Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Let Love clasp Grief lest both be drown'd

(Alfred Tennyson, ‘In Memoriam’.)

***

**

*

As he watches the sun turn the sky a bloody red at the end of a lovely afternoon, Toshinori can't help but think that he, himself, is in his sunset years. 

It's been a good life, he thinks. He's achieved a lot. He has regrets—because who doesn't?—but they are regrets he can live with. He can look at himself in the mirror every day and not shy away from shame.

It's been a good life, and it is nearly time to start a new chapter.

Coming back to UA… Being a teacher. A mentor. There's change on the horizon, but Toshinori isn't afraid. He is, if anything, hopeful. Excited, even. He's ready for the next generation to inspire him and humble him, to show him what it means to be a hero. 

He's ready to meet his successor.

Ten months to go. Toshinori shifts, heads downstairs. 

When he reaches the fifth floor, there is a brief shake under his feet, a rumble. 

The building comes down so fast  that Toshinori has no time to switch into his hero form. Not that he can—his three hours are long spent, given to heroic acts great and small.

He doesn't know if it's a villain that causes it, an earthquake or a gas leak. All he knows is that the ground is whisked away from under his feet and in that instant before pain registers at the end of his nerves, the noise is unbearable, a combination of concrete and metal and wood and living beings screaming as they break and tumble and sink. 

Toshinori loses consciousness. 

*

The story goes like this. 

All Might had exceptionally come to Musutafu in order to meet the UA staff, whom he would join as a teacher ten months later. He had lingered at the high school in the afternoon, in order to reconnect with his old friend Nezu. 

On the way back, he had stopped on the roof of a residential building, presumably to watch the sunset.

The story goes like this. 

All Might never makes it out of the building. 

*

When Toshinori wakes, his first thought is that he's surprised to wake at all. The silence that comes in the aftermath of disaster surrounds him. He finds that he is lying on his right side, covered in concrete dust and grime. Some parts of him feel wet with the slickness of blood. A slab of stone lies at an angle somewhere above his head, forming a strange alcove in the midst of tonnes of debris above and below him. The slab quakes every few seconds, unstable but holding. 

Hoisting himself onto an elbow proves a terrible idea—his hand gives away immediately, but before he crashes to the ground again, he has just enough time to see that both his legs are pinned (crushed? dust?) under massive rubble, and a rebar has pierced through his right flank.

Then the pain hits. 

The world goes white and he barely manages to clutch to consciousness. For a moment, he teeters on the edge, gasping desperately. Each breath he draws feels important, laden with a leaden weight. Each breath may be his last. 

He stays lying there, just breathing. He doesn't know how long.

Eventually the pain steadies. It doesn't subside—something tells him it never will. Not even All for One destroying two of his organs had felt like this. Instinctively he knows. 

I'm dying. I'm going to die.

Toshinori doesn't want to die.

He doesn't—he's not ready.

He's got things he wants to do. He still wants to save people. He wants to give what he can to the next generation. Nezu's staff is amazing (and they don't really need him), but… He wants to see what he can contribute. There is something uniquely him that he can bring to the table. He wants to teach these young heroes-in-training to save hearts and minds, instead of just bodies. Toshinori… He doesn't want it to end like this. 

It isn't even that the world isn't ready for the Symbol of Peace to pass away; the world was always going to have to figure it out on its own. But there was always the hope of avoiding a tumultuous transition. That Toshinori's successor would be stepping into the void he left…

Except—

I don't have a successor. 

No more Symbol of Peace. One for All is going to die with me. 

And then, with the softness of heartbreak:

I failed Nana. 

It's that thought, right there on the edge of the abyss, that gives him a last boon of strength. 

Toshinori grits his teeth, and forces his eyes to focus, taking in what's around him. He can't fall just yet. 

Nana, you always said I was stubborn. I'll be stubborn one last time. Guide me. 

He feels a gentle caress on his soul, like a tap on the shoulder. The vestiges are with him.

It's not just me. If I die here, it's all eight of us—all of our efforts—that die with me.  

Nana, guide me, please. 

Suddenly, Toshinori hears a pained groan and a shaky sob that isn't his own. With the alacrity of despair, he twists his head upwards.

His heart almost stops. 

There's a boy. 

There's a boy, which means there's hope.

A boy in his early teens, with forest green hair and freckles on his face, half-masked with blood. He's slowly pushing himself up—no, he's dragging himself closer. 

'S-Sir? You're awake! A-Are you o-okay?' 

Pain keeps the boy's voice thready, but there's no mistaking the concern.

'I… I'm Yagi Toshinori. It's n-nice to meet you.'

'N-Nice to meet you too, sir.' The boy's eyes roam over Toshinori's form, take in the heavy injuries. He swallows. He doesn't ask if Toshinori is okay again. Instead, he says, 'Help is on the w-way, Yagi-san.'

This boy. Looks like he has a good heart. This boy will do, won't he, Nana? 

He'll have to. 

Toshinori reaches a hand, the one that is shattered beyond repair and drenched in blood. He gives a smile to the boy. He can feel blood smeared across his teeth. He can't imagine his smile is any reassurance, but Toshinori is dying and desperate. A piss-poor smile is all he can give.

A piss-poor smile, and an earth-shattering quirk.

'I have a healing quirk,' he lies, begging the boy with his eyes. Please, say yes. Please accept my DNA. 'It only works on others. Let me h-help you?' 

'I—I don't… It relies on your energy, doesn't it? It's b-best that you k-keep it, Yagi-san.'

'That's… very kind of you, my boy.' And by God, it is. Toshinori's belief solidifies. Fate put us in each other's path. 'But I won't last.' Toshinori's words come more and more haltingly. He can feel cold darkness encroaching on his limbs already. He tilts his hand, just slightly, just enough to renew his offer to the boy. 'At-At least… Not long enough… For help to arrive in time.'

The boy's eyes are frightened. There is blood matting his hair and pain lines his face. His right leg is in pieces. And Toshinori—Toshinori wishes he were telling the truth. For a brief, desperate moment, he hates that his quirk is One-for-All, that all he can do for this boy is to pass on a life-threatening burden instead of providing a small amount of comfort and relief in what has to be the most trying time of his life. 

Yet Toshinori has no doubt that this boy will make something of it. Something extraordinary. There are enough good people aware of One-for-All not to let this boy's potential go to waste, not to let his kindness shatter. He'll have better mentors than Toshinori ever could be. 

Toshinori wishes he could tell the boy all of his thoughts. He wishes he could listen , too, that he could ask the boy what he dreams of, what kind of hero he'd like to be.

Toshinori wishes, but puts it aside. There is no time. His lungs are rattling. He knows what that means.

'What is… your name?'

'I-Izuku. Midoriya Izuku.'

Toshinori flexes the fingers of his broken hand, hissing in pain. 'Take my hand, Izuku. D-Drink the blood. It'll—it will—' 

Toshinori gasps. He's crying now, because he is dying and lying to a young boy whose only fault was being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

A flare of pain in his hand. 

Izuku has taken it in his own trembling hands, and he hesitantly laps at the blood there, just a little bit. 'Is-Is that enough?' 

Yes. Toshinori can feel it, his quirk, coming to life in his body, tingling like a gentle breeze through his broken limbs. It got passed on willingly, even if under deceptive circumstances. There will be a Nine.

'I-I'm not sure it's working, Yagi-san. M-My leg, it isn't healing.'

No. His leg won't heal of course. The boy's pain will not abate. 

Another price to lay on Toshinori's soul.

'L-Lay down, Izuku,' he rasps. As if he understands the gravity of the moment, the boy complies silently. He carefully arranges Toshinori's burning hand to his side and lies down. Toshinori reaches with his other, unbroken arm, draping it over the boy. Seeking to shield him as he never will be able to again, from the falling debris of the building, from the falling ashes of a world gone to pieces. 

'I'm sorry, my boy… I'm sorry I can't… stay with you.'

Izuku is crying, now, fat, silent tears. They leave tracks in the dirt and blood of his face. 'It-It's okay, Yagi-san. I'll be okay. And—s-s-so will you.' He chokes on the rest of his words. 

Toshinori tucks the boy close. His eyes slip closed. 

'I will. And you… I-zuku… you'll be… great…' 

Toshinori lets go.

*

This is how it happens. 

Just like that, in a simple building collapse the likes of which he had survived hundreds of time—

Just like that, All Might breathes his last. 

*

Izuku stays tucked against Yagi Toshinori's body for seven hours before he is found.

***

Chapter Text

It's the middle of the night. Probably the early hours of the morning, in fact, though Naomasa stopped counting past midnight. He's elbow deep in rubble, his usual detective garb switched for construction jumpsuit and gloves. Only the police insignia on his hardhat, and the badge on his chest, mark him as different from the construction crews that were mobilized to assist. 

Big, high-powered projectors surround the scene of the collapse, throwing every detail in stark definition. Naomasa is wilfully keeping his eyes on his patch of the building, and not paying attention to the green rabbit plush half-buried under a beam a few meters away.

The child it belonged to has already been evacuated on a stretcher; they'd joined the heart-wrenching lines of sheet-covered bodies that stretched across a cleared corner of the square. 

Naomasa breathes through his nose, and twists to put an armful of rubble in a wheelbarrow. Sansa's paws are curled around the handlebars. His ears, poking through the custom-made hardhat, are laying back and flat; the only sign of tension. He dislikes being here as much as Naomasa does. This isn't their first collapse. It isn't their last. And it's hard, grueling, soul-staining work—but neither would ever ask to be elsewhere. 

They don't hate being here so much as that there’s a need for them to be in the first place.

'How deep?' 

'Analysts say we've cleared seven meters deep or so, across the building. We've got something like four more to go.'

'Almost done, then.'

The process has been long. Fallen or destroyed buildings always require a high degree of cooperation and a firm grip on one's emotions. Patience, resilience and hope—those are the key.

In a bit, Sansa and him will switch—the catlike man digging while Naomasa wheels the rubble away, toward the incinerating heroes. The breeze has fallen now, and Naomasa is glad. He loathes the acrid smell of burnt concrete. 

'Mind that slab,' Sansa calls. 'It's unsteady—we'll need to request to lift it with the rest.'

'Thanks.'

Sansa's eyes can pick out details in the dark that Naomasa just can't. The projectors are casting bright lights across the scene, but for the last hour or so, Mount Lady's gigantic form has been casting a huge shadow across the patch of the rubble Naomasa and Sansa are sifting through. 

Her partner Kamui Woods' branch-like arms have splintered in all directions through the collapsed building, aligning with the load-bearing walls, keeping the structural integrity of the building's mainframe so rescue operations can act without fear of further collapse. 

Naomasa is glad the heroes are here. Despite that, even they are limited. Mount Lady can't just pick up the rubble, for every piece she removes could unsteady the pieces below and cause them to shift and sink. Before every move she makes, she's stuck waiting for the engineer to give her the clear. Naomasa knows that in another quadrant, it's Thirteen who's following engineering directions. 

There's been twice as many support analysts and engineers mobilized as there have been heroes. Construction crews, used to work with and around rubble and concrete. And the police, too—quietly doing what they have to, keeping the crowd back, evacuating the at-risk surrounding buildings, or acting as crewmen like Naomasa is, picking through and lifting the rubble where a hero's quirk would be too likely to cause further damage. 

Almost done, and only two survivors. 

And the deeper they went, the less likely the chance.

Naomasa breathes through his nose. Patience, resilience and hope.

At least, Mount Lady has stopped sobbing. Naomasa feels for her. She's only just debuted—this must be her very first collapse.

Naomasa activates his comm and puts in a request for the slab. 

'Granted.' A pause. Watamori-san's voice rings clear in his ear. 'Mount Lady to assist in one minute.'

'Gotcha,' Mount Lady confirms. 

Naomasa had only ever heard of Watamori-san before today. He’s never worked with her, but she's proven the most efficient coordinator Naomasa's ever worked with. She was zapped in from Tokyo about twenty minutes after the collapse happened. A professional rescue analyst, she's got a quirk that allows her to maintain multiple different thought-streams at once. As it turns out, such a quirk helps infinitely when having to process information from eighteen different teams on the ground. Naomasa thinks only Nezu may be more efficient—but Nezu had been pulled on a different mission elsewhere this evening.

A minute later, the stone slab and the rubble unsteadily perched on it lift, and Naomasa's stomach drops.

Before he knows what he's doing, he's jumped into the space and is cradling his best friend close. 

There's wailing in his ears. He's the one doing it. He's wailing. He's wailing because—

Yagi. All Might. Toshinori. No. No, no, goddamn you, not you, not you, not—

A soft paw sinks claws into his shoulder as it shakes him hard.

'Naomasa, let him go, goddammit! He's gone—whoever he was, he's gone, we've got to help the kid!'

Naomasa looks up and blinks. In his haste to save Yagi, he's completely stepped over a young man nestling against his friend.

What?

Teenage male, his brain supplies, defaulting to detective. Young, thirteen or fourteen. Injured. Catatonic. Has been cradling a dead body for—

Dead body. Yagi Toshinori's dead body. 

All Might's dead. 

Breath rushes out of Naomasa's lungs. There's something he has to do. 

His hands feel cold, and it is only thanks to years of training for such situations that he finds his voice. He reaches a shaking hand to his comm. 'Watamori-san,' he croaks, under the puzzled glare of his partner. 

His brain is still breaking the scene down into high-definition analyzed chunks. Sansa isn't moving the kid, because the blood on his face may be indicative of a head injury, perhaps head trauma. He does apply a tourniquet to the leg—not that it'll do much good at this point. It's been so long the blood in the wound's probably clotted, or the kid would be dead. A moment later, Sansa swears and starts rubbing warmth back into the boy's hands. Suspected hypothermia. 

'Go for it, Tsukauchi.'

'Please alert the Hero Public Safety Commission and Nezu-san that… That we've got a national-security situation corresponding to Scenario 181.' 

'What's that?' 

'Classified.'

'...Will do, Tsukauchi.'

'For fuck's sake, Naomasa,' Sansa growls. 'The kid needs you.'

Naomasa spares one last second to look down at his best friend—his broken, dead, and still smiling best friend. 

Patience, resilience and hope. 

Toshinori had all of these.

How am I supposed to—

How is the world going to—

Where the fuck is there hope left —

Then Naomasa turns away, and while Sansa cradles the boy close, he runs to find a stretcher.

*

Shouta’s had a long night and a shit patrol that ended waiting for hours at the police station, as no one was around to file his reports. With barely two hours to go before the staff meeting, he’s slunk into UA early, stolen a shower in the staff locker room, and settled himself at the staff table to wait. His eyes are closed and he’s drifting on the edge of a sorely-needed nap, confident that he has at least an hour, when—

‘Aizawa-kun.’ 

Shouta straightens and is out of his seat before he even registers his body moving. All desire to sleep flees in favor of adrenaline as he takes in the form of his boss in the doorway. 

As grating as it can be day-to-day, Nezu's cheerful disposition in the face of disaster is one of the things that is as expected as the sun rising in the east. To find it missing, that the rodent bears no smile, only a tired countenance that barely contains grief —

Shouta had never known, but it is terrifying. 

‘What is it? What happened?’

‘I'm going to need your help.’

Nezu turns away without another word and Shouta is forced to follow. His longer legs let him catch up easily, and only then does he clock that Nezu isn't silent, he's muttering. 

'You've already expelled all of your class, so you have no homeroom. Someone will need to cover your Ethics class and all of your heroics class… For now, Midnight will do—and Snipe can keep them on their toes. Perhaps I'll have an underground hero cover your specialized track…'

'Wait. Nezu. What's happening? Are you firing me?'

Nezu's eyes flitter back to him, dull, his mind miles away. Shouta feels fear bloom inside once again, because—is he actually getting fired? Did he somehow fuck up so badly that he didn't even realize he was doing so? 

Nezu stops, and Shouta grinds to a halt beside him. Nezu reaches a paw, snags a band of capture weapon, and gently tugs Shouta down until he doesn't have to look up at such a stark angle to meet his eyes. 

'I am not firing you, Aizawa-kun. But I am going to need your help. I'm afraid disaster has rather unexpectedly struck and I… Despite all of my planning, I am reeling. And I—trust you.'

Relief almost steals his breath away. Shouta squats on his heels, hiding the lower part of his face in the folds of his weaponized scarf. 'Okay. What happened?' 

Nezu swallows. His ears flit back. He doesn't look away, but Shouta gets the feeling that he would currently prefer to be anywhere else. 

'All Might is dead.'

Static fills Shouta's ears. By the time he comes back to himself enough to stutter a stunned 'W-What?', he finds that he's collapsed on his ass. 

