemen.

Fuyuhiko actually claps watching the verbal beat down, impressed, with Komaeda cheerfully following suit. Hajime is pretty sure he saw more than a few people recording the entire thing on their phones.

“The rest of the activity has been postponed until tomorrow,” Aizawa mumbles once they return to their classroom, Bakugo and Yaoyorozu still in the infirmary. “For now I’ll have you pick a class representative since we were going to do that tomorrow instead. I have a meeting. Don’t get me unless someone is dying. Again.”

With those cheerful parting words Aizawa retreats to his sleeping bag and out of the classroom. It’s a mistake on his part.

It almost immediately becomes a riot afterwords. It’s the battle of The Class Representatives. Hajime imagines this is how this world will end.

It’s utter chaos.

Chairs and desks are thrown around- Ashido accidentally melts part of the blackboard. Kirishima somehow punches a hole through the wall. Tokoyami and Midoriya are huddled under their desks for safety. Aoyama is taking a selfie for whatever reason and Kaminari just tripped over Koda, who has just curled up into a ball on the floor and given up entirely.

Komaeda is the eye of the storm; untouchable and equally unflappable by everything happening around him. His level of aplomb is enviable as a ruler sails past his face and he smiles like this is all a pleasant afternoon tea time.

“What a mad banquet of darkness,” Tokoyami says, hunkered down behind Komaeda.

Hajime absently tilts his head just enough to avoid the pencil case that comes flying at him.

Fuyuhiko doesn’t actually care about becoming class representative at all, but he’s trying his damndest to murder Mineta after he caught him trying to look up the girl’s skirts.

And even then Hajime doesn’t think Fuyuhiko actually cares that much about Mineta’s behavior, exactly. More likely he’s simply using it as an excuse to… exercise his frustrations out onto an acceptable target. Either way it’s working.

“You try that again-” Fuyuhiko growls at Mineta, a death toll sounding. Hajime makes the sign of the cross, pressing his hands together in prayer, all without a change in expression. “-and I’m going to nail your fucking balls to the goddamn wall. And I don’t just mean your hair,” he stresses.

Jirou emphatically applauds, giving a standing ovation, and that is definitely Hagakure recording the whole thing on her phone.

Mineta looks like his entire life is flashing before his eyes, trembling tearfully. Komaeda helpfully hands him a paper and pencil to write his Will with, all with a smile. Komaeda will probably be the one to “helpfully” bury his body afterwords too, happily at that.

Unlike Fuyuhiko Komaeda likely does actually care about the girls’ dignity, in that weirdly nice guy way of his that tends to get forgotten beneath his layers of crazy.

“Hit him harder!” Uraraka cheers, punching a fist up into the air.

“Uraraka?!” Midoriya exclaims in shock, gaping up at her from where he’s still hiding under his desk for safety.

“Make him suffer!” Ashido crows gleefully.

“Kuzuryu, please put down the desk!” Iida yells from the front of the classroom, frantically waving his arms.

And that’s how Fuyuhiko reluctantly becomes the Class Representative, with Iida as the Vice Representative, and Aizawa almost kills them when he gets back to find the classroom destroyed.

Hajime doesn’t quite understand the odd, almost melancholic, looks on both Komaeda and Fuyuhiko’s face as Fuyuhiko is named the class representative though.

“What’s wrong?” Hajime asks bluntly, voice pitched low enough to avoid being carried; his eyebrows furrowed as everyone else gets up to leave for the day.

Komaeda just smiles wistfully, hair still dyed a light brown from the dust and debris earlier, as Fuyuhiko studiously stares out the window.

“Did you know Chiaki was our Class Representative?” Komaeda asks kindly, voice soft with a reverence that he only reserves for her and Makoto.

The information still feel like a punch to the gut as much as the name and reminder it brings does.

“Oh,” Hajime says blankly.

(-a puddle of red- a Galaga pin- tears- why?)

“Was she good at it?” Hajime finds himself asking, unable to manage any other tone aside from blank.

“The best,” Fuyuhiko says roughly. It’s raw and it hurts and it’s honest.

Komaeda slowly grabs Hajime’s hand under the table. “We couldn’t have asked for a better one,” he assures brightly.

“Though she did always make us play stupid games together,” Fuyuhiko laments without any real irritation, cheek resting on a loose fist.

Hajime lets out a choked laugh. “That sounds like her.” Hajime squeezes Komaeda’s hand, focusing on the warmth of it.

“I’m sure you’ll do great,” Komaeda tells Fuyuhiko brightly.

“You think?” Fuyuhiko says dubiously, crossing his arms.

“Of course,” Hajime agrees, smiling.

This too is another step in the right direction in its own way.

“Shit,” Fuyuhiko sums up later when Hajime tells them what he found out. “They’re like fucking cockroaches. They just won’t fucking die,” he gripes.

It’s not a bad description honestly.

They’re sitting outside for once, because Hajime has considered the possibility of their dorms being bugged. The sun is setting, there’s a stray leaf in Komaeda’s hair, and Fuyuhiko is halfway through teaching him how to make a flower crown. Hajime is pretty sure Sonia’s to blame for that knowledge. There wasn’t a whole lot of entertainment on an abandoned island overgrown with wildlife while almost everyone else was still comatose.

“The teachers probably think we’re terrorists,” Komaeda comments pleasantly.

They wouldn’t exactly be wrong in that assumption either, Hajime thinks wryly.

“What should we do?” Fuyuhiko asks seriously, flower crown crooked on his head; meeting Hajime’s mismatched eyes.

Hajime sighs, allowing himself to run a hand through his hair in a show of frustration. “Frankly, there isn’t much we can do stuck in school like this.”

Komaeda hums thoughtfully, staring into the distance. “We can’t,” he stresses almost absently, musing aloud.

Komaeda thinking is always a bad sign. Hajime and Fuyuhiko send him identically suspicious looks.

“Oh,” Komaeda says sheepishly, catching their looks, and raising his hands in surrender. “Don’t mind me! Just the thoughts of a nobody,” he says breezily.

Hajime flicks his forehead for the self deprecating comment.

“Just don’t do anything too crazy,” Hajime says dryly because he has little faith in his ability to stop Komaeda without taking drastic measures—like chaining him up. And Hajime’s not Kazuichi.

But Komaeda’s already giving him that vacant smile of his. The one that says ‘thank you very much for your input, but I'm going to ignore or miss the point of absolutely everything you just said’ and some battles just aren’t worth fighting Hajime thinks.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Komaeda blatantly lies, finishing up his own flower crown.

It’s not actually half bad. Some of the flowers got a little crushed and bruised in the process, and it’s not quite as neat as Fuyuhiko’s, but it’s a functional flower crown nonetheless. Komaeda plops it onto Hajime’s head.

“It looks good on you,” Komaeda says brightly, with a smile that should not be adorable considering everything.

Hajime will not blush. He will not blush.  Don’t fucking blush-

Fuyuhiko snorts at the look on his face and Hajime glares at him.

The alleyway is dark and shadowed in the night. A man strolls down it idly, pausing as something crosses his path. A hamster blinks up at him.

“What the-“

The last things he sees is a flash of silver hair, the blood red eyes of a demon, and his blood blooming across the ground.

Battle Trial Part 2, Hajime thinks dryly. Now with the added addition of Aizawa glaring at All Might from a dark corner like a creature of the night. All Might’s smile looks decidedly nervous now.

And, of course-

“How the fuck did you become class representative?!” Bakugo demands when he finds out.

Kirishima mouths ‘sorry’ to them from behind him with a sheepish smile, explaining how he found out.

“I don’t fucking know!” Fuyuhiko snaps back, bristling.

Hajime has the sudden image of a cat and dog fighting. Or maybe a kitten and chihuahua fighting. That seems more accurate.

Yaoyorozu, the only other person to miss the warfare raged in the classroom, blinks in innocent surprise. “How did that happen?”

“He murdered Mineta,” Hajime deadpans without looking up, scrolling through recent news articles on his new phone. Aizawa had literally chucked the phone at his face this morning.

(“They’re bugged aren’t they?” Fuyuhiko had deadpanned, dangling his phone between his thumb and pointer finger like it was cursed.

“Probably,” Hajime commented idly, fiddling with his phone.

Komaeda had just peered down at his own phone curiously. Hajime honestly wouldn’t have been surprised to find out Komaeda hadn’t owned a phone before.

Or at least had never owned the same one for longer than a week.)

Fuyuhiko scowls at him. It’s more cute than intimidating honestly. “I did fucking not.”

“Don’t worry,” Hagakure is quick to reassure, “it was very cool.”

Uraraka and Ashido nod sagely in agreement. Asui even gives Fuyuhiko a thumbs up.

“Bro, I think even I fell in love with you a little,” Sero says seriously, pressing a hand to his heart.

Fuyuhiko makes a face at all the praise.

“I’m not dead!” Mineta protests, still very much alive and a testament to Recovery Girl’s treatment. And keeping a 10ft distance between him and Fuyuhiko at all times.

“Sometimes we can still hear his voice,” Kaminari adds, pretending to wipe a tear from his eye.

Yaoyorozu looks like she regrets asking at all.

Komaeda just beams at Fuyuhiko, grasping his hands. “I’m so glad your hope is shining so brightly,” he says with utmost sincerity. There’s actual tears in his eyes.

“What the fuck,” Jirou says emphatically, mouth a flat—unimpressed—line, as she looks at the spectacle.

A fair response to Komaeda.

“No one will ever find your body,”  Fuyuhiko warns Komaeda’s smiling face, shoving him away—but not nearly as roughly as he could have.

Hajime ducks his head to hide his amused smile behind his phone.

Chapter Text

Shouta isn’t being payed enough for this.

“I think the three of them are demons sent from hell to torture me,” Shouta mutters, face down on his desk.

Hizashi laughs, if only because he probably doesn’t realize quite how serious Shouta is about this. “They’re not that bad.”

Shouta lifts his head just enough to give Hizashi a flat look. Everyone has heard about Training Incident. (‘Incident’ and not ‘accident’, Shouta had noted with increasing exhaustion). And that’s not an exaggeration. Literally everyone has.

Including the damn reporters camped outside; now harping at U.A. about ‘safety precautions’ and the ‘wellbeing of the students’ like that had ever mattered to them before now. Hero work isn’t safe. That’s fact, as much as the public likes to pretend otherwise.

“They’re menaces. To society.”

Hizashi concedes to his pointed look and words with a sheepish grin. “Accidents happen, you know that,” he says, apologetic but honest.

Shouta does.

Hero training is meant to prepare the students for these kinds of risks. That’s the job. Even if Shouta kind of wishes they hadn’t just been thrown into the deep end like that.

(Shouta might be harboring a slight, minuscule, inconsequential grudge against All Might for the whole mess. Whatever. All Might will survive.

.

.

.

.

.

Probably.)

If nothing else the whole disaster had only driven home that All Might shouldn’t be left alone with rambunctious teenagers unsupervised. Which was now also Shouta’s job. Joy.

“They’re walking disasters,” Shouta says instead, shifting the conversation back on topic.

Hizashi lets him and Shouta remembers why he keeps him around at all. “Aren’t all teenagers,” he teases lightly.

“Not like this,” Shouta deadpans; even if you ignore the fact that they’re actually 23 and hardly teenagers at all.

Dimensional travelers aren’t exactly something you stumble across everyday (or ever), much less ones so obviously suspicious.

“Keep an eye on them,” Nedzu had said. Easier said than done, Shouta thinks dryly.

Nagito Komaeda practically radiates sketchiness behind his mild smile and ever present politeness. His mere presence alone has already damaged the structural integrity of two buildings (that Shouta knows of) despite him practically being on death’s door already. According to Recovery Girl he should have been dead years ago.

Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu is a blatant terror and doesn’t bother pretending to be anything else—seeming to have made it his mission in life to be as uncooperative as possible. Shouta gets a headache just looking at him.

Hajime Hinata is a menace but at least he’s quieter—and subtler—about it in comparison to the other two; phone incident aside. Even if he does seem to be playing some kind of mental chess game with Nedzu.

Shouta doesn’t even want to know.

(Sometimes Shouta wonders why he bothers with doing anything. And then he remembers the invaluable existence of caffeine and cats.

The only two things the Universe got right in his opinion.)

Shouta sighs tiredly, head dropping to meet his desk again, and Hizashi pats him on the back sympathetically—his wide grin ruining the effort entirely.

Uraraka and Fuyuhiko are picked for the hero team.

(“Team Cute,” Sero whispers in the background. Ashido giggles.

“No, no, no,” Kaminari says. “Wait for it...” He pauses dramatically. “Team Sweet Cheeks.”

Sero stares at him in awe. “Bro,” he breathes. “It’s perfect.”

“You’re both idiots,” Jirou deadpans.

“You shits just really want to die today, huh?” Fuyuhiko says bluntly; skipping straight past anger and indignation and right into plotting their untimely murder.

It’s a stark contrast from Uraraka’s embarrassed blush that’s launching a takeover over the entirety of her face. From the looks of it the blush is winning.

Komaeda just pats Fuyuhiko’s shoulder comfortingly. It doesn’t really work considering the next words out of his mouth are, “Don’t worry, I think you’re very cute. I mean, you’re not Hajime but...”

As always Komaeda has the innate talent to completely miss the point of something while saying exactly the wrong thing. Not for the first time Hajime wonders if Komaeda is trying to coax Fuyuhiko into committing an actual homicide or if that's just the general effect Komaeda has on people. Hajime’s pretty sure it’s the latter, but he also can’t discount the former because Komaeda’s just that crazy regardless of how many therapy sessions Hajime has with him.

“Another word and you start losing fingers,” Fuyuhiko warns, looking like he’s ready burn down another world if that’s what it takes to get Komaeda to shut up.

“Huh?” Komaeda says, completely clueless. Hajime should probably not find it adorable but here he is anyway. “Why?”

Fuyuhiko doesn’t deign that with an answer beyond a sour look.

“Are we just ignoring to ignore his comment about Hajime?” Jirou asks the room.

“Yes,” Hajime deadpans, staring up at ceiling—one of the tiles is cracked, he notes—and regrets every choice he has ever made to get to this point. There are a lot. Most of them have to do with Hope’s Peak.

“You’re all fucking idiots,” Bakugo announces, sounding like their very existence disgusts him.

He’s not wrong.)

Ashido and Shoji are the villain team. Hajime doesn’t even need his Ultimate Analyst talent to tell him how this will end.

“Good luck,” Komaeda tells Fuyuhiko brightly.

Hajime doesn’t know how Komaeda can say that with a straight face considering his... everything.

“Shut the fuck up, you’ll jinx it,” Fuyuhiko says bluntly.

Hajime chokes on air, coughing.

It goes like this:

“Give us the fucking bomb,” Fuyuhiko demands, pressing a gun to Uraraka’s head.

There’s a long, long silence.

(“Is this even allowed?” Kaminari asks as Fuyuhiko stands off against Shoji and Ashido with his tranquilizer gun pressed to Uraraka’s head.

Apparently Fuyuhiko had decided to take the ‘Hero’ part of his role and ball it up before remorselessly tossing it into the trash.

Iida stares at the screen, utterly aghast at the very sight of someone using such unheroic means.

All Might’s smile is decidedly unsure. “It’s... not not against the rules,” he settles on uneasily.

Aizawa snorts in the background, cocooned in his sleeping bag and very obviously Not Helping.

“No, wait, wait, wait-“ Sero interrupts, flapping a hand at the screen. “-back up. He gets a gun?”

“Tranquilizer,” Hajime corrects blandly. “Apparently heroes without perfect trajectory control don’t get ‘real’ guns.” The quotation marks are audible.

Fuyuhiko had been... less than happy to find that out. Safety laws didn’t mean much to Fuyuhiko considering the environment he’d grown up in.

Sero opens and closes his mouth. “That’s fair,” he eventually decides.)

Shoji and Ashido seem equally as cluelessly about how to handle these turn of events.

“I... don’t think this is how it’s supposed to go,” Shoji offers somewhat dryly.

“Says who?” Fuyuhiko asks dismissively, gun still pressed to Uraraka’s head.

It’s probably for the best that they’re around the same height or this would be a lot more undignified. As it is—using Uraraka as a shield—Fuyuhiko unceremoniously shoots the Villain Team; pink paint splattering across their costumes as they’re ‘killed’.

“Hey!” Ashido yelps in surprise and indignation, her and Shoji both too startled to move in time.

The whole thing is over in less than five minutes.

(Komaeda is the only one that claps in the dumb silence that follows Fuyuhiko’s win.

“What the FUCK!” Bakugo yells angrily at the screen.)

And then it’s Hajime’s turn.

A girl sits at a table in the back of a bar. Silver hair worn in two braids and eyes like blood that never miss a thing. A sword rests almost innocuously at her side, propped up against the table.

“Would like a drink?” Giran tries, aiming for affable. It’s a good strategy to have friendly relations with his customers.

Peko looks deeply unimpressed by it. “No,” she says bluntly, tone brooking no argument.

Paranoid, this one.

Giran decides to make a tactical retreat. “Excellent work on your last job,” he comments, smirking at her from across the table.

“Your flattery means nothing to me,” Peko says cooly, sitting with all the dignity of a queen on her throne.

Giran doesn’t doubt it. He laughs anyway, sliding over a stack of money. “Of course, of course. Still, the client was very happy with your work.”

Peko picks up the money indifferently, smoothly counting out the bills. The woman is a mystery. She appeared out of the blue one day and nothing Giran tried dug up any information on her. It’s a first for him.

“Your friends aren’t here with you?” Giran asks idly, lighting his cigarette.

Peko pauses, gaze sharp enough to kill as it pins him in place. “They’re none of your concern,” she warns coldly. The temperature might have dropped a few degrees.

A hand rests lightly on her blade now. Only a fool wouldn’t recognize the implied threat. Giran isn’t a fool. He raises his hands in surrender.

“I actually have another job offer for you, though it’s a bit unusual,” he offers under the pretense of a peace offering.

Peko glances up, expression unreadably neutral as light glints off of her glasses. That he has her attention at all is a silent question in and of itself.

Giran smirks. “It’s about a group called the League of Villains. Apparently, they’re hiring. Thoughts?”