'He got caught in a building collapse in his powered-down form. As you know, he was supposed to come teach next semester.'

Yes. And Shouta remembers, heart twisting, that Nezu had introduced Yagi Toshinori as "an old friend."

'I'll help, Nezu. Whatever you need me to do. I'll help.'

'What no one told you—what I didn't tell any of my staff except for Shuzenji-san, it is that All Might wanted to find a successor. Someone to pass his quirk to.' 

Wait, what? Pass on his quirk…? Shouta takes his disbelief and strangles it. Now isn't the time. It’d be illogical to doubt Nezu at this point.

'So he… died without a successor?'

'Oh no. He did find one, indeed. Dutiful to the end…' Nezu turns away, his paws folded behind his back. His waistcoat is crinkled; he hasn’t slept either. 'In the collapse, he got trapped with a 14-year-old boy, named Midoriya Izuku. A Quirkless boy, who not only lost everything he owned in the collapse, but who also lost his mother. It seems All Might passed on his quirk to this boy. And…' A sigh. '...it is a quirk that will tear the boy limb to limb, if he uses it without mastering it.'

Oh. So that’s why Nezu was rearranging my schedule. Calculating how many hours he could spare. ‘I can train him. Unless—can he give the quirk away too?’

‘As far as I understand, he can.’

‘Then—’

‘—Whether he should or will want to is another matter.’ Nezu’s ears wiggle back and forth.  ‘That is a question we must ask him. But first, Aizawa-kun, we need to make sure he has a place to come home.’

Right. The kid doesn’t have a home anymore. And his mother is dead…

‘Does he have family left? A father, another mom?’

‘His father has been absent from most of Midoriya-kun’s life. Upon being contacted at his house in the United States, he indicated a lack of interest and has relinquished care to the Japanese government. He—did not even want to speak to his son.’

Shouta has to breathe deep as his fists clench in anger. ‘Bastard.’

‘Quite.’ Nezu clambers over Shouta’s shoulder, and nestles in his capture weapon. Shouta’s heart gives a pang as he realizes the animal is shivering, his body still processing the shock even as his mind is miles ahead. 

Shouta stands. Close to his ear, Nezu is still muttering. ‘Midoriya-kun has no other family. He will need to be made a ward of UA… There is paperwork to be done, and we will need to transform a space he can use as his own. Will you talk to Cementoss while I speak to social services, Aizawa-kun?’

‘Sure.’

‘Thank you.’ A soft paw pats his shoulder.

Shifting to adapt to the new weight, Shouta starts toward Nezu’s office. It’s insanely early, and the corridors are empty.

‘Where is the kid, anyway?’

‘In the hospital,’ Nezu admits quietly. ‘He’s in the hero ward. Yamada-kun is with him.’

‘Hizashi is?’

‘Of course. Even if only a select few know that he’s Yagi’s successor, we can’t risk his safety. Until he’s got his license, we’ll need to treat Midoriya as a VT-SX.’ 

Villain Target Level SX. A person who would be the primary target for most villains if his secret identity was revealed. Protocol dictates that unless they’re a hero, a Pro must be with them at all times—whether openly, undercover or following as a discreet shadow.

Poor kid. His life’s been turned on its head completely.

Shouta turns the last corner to Nezu’s office.

‘Was he… badly hurt?’

‘...It was bad, yes. The injuries were not critical, but rescue operations took hours. When they found him, h-he was—They found him… tucked against Yagi’s body.’

The raw pain in Nezu’s voice drives Shouta to lay a hand against his capture weapon. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Mmh. He was deeply in shock, but he’d been conscious this whole time.’

Fuck! Shouta doesn’t stumble but it’s a near thing. What would that do to a kid?

‘They’ve had to sedate him to heal him. Shuzenji-san is over there. His leg was—well. I understand he will always have a limp. But they were able to heal the rest of him just fine. He… By all accounts, he wanted to be a hero, Aizawa-kun. Even Quirkless. His middle school career forms all said the same thing.’

Shouta wraps a hand in the stray bands of his capture weapon, and clenches. 

If he still wants to be a hero after all this…

No. Even if he wants nothing to do with All Might’s quirk, even if being a hero is the last thing he wants—

There’s no way they’re leaving this kid alone.

Chapter Text

The boy is watching TV. 

No, that's an assumption. The boy is looking at the TV, and Hizashi has no idea whether he's actually seeing what's displayed on the screen, or processing any of what's going on around him. 

Midoriya Izuku's eyes are frightfully blank. 

The doctors and nurses, Hizashi knows, have explained the situation to the kid a few times.

Midoriya hasn't given a sign that he's heard them. 

Even when Hizashi walked into the room, in full Present Mic regalia—eyes sweeping the room for threats once, and through the window to the opposing roof for good measure, because VT-SX isn't something to joke about—even then Midoriya had barely twitched. He'd given Hizashi a glance, a blink, and that was it. 

And Hizashi—well, Hizashi is a grown-up, so he can deal with his ego smarting a little when a kid doesn't recognize or acknowledge him even a little. Besides he's here to ensure Midoriya's safety. He doesn't have to interact with the boy. 

But this is a child who is either still in the throes of deep shock or who is hurting so much he's relinquished hold on reality, and Hizashi is a hero. He can't stand to see the kid suffering, not without trying something . 

So, he sits on a chair near the bed, positioned at an angle that allows him to see the room, the door to the bathroom and the corridor, and through the window to the roof. And as he speaks softly, he signs. 

'Hi, Midoriya-kun. Can I call you Midoriya-kun? I could call you Midoriya-san but it sounds awfully formal, doesn't it?' A beat. No answer. 'My name's Yamada Hizashi, I'm known as Present Mic. You might have heard me on the radio, if you've ever listened to Put Your Hands Up. Have you?' A beat. No answer. Hizashi can roll with that though. It took him weeks till Shouta actually answered, back in high school.

'I think the staff has tried to tell you why you're here and what happened, but it didn't go very well.' A blink is all he gets. 'I just wanted to tell you that you're not alone, kid. And if you need me to explain anything, I'd be more than happy to answer questions. OK?' Nothing. 

Taking his phone out, Hizashi texts a quick update to Nezu, who sends back a quick confirmation and nothing else. Hizashi has no idea why Nezu called him first thing in the morning. No idea why Midoriya was declared a VT-SX. For all he knows, he's the secret lovechild of a pro. Perhaps Sir Nighteye—the green hair makes it a plausible theory, but then, green hair isn't that uncommon.

Hizashi hasn't asked the reason and he doesn't intend to. If he's supposed to know, he'll be told. Need-to-know protocols exist for a reason, something that all heroes are made aware of the first time they're put on the field. When certain mental quirks make it so easy to pluck information right out of a hero's head, or to force them to reveal their secrets, one can't be too careful. 

The crux of the matter isn't why Hizashi has been sent or who Midoriya is. The crux of the matter is that Midoriya's eyes look dead, and Hizashi wants to help. 

Over several hours, he does his best to do just that. He brings over a blanket to cover Midoriya's legs (one of which seems wracked by spasms). He nudges the boy to drink, puts chopsticks in his hand to make sure he eats. Throughout, he keeps up some quiet chatter, interspersed with bouts of silence to give the kid space to speak, to react. 

Hizashi avoids talking about how ragged the heroes have been, how the collapse has been severely pulling on resources all night, how the only saving grace is that the ER isn't overflowing—and that's a bitter thought because it's the morgue that's overcrowded instead. He doesn't mention that the rescue operations are still going and much less that, at this point, it is mostly about sifting through the debris to find remains. 

But Hizashi looks at the fourteen-year-old and in between glances to check that there are no threats around, he talks. 

'Ya know, in middle school, I didn't like math. Or perhaps it's better to say that math didn't like me! I was sure I wouldn't make it to UA because of that. When I wanted to escape, I'd just pick up an English-language novel from the library and just fly away, you know? The first I picked up was the second opus of a book series I liked which hadn't been translated yet… And then I discovered I liked it, reading in the original language. Are you good at English, Midoriya? Ah, perhaps you don't want to practice just now, huh… I dig that. Err, sorry…'

Later: 'Generally my quirk was pretty well-regarded. I mean, it's not a shoe-in for heroics, but it has a lot of practical applications, and, well, it does burst people's eardrums, so I think most people thought it was powerful enough. I just… I never felt like I fit in, ya know? I was just… Too loud and too flashy… Too over the top… I guess for people stuck in the 20th century, too gay as well. You'd think we'd be done with that BS by now. Thankfully it's only very few who took issue with it. Oh, damn, that might be TMI, kid. Shit, sorry.'

Hizashi reddens. Way to go, Zashi, Shouta's voice drawls in his mind. You think he cares to hear about your first wank too?  

Midoriya's eyes haven't moved.

Hizashi clears his throat. He talks of UA instead, and then of Put Your Hands Up, how in between music segments, he strives to give a voice to the marginalized. Then, he starts to feel completely egotistic because it's been a few hours and all he's done is speak about himself, so he lapses into silence. 

All throughout, Midoriya hasn't so much as glanced in his direction, his eyes on the TV where a mindless long-form cartoon is playing.

'...Do you enjoy that, lil' listener? Isn't it a bit simple for you?' It's the type of thing a six-year-old would watch. Hizashi leans forward slowly, telegraphing his moves, and takes a hold of the remote resting on the bedside table. 'Should I change it?'

What should I put on? No horror. Avoid hero documentaries at all costs. Certainly not the news. No stupid comedy show. 

Damn, this is harder than I thought. 

Unaware of Hizashi's inner crisis, Midoriya blinks. And then—

‘He’s looking for his mom.’

Hizashi drops the remote. 

The boy’s eyes are riveted on the screen, where a bipedal dog is going through every room in a house. Hizashi stops breathing, afraid he’ll break the spell and Midoriya is going to go silent again. 

The kid goes on instead. ‘He’s not stupid. He knows she’s gone. But he can’t help looking for her anyway.’

Hizashi swallows around a knot in his throat. ‘Is that… what you’re doing?’

A pause. Midoriya twists slowly, meets Hizashi’s eyes. ‘My mom loved me, Yamada-san. She loved me more than life itself.’

‘I… have no doubt of that, lil’ listener.’

‘If she could have been here by now, she would have.’ The faintest clench of fingers around pristine sheets. ‘My mom is dead.’

‘So you’re… aware. You understand the situation.’

A short nod. Midoriya’s gaze strays in the direction of the TV. Hizashi leans forward again, loath to relinquish the attention he managed to garner, the connection he’s managed to establish. 

‘I’m sorry, lil’ listener. I’m so very sorry that this has happened to you. Is this… why you haven’t been speaking?’

There’s no smile. Hizashi doesn’t think the kid has any energy to muster one. But a self-deprecating gleam comes into his eyes. ‘Who cares what I have to say?’

‘I do! I know I talk a lot, but that doesn’t mean I can’t listen.’

‘Of course. You’re a hero. You’d listen to me, the teenage boy that got dumped onto you, because that’s what heroes do. I-I don’t want to make light of your efforts. I’m sure you’d be great, Yamada-san. But—’ His voice breaks, and wobbles. ‘—there was only one person who listened to what Midoriya Izuku had to say. Who wouldn’t just listen, but who would want to know. And she is gone.’

Hizashi swallows.

He's lost everything. Everything. He mustn't even have a picture of his mother left. 

Nothing he can say will change that. Nothing he can do will change that. 

But… 

That doesn't mean there is nothing he can do, Hizashi muses. He sends a quick message to his boss.

And then, he puts a hand, palm up, right next to where Midoriya's lay tangled in the sheet.

A moment later, fingers slide on top of his, and Midoriya's lips waver.

Hizashi doesn't speak again after that. 

*

Katsuki had heard the collapse last evening. The whole neighborhood had. 

He'd felt the rumble of the building going down, heard the whine of sirens and the skid of ambulances zooming past. He'd seen police setting up red-and-white warning tapes to blockade a whole sector and seen the file of evacuees being shepherded down the street, in case the collapsed building had made adjacent ones brittle. 

The phone had been ringing non-stop, courtesy of the neighborhood telephone chain, and through his window Katsuki had seen neighbors out on the street, some organizing immediate logistical support, while some (fucking useless extras) exchanged information and gossip. More than a few aunties and uncles had donned their padded jackets and had stood looking toward the column of smoke and dust that hadn't yet settled. Nakamura-san had been munching on sunflower seeds.

For some reason, that's the detail that sticks in Katsuki's mind. Not the startled hitch of his mother's horrified gasps as she listens to someone on the phone, not her hand finding him and uncharacteristically holding onto his shoulder tight and hard, not the slow dread rising inside and sending pins through his fingers, as he put two and two together and realized that the building was right over where Deku lived.

Mom had gone through the evening in a daze. She'd nearly set the kitchen on fire until Katsuki had yelled at her to sit and let him do it. Dad had come home late, pale with tiredness and grey with dust, the sleeves of his suit scuffed; the subway traffic had been disturbed and he'd had to exit three stops past their usual station. 

After dinner, Katsuki's parents had had a quiet discussion in the kitchen and they'd both come out looking harrowed. Mom had kept glancing at the phone, but she'd run a hand through Katsuki's hair despite his protestations. Dad had come up with Katsuki when he'd grumbled something about homework, and had gone to his office, allegedly to look up the next hike they would go on. The office door had stayed open, and Katsuki had felt compelled to keep his open too, when he saw his Dad unmoving, staring into space. 

All night, his parents had acted like they were waiting for news, and been annoyingly affectionate with him. Like they were glad Katsuki was around. Grateful that he was there. 

Katsuki wasn't dumb. They were waiting to hear from the Midoriyas.

But that's stupid, he thinks as he brushes his teeth that morning. 

The Midoriyas are fine. The building that collapsed couldn't have been theirs. They've been evacuated, that's all. Auntie Inko left her phone behind because she's a bit of a spaz sometimes, and Deku didn't think to use his because he's useless. 

Auntie Inko and Deku are fine, obviously, because they can't not be. Things don't just happen like that.

Katsuki barks a goodbye to his parents (after submitting grudgingly to a hug from Mom, and a lingering pat on the shoulder from Dad).

He keeps his eyes resolutely on the ground as he walks through streets still scored with dust and skid marks from emergency vehicles. He circumvents the sectioned-off portions and gets his ass to school. 

The nerd isn't in class when he comes in. 

Well, that's not unusual. Deku is so useless that he has no defense mechanism against his classmates' jibes, always flinches like their words physically hurt him, so he tends to avoid his classmates whenever he can get away with it. He always slips in right before the bell.

Today's not going to be any different. 

But the bell rings, and there's no sign of Deku. 

Where the fuck is he?

The fucking extras glance at the empty desk and murmur between themselves. Fat Wings comes over, chortling. 'Bet you're glad he's off your back, aren't you, Katsu?' 

Katsu? Who the fuck does he think he is? Is my name short for katsudon now? 

The nerd loves katsudon. 

Katsuki grits his teeth. 'Get lost, you fucking extra!'

'Man, you sure are in a mood today,' Fat Wings grumbles, but backs off.

After lunch, the useless nerd's desk is still empty. Teach comes into the classroom, looking frazzled. Katsuki's heart sinks (but why?).

'Class, I'm sure that by now you've heard of yesterday's building collapse. Erm, unfortunately… that was the home of someone you know.' She takes a breath, and says the rest really fast. 'Midoriya-kun's mother was among the deceased. Midoriya-kun… is in the hospital.'

What. 

Auntie Inko… What? 

Kacchan remembers soft fingers in his hair, the smell of lavender, a laughter unlike any others'. 

What the effing fuck?!!

Teach looks at Katsuki with surprise in her eyes and he realizes his outburst was public.

'I-It's true, Bakugou-kun, we've—we've heard from the police.' 

Fingers grip his throat. 'And Deku?' he grinds out. 

'His condition is unknown at the moment. He isn't allowed visitors.'

Fucking bullshit. Deku's fucking useless, but he can't—

Auntie Inko's gone? But she can't. She can't. She'd never leave Deku behind. She'd never—

And Deku's fucking useless. What's he gonna do alone in the hospital? How is he going to survive without Auntie Inko looking out for him?

But… 

"His condition is unknown."

But if he doesn't survive… 

Katsuki can't even form the thought. 

He shudders and grips his desk roughly to ground himself. By the time the static stops ringing in his ears, his classmates have stopped making a ruckus, and Teach is left looking uncertain standing at the front of the room. 

She hesitates. 'I know you didn't bear Midoriya in your heart but… He should hear from his classmates at least. It'd be the heroic thing to do. P-Perhaps you can make him a card?' 

There's an uneasy silence, then the class rep sighs and sets about doing just that. Teach declares a self-study session and sits gingerly behind her desk. She's pale, and Katsuki recalls she'd sometimes praised Deku for his schoolwork, before she figured out she should stop since it made the other extras jealous.

Katsuki gets passed the card, and he sighs. It's ugly, obviously made with the least effort possible. His eyes skim over the well-wishes, sounding insincere as fuck.

A few wrote "I'm sorry," and each of these notes feels like an ice knife stabbing him in the flank because—

Katsuki stills. 

In a corner, someone wrote, "Don't do things halfway. Go ahead and die."

The card explodes, raining ash and paper shreds on Katsuki's desk.

And with no idea how he got there, he's gone from the room, sinking on his knees in front of the toilet and vomiting his guts out. 

*

Thirty-seven hours after the building collapse that took All Might's life, Nezu finally does what he's been wanting to since he first heard of Midoriya Izuku's existence: he makes it to the hospital lobby. 

He is furiously typing on his adapted phone even as he walks, staving off the ghouls of the Hero Commission who have been hounding him every other minute. 

Prior to the Fall, they had eighty-seven contingency plans in preparation for All Might's death. Some, thankfully, were immediately put into place: anti-travel measures against the Top Ten heroes to keep them inside the country and ready to reassure the public, calling on reserve heroes to patrol to increase hero presence on the streets, launching anti-corruption operations that were waiting for sign-off to minimize villains' reach in the government and public companies. 

All the same, to Nezu's supreme annoyance, the sheer panic that the circumstances bred among the HPSC bureaucrats prevents the rational implementation of some of the most important plans they had made. For instance, in typical human fashion, the HPSC has been arguing for hours on when, and how, to break the news of All Might's death—existing plans notwithstanding and regardless of the fact that the longer they wait, the more they risk having no control over the way news spread. Already, the media are talking about—

—But Nezu has made his position clear (stick to the plan you made when you still had the rationality to make it). He has not slept in forty-eight hours. And more importantly: he has a wounded boy to help. 

So the Commission will wait, or they will suddenly find that Nezu is much harder to reach. His claws flying over the larger-than-usual keys, he tells them so in no uncertain terms. 

Then Nezu switches tack and sends Yamada-kun a text to warn of his imminent arrival.

When he reaches the hero ward, Yamada-kun is standing inside of a doorway, alternating between casting watchful glances inside and worried looks down the corridor.

When he catches sight of Nezu, Yamada's eyes widen and he raises a hand. He repositions so his hands are hidden by the width of his torso, and signs, Tread carefully. He's fragile. 

Nezu can't sign back, not with his paws, but he's learned to read sign language a long time ago. He nods. 

Yamada-kun pauses then speak softly, knowing Nezu's sensitive ears will pick it up. 'The doctors said he can be discharged tomorrow. Do I need to stay overnight or will you?' 

'I'm needed at the HPSC.' That was as much as he managed to negotiate—for them to give him a few hours, and then they'd send their best teleporter to get him to their HQ. He'd be lucky to get any amount of sleep at all tonight. 

But he can’t not help them. Turning his back on them now would mean relinquishing all the leeway their dependency on him has bought for UA and its affiliates over the years. 

Nezu shakes himself, aware his fur's bristled with irritation. He takes a moment to calm down. Being irritated can only make him short and snappish, and this is not what Midoriya needs.

He looks back up to the concerned face of his staff member, blithely ignores his signed Are you okay? and says, 'You should go, Yamada-kun. I'm aware you have your evening show tonight.' 

The blonde frowns. 'I thought—' Right. The VT-SX.

'Aizawa-kun is just setting up on the roof outside. He'll stay overnight.' 

'Okay. And after?' Nezu shoots him a surprised look. It's unlike Yamada-kun to prod around need-to-knows. He usually has much more awareness of his own tendency to blab.

Yamada-kun falters. 'I just want to know if I should say goodbye now or…' 

Attached, already? Well, Yamada-kun has always kept an open heart. Fondness chases away any lingering irritation. Nezu puts on a smile to express it. Yamada-kun beams in return. 

(To this day, Nezu is still puzzled by the evolutionary turn humans took, whereby showing teeth equated sharing joy instead of threatening or asserting dominance. But he lives in their world; he must play by their rules. Some of their rules.)

'You can say goodbye now, if you want. But you'll see him tomorrow.' 

'I—will? Oh, okay. Good.' Yamada-kun gives a relieved smile, and finally ducks back inside the room. A moment later—after some murmurs Nezu has taken care not to listen to by chittering under his breath—he's striding off, sending a finger gun salute to Nezu. 'Take care now, boss.'

'And you, Present Mic.'

Nezu is left facing the door. And now… For all that he made every effort to come here, for all that it is important, that it is Toshinori's last will and also that this is very simply a hurting soul Nezu can help… 

He hesitates. His quirk is running in every direction—as always—but now it is snagging on dead ends and what-ifs, calculating probabilities of failure and somehow, the numbers that usually help him keep a calm head are suddenly making everything much worse. 

I should have slept before meeting with him. 

Nezu flexes his paws, tilts his ears toward the front and walks in the door.

The boy is short for a human; that much is evident even if he is sitting on the bed. But then, human males usually hit their growth spurt in the middle of ther teens, so Midoriya still has room to grow. His hair is forest green, his face freckled. Overall, he looks plain, but the kind of plain that could be cute by human standards. 

In the one second before Midoriya registers his presence in the doorway, Nezu gets a good read on the boy's body language. His expression is somewhere between vacant and downcast. (Signs of dissociation? Or simple grief? Monitor for signs of deeper depression.) His shoulders are curled inwards, his head tilted. (Defeated posture. Lack of self-confidence? Feelings of anxiety over the future? All consistent with a young Quirkless individual's experience nowadays.) Still, his back is straight, his hands are gripping the sheets. (Signs of rebellion, anger, or resolve. Which is it? A potential source of courage, if harnessed correctly.) 

The doorway slides as Nezu pushes it open further. 

A flinch.

Nezu takes care not to frown, but his quirk is already running away with the knowledge. (Expectation of violence? Where from? By all accounts Midoriya Inko was a good woman who loved her son, only tired due to being a working single mother. No outward sign of physical abuse, it's also unlikely that she would have the energy. Yamada-kun left through the door and likely warned Midoriya another hero would be by to visit. Yamada-kun reported no distrust toward heroes. Is the flinch an expression of extreme nervousness only? It looks ingrained, not circumstantial. Has he been exposed to violence by other fellow humans in his life? Or does something about the door sliding remind him of the building collapse…? )

Not enough data. He'll need to observe more. But for now—

Nezu raises his hands in greeting. (He decided, after the lab, that he would never bow to another human.)

'Hello, Midoriya-kun. My name is Nezu. I'm the principal of UA.'

'Yes, I've… I've seen you on T-TV, Nezu-san.' The head cocks. A spark of curiosity in the boy's eyes. It's reassuring—he isn't completely jaded yet. 'You usually introduce yourself differently.'

Huh. Even if he were a great hero fan, my work as a hero is not well known outside of the industry, and my work as an educator can only have been of tangential interest to him. Yet he not only noticed my introduction pattern, but also memorized it. Impressive. 

Nezu finds a small smile inside of him to give to Midoriya-kun. 'Heroes need to know when to adapt to their audience.' He taps his paws together. 'I figured you may find cheerfulness obnoxious at present.'

The boy swallows. 'Right.'

'May I sit?' 

Midoriya looks startled, as if he doesn't understand why he 's being asked for permission. He gives a jerky nod. 

Nezu clambers over the chair Yamada-kun abandoned, taking the time to settle so that his tail hangs between the seat and the backrest. He smooths down his waistcoat, and tucks his paws in his lap. Gestures that will come across as prim and purposeful, when really, Nezu is still collecting himself. 

The truth is, Nezu isn't ready. All he wants to do is curl up around the pain and bare his teeth to anyone that comes near. Toshinori… Toshinori was one of the very, very few people who would actually accept Nezu for who he is, the whole of him: traumatized lab rat, genetic mystery, a weird amalgam of animal instincts, puzzling emotions and skills cultivated in a lab. It was those skills that had allowed him to earn his hero license (observation and pattern-recognition skills, high processing power and memory retention), and yet, Toshinori had always said it wasn’t that which made him a hero.

He saw Nezu’s intelligence, and didn’t say “cold-hearted robot”. He saw Nezu’s occasional enjoyment in putting humans in their place and didn’t say “chaos agent”. Instead, he saw Nezu’s constant efforts to talk to humans in the language they understood, he saw Nezu coordinating raids and taking on deep investigations on top of his principal role, he saw Nezu’s efforts to carve a safe space for his students and alumni,…

Toshinori saw Nezu.

And he called him “a fellow hero”. A friend. There had been very few things Nezu valued more.

All gone now.

Nezu gives himself permission for one shaky breath in, four heartbeats of grief and a steadier breath out.

This isn’t about you. He looks into the eyes of the boy who plainly doesn’t understand why Nezu’s here. Midoriya must be drowning in grief as well.

They've got that in common, at least.

‘I’m here to talk about the next steps, Midoriya-kun.’

‘Y-You mean… F-Foster care, right?’

‘Not quite! You see, there’s something the doctors didn’t tell you. Couldn’t tell you, really, as they didn’t have all of the information. In the collapse you manifested a quirk.’

Midoriya-kun frowns. ‘No, I didn’t. I-I was conscious—I’d remember.’ He swallows, and looks heartbroken. ‘You’ve got the wrong person, Nezu-san.’

Do I? Did I just give hope to a Quirkless boy who lost everything, only to take it away a moment later? No, Tsukauchi wouldn’t get that wrong. Would he?

We’ve all been emotional. Mistakes happen when—

‘I’m sorry to ask you this, Midoriya-kun, but was there a person with you? When you were… trapped.’

‘Yagi-san,’ the boy whispers, his green eyes rooted to the sheets. ‘He s-said he had a healing quirk. But he was d-dying; it didn’t work. I c-couldn’t help him,’ he confesses, tearfully and not without shame. ‘B-But I stayed.’

Nezu clamps teeth on his tongue to prevent a whine. ‘You did very well,’ he manages, fighting the urge to curl up into a ball. ‘I had the right report. It is you who manifested a quirk.’

Midoriya-kun looks up in shock. ‘I d-don’t feel any different.’

Nezu pauses. This is delicate, and he can’t explain the particulars of All Might’s quirk in a public hospital. His mind tracks back to research papers discussing trauma-based or forced manifestation, recalls the experience of people who manifested in adverse circumstances. And what Toshinori had told him about gaining his own quirk. ‘From what I gather, it doesn’t always come immediately. Eventually, you may feel—fuller, somehow, or like you’ve got a peculiar itch, though it will subside.’

Nezu flicks his ears. ‘Please don’t try to search for it now, Midoriya-kun, and listen to me until the end. The quirk you’ve manifested, it’s dangerous. For you. You can’t activate it just yet, because if you do, you’ll end up needing critical care. That is why I’m here, and not a social worker. There is no institution better placed than UA to assist with the training of a, well, an individual with a truly powerful quirk.

The boy is staring at his hands. ‘My… quirk… is dangerous?’ He’s pale, suddenly.

Nezu frowns, unable to ascertain the cause. ‘It could be, yes. But I should stress that it’s only a possibility—’ No! He’s hyperventilating!

‘D-D-Did I c-cause—’

Nezu jumps up on the bed, puts paws on the boy’s shoulders. ‘No. You had nothing to do with this collapse. Nothing, Midoriya-kun.’

‘But I could hurt others? I c-could—’

‘A quirk is a tool.’ Nezu sits, straight on the mattress. He waits until Midoriya-kun is looking at him, until his breathing slows and his attention is on his words. He repeats, ‘A quirk is a tool. You could hurt someone with a sheet of paper. With a gun. With a quirk that causes liquid to bubble; it only takes one bubble of air in your blood to potentially cause death, after all. Do you understand? As long as you master it, as long as we can train you, you will be just fine, Midoriya-kun. And able to live a rich and full life.’

A sharp breath, full of broken dreams, full of hope.

Nezu hesitates. The boy deserves the truth. ‘I will admit… There is more to this. However…’ A glance at the walls, which have ears. ‘I will tell you more tomorrow, once we take you back to UA.’

'So I'll… You'll teach me?' 

'Yes. Though you will have a main teacher, all of the UA staff will participate in your education. Me included, of course.'

Midoriya-kun stays silent for a moment, looking down at his hands resting in his lap. Slowly, they flex. His right hand twitches with the force of his leg' s spasms. Nezu does not look at it, and does not wonder. (If his quirk goes ahead and gives him the percentage of disabled heroes, how short their careers are and how many end up dead, well, he can't exactly help it. But he and his staff also haven't yet gone Plus Ultra on the issue—there is a lot that can be done for Midoriya-kun, if he so wishes.)

The silence stretches. Nezu waits patiently. The boy's eyes are far away, but he is here. Not dissociating, just perhaps thinking very hard.

After a good ten minutes, during which Nezu has come up with twenty different training plans based on how best Midoriya-kun turns out to learn, mind-sketched three life-support items for the boy's leg he'll need to workshop with Powerloader, and created a new tea blend he can't wait to try, he gently prompts. 'Is there anything on your mind, Midoriya-kun?' 

'W-What about g-guardianship? You said I wouldn't go to foster care…?' 

Nezu keeps a small smile, but mentally, he's baring teeth at himself. Just because you came out of that lab emotionally crippled, just because it took you years to figure out you have emotional needs, you should never forget that they are just as important, or perhaps more, than physical needs. Especially for children and teenagers. 

A snide voice whispers, Tanaka-san would be disappointed. 

No, Nezu's logical side counters. He wouldn't. He would say you're sleep-deprived and grieving, and allowed to make mistakes, if you seek to correct them—

Sleep deprivation leads to poor decision-making in any living being, his quirk chimes in, and in you it shows in your quirk snatching at everything as a lead, and reverting back to lab behavior. Poorer social skills, hyper-awareness of human gestures, difficulty forming empathy because survival comes first—

Nezu breathes out a short breath. 

'You will not be going into foster care for now, Midoriya-kun. And perhaps not till you are of age, unless you express that as your preference. UA is prepared to take care of you long-term.' 

'What d-does that mean?' 

'For now, you will come to UA and be assigned a temporary guardian. Then, depending on who you feel most comfortable with, and the teachers’ preferences, a more permanent guardianship will be arranged for you. We will discuss this in more detail tomorrow.'

'Oh. O-Okay. Then… When do I g-go back to school?' 

The boy isn't looking at him. The question seems innocuous enough, the tone is casual, but the voice is reed-thin. His shoulders have tensed, just the slightest. 

'I've asked for your school records, given the situation. You seem to have good grades, Midoriya-kun, but there were a number of… behavioral reports.' A wince. The shine of unshed tears. 'It seems to me you may not have been the happiest there?' A badly hidden flinch. Yes, there is something here. It cements Nezu's decision. 'I'm sorry, I know you may be seeking something familiar right now, Midoriya-kun. But for now and until you’ve mastered your quirk, you will be schooled at UA.'

Midoriya-kun nods and sags like a puppet whose strings have been cut. And Nezu knows and aches with sympathy—grief is incredibly tiring and there is nothing he wishes more than to escape through sleep. 

'Before I leave you to your rest, Midoriya-kun, there is one last thing…' The boy's eyes pin him, green and pained and done, and Nezu tentatively reaches in the inside pocket of his waistcoat. 'I'm afraid I wasn't able to find much in the public domain but…' 

He hands Midoriya-kun a picture. 

It's a casual shot of a hospital lobby that Nezu has cropped, zooming in on a particular person. A woman with green hair, mostly turned toward the camera, her eyes on something to her left, smiling broadly with her full teeth.

Nezu wonders if Midoriya-kun's smile is as bright as his mother's. As the boy makes a choked sound and reaches with trembling hands for the picture, Nezu vows that he will find out someday. 

And when Midoriya-kun's shell finally breaks and he starts crying, whimpering with raw loss, Nezu stands there resonating with the same feeling. 

'I c-couldn’t help him,’ the boy had said. 'B-But I stayed.’

The HPSC can wait.

Nezu closes his eyes and allows himself a whine at a frequency humans can't hear. He curls into a ball, right here and there, next to the sobbing boy who'd been his friend's last comfort as he died. 

And Nezu stays. 

*

(That evening, the news report that All Might hasn't been seen or heard at all today.)

(And in a dark room a man without eyes, laying near a television set, sits up and takes notice.) 

(He smiles.)

Chapter Text

As he gazes at him through a window pane, Shouta's first impression of Midoriya Izuku is: he looks nothing like All Might. 