“This might be a little difficult,” Hajime mutters, staring stoically down at Todoroki and Asui from the window.

Only a little though.

“What’s the plan monsieur?” Aoyama asks, his smile an unmovable thing and his hands framing his face. His eyes actually twinkle.

Yuga Aoyama is the kind of eccentric that can rival Gundham Tanaka on his worst days and could commit murder and probably get off with an insanity defense.

It’s been awhile, Hajime thinks, since he has been so out of his depth on how to handle someone. It reminds him a bit of how he felt when Komaeda was introducing to all the other Ultimates on Jabberwock Island; baffled and with a healthy dose of ‘how are you real?’

It’s almost nostalgic.

Hajime smiles. It’s an objectively nice smile. Attractive even.

(“Ah,” Komaeda says softly in realization at the sight of said smile over the screen. His smile looks almost pitying if you squint and tilt your head just so.

“They’re so fucking dead,” Fuyuhiko says almost idly, absently loosening his tie.

Kirishima glances between them. “What?” He asks, blessedly oblivious and obviously confused.

Neither answer.

It doesn’t matter what happens next—the battle has already been decided and they both know it.)

The hallways are quiet.

“Are you sure about this Todoroki?” Asui— “Call me Tsu!” —asks, trailing behind him.

“We don’t have a choice,” Shouto answers indifferently as they slowly make their way further into the building.

Shouto would’ve just frozen the entire building but it’s a little risky without knowing their location. He doesn’t want to accidentally kill them. Plus the last thing Shouto wants is to recreate the Training Incident from yesterday.

Which leaves them with hunting down Hinata and Aoyama the old fashioned way. Shouto isn’t exactly thrilled about it either.

“True,” Asui croaks in agreement, thoughtful.

Shouto takes a moment to appreciate how reasonable—and sane—she is in comparison to the disaster that is the rest of their class. At least one of them has their priorities in order.

The hallways are still dead silent.

... Too silent, Shouto realizes.

Where are Asui’s footsteps behind him?

“Asui?” Shouto calls, turning, but there’s no one behind one. Just an empty hallway.

That’s probably bad.

Shouto is starting think he’s made a miscalculation. Or several.

He squints through the steam, trying to make out anything beyond shadows and movement that might be all in his head. Several pipes had burst earlier, clogging up the hallway and limiting his field of vision. Shouto is fairly certain it’s intentional.

The ceiling above him caves in forcing him to throw himself out of the way, carefully keeping a mental track of where the walls are. He’s tried freezing it but it was honestly more difficult to navigate around his ice—and not accidentally injure himself by unfreezing the rubble stuck in it and risk getting hit by the debris in the ice—than it is to just dodge it entirely. Shouto’s pretty sure that’s part of the plan—or a plan.

While Shouto may have been concerned about bringing down the building Hinata and Aoyama do not seem to share the same reticence. Shouto may have been underestimating them.

The plan, from what Shouto can gather, is to limit how much he can use his quirk while simultaneously exhausting him. It’s working honestly. Being in an enclosed hallway is an advantage for his quirk—little chances to miss that way—but not under these circumstances where using it backs him into a corner just as much. Presumably taking Asui, and leaving him without support, is meant to further that.

As it is he’s being herded to right where they want him to be.

It’s... slightly grating, being toyed with and tossed around like this without ever getting so much as a glimpse of his opponents.

Just as Shouto thinks it, as if on cue, he catches a blur out of the corner of his eye, the steam churning at the displacement of air, and then-

Click.

The handcuffs close around Shouto’s wrist before he can even process what happened, leaving him to blink dumbly at his new accessory.

In front of him is Hajime Hinata, looking perfectly pristine and without a speck of dirt on him or his suit.

“The Villain Team wins!” Announces All  Might’s voice from over the speakers.

For the first time in a long time Shouto feels something very close to embarrassment crushing in on him. He’s fairly certain he doesn’t like it.

“All according to le plan,” Aoyama says, winking at air as he poses dramatically.

Hajime doesn’t want to know.

Chapter Text

“Well?” Togami says impatiently, eyes narrowed and a finger tapping impatiently on his crossed arm.

Kazuichi just lets out a frustrated groan, tugging at his hair. There’s grease smeared across his cheek and covering his hands, now getting into his hair too.

“I have no idea what this machine was meant to do,” Kazuichi lays out bluntly. “I’m not even sure how it worked in the first place considering most of this wiring is done wrong.” Kazuichi waves a hand towards the space he took the panelling off to reveals a mess of wires.

Kirigiri doesn’t quite frown as she says flatly, “Komaeda.”

It isn’t a question.

“Komaeda,” Togami agrees, scowl reaching apocalyptic levels.

“Komaeda,” Kazuichi grumbles, muttering under his breath about how physics don’t work like that. Or shouldn’t anyway.

It’s an old complaint. Well worn and familiar.

Kirigiri sighs delicately, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “At least we can probably assume they’re alive,” she notes, sounding clinically detached. “I doubt Komaeda’s or Hajime’s luck would let them be killed off so easily.”

Good point. It’s about the only reliable point they have right now.

Kirigiri stares stoically at the machine, a loose fist balanced beneath her chin with the same kind of thoughtfulness Kazuichi has seen her give particularly difficult cases.

Togami is staring at the machine like the force of his gaze alone will be enough to make it bow down to him and reveal all it’s secrets. Kazuichi wishes it was that easy. It would certainly make his job easier.

“But- but then,” Mikan speaks up hesitantly, flinching slightly when they turn to look at her, “where are th-they?”

“That’s the question now isn’t it?” Kirigiri murmurs, more to herself than anyone else.

The silence that follows feels stifling.

“Don’t worry!” Ibuki interrupts cheerily, throwing her arms around Mikan and earning a squeak from said girl. “I’m sure they’re fine!”

Ibuki’s optimism is contagious and spreads accordingly.

Akane grins, smacking a fist into her palm. “Of course they are! None of them would go down easily.”

Nekomaru nods sagely in agreement next to her and Mikan manages a weak, tremulous smile at them all; still clearly worried.

Kazuichi rubs a hand down his face, shoulders slumped over and looking patently exhausted. “I’ll keep looking into it,” he says knocking lightly on the metal behemoth behind him. “But don’t get your hopes up.”

Togami nods regally at this. “Do what you can.”

From anyone else the words might be encouragement. Coming from Togami they sound like a command. Nothing more and nothing less.

“The rest of your class will be arriving in few days,” Togami adds, somewhat sourly, too deliberate for it to really be considered an afterthought.

“That’s great!” Ibuki cheers, a ball of energy fixed with a jump cable and given human form.

Kazuichi doesn’t know where she gets it all. Though that might just be because he’s running on about five hours of sleep.

Even the thought of seeing Sonia isn’t enough to erase Kazuichi’s pensive frown as he stares at the machine. He mentally roles up his sleeves. Time to get back to work.

Wait for us, he thinks fiercely.

U.A.’s cafeteria, like most things with U.A., is both giant, functional and expensive. Which just about sums up U.A.’s entire aesthetic.

Bakugo glares murder at them—per usual. Kaminari steals a bite of food from his plate, making him whip his head around to explode—literally and figuratively—at him. Sero and Mina laugh, Kirishima grinning in amusement.

Todoroki is just staring dead at Hajime with a look of intense focus. That might become a problem at some point.

Meanwhile Midoriya is sending Komaeda increasingly frequent glances with varying amounts of wariness and curiosity. Hajime will likely have to deal with that at some point too.

At the same table as Midoriya Uraraka waves at Fuyuhiko cheerfully as he passes by.

“Who the fuck do I need to kill to get a cup of coffee around here?” Fuyuhiko grumbles, plopping down grumpily onto Hajime’s right—his tray noticeably absent of any coffee.

Aoyama’s eyes twinkle—literally—with amusement across from him. “There’s probably some in the teachers lounge Monsieur Fuyuhiko,” he comments lightly, smile as pleasant as can be.

“Please don’t give him ideas,” Hajime says, something equal parts exasperated and pleading entering his voice.

Hagakure just giggles. “You guys were amazing earlier,” she praises, tone chirpy in its cheer.

“ Oui ,” Aoyama agrees immediately, smile luminous.

Komaeda must have been taking notes from Aoyama because his smile sparkles. “Of course they were,” he says brightly, with the utmost confidence. “Especially with their hope shining so brightly-“

Hajime shoves a piece of toast into Komaeda’s mouth. It’s multipurpose in that it simultaneously shuts him up and gives him nutrients because, somehow, Hajime has become Komaeda’s keeper. Komaeda obediently chews, unfazed and still smiling.

“I can’t believe this place is still running,” Fuyuhiko comments incredulously, obviously sour, waving his chopsticks as if to encompass the entirety of U.A. “They literally have an entire fucking city in their backyard. Where the fuck do they get the money for all this shit?”

And it is an entire  city . Existing for the sole purpose of hero-to-be’s to have something they can safely destroy. That definitely felt like overkill—even if the need for it was understandable on some levels.

“It’s not an actual city,” Hagakure says, her sleeve moving in front of her in an approximation of someone waving their hand back and forth. “It’s mostly just some buildings. None of them even have proper heating or electric systems beyond some lighting. And with Cementos they’re probably pretty easy to repair.”

“Who?” Fuyuhiko asks flatly, nonplussed.

“He’s another hero that works here,” Hagakure explains cheerily, taking a bite of food. It’s odd watching her eat, the food slowly disappearing into what looks like thin air in bite sized chunks. “He can manipulate cement.”

If Hagakure finds the gaps in their knowledge odd then she’s kind enough to stay quiet about it. Without an expression to gage it’s difficult to tell how much Hagakure knows—or at least suspects—at any given moment.

Fuyuhiko lowers his chopsticks. “That sounds way too fucking convenient,” he says, squinting suspiciously into the distance. “They just happen to have a guy that can instantly repair buildings on their staff?” Fuyuhiko almost sounds annoyed at how perfectly it all matches up.

“Principal Nedzu handpicks the staff,” Aoyama offers, smiling, hands framing his face and eyes glittering.

“That explains a lot,” Hajime says vaguely.

Recovery Girl for the students and Cementos for the property damage. A perfect combo really. No wonder U.A. hasn’t been sued yet. They have an air tight excuse and way out for everything.

Whatever the two of them are being paid it isn’t nearly enough.

“U.A. also has a lot of sponsors,” Hagakure adds, her chopsticks swishing absently through the air. “With a lot of them being former students. School pride and all that.”

Hajime’s lips form a flat line.

With every big name in Japan backing them—including their former students—Hope’s Peak had practically been a kingdom onto itself, existing outside of even the law in some cases.

( “You’re Izuru Kamukura.” )

U.A. was not Hope’s Peak. But sometimes it was difficult not to see the similarities between the two.

And, of course, that’s when the alarm goes off.

“That doesn’t sound good,” Komaeda says, a bit redundantly as everyone panics around them. He actually sounds concerned too, frowning ever so slightly. He also doesn’t make any move to get up.

Hajime feels immune to panic at this point in his life, propping his chin on his hand with a bored expression as he idly tracks the movements of the students.

“Um,” Hagakure says, sounding nervous and fiddling with her uniform skirt. “Should we... move?”

Aoyama’s smile might as well have been chiseled out of stone but even he looks unsure.

Fuyuhiko just squints at the ceiling, ignoring the screaming students running past—one particular kid even going so far as to vault over their table. Iida would have thrown a fit. “I thought this place was supposed to be armed to the teeth? How the fuck did something happen?”

Something besides us, Fuyuhiko doesn’t say because. Well. Extenuating circumstances and all that.

“I guess we’ll see,” Hajime says indifferently, having memorized U.A.’s security by this point.

U.A. is built like a veritable fortress. Hajime is pretty sure there are actual fortresses with less security on them.

More concerning though, “Fuyuhiko,” Komaeda says, pleasant as a spring day even as mayhem continues around them, smile sweet and eyes unsettlingly blank. “Can I borrow your tranquilizer gun?”

“Mahiru?” Saionji tries for the third time.

Mahiru’s gaze is fixed firmly out over the sea, eyes distant—it’s an expression Saionji finds herself disliking more and more the more often she sees it. Limited not only to distant views but also plates of food, nearby walls, and Mahiru’s camera lens.

Saionji hates it.

It makes Mahiru feel a thousand miles away even when Saionji is standing right next to her.

“Mahiru!” Saionji says more forcefully, only not contemplating pushing her off the boat for ignoring—not noticing, same difference—her because it’s Mahiru.

Mahiru blinks, jerking out of her thoughts to finally grace Saionji with the warm smile that Mahiru always has preprepared for her. “Yes Saionji?” She asks kindly, green eyes once again focused.

Saionji frowns judgmentally at her. “You’re worrying too much,” she declares.

Behind them Teruteru makes a sound that could be badly muffled laughter. Or him choking on his own spit and finally dying. Saionji can only hope.

Once again Mahiru blinks, looking vaguely startled before her smile reappears. “Am I?”

“You are,” Saionji reaffirms with all the authority of someone used to being listened to. “They’ll be fine,” she says, cutting to the chase. “They’re like really, really, really annoying cockroaches.”

Saionji almost sounds annoyed herself. As if their ability to survive through near anything is more regretful than anything else.

Mahiru laughs and it’s a relief after days trapped on a ship full of pensive silences. “I suppose you’re right,” she concedes, hand over her mouth like that will put a lid on her amusement.

Saionji sniffs imperiously, sticking her nose up. “I’m always right,” she declares because at least one of them has to keep their spirits up so they’re not all moping lumps of wasted space. And somehow that job has fallen to Saionji. God help them all. “Now help me drag Ryota out of his room,” she orders. “It’s getting downright pathetic to even look in his general direction.”

Mahiru laughs again, letting Saionji cling to her arm and drag her off into the depths of the ship to save Ryota from himself.

“Shit-!” A Shigaraki curses under his breath, searching frantically through the files. “Where is it?!”

“Well, you don’t look like a teacher,” a light voice comments from behind him. “A villain then?”

Shigaraki whips around-

-And standing in the doorway is Nagito Komaeda—wearing a perfectly innocent and absolutely chilling smile.

“Looks like I got lucky after all,” he says cheerfully as he quietly closes the door behind him with a soft click. “Oh, are you perhaps looking for something?” Komaeda continues pleasantly, sounding perhaps mildly curious at most, and far too casual considering the circumstances.

This guy pisses him off, Shigaraki decides then and there. “Who the hell are you?” He asks blankly, taking in his uniform and sweater vest. “A U.A. student?”

Komaeda blinks innocently. “Oh, me? I’m no one important,” he says dismissively with an airy smile that makes Shigaraki want to kill him. His fingers twitch at the increasingly tempting idea.

Shigaraki grinds his teeth together, scratching his neck harshly.

“Rather, lets talk about something else,” Komaeda says brightly, hands clasped earnestly in front of his chest. “I’d like to make deal with you. An exchange of favors you could say.”

“And what’s stopping me from just killing you right now and being done with it?” Shigaraki threatens with a savage grin.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Komaeda says mournfully with a light sigh, reaching into his uniform.

Which is how Shigaraki himself at the business end of a gun.

“I didn’t mean to make you think you had a choice in this. My bad,” Komaeda adds with his most unassuming smile despite the gun in his hand and the threat hanging in the air.

Shigaraki wants to rip him into so many pieces that they won’t be able to identify the body. Who the hell is this guy?

“Are you interested in hearing my proposal now?” Komaeda asks lightly, eyes dark above his smile. “Better hurry and decide before the heroes arrive.”

Hajime’s leaning idly against a wall in the hallway when Komaeda finally comes back. The alarm had finally shut off some minutes ago. Reporters were the story everyone was going with. Just an odd happenstance and a case of faulty security.

As if.

“Got what you wanted?” Hajime asks wryly, pushing off the wall.

Komaeda beams. “Of course,” he says lightly, adding, “It all went according to plan,” in a tone at odds with his kind smile.

Hajime hums, unsurprised, as they start back down the hallway, walking close enough for their hands to brush. Komaeda has never needed a loaded gun to be dangerous, but having the illusion of one probably hadn’t hurt. Even if it was just an unloaded tranquilizer gun.

“You never call me by my first name,” Komaeda observes, completely off topic and out nowhere. Like he was just waiting for the opportunity to bring it up.

“What,” Hajime says flatly, caught off guard.

“I mean, we are- dating after all,” Komaeda continues blithely, smiling still, the briefest pause in his sentence like he has to remind himself of that fact.

Hajime can’t help the blush crawling on his face as he glances away. “It’d be weird,” he protests, purposefully ignoring that he calls everyone else in their class by their first names.

Komaeda glances at him speculative. “Ah,” he says, realization dawning. “Is this your tsundere tendencies surfacing?”

Hajime sputters, the most uncomposed he’s been since they arrived. “What- no! What are you even-?” Hajime cuts off abruptly as Komaeda lets out a huff of laughter—eyes glittering with humor and light teasing.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Hajime sighs, looking away grumpily while trying to curb the smile that wants to grow on his lips. Although-

“Nagito,” Hajime calls out, because Komaeda—Nagito—hardly ever asks for anything for himself.

Hajime can give him this, at least.

Nagito blinks at him, his smile slowly growing. “Yes Hajime?”

“Can I have your phone?”

Chapter Text

The bar door swings open.

“Oh? Shigaraki’s not here?” Giran asks lightly as he walks in.

Kurogiri is stoic figure behind the bar counter as he cleans a glass with efficiency. “He had other business,” Kurogiri informs neutrally as Giran walks up to the bar. “How’d it go?”

The bar lights are dim, making it feel like the shadows are pressing in on all sides. Fitting really.

“No good,” Giran complains as he slides onto the stool. “She saw straight through me.”

(The sharp cut of disinterested red eyes-

“I’m not interested.”)

“Most villains would’ve immediately jumped at the chance,” Giran comments idly as Kurogiri set down a drink in front of him.

A lot had even. The pay was high after all, and All Might hadn’t made many friends in the underworld. People feared him, and some respected him, but no one down here appreciated his role in the system.

Peko hadn’t even given the offer as much as a second glance before walking away.