It's a highly illogical thought. The moment a VT-SX was declared on the teen, several snapshots of him in various positions and expressions, selected by Nezu from public cameras, had been circulated to the UA's staff. All so that he could be recognized on sight as someone to protect. All morning, Shouta himself had run Security Team 2 through drills on what to do in case someone came for the kid, and that had included having the teachers spot a robot bearing his face in a mixed crowd of green-haired students and robots.

He knew, climbing onto this roof, that the kid looks nothing like All Might. He's scrawny, he's green-haired, he has freckles. Not even their complexions match. 

And yet—Midoriya Izuku is All Might's successor. Subconsciously (and to his utmost annoyance), Shouta had expected… something. A presence, a charisma, an indestructible smile… 

Aizawa may not have liked All Might, having grown delusioned over the years to the man hogging all the media's attention, when they should have been talking about real issues that left people in the dirt. But the man wasn't the Symbol of Peace for nothing. Heroes rallied and villains ran when they heard he was in the vicinity.

Midoriya… looks like any other middle schooler. 

Albeit with a few more scars, and the shadow of trauma lingering on his face.

He doesn't even know he's All Might's successor, yet, Shouta, Nemuri's voice says scathingly in his mind. Give him a chance and he may surprise you.

This is something he's always struggled with, a flaw of his. Being able to make snap judgments and quick calls is an essential skill in any hero, one that Shouta has in droves. The downside is that he tends to let his first impressions linger longer than they should. That's why Nezu had offered him training in observation, back in second year—a way to tamper his gut instinct with collected and logical conclusions. 

If you'd let your first impressions of us stand, Shou, we wouldn't be your friends today. Hizashi's voice. It's mushy sentiment, but it's true. 

So Shouta pushes Midoriya's plain demeanor out of his mind, determined to give him a fair chance. Focus on what you have in front of you. 

And mostly, focus on where threats could come from. 

Shouta counts four internal entry points for threats: the hallway door, the bathroom door, the window he has his eyes on, the middle of the bedroom (if they've got a teleporter); plus at least 3 more external ones: the hospital roof, the roof he's laying on, and the high-rise building on his ten o'clock, where a sniper could conceivably shoot from floors 11 to 13.

Nezu is in the room now. His boss looks harried, to the discerning eye, and a sliver of worry worms its way into Shouta's heart. 

Shouta doesn't pay much attention to the conversation. He obviously can't hear what's being said, and lipreading was a chancy science even before heteromorphism came into the equation. He can't give his boss and the boy complete privacy without dropping three of his threat entry points, but he does attempt not to look at the speakers directly. 

Despite his best efforts, he does catch glimpses—and the body language is telling. 

They are both in the throes of terrible grief.

Shouta is barely surprised when Nezu ends up giving in to his animal side and curls up against the boy—in a way, he's glad of it, since they'll both have comfort of a kind. 

But his throat tightens. Until now, all of it was words. All Might, dead, successor, boy, guardian, and above all VT-SX: a convenient protocol to cling to.

But this is real.

This is a real boy, who's lost everything he owned, everyone he loved, and who is even now losing a fundamental truth about himself—that he is quirkless. 

A boy, whom Shouta is going to spend weeks with.

I'm halfway antisocial. I barely connect with my friends on the best of days. How the fuck am I supposed to connect with him? This isn't like teaching—he won't be gone at the end of the day. 

Why did I say yes to being his guardian? Even if it's temporary—what if I make it worse for him? 

Suddenly, this is all too real. 

And All Might is really dead.

What's going to happen when the villains find out?

Shouta's heart starts thudding with dread. He sets his jaw, runs the coils of his capture weapon in between his fingers. 

He breathes, deep and slow. He watches his threat points over and over through his goggles, out of order to throw off anyone watching him. Before long, his mind enters the alert but trance-like state that comes with a focused guard. 

Slowly, night falls on Musutafu, casting upon it a veil of silence and shadow. And though he stays focused on his mission, Shouta can't help but liken it to a funeral shroud. 

*

When Izuku wakes up, he's alone. The sun has risen, though it hasn't yet topped the crest of the tall buildings of this neighborhood. Early morning, then.

Another day without Mom.

Izuku can still hear her morning greetings. Morning, darling! How did you sleep? Come have breakfast. Have you packed your tissues? Have a good day.

Izuku turns over in his bed, his back to the window. Nezu-san said they would take him to UA today. A week ago, Izuku would have been ecstatic. A part of him is still awed, but there's a dark cloud in his head. Doubts assail him. Will the staff accept him, a fourteen-year old interloper (impostor)? Will he be able to master a quirk that they, the best teachers in Japan, consider dangerous? What if he proves useless with it? What if they got it wrong, and he's still quirkless after all? (Would they ever have welcomed him at all, if he hadn't manifested a quirk?) 

Mom's voice in his mind helps him push away the dark cloud. Have a good day.

Izuku clings to that like a drowning man. He makes himself move. He changes to a clean pair of scrubs the hospital staff has given him. The fabric is flimsy but comforting; it reminds him of Mom. He looks around, but he doesn't have anything to pack up. He was given a notebook and pencil, but he hasn't touched them. He… stands around, then starts tidying up (because he might as well make himself useful). Removes the sheet to make the nurses' lives easier. Puts the remote just so on the bedside table. Seals off the bathroom bin bag.

Just as he's about to consider asking for cleaning products, there's a knock at the door.

It slides open to reveal Nezu's small form. 'Good morning, Midoriya-kun!'

Midoriya-kun. 

Izuku will have to get used to being called that now. Is any adult ever going to call him Izuku again? 

Maybe some would. 

But it won't be the same as when Mom did. 

Izuku… wants to close his eyes and pretend the world doesn't exist. But Nezu-san is waiting, and Mom raised him to be polite.

'Good morning, Nezu-san.'

'Are you ready?' 

Izuku nods.

Nezu doesn't ask if Izuku had a good night. Izuku feels grateful. In fact, Nezu looks tired himself. His fur lacks luster, and though he's changed his waistcoat, it looks like he hasn't slept, or not much. 

Well, Izuku can't fault Nezu for his appearance. He himself showered yesterday, but he feels grimy. The dust of the collapse has settled on his skin and refuses to be washed off. He feels dirty, ugly, used and so tired.

But—

The fingers of his left hand brush against the picture buried deep in his pocket. Have a good day. He can try, right?

Izuku looks at the UA principal, standing patiently at the threshold. 'I wanted to s-say… thank you, Nezu-san. For, uh, for staying yesterday. You d-didn't have to.'

Nezu's eyes on him are sharp and glittering. 'Ah. I see now that I forgot to mention one crucial detail to you, Midoriya-kun.' The principal nods once and his tail curls down, though Izuku can only guess at what that means. When Nezu speaks, his voice is thinner than before. 'Yagi-san was my friend. An old and treasured friend. I—He…' He clicks his teeth in what looks like self-exasperation. 'I will tell you more at UA. But suffice to say that I was not the only one giving comfort yesterday.'

Izuku remembers wrapping his arms around the small bundle of animal warmth, holding it tight while he broke. He remembers the quiet whimpers as he ran his fingers through soft fur. I wasn't the only one suffering.

And he—he shouldn't be glad that someone else is grieving, but… he's glad that he's not alone.

Mom is probably being grieved by her colleagues, too. Do the Bakugous know? Does Kacchan—

Izuku cuts off the thought. He doesn't want to touch the medley of emotions that comes with Kacchan. He has enough to deal with already.

He finds himself holding out a hand to Nezu-san, whose ears prick up.

'Oh. Err, I'm sorry, is this something you do? Holding hands—paws, I mean? I—we can—you don't have to—' 

'I don't mind, Midoriya-kun. In fact, it'd be my pleasure.' A soft paw slips into his, with the barest hint of claws against his palm. His claws aren't retractable. That must make furniture difficult to navigate.

'Though I must ask for your patience. I was designed to be both quadrupedal and bipedal—' 

Izuku nearly chokes when he registers the word "designed". He'd read that Nezu was a result of human experiments, but he'd never realized what that actually meant. 

'—but my legs are short. I'm told walking around with me is like walking with a small human child, quite slow. My staff or a robot usually carry me around for efficiency's sake. A hero's life is ever speedy.'

'Would you l-like me to carry you?' 

Nezu looks up at him. His ears tilt back, just slightly. 'Maybe later, Midoriya-kun.'

Slowly, Izuku's limp a match for Nezu's short steps, they make their way out of the hospital. It's a strange feeling since Izuku doesn't quite remember making it there in the first place. He vividly remembers the world folding away and breaking all around him. He remembers being too startled to even think of being afraid. He remembers waking up in pain, and Yagi-san. How perfectly useless Izuku had been. The concrete slab lifting. 

And then… Izuku remembers a confusing mesh of images, more shards than memories: a police cap on a human-sized cat's head, a tan coat thrown over him, the screaming siren of the ambulance, pokes and prods, an old grandma's face, the words "we have to sedate him", and then a fade to black. And all throughout, he remembers feeling like he was still there, still encased underground with the cooling, rigidifying body of a kind man who sought to help him.

Even now, Izuku swears he can feel Yagi-san's arm around him, a warm shelter of unsubstantial shadows. 

Izuku blinks the daze away when sunlight hits his face and he almost recoils. How is it that the sun is shining? The pavement is drenched. It was pouring this morning. Japan is right in the rainy season… But no, though the clouds are dark and heavy in the sky, the sun bravely peeks around their edge, timid but defiant.

Izuku stares. It's almost… Almost beautiful. How? After everything, how? His lips twitch. He doesn't know if he wants to cry or smile—so he does neither. 

The paw in his hand retracts, and Izuku looks down to see Nezu gesturing ahead. 

A man is standing there and Izuku blinks. He's been so out of it he didn't even notice the stranger coming up to them.

The man looks back, his face blank. He doesn't look mad at Izuku's inattention, even though he must have spent quite some time waiting outside, judging by his appearance. Raindrops are still running down the water-repellant fabric of his black jumpsuit. His long hair has fared worse, heavy with water. At least he had a scarf. It's a really long scarf too. Looks like several meters long. Isn't it heavy?

'Midoriya-kun, I'd like to introduce you to a pro hero—he's actually been watching over you last night.'

The man's eyes roam for an instant, snapping around before coming back to rest on Izuku. One of his thumbs is hooked behind a utility belt…

It can't be… 

'He will tell you his name once we are at UA for security reasons, but for now you may call him—'

The whisper slips out. 'Eraserhead.' 

Nezu turns to him, his ears perking up in delighted surprise. But Izuku can't tear his eyes away from the man. 

Somehow, the three-day stubble makes the hero feel approachable, more so than any of the heroes in costume he's seen before. Like someone Izuku could pass by in the supermarket. Or a neighbor whose door he could knock on when they're out of eggs, like they did with Goro-san—

Izuku ducks his head as a fresh wave of grief wells inside. Goro-san is dead too. 

Izuku jumps as Nezu-san tugs him on the sleeve, angling his snout so as to look up into Izuku's face.

'Midoriya-kun, I believe Eraserhead has a question for you.'

Izuku's head whips to the man he's forgotten to greet properly. 

'How do you know who I am, kid?' 

'I, uh. I like heroes. Sir.' Izuku swallows. The hero's eyes are piercing suddenly. Izuku clutches the picture in his pocket. 'Erm, it's n-nice to meet you?' 

'Yeah. You too, Midoriya.' He turns away and makes his way down the short flight of steps to the street. Nezu follows, Izuku lagging behind; faint pain shoots up his right leg with every step. 

Eraserhead opens the door to a sleek black sedan. Izuku does a doubtetake: it's being driven by a robot.

'Hop in, Midoriya-kun!' Nezu says, and proceeds to do just that, crawling until he reaches the front seat.

Izuku folds himself into the back seat, curling up. His doubts seize him by the throat.

Just before the car door slams shut, he hears a soft mutter. 'Good spot, kid.'

*

UA's gates are monstrously big. 

Izuku had walked by them a few times when he was a child, after begging his mother to take him on the subway ride to stroll past All Might's alma mater. He remembered the gates as being tall. 

He hadn't realized how dwarfing they really are. 

'They must be tall enough to accommodate even Ryukyu in dragon form,' he murmurs.

'Quite so, Midoriya-kun!' Izuku colors as Nezu turns around in his seat. 'The first principal of UA had a student who could transform into a Sequoia tree. Thanks to an extensive root system, she could walk around in that form, to an extent. The gates were made to be able to welcome her comfortably.'

'Oh. I thought… So you're not the first principal of UA?' 

'No. UA has existed as long as heroics have been a professional occupation. I'm the fourth principal.'

'But…' Izuku bites his lip.

'Yes?'

'...Your hero name is literally Mr. Principal. Err, isn't it?'

'Good catch, Midoriya-kun. And that is a story for another day.' It's hard to tell with the animal features, but Izuku thinks Nezu's smile is fond and wistful. 

The principal turns back to the road, and Izuku is left watching as the car moves up the driveway, bifurcating away from the main thoroughfare the students use. UA's main building is looming ahead, its distinctive H-shape suddenly intimidating.

Izuku's anxiety spikes. 

'Will there be… any students around?'

It's Eraserhead who answers, cutting his eyes toward him. (He's been watchful the entire trip; for what, Izuku doesn't know.) 'It's Sunday.'

'Oh.' Izuku hadn't realized. He doesn't even know how many days it's been since the collapse. The specter of his life before hangs close and cloying, and he doesn't want to look at it too close. It will devour him if he does.

Nezu chimes from up front. 'Today, you'll only meet three other members of our staff. We thought it best to start small.' 

Izuku gives a wooden nod. Starting small. He likes that. Small sounds doable. Small, he can manage.

The robot emits a series of smug beeps and the car turns off. Whispering a hesitant thank you to the driver (who waves with a cheery metal hand), Izuku clambers down after the underground hero. 

He teeters against the car door for a moment, having to find his balance with his bad leg. The man doesn't mention it; he's not even looking, his eyes sweeping the area ahead. 

They've stopped away from the main building, toward the back of the campus. North-east, Izuku's internal compass says. There's a copse of trees and a nondescript two-story building.

As they come closer (Izuku limping next to a waddling Nezu and a very patient Eraserhead), the principal explains. 'This used to be the old dorms. Nowadays, we use another set for emergency housing, and we have a plan for new dorms pending board approval. The top floor has been refurbished as an apartment, and the ground floor is a light training gym—for quirkless training only.'

Izuku's head whips around so fast he almost falls over. 'Quirkless training?'

'You can't always depend on your quirk as a hero,' Eraserhead says. His eyes flash red and his hair floats up. Izuku gapes, because this is the coolest thing he's ever seen—

And yet, inside of him… A sliver of light he didn't know he had snuffs out.

Izuku gasps and looks down.

'What is it?' The man's quirk turns off and he steps forward, frowning. 'Are you in pain?' 

'No,' Izuku answers in wonder, as the barest hint of light blooms near his heart. 'I just—I really do have a quirk.'

'Don't activate it, Midoriya-kun.' Nezu's tone is soft but it has a sharp edge to it. Is he worried? 

'N-No. I, I won't. You said it's dangerous, Nezu-san, right? I… It's just…' 

'The first time you felt it.'

Eraserhead's expression is inscrutable. Nezu's eyes glitter. Izuku puts a hand on his chest, right where the light is. It feels just a little warm. Like—like Yagi-san's arm around him, just before he died.

Izuku swallows around his tight throat. 'Yeah.'

Eeaserhead turns away and starts trudging toward the building. Nezu leaps, clambers up his capture weapon with impressive alacrity and settles on his shoulder. 

'Come along, kid,' the man prompts. There's people wanting to meet you.'

The two heroes leave Izuku to follow at his own pace. And if he wipes tears from his face as he does so—they pretend not to notice.

*

In the gym, Izuku is introduced to Recovery Girl (Shuzenji Chiyo) and Hound Dog (Inui Ryo), both heroes he is passingly familiar with. They must have been making some last-minute checks, as Hound Dog holds a clipboard of papers marked with green and red ticks. 

Izuku bows. 'Thank you for healing me, Recovery Girl.'

She smiles at him, cataloging every aspect of his posture through her visor. 'How's your leg, dearie? Faring any better?'

'The physiotherapy helped. I… can manage it now.' By which he means "hobble around well enough," but she's seen him walk in. She knows. 

'Any phantom pain?' 

Izuku ducks his head, all too aware of the three other adults in the room. 'Some.'

'I see. Well, the doctors have sent me your whole medical file, and I'm here if you need anything. For any health question, any physical ailment—you can come to me. Now, Hound Dog here is our school guidance counselor, and he is also a certified psychiatrist. We would like to suggest that you meet with him a few times a week to begin with.'

'You mean… for quirk counseling?' 

'Therapy,' Eraserhead clarifies.

'Oh…' Izuku reddens. 'You think I need therapy?'

'Anyone would, considering.'

Hound Dog frowns at his colleague and takes a small step forward. His voice comes muffled through his muzzle. (Izuku can't help but wonder why he wears it. Does he want to avoid scaring people with his canine fangs? Or is he legally obliged to in public?) 'You've been through a lot, Midoriya-kun, and you're facing many changes at once. I'm just here to ease you through them, okay?'

'Err… Okay.' Izuku can't help but be embarrassed. His mom is a nurse, and he knows therapy can be helpful and necessary for people who've gone through a traumatic experience, but… at the same time, going to therapy is exactly the type of thing Kacchan and the others would mock him for. Quirkless, useless, weak. 

But he's not going to see his classmates for a long time. And the UA staff are calling the shots. Izuku should do what they want him to, if it means learning to control his dangerous quirk.

Before long, Recovery Girl and Hound Dog excuse themselves, though they stay hovering at the door while Nezu pats his hand. 

'Midoriya-kun, I'll leave you here as well. There are a few documents I need to prepare, so I will see you in the afternoon.'

'Thank you, Nezu-san.'

Nezu's ears wiggle and he gives a small smile, before jumping onto Hound Dog's waiting arms. 

Eraserhead and Izuku are left trudging upstairs to the apartment. Izuku clings to the handrail, leaning on it to ease his way up.

'Err, sir? What should I c-call you?' 

'Not sir, for one.' The man glances back, and Izuku is struck by how drawn his features are. Nezu said he watched over me all night. He must be tired… 'When we're out of UA and I'm in hero gear, call me Eraserhead. Otherwise, my name is Aizawa Shouta.'

'Thanks for accompanying me, Aizawa-san.'

'Aizawa will do.' The man throws him another look over his shoulder, and seems to realize how much of a gap there is between them. He pauses on his step, as Izuku struggles to catch up. His leg is spasming, as it has been nearly nonstop since he woke, and putting his whole weight on it is tricky—it gives out, sometimes.

The man waits. 

'Did Nezu explain anything to you?'

'Some… He said I'd have a temporary guardian, and that, uh, I'll have some training and classes with the UA staff? I-I think he means to tell me more this afternoon.'

Aizawa hums. When Izuku reaches his level, they start again—but the hero stays a step behind instead.

Once they've reached the landing, Aizawa pushes open a door. 'Welcome.'

It isn't "Welcome home," but Izuku's heart twists. For an intense second, Izuku is overwhelmed by the desire to go home . The small flat he shared with Mom, full of junk and precious things. He wants to slouch on the couch, he wants to trip on the carpet, he wants to straighten the painting that always hangs crooked. He wants his room, his hero figurines, his notebooks, his bed and the mess of clothes he's left at its foot. He wants to hear Mom singing softly in the kitchen in tune with the radio, grumbling under her breath when she's doing paperwork, cutting up vegetables after he's washed them. He wants to hear her laugh when he cheers at being served katsudon.

He wants something that's gone.

Izuku finds himself crying, and he hurriedly wipes down his tears, biting back the urge to sob. He's already tired of crying. This is the third time in less than a day. Ever since the picture… 

Izuku clings to it like a lifeline, takes a deep breath, and holds it until the tears stop.

'S-Sorry,' he mutters, unable to look Aizawa in the eyes. He can already guess what the man must think ( weak crybaby ). No need to read it on his face too. 

'Not a problem, kid.' The apartment door is closed once more. The man leans against it. 'Let me know when you're ready.'

'I-I'm ready.' Izuku isn't, but he doesn't think he'll ever be ready.

'Okay.' Despite his words, Aizawa doesn't move. Izuku looks up at him. The hero clears his throat. 'Look, there's someone here who wants to see you. But if it's too much or he gets too loud for you, just signal to me. He'll either tone it down or I'll get him out of here.' 

'Okay. Thank you.'

A brief sigh. 'You're too polite by half, kid.'

Izuku hadn't known there was such a thing as being too polite. His teachers often said he was a troublemaker. "Rowdy," and "plays rough with his classmates" were words that regularly showed up on his report cards, even if he never understood why. He was never the one to initiate.

Any further thought flies from his head when he enters the flat. He doesn't look at the hallway, the corridor, or even Aizawa. He barely remembers to toe off his shoes. 

Inside, someone is singing along to the radio.

Izuku's heart races. He's pulled into the kitchen as if by an invisible force. 

(And he hates that he's hoping, because he knows it's not going to be Mom, it's not even the right voice, he knows —) 

Izuku clears the doorway.

Yamada looks up and grins. 'Oh, it's you, lil' listener! I was just hanging out here so I took the liberty of preparing some snacks. Want any?'

("He knows she’s gone. But he can’t help looking for her anyway.")

'...Hey, you alright there?'

Izuku breathes out. I'm an idiot. I'm a stupid, useless idiot. 

'Y-Yamada-san. G-Good morning.'

Yamada is out of hero costume. His long hair is pulled back in a bun, his clothes are casual but stylish, and if it wasn't for the context clues (same-shaped glasses; the mustache; blond hair; and most obviously meeting him at UA), Izuku would never have recognized him.

Despite his disappointment, something in Izuku relaxes upon meeting the hero again. Present Mic had been kind. 

'I'm glad to see you again, Midoriya!' Yamada makes no mention of the fact that Izuku is now speaking, or that he didn't before. 'Are you hungry?' 

'No. Thank you.'

'Alright, well, these can keep. Are you allergic to cats?' 

'Err, no?' 

'Just wanted to make sure. Since you'll be living with this little darling.' Yamada points to the top of the fridge. A very prim cat sits there, staring down at them. A lozenge-shaped patch of white fur spreads on his chest like a necktie. The cat meets Izuku's eyes, blinks slowly and looks away, tail flicking with disinterest.

Aizawa makes his way past Izuku and reaches up to the cat, who rubs his head against his hand. 'He's called Squares. On account of the patches on his fur.'

'He's kind of the butler of the house. Although, he's still getting acquainted with this new space.' Yamada puts away the snacks in the fridge, looking over to Aizawa. 'Shouta, I've also prepared some dinner you can both heat up tonight, okay?'

'Thanks, Zashi.' Aizawa folds his arms and buries the lower half of his face in his capture weapon. 'Just warning you, kid, I'm not the best cook.'

Wait…  

'S-So you'll be living with me?' 

Both adults turn to him. Aizawa's eyes are dark and sharp. 'I thought Nezu told you?' 

Yamada lets out a little laugh. 'Damn…' 

'He mentioned a temporary guardian… he didn't say who. I-I mean, it makes sense, since I didn't know anyone before this morning. Uh, except you, Yamada-san.'

'Don't hang your head like that, lil' listener, it's all good. Shouta's just surprised.' The Voice hero elbows Aizawa.

'Right. I'm the temporary guardian, kid. This here is our apartment, mine and yours. Hizashi—that is, Yamada came over to help out.'

Izuku stands awkwardly. What do you say to your new guardian? 'P-Please take care of me, Aizawa-san.'

'Lose the san, Midoriya.'

'Yes, sir.'

Yamada fights and fails to hide a smile. 'I've, uh, brought some clothes over, kiddo, in case you want to change out of your scrubs.'

'Thank you, Yamada-san.'

'I'll be out of your hair now, let the both of you get to know each other, get settled. A'right? I'm really glad I was able to run into you, lil' listener . '

Izuku feels like he swallowed his tongue. He follows the Voice Hero to the hallway, finally managing a choked, 'M-Me too.'

Yamada looks up from lacing his boots at his words, and gives a genuine smile. 'Take some time for yourself, okay? I'll see you around.'

The door swings shut. 

Izuku looks at Aizawa, who shifts his weight from one leg to the other. 

'You want the grand tour, Midoriya?'

*

The tour helps cements that everything has changed. The apartment is much roomier than the one Izuku lived in before , and the layout is completely different. The bathroom has plenty of space between the shower and the bath, and the square high tub is bigger. The living room is separated between the lounging space (which has a big TV and comfy couch) and the dining space (complete with a kotatsu laying against the wall, waiting to be put to use in the winter months). 

At least, Izuku thinks, I won't be reminded of Mom every time I step into a room.

But at the same time…

It all feels alien.

Start small, Nezu had said. Perhaps he could start thinking of this apartment as a clean slate tomorrow. Perhaps it's okay to grieve today? 

Aizawa finally pushes open the door to the last bedroom. 'That's yours.' Izuku goes in. It's… A bedroom. It's got a bed, and sheets, a window, a built-in cupboard. And paint on the wall.

Aizawa crosses his arms, burying his face in his capture weapon. 'Sorry, I know it's bare. …Didn't have much time for shopping.'

'It's fine, Aizawa-san. You were g-guarding me all night, weren't you?' And it's still better than the hospital. 

'Still. We'll arrange a shopping trip later. For your clothes. And we can get stuff for your room, too.'

'Stuff?'

A shrug. 'Books. Games. Notebooks for classes. A desk would be good. Knicknacks that you like.'

Struck with an idea, Izuku turns to the hero. 'C-Could I get a picture frame?' 

Aizawa uncrosses his arms. Something unlatches in his expression. 'Of course, Midoriya.'

They stare at each other. Yamada said to take time to settle, but Aizawa's stuff seems to be sorted already, and Izuku has nothing to put away.

He looks at the clothes folded onto the bedspread. 'I should change into these.'

'Alright. Know where the bathroom is?' 

'Y-Yes. Thank you, Aizawa-san.'

A short sigh. 'Sure, kid. I'll be on the couch if you need me.'

Izuku flees. 

*

Izuku pulls on the T-shirt first, not even giving a glance to the three small scars across his left flank and torso. They're remnants of the scrapes he got in the collapse, which Recivery Girl said should grow faint over time. Izuku doesn't mind them. They play companions with the few starburst-shaped scars he's got, anyway. 

He pulls down his scrubs' trousers and puts on the shorts Yamada left for him.

Then Izuku glimpses himself in the mirror and yelps. 

In shock, he looks down. 

In between a breath and the next, Izuku sees his leg bent at a wrong angle and broken. He sees the stark white of the bone, feels the rivulets of blood flow down the broken skin, staining his torn trousers. He sees the disgusting mash that is the inside of the wound, riddled with grit, dust and dirt.

His leg is mangled, like it was during that terrifying moment alone before he found Yagi-san— 

Was it all an hallucination?

It hurts. It hurts which means it's real which means I'm still there—

Yes, Izuku can smell it now, the strangely sweet scent of dusted concrete, and he can hear the silence ringing in his ears, only broken by the groaning of unstable materials piled on top of each other. 

Izuku huddles trembling on the floor, whimpering. He closes his eyes to not see the bewildering broken world around him. 

Yagi-san is here though, right?

Yagi-san was real, right? 

Yes. Yes, Yagi-san was real. Izuku can still feel him throwing his arm around him to protect him.

So if Yagi-san was real… Izuku forcefully bites his lip to corral his panicked thoughts. He blinks, and his leg looks whole, if emetic in appearance. He tilts his head up, and he's in the bathroom of his new apartment. 

And there's a knock on the door.

'Midoriya. I heard a thud. Are you okay?' 

No. I'm not okay. Not of this is right.

Aizawa's voice, softer. 'Kid?'

Izuku clears his voice and fails to speak. After two more attempts, he finds his voice. 'It's j-just—m-my leg. It's the f-first time I see it without… without the, uh, bandage.'

They'd removed it this morning, and Izuku had turned his head away. He hadn't been brave enough to face it. What made you think you'd do any better now? 

Izuku breathes for a moment, taking extra care not to let his eyes stray from the bathroom tile. He counts how many there are in front of the door. Five, six, seven. 

'I-I think I should… a-avoid shorts for now, Aizawa-san.'

There's a moment of silence. 'It'd be better for you not to avoid your scars in the long run, Midoriya. I've got a few of my own and after a while you just learn to live with them.' A pause. 'But for now… if you really can't bear it… we'll figure something out.' 

'It's… It's so ugly, Aizawa-san. It's… going to attract attention.' And because no teacher has ever taken Izuku at his word (except Inari-sensei sometimes), he stands up and opens the door. 'See?' 

Aizawa's dark eyes find his, searching his face (for what?), then glance down. And stay rooted there.

The hero doesn't say anything. His lips flatten in a thin line. 

'…I'll get you some trousers, kid.'

*

Nezu's office is an odd mix of furniture made for a tall human and adaptations made for a small rodent. On a massive desk made of Japanese maple are no less than five screens and three phones (including a land-line). There's only one keyboard, but it's not a keyboard like anything Izuku has ever seen. It looks a bit like an organ's, rather than a computer's. Adapted for Nezu's paws. Does he type with his whole paws then? Can he use his claws individually? 

Nezu gives Izuku a small smile. 'Sit down, Midoriya-kun, Aizawa-kun.'

Three steaming cups of tea rest on saucers on the desk. Nezu takes one. Izuku notices a ring around one of his claws; it seems to magnetically allow objects to stick to Nezu's paw, in replacement of an opposable thumb. 

Nezu looks a little better—he must have rested, after taking care of the huge portfolio of papers sitting by his right elbow.

'How was your morning?' 

'Fine. Thank you.'

Nezu sips from his cup, staring expectantly. Izuku tentatively does the same. He smells lavender in the blend, and has to tamp down on the sudden emotion the smell wakes in him. 

'We, uh, we went for a walk.' 

'Despite the rain?' 

'We took umbrellas. I wanted to see the campus.' In fact, Izuku hadn't seen much of the campus; it was too huge and he didn't fully trust his leg. But after wandering for a while with Aizawa as his shadow, he'd stopped under a tree. He'd spent what felt like an hour, just staring up at the canopy.

Something about how the leaves wept raindrops had called to him. Rainfall sounded different, softer, in the forest. It had lent Izuku some much-needed calm. 

'You didn't push yourself too far?' 

'No.'

'Have you eaten?'

'What is this?' Aizawa grumbles from where he's slouching in the nearest armchair. 'An interrogation?' 

'I am simply making sure our new ward is being treated as he should. And please do not think I didn't notice you changing the subject when I brought up food, Aizawa-kun.'

'The kid didn't want to eat.'

'Mmh. We'll speak of this later. For now, Midoriya, there are two things I want to talk to you about. First is your guardianship arrangement, which we will discuss today. Second is your quirk, which… we will defer until we've been able to run some tests, if that is amenable to you.'

'Yes, sir.'

'I understand I forgot to mention Aizawa-kun would be your temporary guardian. I apologize, I didn't mean for you to be startled. The truth is, I didn't yet have confirmation that this was a possibility until just about an hour ago.' Nezu pats the thick folder. 'Aizawa-kun, why don't you get yourself a pen?'

'Surely,' the hero hisses as he grabs one off Nezu's desk, 'in this day and age, a digital version of all this paperwork exists?' 

'It does, and I've filled it already. But you need to manually sign every page so that I may make certified copies. Digital versions can so easily be amended, after all. Besides, this will ensure you actually read these documents.' Izuku thinks there's an ironic twist to Nezu's smile, but he fails to get the context. By his answering grunt, Aizawa doesn't.

The man starts skimming and signing methodically. 

Nezu lays paws on both sides of his saucer. 'While Aizawa-kun is occupied, I wanted to provide a brief explanation of the situation. Essentially, Aizawa-kun will be your guardian for now, until you decide you would rather be entrusted to someone else, or you come of age. He will therefore live with you, care for you, guide and advise you. However, since you are a ward of UA, I will be responsible for your actions, from a judiciary standpoint.'

'Wouldn't it have been simpler for you to be my guardian then?' Izuku blurts out, before turning crimson. 'S-Sorry. I d-didn't mean to assume you would want to…' 

'There is nothing wrong with being curious.' A wiggle of the ears betrays the principal's hesitation. Aizawa seems to be stuck on a document, his pen immobile. Finally, Nezu continues with equanimity. 'I am the result of illegal genetic experimentation, Midoriya-kun. The tribunal that granted me the right to live as a regular person stipulated several conditions, one of which being that I cannot have any offspring.'

Izuku's jaw drops. He straightens in outrage. 'They took that right from you?'

Aizawa's fingers are white around his pen as he leans forward. His voice comes out low and furious. 'You had to argue in court to be recognized as a person?' 