Giran took a sip from his glass, pointing at Kurogiri using the same hand holding his drink. “She’s definitely no novice I can tell you that much. Hell if I know where she gets her experience from though.”

All these two-bit criminals, lost in their delusions of grandeur, hadn’t realized that accepting the job essentially delegated you to cannon fodder. As soon as they were no longer useful the League would cut them off and leave them for dead. They were a distraction essentially.

Peko had seen through it immediately.

Giran hides a grin behind his glass. “Things are finally getting interesting I think.”

Hajime is starting to dislike how often the three of them are finding themselves in Nedzu’s office. Every moment spent there is a moment Hajime spends remembering why he’d rather not be.

(Starting with Nedzu’s resemblance to Monokuma and ending with, well, Monokuma in general.)

Komaeda—Nagito, Hajime corrects himself internally—is here because, well...

(“What do you mean you lost your phone?” Aizawa asks, staring at him flatly, deeply unimpressed. “It’s literally been a day.”

Nagito smiles, perfectly enigmatic. “I’m afraid it must have gotten lost in all the chaos of this afternoon,” he lies masterfully through his teeth, said phone safely in Hajime’s pocket. “You know how it is.”

Aizawa looks like he’s contemplating throwing Nagito off the school building. Or maybe himself.

He also doesn’t look like he believes a word out of Nagito’s mouth. Which is fair.

“Whatever,” Aizawa eventually mumbles as he slinks away, giving the Hunchback of Notre-Dame competition. “Not my problem.”)

... Yeah.

Fuyuhiko is here because, apparently, standing on a table and yelling, “CALM THE FUCK DOWN!” to get people’s attention during an emergency isn’t “proper” behavior. Even when it works.

Hajime, on the other hand...

“I have to admit,” Nedzu says lightly, pouring himself a cup of tea, “I’m curious as to why you wanted to meet with me.”

“I was hoping I could start working on a machine that would send us back,” Hajime lays out bluntly.

Nagito’s eyes dart between him and Nedzu like he’s watching a tennis match, gaze the perfect amount of idle curiosity. Fuyuhiko is careful not to react at all, his expression one of mild irritation he’s been hosting for this whole session.

Nedzu freezes like someone pressed pause before slowly setting down his teapot. “I... admit I wasn’t aware that was in your skillset,” Nedzu admits carefully.

“Everything is my skillset,” Hajime says dryly.

It would sound like arrogance if it wasn’t such an unequivocal fact.

The only thing that had been stopping Hajime before was the lack of money, materials, and unsurety of where they stood. Currently none of those were real obstacles with U.A. backing them—however reluctantly and suspiciously.

Nedzu blinks beady eyes at him.

“You will, of course, be supervised,” Nedzu leads with. “And should you succeed a notice before you leave would be appreciated.”

“Fine,” Hajime says bluntly, having expected as much.

Nedzu nods regally, cheer visibly returning. “Very well then. Komaeda, I will work immediately on getting you another phone.”

Nagito holds his hands up, smile sheepish. “Oh, please take your time. I’m in no hurry,” he reassures.

“Even so,” Nedzu pushes brightly, before hopping down from his chair. “Well I believe that’s everything! You kids have a good night,” he chirps. “Tomorrow’s a big day for you after all!”

“That brat!” Tomura rages, throwing a chair at the wall. “Who does he think he is?!”

Kurogiri sighs heavily behind the bar counter, resigned to the destruction of his bar as he pours himself a drink.

(“Are you interested in hearing my proposal now?” A calm smile. “Better hurry and decide before the heroes arrive,” he adds lightly.

A taunt if Tomura has ever heard one.

Tomura grits his teeth. “What do you want?” He bites out, the hostility tangible.

“I’m glad you asked,” the U.A. student says brightly, smile borderline friendly. Tomura wants to puke. “I have two conditions.” He holds a up finger. “First, I want information.”

Tomura narrows his eyes dangerously. “Information on what?”

“Two groups of people,” he says immediately, smile impeccable and equally unreadable. “One is a group of three. Should you accept I’ll offer more information on them. The second is a group called the Remnants of Despair.”

Tomura is still suspicious. “And your second condition?”

“I want the Remnants of Despair dead.”

The statement is said so casually that for a moment Tomura doesn’t quite register it.

“ Hah ?”

The white haired kid’s smile is sweet enough to cause diabetes. “Oh, captured is an option too,” he adds, almost as an afterthought, his free hand held up in a motion reminiscent of someone surrendering.

Tomura blinks. “What kind of hero are you?” He asks degradingly, words aiming to bite.

“Oh dear,” the student sighs, the tone edging neatly into condescending. “That would be your first mistake. Assuming I’m a hero.”

What the hell is happening right now.

“And what’s in it for me?” Tomura asks reflexively, the animosity in his tone falling flat in his shock.

Another smile. Tomura is starting to get sick of those.

“Why, a spy inside U.A. of course.”)

“ I’ll kill him! ” Tomura screeches, kicking over a table in his tantrum.

“Calm down Tomura,” Sensei says almost idly, but the authority in his voice is unmistakable. “This could be a good for us.”

“Indeed,” Kurogiri agrees, righting a chair. “Though we shouldn’t discount the possibility of it being trap.”

Sensei hums thoughtfully though the screen. “Even so, a student inside U.A. could be beneficial. I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see how useful he is,” he finishes ominously.

Fuyuhiko’s expression of disgust is reminiscent of the one he wears when Teruteru is at his most perverted, glaring down at the papers like they’ve personally affronted him.

“Remind me why the fuck we have to do homework?” Fuyuhiko asks, grimacing at just saying the word. “We’re not even real students.”

“To keep up appearances?” Hajime offers dryly, reassembling Nagito’s phone—sans bugs and monitoring features.

Hajime will leave the ones on his and Fuyuhiko’s phones alone for now if only to perpetrate some facade of normalcy. Even if everyone involved is aware it’s all bullshit. Sometimes maintaining that delicate balance is all it takes to keep the other party at bay—which is all Hajime is really after.

They’re back in their dorm room—and Hajime uses that term loosely considering the ceiling is still only half done—for the night.

Nagito, laying on his stomach with his own homework spread before him, pipes up with, “I suppose you don’t technically have to do it,” he says thoughtfully, smoothing a page out. “They can’t exactly expel us if they want to keep an eye on us.”

“Or they could just arrest us,” Fuyuhiko counters flatly, idly flipping his pencil up and down like Hajime has seen him do with a knife.

“Not if they can’t prove anything,” Hajime says wryly, opening up the message icon on Nagito’s phone to the newest number saved in his contacts—simply titled ‘that one guy’. Informative. “Heroes remember?”

Fuyuhiko makes a dismissive noise, showing exactly what he thinks about that before asking, with the tone of someone that already knows they’re not going to like what they hear, “Do we even have a plan?”

Hajime doesn’t look up from his typing. “Define ‘plan’,” Hajime says dryly.

He has maybe 3/4ths of one. Odds varied. Success debatable.

(Sometimes Hajime misses the days when he could predict every outcome and account for every variable before remembering that no, he really, really doesn’t.

“I hope the future is one that you can’t predict,”  echoes Junko’s voice in his head, shrill with amusement.

Sometimes it’s difficult to feel like you ever truly won with Junko Enoshima.)

“You know what I fucking mean,” Fuyuhiko says irritably, scowling at him.

Nagito, having used some of his homework for arts and crafts apparently, throws a paper airplane that crashes into the back of Fuyuhiko’s head with eery accuracy.

“My apologies,” Nagito offers sheepishly. “I was aiming for the trash can. Ah, how unlucky.”

Fuyuhiko balls up the plane, throwing it viciously back at Nagito’s face. It misses—but does bounce off the wall and land in the trash.

“How fortunate!” Nagito exclaims.

Fuyuhiko looks like he wants to strangle him.

Hajime is surrounded by actual children. They’re lucky he likes them.

“But you’re going to build a machine to get us back?” Fuyuhiko presses, still glaring at Nagito who smiles back cluelessly.

“I’m going to try anyway,” Hajime says resolutely, hitting send.

Lets see what the League of Villains would do now.

“Good,” is all Fuyuhiko says, turning his attention back to his homework with a speculative look. “Think I can get away with setting it on fire?”

“No.”

“It could be worth a try,” Nagito says, looking a little too invested in this plan.

This time Hajime throws a pillow at them both, utterly exasperated.

“Oof.”

“Son of a-!”

“-found dead in an alleyway,” The news lady reports gravely. “While similar to Stain’s killings the police believe a different culprit may be responsible because the victim was not a hero like all of Stain’s previous victims-“

“Oh, how awful,” Inko says sympathetically, wrapping a warm arm around Izuku’s shoulders.

Izuku’s mom smells like sunshine, laundry detergent and mint shampoo that his mother likes because it ‘matches our hair don’t you think?’

Izuku can only nod numbly in agreement, eyes on the crime scene photo displayed on screen—though still heavily censored and never giving a direct shot of the body.

“-The police are still investigating but the possibility of a copycat has not yet been discarded-“

The light from the TV is the only thing illuminating the abandoned warehouse.

Stain’s lips curl with visible distain where he lays with his feet up on the dilapidated couch—the only piece of functioning furniture in the room. “How stupid.”

“-In other news the series of increasingly gruesome murders that started mere days ago continue with no signs of stopping. Heroes and police alike are left scrambling-“

Aizawa shuts off the screen with a heavy sigh that could also double as an annoyed grunt, leaning down to briefly pet his cat on his way out the door for his nightly patrol.

“I’m not paid enough for this,” he mutters, taking off into the night.

Crime doesn’t sleep after all.

Chapter Text

For their first field trip outside of the school Aizawa pulls the three of them aside and says flatly, “Don’t touch anything, don’t break anything, and don’t leave my sight.”

... It’s nice to know where they stand.

Fuyuhiko is back in his suit, looking settled, which is nice because now Hajime can stop feeling like he needs to do a double take every time he sees him. Fuyuhiko in the school uniform is... weird.

Nagito waves cheerfully at Bakugo—self preservation ever lacking—when he notices him alternating between glaring murder at him and out the window and Hajime forcefully puts Nagito’s hand down before he can incite another act of violence. They’re in an enclosed school bus. Explosions seem like particularly bad idea—even more so than usual.

Aoyama is sending Hajime selfies of himself glammed up with what looks like no less than ten filters and all of them of different poses despite sitting directly across the isle from them.

“Are you guys excited?” Hagakure asks them cheerfully.

She’s sitting in front of Hajime and Nagito, next to Fuyuhiko who’s staring solemnly out the window now. Hajime wonders if he’s thinking about Peko.

‘Excited’ is not the word that comes to mind. Especially since Hajime is fairly certain they’re walking into a trap. Par the course for one of Nagito’s plans honestly.

“Well,” Fuyuhiko drawls, expression utterly flat, “it can’t be worse than our last school trip.”

“We hope,” Hajime can’t help but deadpan, thinking of terror and distrust that saturated the air like the tang of blood.

Though Hajime honestly can’t imagine how this field trip could go any worse without it becoming an outright massacre. Hopefully it won’t come to that.

“Why?” Sero immediately asks from behind them, peering over the seat curiously with Kaminari. “What happened during your last school trip?”

The rest of the bus is also quiet, clearly eavesdropping on them as the students burn with curiosity.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Nagito disagrees cheerfully because he would think that.

Perhaps the most unnerving part of this is that being forced to kill each other in a simulated world still only ranked an ‘oh yeah, that happened’ from Nagito, easy smile and all.

Fuyuhiko gives him a look as flat as paper. “We were trapped on an island together and forced to kill each other,” he says because he can’t help but stir the pot.

Someone lets out a strangled choking noise and Hajime catches Aizawa staring at them with a complicated expression. It’s eerily similar to Togami’s expression when he’s thinking somewhere along the lines of: this is the kind of shit I have to deal with now?

“What the fuck,” someone, Hajime thinks it’s Jirou, chokes out.

“Oh yes, fun times,” Nagito says brightly—and if you didn’t know him you could almost believe he was being sincere—with just the right amount of carelessness to downplay the whole experience.

It makes Hajime think of carefully constructed smiles during class trials and Nagito being ten steps ahead despite his constant misdirection and thrown out clues.

Nagito is covering for them in his own subtle way and Hajime is painfully glad he’s on their side for once. Actually on their side, he means, instead of claiming to be while making their life hell in the name of furthering hope.

“No, no, wait, back up,” Kaminari says, frantically waving a hand and accidentally managing to hit Sero in the face.

“Ow!”

“What do you mean you were forced to kill each other during your school trip?” Kaminari pushes, ignoring Sero as he leans even closer.

“Dude,” Sero complains, rubbing his cheek. “Watch it!” He’s ignored.

“Seems pretty self explanatory,” Fuyuhiko says.

“What part?” Jirou asks disbelievingly, managing to sound annoyed.

“We’re obviously still alive,” Hajime says, just to point out the obvious, and doesn’t think about Nagito’s dead body. His hand curls into a fist.

“Holy shit,” Ashido sums up, staring at them with her mouth open. “What did you guys do before you got into UA?” She asks incredulously.

Nagito smiles genially. “I’m afraid we’re contractually obligated not to answer that.”

(The Future Foundation had made them sign a lot of non-disclosure agreements. Though somehow Hajime didn’t think they’d quite had this situation in mind when they’d written them up.)

Nagito’s wearing the same smile he wore on the beach when him and Hajime first met. The one that screams ‘I’M HARMLESS’ like a neon sign.

It does it’s job nicely; the horror on people’s faces settling down into concern and shock and maybe some amusement. It couldn’t have been that bad, they’re thinking, lulled into a false sense of security like everyone else that’s ever met Nagito.

“You make it sound like you guys were secret agents or something,” Asui points out.

Fuyuhiko snorts and Hajime knows most people will take it as dismissive rather than the ‘yeah, that’s pretty fucking close’ it really means.

Aizawa stares at them with narrowed eyes; as if he’s collecting these bits of information and trying to make them into a cohesive puzzle. Considering he’s missing the frame and at least half the pieces Hajime wishes him luck.

The subject is successfully played off though and the bus goes back to quiet murmurs of conversation, Hajime’s phone buzzing again with a text from Aoyama.

“You know, I always just say whatever comes to mind,” Asui says slightly louder than everyone else with a finger pressed to her cheek thoughtfully. “So Midoriya, I can’t help but notice your quirk is similar to All Might’s.”

Midoriya chokes, flailing slightly with stuttered denials sprinkled in and not in anyway managing to convincingly discredit the notion. If he’s trying to alleviate suspicion from himself he’s failing rather spectacularly.

There is a Situation with All Might happening. What Hajime has pieced together about it is that it has something to do with Midoriya, and possibly some form of injury judging by his abrupt drop in public appearances.

(If All Might thought he was being subtle about his blatant interest and favoritism in Midoriya someone dearly needed to inform him otherwise.)

Similar quirks aren’t unusual even if it’s more likely to find them between family members but Midoriya’s reaction-

Nope,  Hajime cuts off his train thought. Not thinking about it. Not his problem.

-hints that there’s something more to it. Family relation is a possibility except the number of shared features between them is exactly zero. An apprenticeship of some kind maybe? Explains All Might’s attention but not Midoriya’s shiftiness whenever his quirk comes up-

Stop. Thinking. About. It.

-so something to do with the quirk itself maybe. Hajime doesn’t know much about Midoriya, outside of what’s on his student profile. He can’t say for sure whether that quirk is unusual for him or not. But maybe-

Hajime groans, dropping his head onto Nagito’s shoulder. Nagito dutifully pats his head comfortingly. He smells like lavender.

It’s probably sad that Nagito is Hajime’s rock considering how unstable he is on a day to day basis.

The problem with having an Ultimate Analyst talent is that Hajime can never leave anything well enough alone. He has to know. And unfortunately Hajime notices everything so he sees everything. And that’s when things get- predictable.

“Wait,” Kirishima says, “I can kind of see where you’re coming from but All Might’s quirk doesn’t hurt him like Midoriya’s.”

Midoriya lets out breath of relief, tension deflating like a balloon. “Y-yeah, that’s true,” he says and Hajime can almost picture the forced and wobbly smile that would be on his face.

Midoriya is predictable when you know what to account for. His anxiety. His hero complex. And his odd not-quite-rivalry with Bakugo that springs up at the most inconvenient moments.

“It’s a pretty cool quirk though,” Kirishima continues, likely grinning. “Hardening is pretty cool too but I always thought it was kind of boring. Doesn’t really stand out the way most hero’s quirks do.”

“It’s a great quirk,” Midoriya immediately refutes kindly, honest enthusiasm in his voice.

“Speaking of quirks,” Asui says and Hajime is starting to think she might be doing this on purpose, “Kuzuryu, I’ve never seen you use yours.”

Hajime lifts his head as Fuyuhiko says, “I don’t have one,” with all the blasé of someone out of fucks to give.

Aizawa’s heavy sigh from the the front of the bus is mostly drowned out by Midoriya making a sound like a dying cat. Uraraka numbly pats Midoriya’s back to comfort him, looking in shock herself. Aoyama fumbles his phone.

“WHAT THE FUCK-“ Bakugo bursts out and the entire bus erupts with noise.

“You don’t-“

“You’re quirkless?!”

“How the hell did we miss that?” Sero wonders aloud, sounding dumbfounded.

“Err, Midoriya are you okay?” Kirishima asks, concerned. “You look kind of pale.”

“Fine,” Midoriya wheezes, looking like his entire world has been turned on its head.

Aoyama sends Hajime another picture with a hand in front of his mouth in exaggerated shock and no less than fifteen sparkles photoshopped in. He’s still smiling in it. Hajime is starting to think his face just got stuck that way.

“HOW THE FUCK DID SOMEONE LIKE YOU GET INTO U.A.?!” Bakugo yells, breaking through the noise, standing now.

Nagito smiles amiably at him. “I wonder the same thing every time I see you,” he says brightly.

Hajime snorts in amusement.

“YOU TRYING TO START SOMETHING COTTON CANDY?!”

“We’re here,” Aizawa interrupts, deadpan; the bus rolling to a stop with impeccable timing.

“Oh thank god,” Yaoyorozu breathes with palpable relief.

Nedzu frowns at his phone.

The USJ will be attacked by villains , the text reads. Short and to the point. Sent only minutes ago.

The sender is one Hajime Hinata.

There are a lot of unsettling implications there.

Nedzu hums thoughtfully, considering as he takes a sip of his tea. A rouse? A genuine warning? A peace offering?

Hajime Hinata and his two friends are the biggest mystery—and perhaps threats, though that remains to be seen—to enter Nedzu’s office in a long time.

Who’s side are you on?

Either way; better not to take any chances.

“Hello? All Might?” Nedzu chirps into his phone. “Yes, we might have problem.”

Nagito smiles. He’s good at that, smiling.

There’s sun filtering in through the glass dome, catching on Hajime’s different colored eyes. He’s very handsome in this lighting, Nagito can’t help but note. He’s even handsomer when he smiles though.

Hajime’s expression now is something Nagito associates with Class Trials and dead friends. Like no matter the consequences or the outcome Hajime is determined to see this through to the end. Hajime is a good person like that.

Nagito is not.

It’s why this will work. Nagito will take this as far as he needs to with little care for anything else—and Hajime will be the one to make sure he doesn’t destroy everything in the process. A push and pull. A balance.

His boyfriend really is too nice sometimes. Especially in regards to Nagito himself.

It’s a little worrying actually.

Nagito never actually expected to be forgiven in the first place. Redemption has never been something he strove for. Not because it wasn’t necessary, but because the world seemed to punish him just fine on its own; no extra effort necessary on his part.

Just an unending cycle of fortune and misfortune.

Hope had been all Nagito cared about for a long time. A way to reason through his cycle of bad and good and bad again luck. Sometimes Nagito worries Hajime’s presence in his life accounts for all the good luck Nagito ever could and would assimilate.

Nagito is terrified of losing him.

But there’s a plan in place and Bakugo is still glaring at him with intense focus so Nagito keeps his smile pasted on and gives another little wave. A vein pulses in Bakugo’s forehead. Hajime sighs like he’s adding up the potential destruction they’ll cause in his head and Nagito smiles brighter, unwittingly charmed by Hajime’s every move.

Fuyuhiko is eyeing them like he knows something is about to happen but he doesn’t ask. Good. His surprise will be more natural that way.

Thirteen is speaking—a new variable, a new hero.

(How odd, heroes and villains. What a very nice and simple way of putting it. Hope and despair had seemed pretty clear cut too but there was a surprising amount of overlap between the two.

Nagito can only wait and see.)

Midoriya is caught up in the speech Thirteen gives, wide eyed and invested, for once not sending Nagito looks like he has ever since the Training Incident. Nagito wonders if he took his advice, or is thinking about it.

Hagakure is off to the side, nearly unnoticeable and all the more dangerous for it. Nagito is mentally moving her up The List. But she’s a friend so Nagito gives her a warm smile, unsure if she even sees it. Invisibility is equally useful and trying like that.

In contrast to Hagakure Aoyama literally shines; glittering and sparkling in his hero costume. He’s smiling too but it’s not Nagito’s smile. It’s an armor to hide his feelings no doubt; but it’s not the weapon Nagito uses his as. Nagito can see why Hajime likes him.

(And he speaks french! Nagito has been to France only once. It had been a nice place—barring the shipwreck that got him there in the first place and the almost kidnapping that followed. There had been a lot of fire that day.)

Hajime might love Nagito but he’s never made it much of a secret that anyone too much like him is someone to be wary of. Nagito is happy his boyfriend at least agrees with him on that, even while his continued association with Nagito himself is baffling. It’s why Nedzu is currently at the top of The List—and not just for his similarities with Monokuma.

Like this Nagito has all the pieces.

And when purple mist swirls, apparently forming a portal—and the powers of this world are so interesting!—people pour out.

“Get back! Those are villains!” Aizawa orders, always quick on the uptake.

“Merde,” Aoyama says, still smiling however strained.

Nagito can’t remember the last time his smile was unpracticed enough to be strained. For now though Nagito lets his smile slip, wide-eyed and letting shock paint his features, because his reaction means something here. Aizawa is still watching them after all.

“What the fuck,” Fuyuhiko says, gaping slightly but mostly sounding irritated by the siege of enemies even as their new classmates descend into quiet panic. “Are all our school trips going to be like this?” He complains, but he’s giving Hajime and Nagito calculating looks because he’s clever enough to put the pieces together.

What did you do?

Nagito smiles pleasantly back at Fuyuhiko’s narrowed eyes. Fuyuhiko snorts, turning back towards the villains—meaning he’ll trust them for now. Ah, for a yakuza Fuyuhiko is also far too nice.

Hajime could probably take all these people at once and come out unscathed but that’s not the point of this in the first place.

Nagito wants to laugh. All according to plan so far.

Chapter Text

Personally Fuyuhiko thinks the Unforeseen Simulation Joint is a waste of time for the three of them—considering everything. If you combined most of the disaster zones, added some air pollution, a couple dozen (or hundred) dead bodies and gruesome murder scenes, had the entire world out for your head, and maybe, maybe, you’d understand the kind of fucked up world they’re from. The USJ is like the kiddie version it—and phrased like that it’s honestly hard to take any of it seriously. But they also can’t exactly say that either.

It’s probably a bad sign when Fuyuhiko is actually starting to feel nostalgic about the nine kinds of fucked up and whole new circle of hell they call their own world.

Everything feels like it’s coming through a tunnel as Fuyuhiko catches Thirteen saying, “Your powers are not meant to inflict harm. I hope you leave here today with the understanding that you’re meant to help people.”

A little fucking late for that, Fuyuhiko thinks, a little hysterically and a lot bitter.

(-Blood. There’s so much blood. It’s slick and wet on his hands and there’s so much of it Fuyuhiko can practically taste the iron soaking the air- and the floor- and the walls-)

Midoriya looks near tears he’s so moved. And despite everything before now Fuyuhiko has never felt more acutely that he comes from a completely different world than these bright eyed children.

Thirteen ties his speech off with a neat little bow. “That is all! I thank you for listening.”

“Great,” Aizawa says flatly, looking at least as done as Fuyuhiko feels, even as the rest of the class applauds. “Now, we’re…” He trails off but by then it’s already too late.

It only takes the blink of an eye for everything to go wrong.

Fuyuhiko is going to kill Komaeda after this.

(As if it was possible to kill Komaeda. It’s a point of contention with everyone.)

A little warning would’ve been nice! Something beyond an offhanded, ‘Oh, we’re allied with the League of Villains now’ with no elaboration.

(“The League. Of Villains,” Fuyuhiko says blankly, in the middle of scrawling ‘FUCK THIS’ on their assigned math homework—and nothing else.

Could they be anymore fucking obvious?

And does literally everyone in this world have such a shitty naming sense? Because what the fuck. Fuyuhiko gets secondhand embarrassment just by thinking it.

(If Fuyuhiko were interested in fairness he’d admit their world isn’t much better and that nothing quite tops the godawful mouthful of ‘The Biggest, Most Awful, Most Tragic Event in Human History’. But he’s not. So he doesn’t.)

“The LOV for short,” Hajime says, his expression wry like he’s finding a kind of reluctant and twisted amusement in this situation—which seems to be his general reaction to this world.

“One letter away from from spelling ‘love’,” Komaeda notes because he’s a fucking idiot. A lovesick fucking idiot.

Fuyuhiko feels the last of his faith in humanity disintegrate. He hadn’t been aware he’d had any left in the first place and yet it seems to keep plummeting down to new lows.

“And we care about them why?” Fuyuhiko asks bluntly.

“We don’t,” Hajime says, equally blunt, because Komaeda can never be bothered to explain a goddamn thing. “But they can actually leave the school so.” He shrugs but Fuyuhiko understands what he means anyway. He’s just not happy about it.)

It’s just Fuyuhiko’s fucking luck to be stuck between two masterminds. What he wouldn’t give for Peko to be here.

“Holy shit holy shit holy shit-“ Sero chants fervently under his breath as people pile through the warp hole.

It’s chaotic now, their classmates tight with barely repressed panic and fear and it’s all too familiar. Fuyuhiko can almost feel the terror in the air the same way he can hear an echo of Monokuma’s annoying fucking laugh. God he hates that laugh.

“Kaminari, try contacting the outside!” Aizawa commands, pulling down his goggles over his eyes.

“No good!” Kaminari says only seconds later, shaking his head jerkily. “I can’t get through!”

He looks a little wide eyed. Scared. Helpless. So very young. All of them do.

Well buckle up, Fuyuhiko thinks mercilessly because sympathy is for after everything is said and done—when you’re still alive to be sympathetic. Assuming you are.

“Everyone!” Aizawa snaps, unwinding his scarf slightly, the most sensible person here within a five mile radius. Barring maybe Hajime—except the guy’s dating Nagito Komaeda so he can’t count on principle. “Head for the Exit!”

Midoriya says something to him Fuyuhiko doesn’t catch, voice tight with fear.

“No good hero is a one trick pony,” is all Aizawa says gravely.

And then he just—throws himself at the incoming enemies and—oh, wow, yeah. If the man wasn’t working under a Monokuma knockoff Fuyuhiko might actually like him.

“Holy shit,” Sero repeats with something like awe rather than abject terror now.

“We need to get out of here,” Hajime says calmly, hand firmly gripping Komaeda’s hood like he’s a disobedient puppy, perfectly reasonable and like he hadn’t helped plan this entire disaster.

“We’ll just be in the way here,” Komaeda adds, managing to fit his usual level of self degradation into the words, and the other responsible party for this shit show.

“But we can’t just leave Aizawa-sensei!” Midoriya protests, a worried furrow to his brow as Thirteen ushers everyone to the exit—taking exactly the wrong approach with Komaeda by trying to argue with him. Argue. With Nagito Komaeda.

Yeah, good luck with that.

(To be fair Fuyuhiko isn’t sure there is a right approach to take with Komaeda—though Hajime clearly manages it. Somehow.)

Midoriya actually sounds concerned too. Like Fuyuhiko can’t see Aizawa kicking ass six ways to Sunday right where they’re standing.

“Uh,” Sero sums up incredulously, flailing a hand in Aizawa’s general direction, “it doesn’t really look like he needs our help honestly.”

Aizawa flings a man twice his size across the Central Plaza as if to confirm that statement.

Winning isn’t even the real point of this anyway. Aizawa is obviously using himself as a distraction so they can get away and every second Midoriya digs his heels in is another second they’re wasting.

“Staying only gives him 23 hostages to worry about,” Hajime cuts in unforgivingly, unmoved.

“But-“ Midoriya worries his lip in between his teeth, apparently unable to finish his protest—the rest of his words caught on something in his throat.

(Midoriya has, Fuyuhiko thinks with the awareness of someone that has spent years inhabiting the same space as Komaeda for reference, a dangerous lack of self preservation.)

Komaeda frowns at Midoriya. It’s an expression of deep disappointment that makes Fuyuhiko want to punch him on principle. Somehow Komaeda’s frowns manage to feel even more fake than his smiles. They’re just unnatural on him—like they don’t quite fit on his face.

Then he’s smiling again, which is somehow worse still. “Well, if Midoriya wants to be a hero so badly who are we to stop him?” Komaeda says, pleasant as a spring afternoon.

Midoriya flinches like Komaeda stabbed him, opening his mouth to say something, and-

“None of you are going anywhere,” says a low voice blocking the exit.

Motherfucker-

“If you died right now,” Komaeda asks, “how would you feel?”

Izuku swallows thickly and presses further back into the rubble behind him. “Why-“ Izuku stops, his throat feels dry, and he licks his lips and only tastes dirt and blood. “-why do you want to know?” He finishes, unable to help the wariness seeping into tone.

He wonders if he’s in danger right now. From more than just the building collapse.

Komaeda hasn’t done anything really. Aside from being perhaps a little unnerving. So why does Izuku feel like he’s in danger here?

“I think you can tell a lot about people based on their last regrets,” Komaeda says thoughtfully, then laughs a little like he’s telling a joke.

Izuku doesn’t understand him at all.

“Shouldn’t we be trying to get out?” Izuku brings up hesitantly.

“No need,” Komaeda says immediately, lightly, calmly. “People will come to rescue us eventually. Moving will just make it harder on them. All that’s left to do is wait. Ah, but I’m probably boring you. My apologies,” he says, sounding genuinely apologetic for once and about something as mundane as this.

“I- What about you?” Izuku blurts out.

Even through the darkness Izuku can see Komaeda blink. “Pardon?” He sounds surprised for the first time.

“What are your regrets?” Izuku asks, wondering if it’s even possible for this person to have any.

Komaeda smiles at him through the gloom.

He hums thoughtfully, tilting his head back—possibly eyeing the rubble acting as a ceiling above them. “I think I’d regret not being able to kiss Hajime again,” Komaeda says finally with deceptive lightness.

“What-“

It’s not the answer Izuku was expecting, his cheeks flushing as Komaeda laughs.

“Not what you expected?” Komaeda asks breezily, amusement bright enough to lighten the heavy and cloying air. “And you?” He tosses back, sounding almost uninterested despite being the one to press the topic in the first place.

Izuku doesn’t get him at all, he thinks again, a tad hysterical now.

“I...” Izuku takes a deep breath. “I guess I’d regret not becoming a hero. Not being able to save anyone.”

“Ah,” Komaeda says and the sound comes out- patronizing? Regretful? Disappointed? It’s difficult to read the inflections of Komaeda’s tone. He still smiles peaceably down at Yaoyorozu. “How very predictable.”

Izuku doesn’t know why but he feels like he just failed some sort of test.

“How very heroic,” Komaeda continues, tone bright but somehow feeling like the opposite of cheerful as he directs he attention back on Izuku. It’s phrased like a compliment. It doesn’t feel like one. “Truly the pinnacle of hope.”

“Um,” Izuku says uneasily.

Komaeda smiles then. Something light and friendly and almost more unnerving for it. “Can I ask you one more question? What do you think makes someone a hero?”

“A-“ Izuku almost doesn’t know how to respond. The answer is so obvious to him. “A hero is someone that saves people.”

Like All Might, he doesn’t add but can’t help but think.

Komaeda’s face is doing something subtle and terrifying, like he’s just understood an aspect of Izuku that Izuku is pretty sure he could have gone without anyone knowing—much less this person. It feels like a clerical error has just taken place as much as it does a sinister plot.

“If only it were that easy,” Komaeda says brightly, condescendingly.

It feels like a condemnation. Komaeda doesn’t say anything else though, silence descending upon them like light snowfall and leaving Izuku shivering in this dark space where nothing seems to exist outside it.

The silence stretches on. Izuku can not be rescued soon enough.

Izuku sucks in a gasping breath of air as he’s laid out on the ship’s deck, coughing up water.

“-son of a bitch!” He catches Kuzuryu cussing out nearby, lolling his head to the side to watch him wring out his jacket with a scowl, the metal of the ship cool beneath his cheek. “I’m going to fucking murder Komaeda,” Kuzuryu mutters viciously under his breath somewhat nonsensically.

Like this he looks a bit like a wet cat—bristling at the indignity of it all—though Izuku would never ever say that to his face. With the pinstriped jacket and the- the eyepatch he always looks like he stepped out of one of those old school mob movies that don’t have any quirks in them. Which is kind of ironic now—in retrospect—considering- considering...

Quirkless.

The word rings over and over in his mind—a soundtrack on repeat in a dozen different voices and tones, none of them happy. Izuku still feels like he hasn’t processed it. The reality not quite setting in.

Kuzuryu has glided through the past week like it’s never even mattered. And no one had even noticed. His friends clearly knew too and treated it with all the blasé in the world.

It’s everything Izuku has ever wanted but never dared to hope for until All Might gave him his quirk. Izuku wonders if the feeling bubbling up in his chest is jealousy or admiration. It feels a bit like an open wound. He’s just not sure if it’s opening the wound further or closing it.

Quirkless.

Izuku is having a bit of a day honestly.

Mineta makes a pained sound where he was... yeah, there’s no other way for Izuku to put it—thrown onto the floor, Asui climbing over the railing with considerably more dignity.

“So, any ideas?” Asui leads with, casting a glance down at the waters—Izuku hauling himself up to catch a glimpse of the villains in the water.

This... is not good. Obviously. Obviously this is not good.

“Okay,” Izuku says to himself, slightly hysterical. He clears his throat. “Okay,” he repeats, for confidence this time as his brain scrambles about. “Since they sent you here Asui-“

“It’s Tsu.”

“-Tsu,” Izuku hastily corrects, “they probably don’t know our-“ Izuku can’t help his slight pause, glancing at Kuzuryu before continuing. “-quirks. Otherwise they wouldn’t have sent you somewhere so compatible with your quirk.”

Izuku shoots another look at Kuzuryu but he still seems- normal. Unfazed.

Quirkless, the thought echoes again unbidden.

Izuku swallows around the lump in throat. Breathe. He has to breathe. This is what he signed up for—being a hero. Saving people. ( “If only it were that easy,” Komaeda says. ) And right now he has to help save his classmates.

Asui- err- Tsu nods thoughtfully at that. “So we should be able to use that to our advantage.”

“The flip side is that we don’t know what the fuck they can do either,” Kuzuryu comments.

Izuku nods in agreement. “Something to do with the water probably,” he mutters, mostly to himself. The villains would want to optimize their own quirks after all.

“We’re so dead,” Mineta cries out tearfully, literally pulling out clumps of his hair. They stick to the floor after he drops them Izuku notes. “How can we fight all those people!?”

“By using you as bait,” Kuzuryu snarks, probably joking.

Izuku suddenly has a brief flashback of Kuzuryu using Uraraka as hostage during the Battle Trial.

... Hopefully. Hopefully joking.

Kuzuryu sends a speculative glance towards the floor. Or, wait, not the floor exactly, Izuku realises as he asks, “Think this ship is operational?” conversationally as he checks his tranquilizer gun.

Oh.

Oh.

This... might work. Izuku is feeling tentatively optimistic about this.

Chapter Text

“You’re late,” Togami says bluntly, without looking up from his computer.

“Sorry,” Makoto gasps out as he tries to catch his breath. Against all odds his fitness is still deplorably low. “I came as fast as I could.”