'Of course. My case made jurisprudence. Because I won that trial, quirked animals were given rights, with tests established to distinguish between different levels of awareness and consciousness. But to answer your question, they did not take that right from me, Midoriya-kun. I had none in the first place. If anything, I took my rights from them.' 

Nezu's smile hasn't changed. He's obviously made peace with this reality.

Meanwhile Izuku has never heard anything so unfair. He feels like throwing up. How could they… He came out of a lab after who knows what horrors, and he had to justify being a person? Were his captors trying to pretend he wasn't one?

And despite all that, Nezu became a hero. A hero who has saved countless humans—and animals. 

Tears spring to his eyes.

'So you're forbidden from… from having children?'

Nezu's paws curl around his cup of tea. 'I am a genetic anomaly. While I did earn the same rights as any person, there were some caveats, including this one. Who knows what may happen if my genes pass into the gene pool?' 

'But what about adoption?'

'The court did not bother to make a distinction between natural, adopted or fostered offspring, I'm afraid.' A click of claws against porcelain. 'I'll admit I've had cause to regret that. But, Midoriya-kun. I do not lack for children around me, do I?' 

'...No.' But none of them your own. Even if you didn't want any—you should have had the right to make that choice. 'What other caveats were there, Nezu-san? If I may ask.'

The principal blinks, genuine surprise stealing across his face. '...You may, Midoriya-kun.' He glances at the two humans, first at Izuku's livid hand spilling tea from his cup, then at the mess Aizawa's made of the paper he's meant to sign. His ears prick up and slowly, his smile deepens. 'However, while I am flattered that you wish to know, let's keep that discussion for another time. We've quite deviated from our subject.'

A deep sigh and the scritch of pen on paper resumes. With a start, Izuku realizes how much tea he's spilled and hastily puts his napkin to use. 

'All of the UA staff, including the robots, have been briefed on who you are and why you are here, as well as your status as a UA ward and what it entails. We are brainstorming a schedule to apply in the coming weeks, after those tests I mentioned. Everyone is quite keen to help.'

Izuku nods. 

'This includes me, Midoriya-kun. What I meant to say is that, although I am not your guardian, I will regularly be checking in to ensure that your needs are met. My door is always open and I would be happy to serve as a sounding board, an advisor, or even an occasional caretaker, if you need one.' 

Izuku is all too aware of the picture in his pocket, and who gave it to him. He clears his throat, and nods his thanks.

'And then, of course, there's Aizawa-kun.' The hero looks up, glancing between Nezu and Izuku, before tilting his head in agreement.

Paws flat on his desk, Nezu leans forward. 'This is what I want you to understand, Midoriya-kun.' Nezu's eyes meet his, shining with conviction. 'You are not alone here.'

Oh.

Oh.

Izuku's breath hitches. 

My life is still in pieces, but I'm no longer buried under the rubble. I'm out. I'm out, and there are people willing to help me through to the other side. 

Izuku sniffles. For the first time since he woke up after the collapse, he feels a sliver of anticipation for what the future might bring. 

And clutching at the picture of his mother, he can't help but think that if Midoriya Inko were still alive, she would no doubt feel as grateful as he does.

Chapter Text

The next day, Yamada is there when Izuku comes into the kitchen. Once again, the radio is on, but the man is silently dancing to the beat this time, in deference to the other hero seated at the counter with his face dipping dangerously close to his coffee mug.

Izuku hovers for a moment before he slips past Aizawa to grab plates and cutlery. He balances them carefully as he limps back and forth. He has to push substantial piles of paper aside to make space on the dinner table, but he makes sure to keep them classified and in order. On any other morning, he might have chanced a glance at the contents (because curiosity has ever been one of his flaws). But last night was difficult—full of vivid images and sounds whenever he slept, and when he woke the disquieting realization that this wasn't home. Izuku is tired. Stacks of paper—even a hero's reports or pieces to a heroic investigation—bear no appeal to him at the moment.

The table set, Izuku posts himself near the counter again. Aizawa glances up, and silently gestures to the empty tall stool next to him.

'Coffee?' he grunts. 

'Shou!' Yamada spins around with spatula in hand and points it at Izuku. 'Teenager. '

'Right.' Aizawa runs a hand across his face. Izuku is reminded that before last night, the man probably hadn't slept for at least close to forty hours. '...I don't have tea.'

'Water's fine.'

Aizawa throws a baleful look at the cupboard, as if trying to intimidate a glass into jumping onto the counter. Yamada sighs, gets Izuku a glass, pushes the jug toward him, and gets back to flipping tamagoyaki in their rectangular pan. 

The music is upbeat, but not obnoxiously so. Izuku listens to it quietly as he sips his water. Once again, Squares is perched on top of the fridge. His golden eyes, half-closed, watch Izuku.

‘So, Midoriya,’ Yamada says. ‘Shouta tells me you like heroes.’

‘I do.’ 

Yamada glances at him in encouragement. Izuku bites on his lip and keeps his mouth shut. He's not sure what to say. There's so much he could say—too much. He doesn't know which topic to choose, which hero to mention. He still loves heroes, in fact last night he had even made a mental list of questions for Eraserhead and Present Mic in between two fits of restless sleep. But for some reason, he can't think of any right now. His hands are trembling around his glass of water.

‘Do you have a favorite, lil’ listener?’

All Might. Of course, All Might saves the day. Or Izuku's start to the day. He feels almost boneless in relief. All Might is a safe subject—everyone knows him—and he's someone Izuku could lecture on in his sleep.

Izuku feels a burst of gratefulness for his favorite hero. A pull at the corner of his lips, and it's been ages since he has wanted to smile, but Izuku goes with it. This is All Might. Mom might be gone, Izuku's apartment may be powdered dust, every element that used to make up his life has vanished or changed, down to the scent of his soap—but All Might is a constant. He can almost hear the catchphrase echoing in his mind, tinged with melancholy. I am here. 

‘All Might,’ Izuku finally offers once he's done being emotional. ‘He's my favorite.’

Yamada’s smile has frozen on his face. Besides him, Aizawa has stilled—or fallen asleep in his coffee. Oh, do they not like All Might?

But no, the Voice hero just shuffles to check that the rice cooker is on and carries on the conversation. ‘Why is he your favorite?’

‘He's just… He's amazing. The embodiment of a true hero. He saves people with a smile.’ Someday, I want to be just like him. 

‘T-That’s it?’ 

Of course it would sound shallow to a pro hero. It's not like All Might is the only hero who smiles. Aside from some cool edgy pictures in Hero Mag where a photographer had played with Present Mic’s bad boy rocker looks, Izuku has never seen Present Mic not smiling, for instance. But—All Might smiles all the time, at everyone, without distinction. 

And Izuku… Izuku knows the value of a smile. Sometimes at school, it felt like all he ever got thrown his way were glares, frowns and scowls. He knows exactly what it means to have someone smile at him, like he exists, like he matters, like he makes their world better. 

Mom had smiled like that.

Izuku clutches at his glass of water. At least, on the picture Nezu had given him two nights before, Mom had been smiling. He didn't know what he'd do, if he forgot what she looked like when she did.

‘Is there, uh, anything else you like about him…?’

Yamada is trying so hard while Izuku keeps zoning out of the conversation. Feeling heat rise in his cheeks, Izuku plants nails in his left thigh to ground himself. And because he knows the value of a smile, Izuku smiles at the Voice hero who looks a little stunned, thinks of his top ten arguments why All Might is the best, and… ‘For one, he's a very versatile hero who's able to do villain take-downs, rescue work, participate in raids—in fact I think the only thing he hasn't done is undercover work and that's because obviously he's very well known. But he also takes being a hero the extra mile—going Plus Ultra!—because he doesn't restrain heroics to the field, or to when he's working.’

‘Explain that,’ Aizawa cuts in. 

Izuku almost falters at realizing both heroes are actually listening to him. ‘Erm, r-right, well, d-did you know he said more that once that the true value of a hero had nothing to do with their quirk or lack thereof? And he often says there are heroes without a license, like he holds the police force in high regard.’ Yamada’s eyes are growing wider by the second. ‘A-And he also served as counsel for heroic issues being discussed in the Diet, like the, err, the Underground Hero Alliance project—’

This gets a raised eyebrow from Aizawa. Didn't he know? How could he not know? Did he not follow the news? ‘That law didn't go through.’

‘Well, n-no, it didn't, because the HPSC called it governmental infringement on their prerogatives. B-But the point is, All Might fought in its favor even though he isn't an underground hero at all, and at the end of the day, he may have a lot of influence but he's only just one man. It's that he tried that matters, right?’

‘...Right.’

‘I hadn't known that,’ Yamada offers softly, which for some reason gets him an annoyed glance from Aizawa. He beams at his—co-worker? Friend? ‘What else, lil’ listener?’

‘W-Well, then there's his quirk.’

Yamada drops his spatula. His voice comes out muffled as he bends to pick it up. ‘...What about his quirk?’

Aizawa’s eyes are on Izuku, unfathomable, but he's listening, and he hasn't told him to shut up yet. So, perhaps he does want to know?

‘So, err, the thing is, I really like to watch quirks and try and figure out how they work… But All Might’s is such a mystery! Most people say it's super strength of some kind, but strength can't explain how he can almost fly sometimes or how he gets around at the speed he does. Also his quirk has no evident drawback, besides, you know, having to be really, really careful when doing some things, like holding a glass of water. Really, for all the strength he can pack into a punch, and it's been theorized that he could probably level a small island, it's amazing how low his collateral damage is, but then I noticed that when he intervenes in city centers, he tends to just pick up destructive villains and relocate them to abandoned areas. And the thing is, he never talks about his quirk, he always changes the subject in interviews, it's such a shame but it has to be because of villains, right, so he doesn't give them an edge when he faces them.’

By the end of his excited tirade, Izuku realizes just how much he rambled at them and colors beet-red. The heroes are outright staring now, both of them, and it just feels so much worse than when his classmates catch him muttering. Izuku hurriedly downs some water. He'd thought himself too tired to speak of heroes but once again All Might was the exception.

‘That's, err, I'm sorry. That was a bit… much.’

‘Oh no, you're fine, lil’ listener. You're a… a really big fan, eh?’

By his side, Aizawa is now awake enough to be texting on his phone. Izuku’s relieved to only have one person’s attention on him.

‘...Yeah.’ Izuku wants to clam up, but Yamada’s been trying so hard to make conversation. Surely asking for his opinion is the polite thing to do? ‘W-What do you think All Might's quirk is, Yamada-san?’

‘I really couldn't say.’ Yamada’s voice is tight. His attention is fully on the tamagoyaki he's sliding on a plate. A moment later, he says, ‘Breakfast’s ready. Will you carry these to the table, lil’ listener?’

Izuku understands without needing to be told that the conversation is over. Wordlessly, he sets down the plates. He doesn't know whether to feel relieved or ashamed. 

He sits down, and wishes he could go back to bed. 

*

Aizawa Shouta: Can we move up your appointment with Izuku to this morning? 

Inui Ryo: Yes. Just need to shuffle things around. Come at 10.

Inui Ryo: Did something happen? 

Aizawa Shouta: His favorite hero is All Might.

Inui Ryo: Shit. You're telling Nezu too, right?

Aizawa Shouta: Yeah. 

Aizawa Shouta: I just want him to have established a bond with you before the ground’s yanked out from under his feet again.

Inui Ryo: Smart. 

Inui Ryo: But perhaps you should also look into establishing a bond of your own? Since you are his guardian.

Shouta wants to say he will. He has no idea where to start. 

He stares at his phone while Hizashi and the kid start on breakfast. 

He leaves the message unanswered. 

*

Shortly after breakfast, Yamada heads off to change into his hero costume ahead of class. It's just Aizawa now, and Izuku… isn't quite sure what to expect of the man. They haven't really talked. And he seems busy; he keeps glancing at his phone. Maybe he's expecting a call?  

In doubt, Izuku falls back to his manners. He gathers the tableware and begins washing them in the sink. He's barely done with the first plate that Aizawa is by his elbow, towel in hand. ‘You don't have to do that,’ Aizawa says while he dries. 

‘Oh.’ Izuku stands at the sink, staring at his hands dripping with soapy water. Should I step away…? 

‘In future, I mean,’ the hero clarifies. ‘It's my responsibility.’

‘...Oh.’ Izuku bows his head, scrubbing the tea cups. 

The hero dries them and puts them away. There's a beat of silence. ‘Did you use to do this…’ he trails off but Izuku can complete the sentence. With your mother. Before. ‘Is this just a habit?’

‘Yeah. I d-don't mind doing it.’

Aizawa frowns down at the cutlery he's holding, like the spoon has all the answers to his questions. He sighs, and puts it away. ‘Fine. Then we can say whichever one of us cooks, the other does the dishes.’

Izuku glances up at the hero. It's a simple proposition, but something within him relaxes a fraction. This is rule one of living with Aizawa, he thinks, and finds it in him to give a smile to his guardian.

*

Izuku has changed into the same UA gym uniform Aizawa had found for him the day before, and he's ready to head out. They're doing some exercise today, and judging by the clipboard in Aizawa’s hands, it's some kind of test. Aizawa being in his hero costume lends it an official air.

The thought is both exciting and nerve-wracking at the same time, so Izuku tries not to think too hard on it, and follows the hero to the gym downstairs.

It seems to be divided into two sides: weights and muscle-development machines on one, and exercise tracks on the other. There's a circular running track (which seems to have a route for indoors and one leading to the back outside), athletics equipment to the side, and climbing holds and grips snake up a wall.

‘Before we begin,’ Aizawa says, clipboard tucked under an arm and hands in his pocket. ‘This is for you.’

From his pocket, he fishes out a phone and holds it out. Izuku tucks his cane against his hip, and with both hands, he gingerly takes the phone, admiring its silvery sheen. 

‘It's a hero grade one. Standard issue for UA interns—and UA wards now, I guess. It can withstand a lot of damage and it's waterproof, fireproof, acidproof, you name it. Battery lasts about a week. You should set up a passcode for it, as well as finger and facial recognition. There's a few other safety protocols but it'll walk you through it once you're in.’

‘Th-Thank you, Aizawa-san.’ 

‘Lose the san,’ the hero grumbles back. 

Izuku can hardly believe it. A hero grade phone? For him ? 

‘Eyes up here, kid.’ 

Izuku looks up, his back straightening at how serious the hero is looking. 

‘We've saved a bunch of numbers in it for you. Nezu's, both the official headmaster line and his own personal one. Mine. Hound Dog’s. Recovery Girl’s. Yamada’s. You can can call any of us at any time, day or night. Got it?’

Izuku swallows past the sudden chokehold on his throat, and nods. Nezu had said it, the day before. You're not alone . It looks like his staff is doing all they can to make it true.

‘Good. One more thing. There's a rule that we'll be enforcing—that we need you to apply at all times.’ 

The hero folds his arms, his dark eyes piercing. Izuku tightens his hold on the phone in response. 

‘You must always have a pro hero with you. And I mean, always and everywhere. Even in the apartment, I'll either be there or someone else will. And if you're upset with me, you can tell me to fuck off—’ Izuku splutters, but the hero is unshakable, ‘—no, you can tell me to go away and give you space, and I will, but someone else will have to be there. Likewise if you need some air, if you just want to get off the campus or if you don't want to see my mug anymore—’ and why is Aizawa so convinced that Izuku will come to feel that way? ‘—just get another one of the staff to accompany you. We don't have to be in your face about it. We can follow discreetly, as long as you're within sight. But you can't be alone, kid. Got it?’

Izuku blinks, and blinks again. That was—well, he hasn't heard Aizawa align more than two or three sentences before, and that was a lot of words.

‘Midoriya. Any of that unclear?’

‘N-No, I get it.’ The rule is pretty simple. Always have a pro hero with you. Izuku can do that. It's pretty easy. And yet it's also utterly baffling. ‘I'll take care to always have someone with me, Aizawa-san, b-b-but… err, why?’ 

The hero stays silent for a second. ‘It's policy,’ he finally offers, and flicks on his digital clipboard. He won't be saying more on the subject then.

Is it because of my quirk? Izuku can't help but wonder. Is it so dangerous that I need to be watched at all times? 

Wait, no, Nezu also said it was dangerous for me… Quirk misfiring can happen accidentally if the person's emotional, and, well… 

Izuku almost teeters physically at the wave of grief that swells up suddenly. He takes a deep breath and pushes it back down, clutching at the cold logic of his reasoning. Okay, so my quirk could go haywire and that's not good. They're probably playing it safe until I have some control over it.

That means… I need to hurry up and learn. I can't be a drain on their resources. They're already spending so much time and money, when I…

…I can't be useless forever.

And the first step to mastering his quirk is undergoing some quirkless tests. 

To tell the truth, Izuku is still tired from his restless night. Nerves and excitement are still coursing through his veins and twisting his insides. There's a mountain of darkness lurking at his back, waiting to crush him. 

But determination is pooling in the pit of his belly, too. 

Izuku puts the phone away, lets go of his cane, and looks at Aizawa.

‘I'm ready.’

*

Aizawa is definitely a UA heroics teacher. The instructions to the exercises are delivered in as few words as possible, and then it's just Izuku against himself (as it's ever been). Occasionally, the hero steps in to correct a grip or a gesture with a swift rebuke and demonstration, and he notes down Izuku’s scores without comment, without expression. 

Izuku doesn't mind that Aizawa is going Plus Ultra on the difficulty. He can handle tough—he's never had the luxury of not handling tough. It's the man's sternness that gets to him. Izuku feels dissected under his unyielding gaze. 

As the hour ticks by, what started as a slight pinch of inadequacy becomes a cloak that all but strangles Izuku. By the end of the session, Izuku—panting, sweaty, aching—only stays standing up through sheer force of will. The silence drowns him; he finds himself nervously tugging at the hem of his UA tracksuit. Aizawa's eyes stay focused on the digital clipboard, adding a note here and there. 

It takes an eternity for Izuku to muster up enough courage, but eventually he stutters, 'H-How did I d-do, Aizawa-san?' 

The digital pen scratches down some kanji next to a slew of numbers. 'This isn’t a test. We’re just assessing where you’re at.'

'O-Oh.' If only I’d known that hours earlier…!

Feeling eyes on him, Izuku can’t help but steal a glance at the tall man. Aizawa stares back for a moment, before he sighs. ‘It was—a passable job. Roughly what I’d expect from a kid your age with no prior training.’ He glances down at his screen. ‘Controlling for your injury, your running speed is above average. But you’re lacking in upper body strength.’

‘S-So I… I did okay?’

‘Yeah, kid. You did okay.’

Izuku lets out a profound sigh. His relief is so deep—and his muscles so sore—he has to sit on the ground. He extends out his twitching right leg. Stabbing pain is running through it, even if Aizawa had avoided exercises that mobilized it too much. 

Izuku doesn’t care. He can’t help the smile on his face. I did okay. Mum would be proud, wouldn’t she? 

Aizawa crosses his arms. ‘Why the dramatics, kid? I said this isn’t a test.’

Izuku’s still riding on the wings of his relief. He feels so much lighter. ‘You only told me that now. I thought—all this time, I thought for sure I was failing!’

‘That’s illogical. You can’t fail. You’re not a student here. I can’t expel you.’

Does he expel people often? Izuku meets the underground hero's unflinching dark gaze. He looks like he could.  

Aizawa slips a hand in his pocket. ‘Say it was a test. What did you expect would happen if you failed?’

Izuku blinks. ‘...That you’d be… d-disappointed?’ Mom had never been disappointed when he didn't bring back a good PE grade, but this wasn't Mom… Aizawa obviously valued physical exercise. And it's not like Izuku's never disappointed anyone. He thinks back to all the times in gym class where Ogino-sensei had put him down. ‘And maybe, err, s-say something mean?’

‘Look, kid. I don't waste time saying words I don't mean. If I say something that seems cruel, there's a logical reason for it.’

Izuku swallows. He tries to picture the man like he had looked this morning, halfway asleep in his coffee cup, or yesterday when he had petted the cat. Where has that man gone? 

Pain digs a trail of fire up his bone, radiating to his muscles in constricting bands. It feels like chains holding him down.

‘W-What sort of reason?’

‘I expect my students to work hard and do their best. Heroics is no joke. They need to take it seriously.’

Quirkless. Useless. Weak . ‘And if they’re not good enough?’ How had Izuku ever thought the hero approachable? Izuku can't even look at him. ‘I-If they d-do their b-best but they’re j-just not enough?’

Aizawa shifts his weight, his tone as implacable as his words. ‘Then I cut them loose. There's nothing crueler than letting a dream end midway.’

Izuku’s relief is long gone.

It may take a while, because Aizawa and Nedzu are kind and won't put him to the test quite just yet. But—

I'm so sorry, Izuku.  

Suddenly, he feels he knows exactly how things are going to go.

Chapter Text

Shouta is operating on too little sleep and too little coffee. It feels like someone took something out of him and forgot to put it back. And though he's not the type to get anxious about things, there's a certain… alertness coursing through his veins when he thinks of Midoriya's upcoming conversation with Nezu. 

I hope Inui primes him to receive more bad news… Shouta hides a wince within the safe confines of his capture weapon. The kid can't get a goddamn break. 

He glances at the boy, or the boy's green hair, rather—Midoriya's hanging his head, eyes on the ground. 

Shouta can't help but think he screwed up somewhere. Already. Not even twenty-four hours and you fuck it up.  

Problem is, Shouta’s missing the piece of the puzzle that would allow him to understand how.

Not for the first time since he got left alone with Midoriya, Shouta feels like he's casting about in the dark where the boy is concerned. 

It shouldn't be that difficult. He's used to kids. In the years since he earned his teaching license, he's had to deal with kids who were struggling with stress or mental health or personal loss. He's put his training on neurodiversity to good use on more than one occasion. There's no reason for this kid to throw him for a loop. 

And yet: Shouta has no idea what he did wrong, and no idea how to fix it. 

The kid had been smiling—almost laughing—just because Shouta had said he’d done well. And if Shouta’s honest with himself, after seeing Midoriya in turns senseless with grief, grappling with his own emotions and painfully numb to the world, it had felt good to see him smiling. To know that Shouta had caused it. 

But the smile had vanished all too quickly. And now, as they're trudging to the UA main building, the kid is hunched over, just a bit. 

He hasn't made eye contact since the gym. Shouta frowns, double-checks the kid’s gait. And he’s limping worse than before. Leaning harder on the cane.

Concern and an ounce of guilt bloom, and Shouta exhales them out. ‘Come on. We’re swinging by Recovery Girl, then you've got your therapy session with Inui. I’ll grab us some lunch for after.’ 

Maybe they could eat in one of the conference rooms. Or risk the rain to go back to the apartment. The lunch hall’s out of the question, and Shouta doesn't want to expose Midoriya to the faculty room in this chancy mood.

Midoriya gives a listless nod. His face is set in a polite smile but his eyes are shuttered.

This morning, nothing could stop him. His bright-eyed enthusiasm and rapid-fire delivery of hero factoids had almost been too much for Shouta to follow in his sleep-deprived state. It’s on me. I did fuck up, otherwise why would he be so silent now? It all went downhill after he said I'd be disappointed, if he failed.

Shouta shoves his hands deeper in his pockets, his face hidden in his capture weapon, and while his eyes roam with the long habit of constant alertness, his mind races. Try as he might, he can’t understand Midoriya’s logic there. It’s not like Shouta had any expectations for the kid, save that he should do his best.

That’s the whole point. To come to these exercises with no expectation thrown on the kids he teaches. There’s fewer chances of bias. Shouta's teaching method is rooted in logic and logic alone. It offers a blank slate. A fair slate.

So why does it feel like I wronged him?

They arrive at the infirmary before Shouta finds an answer. The old woman smiles wide when she catches sight of Midoriya, but her eyes are keen behind her visor, taking in his struggling gait and his subdued demeanor. 

When the kid turns to sit on one of the beds, the healing hero pins Shouta with a warning glance. We need to have words, it says. Don’t go far.

So Shouta slips into her office and props himself against the wall. Words drift unintelligible through the closed door. He closes his eyes. He’d like to just lay down and sleep—those beds in the other room look far too tempting. But he owes it to the kid to stay awake. Besides, he’d rather not be prodded awake by a brassed-off Recovery Girl. 

Ten minutes pass slowly, during which Shouta starts thinking of a training plan for Midoriya. If they’re to get him in enough shape to use All Might’s earth-shattering quirk, they have their work cut out for them. I should get him to Maijima, too. Even if he decides not to keep All Might’s quirk, we should come up with a support system for his leg.

Recovery Girl comes through the door, her digital assistant rolling on silent wheels behind her. Its screen is angled so that she can read off the screen easily, but she doesn’t even glance at it as she closes the door and turns to Shouta.

‘This boy pushed himself far too hard this morning.’

Shouta sighs. ‘I suspected as much.’

‘And you didn’t stop it?’

‘I wasn’t certain until after he was done. He thought it was a test.’

‘Did you tell him it wasn’t?’

‘...Not until the end. It was a mistake.’ Shouta doesn’t glance away—he isn’t one to run from his mistakes—but he can’t help folding his arms. It doesn’t do much to shield him from the old woman’s annoyance. ‘I’ll do better next time.’

‘See that you do. Aizawa-kun, he pushed himself well past what his recovery plan allowed. He put his right tibialis muscle under such strain that he nearly tore it. I had to administer healing. He’s going to be asleep for at least thirty minutes.’ She let out a short, frustrated breath. ‘Now, you haven’t told him about—Toshinori, have you?’

The lines of her features tighten with a hint of pain. Her expression doesn’t change though. Shouta never noticed before, that pain looks like it always has a home in the creases of her face. He swallows, and looks down. ‘No, of course not. We all agreed Nezu would.’

‘And you told him he did well this morning?’

‘I did.’

‘Then would you care to explain why he came in non-verbal?’

Shouta can’t hide a wince. Recovery Girl certainly doesn’t mince her words. ‘I said something wrong. I’m not sure what.’

The robot assistant moves across the room, bringing a wheeled stool for Recovery Girl who gingerly sits into it. Her fingers tighten around her cane. ‘We’ve got half an hour before he wakes up. Play it back for me.’

With the succinctness that makes him such an efficient hero, Shouta gives her a quick rundown of the conversation. ‘He thought he was failing. And… he believed I’d be disappointed if he did. That I’d say something cruel.’

Recovery Girl’s gaze is dark and blunt. ‘And that came as a surprise to you?’

Shouta nods.

‘Have you read Midoriya’s files, Aizawa-kun?’

‘The VT-SX one only.’

‘Minimal information, then.’ The cane tip thuds against the ground. ‘You treated him like one of your students this morning.’

‘You’re saying it like it’s wrong.’ Shouta’s hackles raise. ‘Kan and I may have our differences—no, our methods are polar opposites of each other, but we’re both equally good at teaching. In fact, if you’d look at Class A’s track record—’

Recovery Girl’s raised hands stop him before he can get much traction. With an effort, he clamps his mouth shut. ‘I’ve heard it all before. And to be clear, I don’t disagree, Aizawa-kun. UA is very liberal when it comes to teaching methods and if I didn’t believe in its model, I’d be working at Shiketsu. I am not saying your way of teaching is wrong.’

‘You certainly seemed to imply—’

‘—No. Educational professionals have been debating for hundreds of years about setting expectations and whether it is detrimental to children’s education. They can be as motivating as they can be limiting. Because you don’t have preconceptions of their capabilities or their past experiences, the sky’s the limit in your class. I know that, and I understand why you teach the way you do, Aizawa-kun. In fact, I find your devotion to equal treatment admirable.’ 

Behind Recovery Girl, the robot wheels this way and that, checking inventory. The old woman’s fingers tap a staccato on her cane; then she leans forward on it. 

‘You purposefully refuse to come to any student with any expectations. But it’s not a reason to blind yourself to the fact that you’re not the only one in the classroom who has them.’

‘...What do you mean?’

‘Have you stopped to think of what expectations he might have had regarding you?’

Shouta blinks. The kid’s incomprehensible statement slithers its way into his thoughts. “That you’d be disappointed… And maybe say something mean? ”

‘He expected me to be cruel,’ he mutters. Why? With hindsight, the answer is obvious. Because other teachers were cruel to him before.  

As a kid, Shouta had been told by most adults around him that he'd never make it as a hero, not with a quirk like his. (A villain's quirk.) So when he'd become a teacher, he'd sworn to himself not to have any preconceptions of his students. Unless it was a matter of life and death and they turned out to be a liability on the field, for themselves and others, he wouldn’t put any barriers in their path. As long as there was potential, he’d nurture it.

And yet, for the first time of his life, he thinks perhaps his blank slate approach isn’t always the best choice.

He fucked up precisely because, unlike Nezu and Recovery Girl, he hadn’t read Midoriya’s middle school files.

The thump of Recovery Girl’s cane against the floor tiles jolts him out of his thoughts. The old woman looks annoyed. Like Shouta’s missed the mark.

‘You think he can’t handle a cruel teacher? You really think that’s what made him shut down?’

From what he’s just realized, it looks like Midoriya has been handling them for a while. She’s right.  

‘Fuck,’ Shouta groans, running a hand through his hair. He feels wrung out and it’s not even past noon. ‘Then what?’

‘He told you himself, didn’t he? He was afraid you’d be disappointed. ’

‘Yes he has, but I don’t get it.’ It still baffles him, in fact. ‘The kid doesn’t know me in the slightest. Why would he care whether I was disappointed in him?’

Shouta's hand shoots out to stop a jab from the old woman's cane.

‘He isn't your student, you big dumb man! He is your ward! ’

‘I know that.’

‘Do you?’

Shouta frowns. Recovery Girl’s scowl is so fierce, imprinted as it is on her wrinkled face, that he can’t help but doubt himself.

‘You took in a boy who lost everything less than a week ago. You know nothing about him, save for what’s necessary to keep him alive and whatever personality he’s shown you so far. And you didn’t think that reading up on what his life was like might help you know how to treat him—might be good for him, in fact?’ 

She jumps to her feet, and punctuates each of her statements with a sharp finger jabbing in his ribs. 

‘Never mind teaching, Aizawa-kun, you’re raising this boy! And the fact that you didn’t know he would look to you for guidance, that he will wish not to disappoint you, but that he’ll expect he will… The fact that you didn’t bother learning that about him doesn’t fill me with confidence. I know you care, but you’re going to have to learn to show it. Because right now, the message you’re sending is that you don’t give a rat’s ass.’ 

The old woman huffs, takes a step back. She looks him square in the face and Shouta feels like he’s twelve.

‘Do you ‘get it’ now, Aizawa Shouta? It’s not the fact that his teacher might be cruel that made him shut down. It’s the fact that his guardian was.’

‘Okay. Okay, I… I see what you mean. I fucked up, I just—everything was an emergency and I haven’t slept much, and…’ 

These are all excuses. He clenches his fists, more than a little ashamed. He now understands Nezu’s razor-like glance a little better, when Shouta had blithely accepted to take temporary guardianship of the kid only seconds after being offered it. 

‘I’ll do better. I’ll talk to him, and I’ll make sure he knows that I… care.’ Shouta looks away, because he can’t face another soul as he makes his confession. ‘I do want to be a good guardian to him. However long that’ll be for.’

‘That’s what I like to hear.’ Recovery Girl’s smile is as sharp-edged as Nezu’s, and Shouta suddenly recalls they’ve been working together for a long time. ‘Plus Ultra, Aizawa-kun. Or else.’

She pats his arm to take away the sting of her words, and she clambers onto her feet. ‘Now let’s see if Midoriya’s awake, mmh?’

*

Izuku wakes up blearily, not having realized he'd drifted off. He blinks at the white ceiling, the mint green walls, and the diminutive hero smiling at him through her visor. She hands him gummies he remembers fishing out of his meds paper cup in the hospital. He munches on them, and between one blink and the next, he remembers he has an appointment to keep. His eyes find the clock. 

‘You're fine, Midoriya-kun,’ the old day chirps. ‘You've got half an hour before you're due to see Inui-san. Are you in any pain now?’

He tenses his leg. Soreness, but no pain. ‘No.’

She takes the news that he's speaking again without so much as a blink. She hums as she takes his blood pressure and pulse, nodding at what she sees. 

‘Aizawa-kun wanted a word now that you're awake.’

She stops. Her eyes are looking at Izuku expectantly, but he has no idea what she wants. Why is she waiting?

Without missing a beat, she clarifies. ‘Do you want to wait until after lunch, or do you feel awake enough now?’

‘I, err. Now is fine.’ The nap made him feel better. Now he doesn't feel like words are crowding in his throat and choking him. 

‘Alright, then. Leave the bed as it is when you go, Sebastian will take care of it.’ She gestures to her robot assistant. Now that he’s looking for it, he sees there is welding around the neck area in the shape of a tie. Like a butler.

Izuku pushes back the bedsheets and stands, shaky but mobile. He's had enough of hospital beds. He drags a chair closer for Aizawa to sit in, and takes one for himself. 

The hero comes in a moment later, holding two cups. His is steaming and smells like strong coffee, while the one he hands Izuku is cold and smells like childhood. 