Togami doesn’t doubt that considering Makoto was on the other side of the country until a couple days ago when he got the news.

“Any news?” Makoto predictably asks despite struggling to take in air, using the back of one of Togami’s designer chairs to help him stay upright. His tie is crooked.

“Hands off, you’ll ruin the leather,” Togami deadpans.

Makoto removes his hand like it was burned. “Sorry-“

“And sit down before you pass out.”

“I’m not going to-“

“Did I ask for your opinion? Sit.”

Makoto sits in the chair. Togami supposes, sourly, it’s better late than never and makes his way over to the coffee machine in the corner. Makoto would probably prefer water after his sprint to Togami’s temporary office but he’ll just have to make do—not that Makoto is likely to complain. It’s one of the few (very few) things Togami appreciates about him.

Makoto takes the cup Togami holds out with some measure of surprise as if he hadn’t been watching Togami poor out two cups of coffee. “Oh- thank you.” He gratefully gulps it down with abandon.

Togami doesn’t deem that worthy of a response he settles back into desk chair. “No news,” he finally answers, frowning at his latest email. Useless.

Precisely no one in the Future Foundation was happy about Izuru Kamukura’s whereabouts currently being unknown. They seem to think it’s a sign of the beginning of the end. Again.

Togami just wishes they’d stop sending their complaints to him. He has better things to do with his time than waste it on handholding idiots.

“Kyoko is still looking into it and interrogating some of the remnants that were in the base. Kazuichi is still trying to puzzle together what the machine was supposed to do. And I’m busy fielding the Future Foundation’s-“ His lips twist down. “-concerns.”

Togami thinks their worries are vastly misplaced. Izuru Kamukura had always acted as more of an observer than anything else and truthfully held little initiative on his own. Add Hinata into the equation and you have even less to worry about.

Comparatively the rest of that class are the real ticking time bombs.

Togami grudgingly admits that Makoto’s pet project had turned out better than he had ever expected. Which makes it all the more telling that Hinata hasn’t yet found a way to contact them. Because the only way he wouldn’t was if he couldn’t.

Makoto’s lips twitch upwards ever so slightly in humor as he cradles the mug close to his chest. “It’s somewhat concerning when the Ultimate Mechanic can’t figure out a machine.”

Togami scoffs. Makoto has far more faith in Kazuichi’s talents than Togami does.

Makoto smiles at him briefly like he’s aware before frowning pensively. “No sign of them being dead though?”

There’s not really a sign of anything. Including whether or not they’re alive. But no bodies have turned up and Togami doesn’t want to deal with the paperwork involved with declaring them dead.

“Not presently,” he answers stoically.

“That’s good,” Makoto says, always the hopeless optimist.

Togami makes a noncommittal noise and opens up another email.

“Thank you,” Makoto says suddenly, far too earnestly, and Togami’s hands pause briefly in their typing before continuing. “For all your help. I’m sure you’re busy.”

They’re all busy. Including Makoto. Even that idiot clairvoyant and stalker are busy. But then no one had ever said rebuilding the world was going to be easy.  And if anyone had then Togami would have been liable to call them a liar and have them fired.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’m not doing it for you,” he sneers, pushing up his glasses.

If nothing else Makoto was annoyingly persistent when it came to certain things: “Thank you anyway,” he says, holding eye contact for maximum effectiveness.

Togami makes the executive decision that it’s Kyoko’s turn to deal with him.

“Get out of my office.”

Makoto does so with a little laugh and his tie still crooked, his empty coffee mug left by the sink.

Izuku changes his mind. He is not at all optimistic about this.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Izuku asks nervously, his fingers fidgeting as Kuzuryu scans the helm of the ship.

He can’t help but eye the walls nervously like they’ll come alive to attack him. Maybe they will depending on the villains’ quirks. He also can’t help but feel like they’re doing something they’re not supposed to.

Kuzuryu scoffs. “What? You guys never learned how to pilot a ship?” He asks judgmentally.

The three of them shake their heads emphatically. Izuku is pretty sure most people wouldn’t know how to do that—not just them.

“This is why I hate working with ametuers,” Kuzuryu mutters dismissively, checking over the panels.

Tsu lifts her eyebrow at him, more thoughtful than judgmental. “Why do you know how to steer a ship?”

Kuzuryu doesn’t answer them—which feels damning in and of itself. Izuku really wonders about Kuzuryu and his friends sometimes. Where they come from, what they did, why they’re here in a hero training program instead of—whatever they’d been doing before.

“Guys…” Mineta says nervously, sending glances out the window where the villains are lying in wait.

“I can make it work,” Kuzuryu says finally with a confidence Izuku wishes he had even a fraction of, stepping back and crossing his arms. “Now we just need someone to be the distraction.”

He looks straight at Mineta as he says it.

Mineta points at himself with a shaky hand. “M-me?” He squeaks disbelievingly.

Tsu hums thoughtfully. It is not a protest.

Mineta’s eyes are starting to look a little wild. “Why me?! Why do we even need a distraction?!” He cries.

Izuku winces in sympathy but- “You’re quirk is best suited to hinder them,” he offers logically. “It’ll hamper their movements immensely if they get stuck together in the water.”

It’s a good plan. Izuku can even almost make himself believe that’s why Kuzuryu suggested it.

“And it’s no use if they sink the ship before we can even move it,” Kuzuryu deadpans, far less sympathetically as he fixes his tie. His clothes are still damp. “We’re already short on time as it is.”

Izuku has been trying not to think about that part. He feels sweaty and nervous, not at all ready. He’s only been keeping himself together so far by using Kuzuryu’s confidence as a backbone. Even now Kuzuryu only looks—bored. A bit irritated. Mildly inconvenienced at most. As if Kuzuryu did this kind of thing everyday. (And Izuku has so many questions about that.) If that’s true though then Izuku doesn’t know how Tsu is staying so calm.

Still, Izuku tries to soak up their calm like a plant absorbs sunlight. He breathes in and out, standing up straighter. This is it.

“Okay,” Izuku says, getting everyone’s attention, and puts on a shaky grin. “Let’s do it.“

At this point there’s really nothing to lose.

… It’s not a comforting thought.

The building is on fire. If Hajime lets himself think too hard he’ll start getting flashbacks filled with insane laughter.

Speaking of who:

“Oh dear,” Nagito says with a little beleaguered sigh, absently brushing some ash off his coat where the portal dumped him on the ground. “This is troubling.”

Let it be stated for the record that no one quite downplays a situation like Nagito Komaeda. What Nagito considers ‘troubling’ is generally what most people would consider a state of national emergency.

(For reference: what happened in Towa City was, apparently, deemed ‘troubling’.

… Yeah.)

One of the villains surrounding them lunges for Nagito—comically tripping over one of his shoe laces- and yes, that was indeed an open window he just fell out of.

Nagito sighs again as he stands, picking at the sleeve of his jacket, and pays it no mind. “Ash is so difficult to wash out,” he laments—likely from many an unfortunate, personal experience.

Hajime grimaces as he thinks of his own experiences with ash and wonders if U.A. handles dry cleaning as well as costume creation.

-And reflexively dodges a blow aimed at his head—retaliating by elbowing his attacker in the face.

“Ohgodmy face !” The villain wails, clutching it as he reels back. “I think you broke something!”

Hajime is truly failing at coming up with any reason he should care after the man just tried to hospitalize a group of (mostly) high school students. Absently he throws another one of their attackers over his shoulder into the other one to make a nice little heap on the ground.

In truth fighting is boring to Hajime. It’s robotic almost; an equation he can calculate and predict and plan for many moves ahead. It probably doesn’t help that it’s when he feels the most like Izuru Kamukura.

When Hajime said this aloud once Kazuichi had paused in his tinkering to give him a vaguely freaked out look before announcing with a shudder that he was ‘freaking scary’ (thank you for that Kazuichi). He supposes it’s an accurate enough assessment all things considered.

“Why the fuck are you losers here?!” Bakugo snaps at them as if they had any choice in the matter, letting off an explosion in someone’s face, glare still firmly on them—apparently more pissed off by Hajime and Nagito’s mere presence than the people actively trying to kill him.

Bakugo seriously needed to rethink his priorities.

Nagito looks up, blinking out of the daze he’d fallen into and pulls up a clueless smile. “Hm? Sorry, did you say something?”

Bakugo makes a screeching sound like an angry cat. “You extras aren’t needed here! Get lost!”

Putting Bakugo and Nagito in the same space was a bit like throwing a lit match at a powder keg and stepping back to see what happens. Somehow it never seems to get any less explosive.

“My apologies,” Nagito says with a too familiar self deprecating smile. For a moment Hajime sees it superimposed with a dozen other situations and moments.

Nagito likes to pretend that he’s a doormat except he really... isn’t. At least not in any conventional sense or meaning of the word.

“I would’ve thought our presence here would be no issue for such accomplished hero students but it seems I was mistaken.”

-Yep, there it is.

Bakugo lets out an inarticulate sound of rage and his next attack puts a hole through the wall.

“Careful, Bakugo!” Kirishima yells cheerfully, in far too good of a mood despite everything.

He decks one of their attackers in the face, smiling brightly as he does it. The criminal drops to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

“You don’t want to have to write another paper about appropriate use of force!” He adds, smiling even more brightly, and punches another guy in the stomach.

“FUCK OFF!”

Nagito shuffles around some rubble and unconscious bodies as he makes his way towards Hajime, stumbling slightly and just barely managing to avoid a pipe aimed at his head by pure coincidence.

In general Hajime feels fairly secure in Nagito’s safety. But he’d rather not tempt fate by seeing how his luck chooses to ensure it. And what the collateral damage of that will be.

Judging the distance Hajime deftly kicks some rubble at the guys’s forehead with pinpoint accuracy. He drops inelegantly to the ground.

Kirishima shoots Hajime a thumbs up and a grin when he sees it.

A distant crash sounds and the ground beneath their feet shakes. For once Hajime can’t even pin the blame on Nagito, steadying him with a hand on his arm as he stumbles.

“… Should we go check that out?” Kirishima wonders aloud.

“I nominate Bakugo to go,” Nagito says brightly—in a way Hajime has unfortunately learned to associate with someone being fucked over. Half the time it’s him.

“HAH?!”

Hajime reminds himself that he is above murder now. Izuru Kamukura might have been fine with it but Hajime Hinata is not.

The warm pressure of Nagito’s hand at the small of his back helps. A bit.

Izuku’s part in the plan is relatively simple. In theory. It’s also the most important.

Oh god, why did he agree to do this?

He can distantly hear Mineta yelling something unintelligible—he might just be plain screaming and not saying anything at all actually—as he throws balls haphazardly down into the water with reckless abandon.

“Ready Midoriya?” Tsu asks, positioning an arm around his waist in preparation.

Timing will be key. The second the villains notice them trying to make an escape they’ll make their move.

No, Izuku wants to say. He’s not ready. He’s not sure he’ll ever be ready. But he’s here to become a hero. And he can’t do that by running away.

“Yes,” he says. It comes out a bit shaky but Tsu doesn’t waste time asking if he’s sure as the ship’s engine finally rumbles into motion.

It’s a bit like how Izuku imagines flying would be as Tsu jumps high into the air, giving Izuku an overhead view of the ship. There’s air whipping past them and Izuku can’t tell if his ears are ringing because of that or the blood rushing through them.

There’s no time to admire Tsu’s quirk though as he frantically analyzes the area. Not too close or the ship will sink—One For All is powerful, and even Izuku doesn’t quite know how powerful. He needs to play this carefully.

When he uses One For All there’s always a moment—like a drop in the pit of his stomach—where Izuku is sure it won’t work. (He used to do that as a kid—try desperately to activate a quirk that wouldn’t come.) Right up until the still foreign sensation of One For All courses through him as he readies his hand and focuses. He aims for a ways behind the ship and-

Boom!

It’s a bit like one of Kacchan’s explosions going off but- more.

Water rushes up in a geyser and Tsu’s tongue wraps around the railing by the front of the ship to reel them in. Izuku’s finger hurts from the backlash but- he did it. He used his quirk. All Might’s quirk. It worked.

Tsu doesn’t have time to make the landing gentle as they hit the deck, knocking the breath out of Izuku’s lungs with a pained gasp. Mineta’s screaming reaches a new pitch as the wave Izuku created rushes past and sweeps the ship away with it. He thinks he can hear Kuzuryu let out a whoop.

It worked. He almost doesn’t quite believe it even as water washes up onto the deck and makes him cough up water for the second time that day. It’s just about all he can do to cling to the railing for dear life with Tsu.

“Not bad Midoriya,” Tsu croaks.

-And then the ship jerks, teetering forebodingly for a moment. Is it just Izuku or is the ship-?

“One of the villains cut the ship in half!” Mineta screams hysterically, in a better position to tell as he clings to the side railing closer to the center.

Okay, apparently it’s not just Izuku. The ship is actually sinking. Okayokayokay.

“Kuzuryu!” He yells instinctively, glancing up at his classmate at the helm.

A string of curses is his answer, which is not exactly confidence building. Izuku tries very hard not to feel like he’s having a panic attack.

“I can see the shore!” Tsu interrupts, her voice barely heard over the sound of rushing water.

Izuku can too. It’s approaching rapidly. Like, really rapidly. Oh god-

It occurs to Izuku now—belatedly—that when making this plan he hadn’t really considered all the technicalities involved in how they were going to, well, stop.

“Kuzuryu!” Izuku shrieks again.

“Fuck off!” He yells back, which is so very Kacchan-like Izuku is almost tempted to laugh. “I’m busy here bastard!”

Almost, because then Izuku sees-

“Aizawa-sensei-“ Izuku gasps instinctively, hoping he’s wrong as they get close enough to make out a figure on the ground and the hulking frame above him; but the image doesn’t change and is only becoming more clear the closer they get.

No-

“Brace yourselves!” Kuzuryu snaps, forcefully turning the wheel-

“You guys are crazy!” Mineta screeches with the tone of someone having a lot of regrets. Izuku desperately relates.

-which is all the warning Izuku gets before the ship slams into shore with an ominous grinding noise and things get fuzzy.

Chapter Text

That… is a ship, Aizawa thinks blankly.

It’s perhaps not his brightest observation but Aizawa can blame that on the concussion. And the blood-loss. And the pain of his broken bones.

None of these changes the fact that that is indeed a ship careening towards him. Or, well, part of one.

Aizawa blearily wonders which of his students' brilliant idea this was.

(His money’s on Midoriya or one of Hinata’s lot.)

Aizawa wishes they could be a little quieter about it though. The harsh screeching of the metal hull against the ground is not helping his concussion. Honestly, these kids have no consideration.

The villain (creature???) releases him at the sight despite having so far shown no sign of consciousness. Perhaps it’s only instinctively reacting to the perceived threat. Turning it raises its arms to brace for impact as the ship slides towards them.

There’s a brief moment where Aizawa is fairly certain he’s about to die. But his Will is all in order (Hizashi gets all his cats, possibly as revenge for all his antics) and has been for a while. Pro heroes didn’t exactly have the best life expectancy and Aizawa didn’t like leaving things unfinished, so. It worked out. Maybe.

The ship stops mere inches from his face, shuddering at the abrupt stop, and sending dirt into his face. Weakly Aizawa coughs and getting hit by a truck would probably hurt less than the pain that shoots through his body at the motion.

The side of the ship is dented where the creature stopped it with its bare hands. It’s like having another All Might around. Which is just… great. As his cracked skull could likely testify. (Great is not actually the word that comes to mind. ‘Troublesome’ and a couple variations of ‘fuck’ are.) Thankfully, it makes no other movements.

“… What kind of flashy entrance was that?”

It takes Aizawa a couple of moments to process the words over the ringing in his ears and a few more to connect the flat voice with the hand villain from earlier.

A voice that sounds suspiciously like Kuzuryu’s filters in next. “-mother fucking blue-balled piece of junk-!”

If Aizawa’s entire face didn’t hurt he might have raised an eyebrow at the language. As it is, it doesn't seem worth the effort or pain.

“-fucking-” Kuzuryu cuts himself off briefly before finishing with a note of finality. “-shit! Status report! Now!”

Huh, Aizawa thinks and can’t quite finish the thought.

Despite being elected Class President Kuzuryu has shown little inclination towards leadership, seeming to prefer leaving most of his duties to Iida (understandable) and leaning towards following Hinata’s lead. It occurs to Aizawa, now, that perhaps he should have remembered earlier that Kuzuryu has never been shown to be lacking in initiation or authority though. Just lacking interest in his duties as a Class President.

He definitely seems motivated now though.

“I hate you guys!” Mineta immediately yells, sounding extremely traumatized and like he’s crying.

So he’s fine. Mostly. Physically, Aizawa amends.

Aizawa reminds himself to have another talk with Nedzu about a school counselor or therapist. Especially after this. The thought is distant and hazy though.

“I’m fine!” Comes Asui’s voice swiftly after and very sensibly. Aizawa should not have favorites. But Asui might just be his favorite student. “But I think Midoriya might have a concussion!”

Of course it’s Midoriya. Aizawa’s beginning to see a pattern emerging and it’s not one he likes.

“That’s unfortunate,” says a voice far more sinisterly and Aizawa wants to jerk at the adrenaline that goes through him as he puts two and two together. His students plus hand villain and you get-

Aizawa can barely lift his head enough to vaguely make out the sight of the hand villain standing in front of the tilted ship with his hand raised. The metal erodes beneath his touch and with the frame all but gone the deck sinks—bringing two green blobs Aizawa places as Midoriya and Asui down to him.

Midoriya has a concussion and Asui isn’t moving—possibly frozen in terror. If the hand villain just reaches out he could-

Aizawa’s elbow disintegrating comes to mind.

-no time, Aizawa will just have to use his quirk-

Glass shatters and suddenly the hand villain is stumbling back, clutching at his neck. “You-“ he hisses out furiously and Aizawa follows his glare as best he can. His neck aches from the awkward angle.

“Hands off fuck face,” Kuzuryu snaps, apparently having unceremoniously broken the window at the helm to get a clear shot.

For the first time Aizawa is almost grateful for Hinata’s band of menaces. At least they’re being someone else’s problem now.

“… Was… was that a pun?” Midoriya asks woozily. Kid must be delirious.

The hand villain snarls in rage and tries to lunge again.

Three things happen simultaneously.

One, Kuzuryu fires four more shots, which is probably overkill.

Two, All Might comes busting through the wall, which is not conducive to Aizawa’s throbbing head.

Three, the rest of the U.A. staff dramatically bursts through the entrance, which is nice and all but a little less theatrics next time would be more appreciated.

It’s around this time Aizawa decides it’s time for a nap.

“What fresh torture is this?” Gundham asks warily, eyeing the bowl of Lucky Charms like the sugary sweet rainbow marshmallows in it are cursed.

Byakuya is a little surprised he hasn’t started hissing at it like a disgruntled cat. Is it the color? Or the amount of uncanny happiness the cereal seems to project?

They’ve only had their apartment for a few days and Gundham has already managed to exchange the white curtains for black ones and arrange candles on almost every flat surface of the room. Byakuya doesn’t even know where he got the candles. And Peko only barely managed to talk him out of painting a magic circle on the floor. Their rental agreement didn’t include painting the space or ritual summoning.

“Gundham,” Byakuya starts primly, “eat the damn cereal.”

They’re poor now, they will take what they can get and like it. And if they get diabetes from this than so be it, he thinks, shoveling more cereal determinedly into his mouth. Survival first.

Silently, and without complaint, Peko spoons the cereal into her mouth like it’s a battle to be won. Her expression doesn’t change as she chews. She goes for another spoonful. Byakuya is glad that at least one of them can be reasonable.

See? Byakuya tries to communicate to Gundham with his eyebrows alone.

One of Gundham’s hamsters skitters down his arm to snag a piece to nibble on and Gundham reacts like it just ate poison. His face is utterly horrified.

Peko’s lips twitch upwards as she watches them. The expression is tucked away again quickly.

“-a new threat calling themselves the League of Villains,” the news drones on in the background of their small one room apartment. “While there are no casualties after the attack we are still waiting on more information-“ The screen changes to show more of the scene.

Byakuya chokes on his cereal.

Because there in the corner of the screen is Fuyuhiko looking like a drowned cat with a blanket laid over him, Komaeda looking like he just walked out of a burning building, and Hajime, whose hands are covered in blood.

Peko raises a single eyebrow. “Well,” she says and does not elaborate.

“The dark powers of the underworld have answered my summoning and blessed us,” Gundham says with a smirk, leaning back in his chair with all the satisfaction of a king.

A painful wheeze is Byakuya’s only response.

Nedzu looks the most serious Hajime has seen him. For the first time he doesn’t offer him any tea. That veil of civility put aside in exchange for something more grave.

“I feel like perhaps now might be the time for a more direct approach,” he says lightly, beady eyes hard.

The ticking of the clock on the wall seems loud in the silence. Hajime counts down the seconds until the next hour. That should end up being enough time.

214, 213, 212…

“Do you have any ill intentions towards this institution or anyone in it?” Nedzu asks frankly. Hajime doesn’t think he’s (knows he hasn’t) blinked since Hajime arrived.

“No.”

Quick, emotionless, and to the point. He falls silent after, biding his time. There’s no blood under his nails anymore but the impulse to pick at them lingers regardless. He’d tap his fingers except Izuru is too well trained to hand out tells like that.

Nedzu doesn’t lift his weighty stare. “I almost wish I could say I believe you,” he says with the same airy tone—at odds with his entire demeanor.

188, 187, 186…

“But, unfortunately, I find I’m unwilling to compromise the safety of my staff and students and so I’m afraid we’ve reached another impasse.”

Left unsaid is that Nedzu also cannot ignore Hajime’s actions in aiding the school so far. His warning and first aid are likely the only reasons Hajime is not speaking to the police right now instead.

Already Hajime finds himself bored with what he knows will be the conversation's conclusion. Honestly, Nagito better appreciate him doing this. Then again, knowing Nagito, he’d likely appreciate it a little too much.

“The ringleader escaped didn’t he?” Hajime says now.

“Indeed he did,” Nedzu agrees candidly.

In this moment he reminds Hajime of Monokuma more than he ever has before.

159, 158, 157…

Neither of them needs to say that this first attack was only the beginning.

Nedzu isn’t slow on the uptake. “What are you offering?”

151, 150, 149…

Truly, how boring.

Idly Nagito sits outside the dorm rooms as Fuyuhiko showers inside. He turns his phone over in his hand as he waits for Hajime to return from his meeting. The home screen is already set to a picture of him and Hajime. It likely won’t last long enough for anything else to be necessary.

He holds the other phone up to his ear.

“So,” he says, perfectly friendly, “you failed.”

There’s a sharp hiss from the other end of the line.

“I have to say,” Nagito continues undeterred, “I was expecting something… more.”

All Might is the Symbol of Peace. He’s this world’s Makoto Naegi in some respects. In others he’s Hajime. Both of them aren’t easy targets—for entirely different reasons.

So the plan the LOV had come up with was… disappointing to say the least. Or maybe lackluster.

“Truly disappointing really,” Nagito adds with a heavy sigh.

Shigaraki makes a sound that could be mistaken for a feral animal. “Don’t talk like you’re blameless! Your help was completely useless!”

Nqgito feels his eyes widen in genuine surprise. “My help?” He can’t help but laugh lightly at the thought. “Oh no, I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood,” he says a tad regretfully. “This was just a simple test. I simply wanted to see what you’d do.”

For a moment there’s silence. “A test,” Shigaraki repeats, voice eerily blank. There’s a low boiling fury building underneath it though. Nagito wonders at it.

Nagito hums in agreement, taking another look at his home screen. Nagito’s flesh and blood arm is slung around Hajime’s shoulder as the mechanical one takes the photo. Hajime’s arms are crossed, making no effort to return the embrace, and the look he’s giving Nagito is patently exasperated.

(“Are you going to do this every time you get a new phone?” He’d asked.

“I see no reason not to,” Nagito had replied, Hajime getting that look on his face that meant he was questioning why he’d let things come to this.)

Despite everything though, even Nagito can’t pretend the expression on Hajime’s face is anything but fond.

“You failed by the way,” Nagito adds as he blinks back to the present. “But I suppose you did manage to safely get away so you’re not completely useless to me now,” he acknowledges happily because every bright side should be praised.

The LOV certainly aren’t Ultimates though. Nagito wants to sigh again as he laments this fact.

“Fuck you!” Shigaraki snarls.

The awkward laugh that tumbles out of Nagito’s mouth is purely instinctual. “My apologies. What did I do?”

“ YOU -“

Shigaraki’s voice goes distant as some shuffling happens. “My apologies,” a new, lower voice says. Nagito vaguely recognizes it from the USJ. “I’m afraid he’s still learning.” He sounds like a parent excusing their rowdy child. “Next time we’ll be more prepared.”

Muffled cursing comes through in the background, followed by a crashing sound.

“Ah, Kurogiri is it?” Nagito concludes brightly.

That’s what some of the other students told the police he’d introduced himself as.

There’s a long pause on the other end. “… Indeed.“

“Well it’s no problem,” Nagito says and means it. Something can’t be a problem when it’s never mattered to begin with.

“That’s good to hear,” Kurogiri says neutrally, carefully impartial. He could give Kirigiri a run for her money. “Can we still count on your support then?”

“Of course,” Nagito agrees easily, absently looking at the stars. He wonders if they’re different from the ones in his world. Hajime will probably know. He’ll have to ask him when he comes back.

“In that case before we bring you any results we’d like to ask you to do us a favor.”

Well he’s certainly a much better negotiator than Shigaraki.

“I can’t imagine there’s much someone like me can do for you,” Nagito disclaims.

After all, outside of his luck he’s pretty hopeless. Ah, wait- Hajime would scold him if he heard that thought.

Still, he wonders if this means the LOV have made any progress on what he asked for, or if they’re trying to string him along until his use has run its course. Either way it’s very efficient. Nagito almost wants to praise them for it; except that it would be tipping his hand too soon.

“But of course I’ll do whatever I can,” Nagito promises with a smile.

After all, he won’t know which it is until afterwards will he?

“You look awful,” Hizashi announces, flouncing into Aizawa’s hospital room.

Aizawa blinks at him sleepily. “Who let you in?” He mumbles groggily.

Admittedly he’s a bit out of it from the morphine and can’t make his eyes focus enough to read the clock but he’s fairly certain it’s past visiting hours. Or any decent hour really.

Hizashi beams at him. “Your nurse! Turns out she’s a fan of mine! Even asked for my autograph!”

Aizawa really needs to have a talk with the hospital about safety protocols once he’s discharged.

“And look!” Hizashi says a bit too loudly, thrusting something into his face as he plops down into the visitor’s chair. “I got you a card!”

YOU LIVED! it reads with a smiley face tacked onto the end. Aizawa would ask except he doesn’t want that to be mistaken as encouragement. He glowers at Hizashi instead.

Hizashi is immune to ‘bad vibes’, as he put it, though and simply squints at him over his ridiculous glasses. “And I meant to ask, where the hell did you find that kid?”

“… You might need to be a little more specific,” Aizawa deadpans, his voice muffled by the bandages.

Hizashi snorts, an ugly, inelegant sound. “Hinata. You know, the kid that basically had to do a field surgery on you until paramedics arrived?”

Aizawa blinks. He must have heard that wrong. “Hinata?” He sends a glance towards his morphine drip. What did they put in it?

“Yep.” Hizashi pops the ‘p’.

Aizawa has a sinking feeling. “ Hajime Hinata?”

Hizashi shrugs, deceptively casual in a way that means he’s actually been mulling this over for hours now. “Apparently he knows first aid. Who knew?”

Certainly not him, Aizawa reflects. Hinata had previously shown discomfort just being in the infirmary. Nothing about the experience had made Aizawa suspect he had any formal medical training.

He’s getting very tired of how many surprises their new visitors keep throwing at them. He especially doesn’t like the idea of owing them anything.

“He’s good too,” Hizashi adds almost carelessly, but his gaze is searching. “Even Recovery Girl was impressed. I see why you and Nedzu scooped him up.” 

Ah. Sometimes Hizashi is a bit too clever.

“What else happened?” Aizawa deflects instead.

Hizashi heaves a sigh as if Aizawa perpetually disappoints him by refusing to play along but lets his unsubtle change in topic go unchallenged.

“Well you’ll be glad to know that you got off the worst,” Hazashi leads with because he knows him too well. “Aside from you, only Kuzuryu and Midoriya were injured and it was nothing Recovery Girl couldn’t heal in a jiffy.”

Midoriya makes sense but- “Kuzuryu?” Aizawa mutters.

He doesn’t remember Kuzuryu being injured. Though, admittedly, his memory is a bit fuzzy and includes a ship on land, so maybe he should take his recollection of events with a grain of salt.

“He injured his hand punching a window.”

Aizawa can vaguely recall the sound of shattering glass, which checks out, but also leaves him with an entirely different question.

“The ship was real?”

“The ship was real,” Hizashi confirms gleefully with a toothy grin.

Huh. Aizawa is not sure this is an improvement over head trauma. If his hands weren’t thoroughly mummified he’d pinch the bridge of nose. He settles for giving the ceiling a thousand yard stare.

“Midoriya?”

Hizashi scratches the side of his nose. “Eh.” He wobbles his hand side-to-side. “Kuzuryu’s idea, Midoriya’s plan.”

Of course.

Those two should never be allowed to work together ever again. Under any circumstances.

Aizawa has the pressing urge to give the both of them detention for the rest of their lives. He might be able to manage it with Midoriya. He has his doubts with Kuzuryu.

Does he want to ask how it happened? Aizawa considers as he stares at the ceiling paneling. Or does he want to live in blissful ignorance and shove the whole thing under the rug, only to be contemplated late at night when he can’t sleep?

Honestly, these kids are more trouble than the villains are.

Chapter Text

Hajime finds Nagito waiting for him on the dorm room steps, the sight oddly picturesque in the glow of the moonlight. His hair is especially eye-catching in the lighting. Nagito gives one of his little waves when he catches sight of Hajime, his smile familiar.

“How’d it go?”

“As expected. What are you doing out?” Hajime asks, walking forward again when he realizes he’d stopped to take in the scene.

“Waiting for you,” Nagito says simply, with uncomplicated honesty.

Hajime experiences a moment of disconnect as he wonders how someone so thoughtful can also be so uncaring before he shakes the thought away, moving to sit next to him. He sits close enough for the fabric of their clothes to brush, feeling drained.

“You’ll catch a cold,” Hajime points out.

“I doubt it,” Nagito says, sounding entirely unconcerned with the confidence only someone blessed with Ultimate Luck can have.

To be fair his luck seems to prefer giving him life altering and ending illnesses, not little colds.

Nagito tilts his head back to face the sky.

“I almost forgot what stars looked like,” he says like it doesn’t matter—like it isn’t another thing the Tragedy had taken from them, the air so polluted that stars were wiped from view.

“There were stars in the Neo World Program,” Hajime says, tilting his own head back to take them in. Not that they’d known to appreciate them at the time. Stars had simply been a given then. Simpler times. Hajime almost snorts out loud at the thought.

Nagito laughs lightly at that, the vibrations of it passing through Hajime due to how close they’re sitting. Perhaps not his smartest choice when now he finds himself hyper aware of the ambient warmth Nagito puts out.

“That’s true. Do you think it was based on the actual sky?”

“Who knows?” Hajime says with a shrug.

Plenty of things—including the island’s actual layout—had been fudged in the Neo World Program. Hajime wouldn’t have been surprised if the programmer had only thrown up some pretty lights at random and called it good. It’s not like any of them had been able to tell—clearly.

Nagito accepts that easily enough, taking Hajime’s hand with his flesh and blood one. Hajime turns away from the stars to look at their intertwined hands. He moves his thumb back and forth, considering the smoothness of Nagito’s skin.

“Do you know anything about stars?” Nagito asks curiously, looking away from the sky in favor of observing Hajime.

“No,” Hajime says instinctively—he’d never had any interest in them. Most of the time he’d been too busy looking down anyway, his head hung low.

He glances up at the stars again and sighs. “Yes,” he corrects, finding himself able to pick out several constellations, along with the legends behind them, and knowing far too many scientific facts about different stars and how they’re formed.

Nagito doesn’t comment on it, also turning back to the sky. “Do you know if they're the same as the ones here?”

“Seems so,” Hajime says, unsure of what to make of that. “I wouldn’t be surprised if there were some differences though.”

Nagito hums thoughtfully.

“How’d your call go?” Hajime asks as the night breeze picks up, causing Nagito to shiver.

Without thought Hajime detangles their hands to take off his jacket and lay it over Nagito’s shoulders. It’s only when Nagito beams at him, catching his hand again, that Hajime’s thoughts catch up to his actions and he determinedly looks away, almost wishing embarrassment was still an emotion he couldn’t feel.

“Not as bad as it could’ve been,” Nagito answers, still seeming pleased.

“How utterly uninformative,” Hajime deadpans, still keeping his eyes firmly on a distant tree.

It was a nice tree. Very sturdy.

Nagito laughs at his response. “Sorry to say but I think I should keep the details to myself this time.”

Hajime turns back to him at last, meeting his gaze. “I think that’s quite possibly the least reassuring thing I’ve ever heard,” he says, nonplussed.

Nagito smiles, but his gaze is hard. “I suppose you’ll just have to trust me then,” he says flippantly.

A dangerous precedent to set if Hajime has ever heard one.

But this (and Hajime doesn’t even know if he means their relationship or the situation they're in. Maybe both) won’t work if he doesn’t.

“Just don’t kill anyone,” he says dryly. “That includes yourself by the way.”

“Oh Hajime,” Nagito sighs as if he’s both endearing and too naive for words, patting the back of his hand.

None of this is exactly giving Hajime confidence about his choice and yet here they are.

He stands with a roll of his eyes. “Let’s get inside before you actually catch your death.”

“As Hajime says,” Nagito says graciously as he follows him up.

This time it’s Hajime that takes his hand.

“Has U.A. never heard of canceling classes?” Fuyuhiko gripes, mostly to himself as they find themselves back in class one day after the USJ attack. His hand is neatly bandaged—Hajime’s work—having flatly refused to let Recovery Girl use her quirk on him.

Hagakure laughs when she overhears him. “Not really! Plus Ultra and all that!”

“I swear to god that the next person that says that I’m going to bash their goddamn head in,” Fuyuhiko announces idly.

“Woah, hostile,” Sero comments from next to him.

“You haven’t seen hostile,” Fuyuhiko says frankly with all the self assurance of someone that has an entire world out for their blood.

… Sometimes Hajime just needs to stop and remind himself that his life isn’t normal just to maintain his sanity.

“Kuzuryu, violence is not the answer!” Iida frantically tries to intervene.

Fuyuhiko shrugs. “There are times when violence isn’t the answer,” he agrees with deceptive ease that belies the bloody history and grief he felt to reach that answer. “I’m not convinced this is one of them though,” he adds, probably joking.

Iida gives him his most disapproving look yet. “Regardless there’s nothing wrong with U.A.’s school motto!”

Nagito hums with the lightest sense of protest. “I don’t know about that. It certainly seems to encourage reckless if not destructive behavior.” It’s said brightly, as if Nagito truly doesn’t see how this could be problematic despite being the one to point it out in the first place.

It’s not a pointed comment as far as Hajime can tell, simply more of Nagito’s offbeat musings—though Midoriya certainly feels like it is based on the way he sinks further into his seat with a wince. Nagito doesn’t even spare a glance in his direction.

“Though of course,” he adds graciously enough Hajime can’t tell if he’s sincere or not, “I’m sure that wasn’t the intention.”

Nagito, in an odd dichotomy that defies rational and sense, constantly gives people the benefit of the doubt while automatically assuming the worst of them. In this way people can only ever really live up to his expectations and never disappoint.

Iida falters a bit at that, unnecessarily pushing up his glasses in a move that telegraphs his unease. “I suppose I could see how you’d get that from it even if I don’t believe that was the spirit it was intended with.”

Fuyuhiko makes a disgusted noise in his throat to break the odd atmosphere that settled over the room. “I’m just sick of hearing it all the damn time,” he says factually, turning his head away. “Why does everything gotta turn into a goddamn philosophical debate with you?”

Nagito laughs sheepishly, his hands back up in that familiar gesture of surrender even when Nagito hasn’t actually ceded a bit of ground. “My apologies.”

Aizawa takes that moment to inch into the classroom completely mummified. “Quiet down,” he orders though he volume never raises past the conversational range, only vaguely understandable through the bandaging on his face.

“Does U.A. not have health days too?” Hajime asks, a bit incredulously at this point.

Hagakure actually leans over her desk from how hard she starts laughing.

Aizawa looks like he’s regretting being there was more intensity than is normal even for him. “No, Hinata, I insisted on coming back to work.”

“Talk about dedication,” Sero mumbles.

Nagito, who wouldn’t know anything about human limits if they stabbed him—go on, ask Hajime how he knows—smiles. “Well we’re happy to have you Sensei.”

“Are we?” Fuyuhiko deadpans, devoid of any real or even faked hostility—rather just going through the motions of being antagonistic.

“Seriously, Sensei,” Asui pipes up, “are you sure you shouldn’t still be in the hospital?”

“It’s fine,” Aizawa mumbles. “I’m not doing anything strenuous.”

Before anyone can address that statement Aizawa continues.

“More importantly, you will be facing your next big challenge.” Aizawa pauses as the tension racks up. “The U.A. Sports Festival will be starting soon,” he adds with what is perhaps the least amount of enthusiasm a human being that wasn’t Hajime as Izuru has ever expressed.

The tension breaks as the class immediately bursts into excited chatter.

“The fuck is the Sports Festival?” Fuyuhiko asks unceremoniously, irritated at being in the dark.

“Bro,” Sero says, incredulous. “How can you not know?”

“It’s a school event that’s broadcasted so you can get internships with more experienced heroes,” Hajime succinctly explains.

It had been in Aizawa’s calendar so Hajime had looked it up.

“… Thanks for that Hinata,” Aizawa says a touch dryly as he narrows his eyes at him suspiciously. “And while we’re on the subject: Hinata, Komaeda, Kuzuryu; you’re not participating,” he lays out bluntly.

Hajime, who doesn’t plan on living in this world long enough to even need a career, is unfazed.

“What?!”

“Why not?!”

In contrast, his classmates’ outrage is almost touching, if unnecessary.

Aizawa stares into the distance, for the first time looking like he’d rather be back in his hospital bed than here, and says. “They’ll be getting internships through another method.”

Hajime translates that in his head to: we don’t trust you enough to let you out of our sight.

For the first time since entering the classroom Aizawa meets his gaze as they exchange weighted looks.

There’s the barest hint of pause before Aizawa continues, “Unfortunately that method is only available to them so the rest of you will need to work hard for the upcoming event.”

There’s some grumbling but no one outright protests, most too excited by the prospect of showing off and proving themselves.

At this point Hajime half suspects that most of the class thinks the three of them used to be secret agents—or something. With the three of them being such established outliers that no one even really questions the oddities around them anymore. Something Nedzu is clearly taking full advantage to keep them exactly where he wants them—which is under his paw. Clever.

And inconvenient, Hajime concludes. They might have to leave U.A. sooner than they expected if their stay has reached the limit of its usefulness. But he still has a few more plays to make before it comes to that.

Aizawa calls them out to the hall after the class ends, looking thoroughly exhausted as he takes in the three of them. Finally he sighs.

“Kuzuryu, is there a reason you fired five total tranquilizer shots at a villain instead of keeping it at the recommended two?” Aizawa starts tiredly.

It sounds vaguely rehearsed. As if Aizawa has needed to give variants of this same speech too many times now.

“Yeah,” Fuyuhiko says bluntly, “I didn’t like his face.”

Aizawa blinks slowly. “His face was covered by a hand.”

“Exactly.”

Well. Hard to argue with that. Aizawa doesn’t seem to care to come up with one either based on the blank look on his face. He sighs again, harder.

“Just… don’t make me give another lecture on excessive force,” he begs off with his typical monotone.

Fuyuhiko crosses his arms, a stubborn clench to his jaw. “I’m not promising shit.”

Aizawa just covers his eyes and mumbles something about how ‘Hinata should’ve let him die’.

Figures, Hajime tries doing a good thing and no one appreciates it. But then what else is new?

Aizawa lets out another tired breath. “Moving on. Hinata, Principal Nezu finally got the paperwork necessary for you to work in the support department done.”

Hajime can infer the rest. “When can I start?”

“Now. Nezu asked me to introduce you to who will be supervising you.”

Meaning Nezu predicted Hajime would want to start right away.

Aizawa catches Hajime’s glances at Fuyuhiko and Nagito. “Alone,” he adds, sounding deeply unimpressed, though about what exactly Hajime couldn’t say.

Hajime keeps his face expressionless. U.A. is not dangerous, exactly. The idea of them purposefully being divided is not a particularly comforting one though.

Fuyuhiko makes a shooing motion with his hand as he rolls his eye. “Go on. Me and your boytoy will be fine. The sooner you get this shit done the sooner we can get back right?”

“Not my boytoy,” Hajime says, in lieu of countering his other very good points.

Nagito smiles innocently. “I don’t mind being your boytoy Hajime,” he says earnestly, holding Hajime’s gaze.

-Never mind, Hajime no longer wants to be here.

“I’m leaving,” Hajime decides immediately as Fuyuhiko makes a face.

“I didn’t need to hear that shit,” he complains with a grimace, which Hajime feels is only karma for tossing out the term in the first place.

“Have fun!” Nagito says, waving goodbye as Hajime flees at a deliberately normal walking pace, Aizawa already two steps ahead of him.

“Well, well, well~” A loud voice echoes through the cafeteria. “Look who it is!”

Fuyuhiko hasn’t even gotten to eat his goddamn food yet. “Who the fuck is this?” He asks the world at large flatly, setting his fork down to brace for whatever clownery this is. “Who the fuck are you?”

The student in question performs an actual hair toss. Fuyuhiko can feel his lips flatten even more. What the fuck is this.

“I’m Neito Monoma from class 1-B, and the rumor going around the block is that you three are your class’ star students,” he announces grandly, if condescendingly.

Behind the Monoma kid Kirishima sends them a thumbs up, which explains where he got that strange idea from. Aizawa would probably have an aneurism if he ever heard it.

There’s an arrogant smirk on Monoma’s. “Oh! But it seems like your illustrious leader isn’t here-“ His face turns into a sneer. “-perhaps he’s hiding like the coward he really is after you lot were banned from entering the Sports Festival.”

Across Fuyuhiko Aoyama’s smile seems to brighten several degrees as his eyes flatten. His fingers are white from how hard he’s gripping his chopsticks. And Hagakure- yeah, Fuyuhiko has no fucking idea.

But this whole thing is a pissing contest then. Fuyuhiko can do that.

“Or maybe he has better shit to do than deal with you,” Fuyuhiko shoots back easily, crossing his arms as he leans back in his seat. “I know I sure as shit do.”

Monoma matches his glare with a smile that borders on sickly—it’s eerily reminiscent of someone high off despair and Fuyuhiko has to strangle his first three impulses down so this world’s police don’t need to get involved.

“I was looking forward to crushing you all in the Sports Festival but don’t worry, Class 1-B will still prove its superiority and that Class 1-A is nothing special,” he says with a passion that borders on fanaticism.

What the actual fuck is wrong with this kid.

Clapping rings out in the silence that follows this declaration.

“Don’t fucking clap you freak,” Fuyuhiko snaps at Komaeda. “This asshole’s insulting us and your boyfriend.”

An uneasy laugh leaves Komaeda. “He was just so passionate I couldn’t help but be swept up,” he explains as if that makes any fucking sense at all. “It had so much hope-“

“Don’t you dare finish that fucking sentence.”

Monoma sticks his nose up imperiously. “At least one of you knows who’s truly superior here,” he mocks.

“Don’t feel too special,” Fuyuhiko can’t help but retort flatly, looking away in clear dismissal. “That guy would put trash above himself.”

Komaeda chuckles awkwardly. “Well trash can often be more useful than people think. I once found a lottery ticket in a trash bag you know and I ended up-“

“That’s because you’re a freak of nature,” Fuyuhiko interrupts, tapping his fingers against his crossed arms irritably. It doesn’t matter how Komaeda would have ended that sentence because it would’ve been fucking ridiculous no matter what.

Fuyuhiko has no idea what Hajime sees in him and frankly he feels like he’s better off not knowing.

Miracles of miracles, Monoma actually shuts up, looking momentarily speechless. A large hand quickly covers his face to keep it that way.

“Neito!” The ginger haired girl scolds. “What did I say?”

A muffled yell that might be a protest leaves Monoma but the girl doesn’t move her hand, instead giving them an apologetic look.

“Sorry about him. He’s, uh…”

“A dumbass?” Fuyuhiko offers.

She laughs a bit even as Monoma makes another sound of protest, louder than before, that they all summarily ignore. Fuyuhiko has only known her for about five seconds and already she seems like the sanest person in the building.

“That’s one word for it,” she agrees. “I’m Itsuka Kendo by the way,” she calls back as she starts dragging Monoma away, ignoring his flailing. “Sorry again!”

“Well, that was enlightening!” Komaeda says brightly, after a few beats.

“Oui,” Aoyama agrees, back to his normal level of sparkliness.

Fuyuhiko snorts, picking up his fork again as he turns back to his food.

Chapter Text

Aizawa comes to a stop in an empty hallway.

Hajime, who’s pretending he doesn’t have the entire school’s layout already memorized, politely stops with him and waits for whatever this is about. The support department is still two hallways away after all.

Aizawa stares at him silently, as if he’s weighing something. Finally he turns to face Hajime fully.

“I wanted to thank you for your help at the USJ,” he says at last, tone more formal than Hajime has ever heard from him. “The doctors said my recovery would likely have taken much longer if it wasn’t for you.”

“… You’re welcome,” Hajime says, for once caught off guard.

Gratitude is perhaps the last thing he’d been expecting. He can’t remember the last time he’d received any from someone outside his class that wasn’t Makoto Naegi. After all, he was one of the greatest evils to ever live—or something like that.

Aizawa nods once. “That being said, what are your intentions?”

Ah.

Hajime wonders how much Nedzu has told him. It doesn’t really matter though, Hajime’s answer is the same.

“From the start I’ve only ever had one intention,” Hajime says. “To get back to our dimension.”

Through whatever means are available.

Not by any means necessary, because Hajime, unlike Izuru, has lines he won’t cross. Killing people is one of them. But that doesn’t mean other things aren’t fair game.

Aizawa stares hard at him and Hajime wonders what he sees.

“I see,” Aizawa finally mumbles as he turns away. “Let’s get you started on that then. The sooner you troublemakers are out of my class the better.”

That they can agree on.

“This is Power Loader,” Aizawa introduces without fanfare.

Hajime doesn’t even bother to ask why the teacher is shirtless, or why he’s allowed to work around dangerous machinery without a shirt. He’s already accepted that U.A. has only a passing idea of what professionalism and safety is.

“He teaches and manages the school’s support department and will be supplying you with any equipment you will need as well as observing your process.”

Meaning he’ll probably be the one to report Hajime’s progress and actions to Nedzu.

So this is his leash then.

There’s a long, awkward pause that follows as they wait for him to add something. Hajime doesn’t.

“… Right,” Power Loader says at last. “Any ideas on where you want to start?”

Yes, actually.

“Do you have paper and a pen?” Hajime asks.

Kazuichi squints at wiring for what must be the millionth time and it’s still not making any more sense than the first time he looked in here. Whoever made this needed to never make anything ever again, seriously, this was awful. Kazuichi will probably be seeing this again in his nightmares tonight after staring at it for so long.

“Kazuichi.”

Kazuichi shrieks at the voice coming behind him, whipping around.

Kyoko Kirigiri meets his reaction with a cool look and a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, uh, hey…” Kazuichi offers nervously, trying to act like his heart didn’t just try to escape from his chest and that his little freak out never happened. Nope. Never. Kazuichi is as calm as can be. Totally. “Can I, uh, help you with something?”

Kirigiri mercifully allows the diversion. “Any luck?” She asks, nodding at the machine.

Kazuichi groans, pulling his hat further down over his face like that will save him from the headache.

“Not a bit,” he complains.

Honestly he deserves a raise—not that he’s being paid in the first place really. Well, unless you count being allowed to live.

… Never mind actually. That’s probably already more than any of them deserve at this point.

“Well, I finally found someone to interrogate that knows what the machine was supposed to be,” Kirigiri says like the goddess she is.

“Really?!” Kazuichi exclaims, instantly perking up.

Kirigiri doesn’t seem nearly as excited, her frown pensive as she brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yes. Apparently it was supposed to allow people to travel to another world.”

“Another world?” Kazuichi repeats blankly.

“An alternate dimension basically,” Kirigiri elaborates.

What kind of anime bullshit-

“Wait, are you saying they’re all in another dimension right now?” Kazuichi asks incredulously.

“It’s… possible,” Kirigiri says reluctantly. To her credit she doesn’t sound thrilled about her theory either. “Assuming the machine worked as intended-“

Which it really shouldn’t have, Kazuichi reflects.

“-it would explain why they seemingly haven’t been able to contact us,” she concludes.

“Yeah, but…” Kazuichi scratches the back of his head.

He wouldn’t have been surprised if Komaeda had decided to vanish on them but everyone else and Hajime? Hajime was like the best of them all. No way he’d disappear without a word or without at least trying to contact them.

But still. This is insane! Maybe not as insane as, you know, the world ending but still!

“I understand your doubt,” Kirigiri says like she’s reading his mind. The Ultimate Detective is scary dude. “But since this seems to be the most likely explanation we have for now it’s the one we’ll examine.”

Kazuichi deflates at that. “Right, fine. I’ll give the machine another look. Who knows, now that I know what I’m looking for something might stand out.”

Kirigiri nods. “I also wanted to inform you that the rest of your class will be arriving tomorrow.”

And if that isn’t the best news Kazuichi has heard all week then Komaeda is a decent guy.

“… Is this a blueprint?” Power Loader sounds utterly baffled as he watches Hajime quickly sketch out the design in real time.

“It should be a rough estimation of how the machine that brought us here was built. I figured we could use that as a starting point,” Hajime says, as he finishes labeling everything he needs to.

Power Loader numbly accepts the paper Hajime holds out.

“A rough-“ Power Loader turns helplessly to Aizawa who stares back unhelpfully. He turns back to Hajime. “This is a rough estimation?”

“I only saw the machine briefly,” Hajime explains.

“Briefly,” Power Leader repeats incredulously. He looks back to the blueprint in his hand. “Briefly,” he says again, faintly this time. “Kid, did you seriously just come up with this in five minutes?”

“I didn’t just come up with it,” Hajime says because it’s technically true. The Remnants of Despair were the ones that came up with it initially. And just because it’s the first Hajime has put it onto paper—to make sure no one else could get their hands on it—doesn’t mean he hasn’t been considering it for a while.

Power Loader waves the paper. “This is practically professional-“ Hajime takes offense at the ‘practically’. He knows it’s professional level. “-and you drew it freehand in five minutes?”

“… Yes?” Hajime says, frowning in confusion, since Power Loader had just watched him do it.

Being able to draw perfect circles and straight lines without help was one of those ‘neat tricks’ (as Kazuichi likes to call the things Hajime can do that can’t be traced back to any particular talent) Hajime can apparently do now. Among other things.

Power Loader seems to just give up on something then. “… Okay then. I’ll just… take some time to review this then.”

His head turns briefly in Aizawa’s direction again to convey something through the action—most likely his blatant disbelief—before he heads off, shaking his head as he goes.

“Kid,” Aizawa mumbles, almost to himself, “is there anything you don’t know how to do?”

Hajime… doesn’t actually know how many talents he has (even if the general assumption is, well, all of them) or what they can cover for until he tries. The fact he’s yet to encounter a situation that his skills don’t seem to account for, including dimensional travel apparently, is… slightly unsettling, admittedly.

“I’ll let you know when I figure it out,” Hajime says, tone dry as he stands up.

The next day Aizawa looks like he has a headache coming on as he pinches the bridge of nose with his more lightly bandaged hand, his other one still in a cast.

“Hinata, why isn’t Komaeda here?”

“He said he had to use the bathroom,” Hajime answers, squinting at his physics textbook.

Science in this world is weird. It’s like there’s an unknown variable that puts things a little to the left of where Hajime calculates they should be. Not that anyone else seems to really notice the discrepancy, since Hajime is likely the only person with anything else to compare it to.

So, to this world, it’s just how science is.

Hajime is still trying to figure out what that variable is though it seems to be centered around quirks and physics, specifically conservation of energy and matter.

It doesn’t help that there’s actually very little science on quirks and how they work. Most information on how quirks came about was apparently destroyed during the chaos of their emergence.

Hajime suspects that’s because most in-depth research into quirks would have been gathered through illegal human experimentation, and thus was buried by the government once quirks started becoming more and more common to prevent public outcry. Equally likely was that any such research and facilities had been destroyed by quirk users once they were discovered.

What was left mostly consisted of unconfirmed theories and rumors. Just about the only thing confirmed about quirk users was that they possessed an unusual gene that allowed for quirks to develop. Simple genetic evolution was the most common theory as a result.

And these days quirks are so widely spread and varied that it’s almost impossible to gather consistent information and data on them outside of certain subsets. Which makes things inconvenient for Hajime.

“Class started 30 minutes ago,” Aizawa deadpans, bringing Hajime back to the present.

Hajime shrugs. “Maybe he got lost?”

U.A. is a big school, though Hajime doubts that’s actually the case. But he hasn’t heard any screaming or explosions so he’s not going to worry just yet. Especially since Nagito can’t leave school grounds, which should, in theory at least, limit the amount of trouble he can get himself into.

Hajime, a while back, had made a compromise with himself to only really start worrying if he doesn’t hear from Nagito for more than a day. It’s in part a matter of boundaries—Nagito doesn’t actually need Hajime helicoptering around him at all times and can normally get himself out of any situation he finds himself in—but also a matter of respecting Nagito’s space, however little of it he seems to need.

“For 30 minutes?” Aizawa repeats doubtfully.

Right on cue the door swings open to reveal Nagito in the doorway, missing his robotic arm and utterly soaked for some reason, dripping water onto the floor. Despite his state he smiles brightly.

“My apologies for being late, the bathroom started flooding and the door wouldn’t open so I had to wait until the water level was high enough for me to escape out the window,” he says somewhat self-deprecatingly, as if these circumstances are all his fault.

“I’m sorry what?” Sero blurts out as the rest of class erupts into questions.

One glare from Aizawa quiets them down. “And your arm?” He asks Nagito.

Nagito glances down as if just remembering it’s gone. “Oh, that,” he says casually. “Well water and machinery often mix poorly.”

Hajime really hopes that doesn’t mean Nagito was electrocuted on top of everything.

Hajime had made his prosthetic somewhat waterproof, enough so Nagito could take a shower without help, but that was only if Hajime was assuming the prosthetic was in perfect condition. Even a small scratch in the wrong place could have led to water getting into the prosthetic and making it malfunction.

Hajime probably should have considered this possibility sooner, or at least performed a check up after the USJ, but despite Hope’s Peak’s intentions he was only human. He was liable to miss things, especially if he was focusing too much of his attention on one thing. It’s a good reminder.

Aizawa frowns at Nagito’s answer. “I’ll talk to Nedzu about acquiring another prosthetic for you.”

Nagito looks surprised by the offer and is quick to turn it down. “I assure you there’s no need to go to such lengths for me. I can just ask Hajime to make a new one.”

So Nagito doesn’t want to bother Nedzu or the U.A. Staff but he’s fine with bothering Hajime? Hajime doesn’t know whether to be pleased or annoyed about that. He should probably take it as a good thing Nagito is willing to come to him for help at all though.

“Hinata?” Aizawa repeats with narrowed eyes as the class all turns to look at Hajime.

“Yes?” Nagito says, sounding confused. “He’s the one that created it after all.”

“Of course he did,” Aizawa mutters under his breath, sounding exasperated, his voice nearly drowned out by the rest of the class.

“Seriously?!” Kaminari exclaims.

Several other people also look impressed at the news as they murmur to each other.

“That’s awesome dude,” Sero informs Hajime.

Hajime ignores all the comments, instead addressing Aizawa. “If you give me some tools and materials I can make another one.”

Aizawa sighs. “I’ll talk to Power Loader about Komaeda visiting to get his prosthetic.”

Meaning Nagito would be allowed to join Hajime in the support department while he works on his prosthetic. Hajime keeps his face carefully blank of this realization. He wonders if Nagito planned for this or if it was simply luck.

“Thank you,” Hajime says. “Do you mind if we leave to get a change of clothes?”

Aizawa grimaces as he stares at the growing puddle on the floor and opens his mouth, pausing as he catches sight of Nagito’s missing arm and realizes what Hajime already has; that it would be difficult for Nagito to change his clothes by himself like this and heaves a deep sigh.

“Go ahead, but you both better be back before the class ends,” Aizawa says as he waves them off.

Hajime nods in easy agreement as he makes his way over to Nagito.

“Come on, let’s get you changed into your gym clothes before you manage to catch pneumonia,” Hajime says wryly.

Technically they could simply get another change of clothes from their dorm but they don’t want the other students to know that they’re living on the campus. So, gym clothes it is.

Nagito simply smiles and doesn’t mention that discrepancy. Maybe he already deduced as much or maybe he simply doesn’t care that much about what he wears. “Ah, you’re too kind,” he says simply as he lets Hajime usher him out the door.

It closes behind them with a soft thud.

Chapter Text

“Sorry to have interrupted your reunion,” Makoto says apologetically to the 77th class. Or, well, the present members at least.

Sonia smiles sweetly. “It’s no problem. I would also like to hear what you’ve learned so far.”

It’s truly tragic to think about what Junko had twisted these people into. But it’s also heartening to know that Junko didn’t completely destroy who they used to be. That they’re able to fight off what remains of her influence everyday.

“About that,” Kyoko speaks up. “We think we know what happened to them.”

This is news to Makoto.

“Really?” He blurts out at the time Sonia exclaims excitedly, “Truly?!”

“Yes,” Kyoko says and Makoto doesn’t doubt her, but the pensive frown on her face admittedly isn’t the most promising thing he’s ever seen. “However retrieving them may prove… difficult.”

“Difficult how?” Byakuya demands as Sonia’s enthusiasm is traded out for something more serious.

“We believe the machine sent them to another world,” Kyoko says the same way she delivers closing evidence.

So Makoto doesn’t think she’s joking but…

“Are you serious?!” Ibuki exclaims too loudly for the office space they’re all crammed in. “Wow, that’s wild!”

More than that it’s nearly unbelievable. Is something like that even possible?

“I see,” Byakuya says, always quick on the uptake. “And assuming the multiverse theory holds any weight then it would be nearly impossible to know which one they were sent to.”

“There’s one other problem as well,” Kyoko adds, giving Makoto whiplash as he looks between them. Not for the first time, and probably not the last, he feels like he’s in over his head between the two of them. “It wasn’t just the six Ultimates that disappeared in the flash. It was everyone in the building.”

Realization dawns quickly on Makoto. “You think the Remnants of Despair were also transported with them,” he says tensely.

Kyoko nods, tucking her hair behind her ears. “That’s correct. And while their influence in that world will be nowhere near what it is in this one it’s still a… concerning thought.”

There was no doubt about that. While the damage they could potentially do in that world was significantly less without Junko’s influence than what they could do here that didn’t mean they were suddenly going to turn over a new leaf. They also couldn’t just leave them at large in whatever world they found themselves in.

Byakuya sighs heavily, likely coming to the same conclusion.

“How did the Remnants of Despair even build something like this?” Makoto wonders.

A machine that lets you travel dimensions sounds more like something an Ultimate would be capable of rather than a haphazard group of individuals.

Sheepishly Kazuichi raises a hand. “Uh, yeah, that may be my fault actually.”

“How so?” Sonia asks, tilting her head curiously.

Kazuichi scratches his cheek. “While I was looking over it again now that I knew what I was supposed to be looking for, some of the stuff seemed kind of familiar and, well, uhhhh…”

“Spit it out,” Byakuya demands, fingers tapping impatiently against his arm.

“Uh, well, I kind of… came up with the idea?” Kazuichi says weakly.

“What,” Byakuya says very flatly.

“It was when I was a Remnant of Despair!” Kazuichi yelps in his defense, holding his hands up in surrender. “And I abandoned it before I ever even finished it! It was like 1/10th of an idea at best! I wasn’t in my right mind okay?!” He rambles.

“How do you not recognize your own machine?” Saionji asks caustically. “Are you stupid?”

“Hey! That’s no creation of mine,” Kazuichi protests, sounding deeply offended by the idea. “That’s just a pile of junk parading as a machine! They just happened to plagiarize my work to make it!”

“Would you be able to make it work since it was your idea originally?” Makoto asks, trying to get everyone back on track.

“Geez, I don’t know man,” Kazuichi says nervously, fidgeting with his hair. “Like I said I never even finished it. And even knowing that it’s possible it would probably be easier to just try building a new machine from scratch, which could take a while.”

“How long?” Byakuya asks.

“Uhh, I don’t know, a couple months?” Kazuichi throws out.

“Wow, are you sure you’re the Ultimate Mechanic?” Saionji mocks.

“Hiyoko!” Mahiru scolds.

“Hey, it’s not that easy!” Kazuichi protests. “Besides I’ll probably have to do trials and stuff like that to make sure it works and that it’s safe to use anyway! Plus I’d also have to make a way to bring back anyone we send over.”

That all sounds reasonable to Makoto.

Byakuya pushes up his glasses. “I suppose if all else fails we’ll just have to put our faith in Hinata,” he says unhappily, in the way Byakuya always is when he has to put his faith in other people.

Makoto can’t help but chuckle at that. “Something like this does sound like his wheelhouse,” he muses.

Few things could truly hinder Hajime when he set his mind to it.

And, with two students possessing Ultimate Luck, they might even have a better chance of getting to the right dimension on their first try.

“I don’t get it,” Akane declares. “But this means we can get them back right?” She flashes a fanged grin.

“Well, hopefully.” Makoto offers a tentative smile. “Hajime is likely working towards a solution on his end, but we should also have Kazuichi build another machine just in case Hajime can’t for some reason,” he says. “If that’s alright with you?”

Kazuichi looks surprised when Makoto addresses him. “Um, yeah, of course!” He rallies. “Anything to get Hajime and the rest back.”

No one offers any protests to this.

Makoto smiles. “Okay then. I’ll let you all get back to catching up. But, uh, does anyone know what we’re going to be doing about sleeping arrangements? The building hasn’t been entirely cleared and I don’t think there are that many clean rooms…”

Not to mention the former Remnants of Despair can’t exactly stay with the Future Foundation since their true status isn’t widely known.

Byakuya sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And you didn’t think of this before now?”

“Err…” Is all Makoto has to say in his defense.

“Fine,” Byakuya bites out, resigned. “I’ll take care of it.”

Makoto smiles sheepishly in thanks. “Okay, I guess this meeting is adjourned then.”

“Is everything okay Hajime?” Nagito asks with a smile.

It’s hard to tell if Nagito is just oblivious to the situation they’re in (not impossible considering it’s Nagito he’s talking about) or if he’s purposely ribbing Hajime (also equally likely).

“Fine,” Hajime says stoically, for once grateful for Izuru’s impassive face, as he unbuttons Nagito’s shirt, trying to keep his gaze on his hands.

“Are you sure? Your face is pretty red,” Nagito points out lightly, still smiling. His hair is extra fluffy from Hajime’s forceful towel drying.

“…”

Hajime is now starting to think Nagito is just messing with him. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time.

He’d measured Nagito’s pulse on their way here by keeping a hand around his wrist but he hadn’t detected any abnormalities. Nagito seems fine.

How lucky, Hajime thinks dryly. It feels like a bad joke at this point, but not one that’s likely to get old any time soon.

“You’re just seeing things,” Hajime says as he pushes Nagito’s shirt off.

Obligingly Nagito moves his arm to help him get it off. “Is that really it?” He asks curiously, leaning forward until they’re close enough to kiss.

Despite himself Hajime’s breath hitches. Since they were transported here they haven’t had much time to be alone. And even then they’d had other things to worry about. Hajime swallows thickly, clinically noting that his heart rate is rising.

Nagito stares intently at his eyes, with enough focus to lean towards it being creepy. His mouth is a soft, thoughtful line instead of a curve for once. Geniality having fallen away.

Then, just as abruptly, Nagito pulls back, mouth curving up again in an almost smug smile even as he says, “Ah, Hajime was right of course. I must have been seeing things.”

Yeah right.

Nagito sounds more like someone that has proven their point than someone admitting defeat. Hajime slowly lets out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and carefully sets Nagito’s soaked button-up on the locker room bench instead of doing something drastic.

Sometimes it really does feel like Nagito exists solely to fuck with Hajime.

“Your pants next,” He says, vainly trying to keep a professional air, as he helps Nagito up from the bench to get them off easier.

Nagito gives him a thankful little smile like he’s embarrassed about Hajime helping him. He’s absolutely ridiculous. How is this more embarrassing than literally anything else Nagito has done?

Hajime doesn’t comment though, kneeling to pull down Nagito’s pants. He does so quickly, with clinical detachment as Nagito steps out of them.

When he thinks about it, it’s amazing Aizawa had let them leave class together considering their relationship. Or maybe he’d forgotten about it?

Either way it made things more convenient for them to talk since there were no cameras in the locker room. The rest of U.A. was under near constant surveillance, but putting cameras in a room where the students changed would’ve been highly inappropriate. Even U.A. would have been hard pressed to justify that level of security.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Hajime says levelly as he grabs Nagito’s gym pants. “What are your plans for the League of Villains?”

Hajime already has his own thoughts on it, but he wants to hear Nagito’s. Which is easier said than done.

“Hm? Why? Are you by chance worried about them?” Nagito asks, almost blasé if it weren’t for the subtle drop of his voice that meant he was about to start pushing something. “How kind of you Hajime.”

Hajime sighs. Why does he like this man again?

He lets Nagito hold onto his shoulder as he steps into his pants. Slowly Hajime pulls them up, thumbs inevitably rubbing against Nagito’s thighs. Nagito shivers, hand tightening on Hajime’s shoulder. Deliberately Hajime steps away, Nagito letting him without a fight with his usual smile firmly back in place.

“You know that’s not it,” he retorts, reaching for the gym shirt.

Nagito stares at him for a long moment, then gives a close-eyed smile. “There were a lot of people at the USJ,” he says, as always dancing around the point. “And they managed to isolate us inside the building. That takes planning and influence despite its lackluster results.”

Lackluster isn’t the word Hajime would use, but he gets the general idea. The set-up was immaculately planned but the execution had been sloppy. It was like they were led by two different people.

“It’s not something I think the current leader could do,” Nagito continues cheerfully.

Meaning Shigaraki, who was acting as the face for the League of Villains.

“So you also think there’s someone else pulling the strings,” Hajime says.

Nagito beams at him. “Ah, I knew Hajime would get it!” It sounds borderline condescending despite the fact Hajime knows he means it as a genuine compliment.

“You’re waiting for the real mastermind to show up,” Hajime concludes, holding up the shirt.

Obediently Nagito raises his arm, letting Hajime push it through the sleeve before pulling the rest of it down over his head.

“There would be no point otherwise,” Nagito says, his smile somewhat ominous.

Hajime hums in understanding.

Because the mastermind would simply disappear and find someone else to puppet if Shigaraki was arrested. So nothing would really change.

“Why do you want to though?” Hajime asks, somewhat puzzled as to why Nagito would care enough to intervene.

Perhaps someone else would simply assume Nagito wanted to protect their new classmates. Hajime likes to think he knows Nagito a bit better than that by now.

Nagito doesn’t actually care about individuals that aren’t Hajime (who still isn’t sure even with Izuru’s intellect how he managed to be the exception). Even during the Death Game Nagito was apathetic to the deaths of their classmates at best and at worst, or what Hajime considers his worst, excited by what could come from them.

What Nagito cares about are ideals. Things that cannot be touched by his luck. So, with that in mind…

“They want to kill the Symbol of Peace, don’t they?” Nagito asks simply, and, coming from him, it sounds eerily similar to the way he says Symbol of Hope. “I simply want to make sure they’re prepared.”

Translation: if they can survive whatever Nagito throws at them then they might be worthy of reaching All Might’s feet.

Hajime almost pities them. Almost.

Well, if Nagito really wants to take down a criminal mastermind before they leave Hajime won’t stop him but-

“Be careful,” Hajime tells him.

Nagito blinks at him, staring at him as if that was the last thing he was expecting to hear. Hajime knew the words themselves probably didn’t mean much to Nagito. Whether he was careful or not had little impact on his luck, he hoped the message behind the word got through though.

I want you to be okay.

Nagito smiles, and it looks more real than all his previous ones. “Well, if Hajime asks me to, how can I refuse?” He says jauntily.

He’s still infuriating though.

Hajime rolls his eyes. “Come on, we need to get back to class.”

“Of course. I appreciate you helping a nobody like me,” Nagito says gratefully.

“You’re not a nobody,” Hajime says. “You’re my boyfriend.”

“Haha, so I am,” Nagito says, like some part of him still doesn’t quite believe it.

One day Hajime will make sure he does. But that day probably isn’t today, or tomorrow, or even the day after that. But someday.

It’s only when classes end for the day that anything else of note happens.

“I came to declare war,” the general education student with purple hair declares, a crowd of students at his back that likely hold similar sentiments.

He reminds Hajime a bit of some of the more resentful students in the Reserve Course, and how they used to talk about the Ultimates. Hajime is thankful that, at least, he was never this bad even at his most bitter. On the other hand though—the Izuru Kamukura Project. Hajime likely doesn’t have much room to talk.

Still, it doesn’t bode well if U.A. is fostering this kind of resentment between courses.

The rest of class 1-A seem too stunned by the bold declaration to react. Except for one anyway.

“How wonderful!” Nagito exclaims, shoving Bakugo out of the way-

“HEY!”

 -and completely dispelling the rising tension, as he grasps the kid’s hands between his with an almost reverent look. His eyes are actually shiny with tears. “What an amazing speech filled with such hope-“

“Uhhh-“ the kid says, leaning as far away from Nagito as he can without tipping over entirely.

It’s a fair reaction when faced with… that.

“-I’m sure with such amazing hope you will- ah,” Nagito says, letting out a little noise of surprise as Hajime pulls him away from the poor kid who likely wasn’t prepared to deal with Nagito Komaeda today. Most people aren’t.

Hajime has spent what is probably an embarrassing amount of time trying to figure Nagito out.

“Sorry about him,” Hajime offers, tone a bit too bored for what he was going for. “He has problems understanding socially acceptable behavior.”

Nagito, finally seeming to clue in to the fact he’d made a social error, smiles apologetically. “My apologies if I overstepped.”

Purple haired kid doesn’t seem to know how to respond, looking between them. “Uhhh…”

Hajime holds out a hand. “Hajime Hinata,” he introduces.

There’s a moment of hesitation before it’s grasped. “Hitoshi Shinsou.”

Shinsou grips his hand too tightly, perhaps as an intimidation tactic. Hajime doesn’t react until Shinsou lets go, looking dissatisfied.

“Good luck in the Sports Festival then,” Hajime says sincerely.

He hopes Shinsou’s story ends better than his did.

“Uh, yeah,” Shinsou mutters, clearly thrown by the encouragement as he steps back.

Instinctively the crowd parts for Hajime as he walks out of the classroom, Nagito and Fuyuhiko following behind.

“Woah, woah, is that all you have to say?!” He hears Mineta call after him.

“Oi, oi what’s this?!” A new voice cuts in loudly from the front of the crowd. “I’m from Class B next door-!”

Hajime tunes out the rest. How boring. Hope’s Peak and U.A. are really too similar in some ways.