‘Is that Recovery Girl’s Vitameen? Lychee and dragon fruit jelly?’

Aizawa sits, back straight. ‘Yeah. The standard one. You don't like it?’

‘N-No, I do.’ Izuku takes a sips and smiles fondly. ‘It's been off the shelves for years at my konbini. Thanks for getting it for me, Aizawa-san.’

‘No need to thank me, kid.’ The man runs a hand through his hair and sighs deeply. ‘I'd like to apologize.’

Izuku nearly drops his cup. ‘What?’

‘Recovery Girl told me you pushed yourself this morning.’

‘B-B-But that's my fault!’

‘No, it's not. I should have made it clear you weren't being tested.’

Aizawa rests his elbows on his knees. His eyes are as black as his coffee, and they're level with Izuku’s now. It occurs to him that they're sitting down almost like equals.

Izuku drops his gaze to his hands. It feels much safer to look at; like he's less exposed. Like the adult in the room can't look into his head and see how much of a useless mess he is.

He says nothing.

‘Kid? I'm sorry.’

I don't understand why he's apologizing. He's a teacher. He has the right to test me. Even if it was just an exercise, he doesn't have to explain anything to me… 

Izuku grips the cup hard to prevent his hands from shaking as badly as his voice does. ‘It’s n-n-not your f-fault if I'm n-not g-good enough.’

‘There's something I don't understand, Midoriya. I said you did okay.’ Aizawa frowns. ‘How did I give you the impression that you weren't good enough?’

‘It's obvious, isn't it.’

‘Nothing is obvious to me, kid. Sorry, but you'll have to spell it out for me.’ 

Izuku puts down the cup on the bedside table a little. The juice suddenly feels too sweet. Frustration is bubbling inside. How is it that everyone can see it but this man? Izuku hadn't felt as self-conscious when Aizawa had seen his wound the day before. 

But still. He's your guardian, Izuku. It's only fair for him to know what he's been saddled with. 

‘Aizawa-san,’ he says slowly. ‘I was never good enough before, not even for regular PE. And that was before my injury.’ 

‘You're not in my class. You're not even a UA student—’

‘And that's the only reason you're not expelling me.’

 Izuku watches his words impact the hero.

‘No, fuck—ah… Kid. You're fourteen. A year younger than my students. You haven't had any training. You've been through something severe. I would never hold yourself to the expectations of a first year hero student. And—if in the end you want to try out for the UA exam—we've got a whole year to train together, Midoriya.’

Izuku shakes his head. He doesn't want to hear Aizawa’s well-meaning lies that will give him hope and lift him and have him soar, all the better to leave him bleeding out at the bottom of a building collapse—or a jump off a roof.

He knows. Oh, he knows now. ‘All the amount of training in the world won't change who I am.’

Aizawa’s face twists—and damn, Izuku is useless at explaining this because the man still looks like he's not making any sense. 

It makes perfect sense. It's not that complicated. Izuku may have conjured up a quirk out of nowhere, but he's still the same useless kid he's always been, who dreamt too big and couldn't see what was right in front of him. Everyone else could, but he’d refused. I was so arrogant. Even Mom never thought I could be a hero… How could I think I knew better than literally everyone else? 

Well, reality brought him down a peg or two. Izuku remembers lying in the embrace of a dead man, whom he hadn't been able to save, hadn't been able to help and hadn't even been able to comfort. 

Izuku jumps at the sudden touch of a hand against his. He wants to pull back. 

He doesn't. 

‘I know that I'm not good enough. You'll see it soon, too. I'm never going to be good enough.’

‘...because you were quirkless?’ 

‘No! It's not that I'm quirkless—having a quirk o-or not doesn't change a person's value!’ He sees the hero nod. He still doesn't get it. ‘I, it's me, Aizawa-san, I'm the problem, I've just never been good enough.’

‘Good enough for what?’

‘P-Pardon?’

‘Good enough for what, Midoriya. What do you think you're falling short of?’

‘I, err, just…’ Izuku wilts. ‘E-Everything?’

The hand on his tugs, and Izuku is forced to look the hero in the eyes. 

‘No one can be good at everything. …Look at me, I'm a decent hero but I'm bungling this conversation.’

Izuku laughs, startling himself. The corner of Aizawa's lip quirks up. And suddenly it's like Izuku sees the hero as he first met him—the one who likes cat and hates mornings, whose scruffy looks make him look approachable. 

‘Look, Midoriya, we don't know each other well yet. I'm going to mess up, you're going to mess up, and that's okay as long as we can talk it out, alright? And if I behave like an ass—I mean, if I hurt you, or come across as mean, please just tell me. I've only got one quirk, kid, and it's not reading minds. I want this temporary guardianship to work. I'll do my best to understand you, so please… Meet me halfway?’

There's a lump in his throat. His eyes are swimming. Aizawa is a man of few words—that's always been obvious. How much of an effort is he making now? Izuku sniffles and loses his battle. The tears escape. 

‘I, err, I can do that,’ he finally croaks.

‘Good.’ The hand retracts, and lifts. A butterfly touch on his hair. As if Aizawa is afraid of breaking him, when really, Izuku feels more together than he has since—before.

‘And for what it's worth? People who've gone through much less than you have folded under the strain, and I don't blame them. I think you're good enough, no, you're fine exactly as you are, because you're still standing, Midoriya. Heck if anything, you deserve a medal for getting out of bed this morning. So try and be kinder to yourself, eh?’

‘Okay,’ Izuku whispers when he finally finds his voice. ‘I'll try.’

*

Aizawa Shouta: I need to see Midoriya's full file.

Nezu: Sent. Check your email. 

Nezu: I must admit I'm surprised someone as stubborn as you is willing to reconsider their approach. Is it that bad? 

Aizawa Shouta: It's worse. 

Nezu: I see. 

(Inui Ryo has been added to the chat.)

Nezu: Inui-san, are you available? 

Inui Ryo: Yes, he's chosen to draw for the second half of the session. Aizawa, he’ll be with you in forty minutes.

Nezu: How did you find him? Without breaking confidentiality. 

Inui Ryo: Fragile. It's been too much in too short a period. 

Inui Ryo: He won't talk about Yagi. 

Nezu: Is he a risk to himself? 

Inui Ryo: I can't exclude it. 

(Yamada Hizashi and Kan Sekijirou have been added to the chat.) 

Nezu: I believe it may be relevant to activate plan 3-6.b. Yamada-kun, Kan-kun, please head to the flat while I speak with Midoriya. Aizawa-kun will remain in the antechamber to my office as planned. 

Yamada Hizashi: 5-o-5, Nezu!

Kan Sekijirou: Do I need to take over? 

Aizawa Shouta: What do you mean, take over? 

Nezu: Inui-san? 

Inui Ryo: Not at this point. 

Inui Ryo: That would be yet another change for him to cope with. 

Kan Sekijirou: Gotcha. 

Aizawa Shouta: What's 3-6b?

Kan Sekijirou: Suicide-proofing the flat. 

*

Shouta was hoping to read Midoriya's file during the boy’s therapy session, but it soon becomes apparent that there's a lot more to it than anticipated. Instead, he makes a quick sample of reports from the last three weeks before the collapse, and speed-reads through the documents.

When he's done, he lets out a deep sigh, leans back in his chair and rubs his too-dry eyes. He's caught the beginning of a pattern, and if this is confirmed… Shouta isn't one to anger quickly; Nemuri likes to joke that he’s the embodiment of “still waters run deep.” Right now, a beast is slowly stirring in the pit of his belly; there is a chill in his bones. 

He forces himself to keep his breathing even. It won't quell the anger; but it'll mask it until he can give it direction and wield it. Besides, Izuku is due to come back from therapy in a short while, and Shouta doesn't want him to misconstrue the source of his ire. We’ve had enough misunderstandings for one day.

He puts away the file in a bag to be taken home (well, to their flat—it doesn't feel quite like home yet). And as he waits, his thoughts turn to the quirkless. 

Neither Aizawa nor Kan has ever had a quirkless student. The exam has been open to them for six years now. There's a few quirkless kids in general studies and the business track, but none in the hero course.

Why has no one made the cut? 

(And why did I never wonder?) 

Shouta drums his fingers on his desk. 

Do quirkless candidates simply censor themselves, thinking like Midoriya does that they're not good enough? Do they buy into the narrative imposed on them, that no quirkless person could ever be a hero, or worse, amount to anything? 

Or do their quirkist teachers sabotage their files so they can't qualify? 

Midoriya's file is enlightening in this regard. In three weeks only, no less than 17 incident reports had been tallied, with Midoriya logged as the main or sole perpetrator. 

In regular circumstances, Shouta would have written it off as Midoriya being a troublemaker (or perhaps a bully—for all that he thinks the kid is nice enough, grief and trauma can change a person). But too many reports have Midoriya as the only name mentioned. The reasons are classic misbehavior: missing homework, untidy or dirty uniform, misuse of school property, destruction of school equipment, self-injury (seriously?). 

Most of them spin the same tale: Midoriya Izuku is “admittedly bright” (and there is never any account of cheating). But he is “jealous of his peers’ possession of a quirk” and “seeks attention to give himself a sense of importance.” This, Shouta knows for a lie. The boy wilts under any kind of attention. 

Shouta strides to the coffee machine. His hands move on automatic, and the grinder drones before he’s even made a conscious decision to fix himself a cup. 

Mug in hand, he starts pacing under the aegis of a disturbing thought. If Midoriya hadn't unwittingly received a highly volatile quirk, would his file even have made it to UA’s application desk? Chances are the screening AI software would have eliminated him right off the bat. 

It leaves a bitter taste in Shouta’s mouth. 

What would it have done to him, who wanted to become a hero most of all, to be told by all the hero schools in the country that he couldn't even try? 

“Suicide-proofing the house,” his colleagues had said. Nezu and Inui, two professionals whose assessment Shouta trusts absolutely, had thought Midoriya at risk. 

Shouta knows the statistics, of course. They're talked about regularly at UA, part of a first-year class on discrimination—but Ectoplasm gives that course. Shouta knows the stats like someone knows their country's latest legislation debacle or recent scientific achievement—he has a vague idea of the numbers and a blurry mental image of the reality they depict.

Perhaps it's time to delve deeper.

With a glance to the door—Midoriya should be out of Inui’s office in ten minutes—Shouta sits at his desk again and logs into the Japan Statistics bureau’s website. 

The first thing that strikes him is that there's no collated report targeted on the quirkless. There's a law against quirkless discrimination, but unlike the mutants, they don't have their own dedicated stats report. Shouta has to go through every graph and table, retrieve the quirkless data, and aggregate them to form a picture of a whole. 

If that isn't telling… The State can't deal with a discrimination issue if there is no data. How much of it is oversight, and how much of it is choice? 

The numbers are stark. Shouta’s hand tenses on the mouse. His anger-beast starts unfurling wings. After a moment, he saves his findings in a document, and forces himself to look away. 

The words are grooved into his mind, though. Life expectancy at birth; percentage of quirkless individuals on the lowest and minimal income band; percentage of quirkless individuals working in 3D (dirty, dangerous and demeaning) jobs; suicide rate.

And the knife that twists harder than others. Suicide rate among 12-29 quirkless population.

More than a hundred times the quirked rate.

When Izuku finally comes in, knocking hesitantly and stuttering his way through an apology until he finds that Shouta is alone, Shouta has put aside his anger and even encourages the boy’s hesitant questions about his capture weapon. 

He secures lunch for both of them. 

Something in him unlatches as he watches Izuku put his chopstick to enthusiastic use and marvel under his breath about Lunch Rush’s quirk.

But try as he might—Shouta can't muster an appetite. 

*

Shouta’s throat is dry when he finally says, ‘Nezu wants to talk to you.’ He almost wishes they could postpone it—the kid’s had enough of a day already, surely—but the news of All Might's death are going to be broadcast that very evening. The HPSC has finally gotten their act together. 

Midoriya gives an easy nod, even a bit of a smile, and gamely follows after Shouta. 

When they reach the antechamber to Nezu's office, Shouta hesitates for a moment, then reaches out to squeeze Izuku’s shoulder. ‘I'm here for you,’ he rasps past the gravel in his throat. ‘Okay?’

The boy frowns. His eyes grow guarded, his answering nod is careful. Midoriya's perceptive; he's picked up on Shouta’s body language. 

When he turns to the door, his face blazes with resigned determination, and badly hidden fear. He's a brave kid for sure. 

It makes Shouta’s insides crawl, that he can't shield Midoriya from this.

But I'll be there afterwards. And I can't fuck up like I did this morning.

When the door has shut on the kid, Shouta chooses a seat that allows him to easily intercept anyone coming through—whether a visitor or an upset Izuku looking to run away.

Then he retrieves pen and paper from his bag and gets to work. At the top of the document, he writes, “Midoriya Izuku - DOs and DON'Ts.” 

On one side he writes, Teaching. On the other, he writes (with less aplomb than he'd like to admit), Guardianship.

And in the middle of the page, less urgent but no less important, he writes, Quirkless Advocacy.

Shouta’s got some brainstorming to do.

Chapter Text

Nezu glances at his office's window; it's made of unbreakable glass, and it's locked. He glances up at the access to the vents; concealed. If he needs to escape, he'll only be able to do so through the door he came through. Good. He crosses an item off his mental list, and refuses to acknowledge the feeling that he might like to use those exits himself. 

Nezu's desk has been cluttered with knick-knacks—inconsequential objects which have been enough of an irritant that Nezu will be glad to see them break. He's stashed his most precious teacups and pots in a safe. If he wants to start breaking things, he'll have his fill of trinkets to do so. Another item ticked off. Nezu ignores his quirk’s whisper (you are cluttering the most direct route toward the only possible exit—). 

Nezu's claws scrape slightly against his desk. He isn't nervous. There's no such thing as nerves for an animal. (There is, at most, anticipation or a fear response to a stimuli.)

He isn't afraid either. There's nothing to fear: Midoriya Izuku is very unlikely to turn into an active threat (0.3 percent chance). Even if he did, Nezu's office is protected, weaponized through invisible and clever means, and that's without counting the UA staff that would come running with one text from Nezu. 

Nezu isn't afraid. He knows what afraid is—it's stark white light on white walls, a dark shadow looming as a giant comes closer, it's hands on him that aren't welcome, it's the pinprick of syringes and his body twitching back to consciousness, it's the endless questions and the lack of answers, it's—

His claws sink into dark wood as Nezu catches a stuttering breath. Sunlight streams through the window; from here he can see the sky and trees, the buildings of his beloved school and his students roaming around. His. 

I am here. I'm out.

His quirk supplies him with a list of twenty-six clues proving that he is no longer in the lab (—no disinfectant smell, the blends of tea on his shelf, the fake-leather seat under his back paws, the rowdy hum of a student canteen at lunch time which he can barely hear through the feed turned on low, the picture of Tanaka-san in its frame on the wall behind him, perhaps the most helpful clue—). 

Nezu breathes better for it. Underneath, because his quirk makes him perfectly capable of maintaining several thought-streams at once, a part of him is running through all the ways he can still escape this conversation. But Nezu has become equally adept at managing his own quirk, and turning a blind eye to the thoughts he doesn't want to have. (Classic signs of emotional repression, his quirk chimes.You've lost one of the only people in the world who would call you friend and you haven't taken the time to deal with it and now you're going to hurt this child…) 

Nezu forcibly turns his attention back to the scenarios he actually needs to consider. He's turned the conversation a hundred times over in his head (well, seventy-nine, precisely). He's generated scenarios of how it could go, modular and flexible in case one bleeds into another. He's taken into account all of the factors he could think of. 

Nezu's settled for having the discussion sooner rather than later (to reduce the child's uncertainty and chances that he will learn All Might's fate from other sources), after exercise (endorphins release) and after lunch (glucose intake and digestive slump—which would tamper the force of any potential outburst).

But whenever he tried to think past the generic biochemistry of a young human, whenever he tried to think if Midoriya Izuku would be more receptive to life-altering news in the morning or the evening, his quirk ran short. 

Not enough data. 

The truth is that Nezu doesn't know the slightest thing about this child. 

This is why Nezu's fur is bristling, and why even now, the thought-stream buzzing at the back of his head rattles off, there's always the panic button on the side of your desk, it'll open that small panel under the floor mat, through it you could crawl through the conduit parallel to the vents, it's not on the blueprints, no one would know—

With claws that are not shaking, Nezu disables the panic button. 

Midoriya wouldn't fit through it, there's no need to disable—

Nezu gnashes his teeth and growls at himself. I am not running away from this. He jumps from his seat up onto the back counter and sets the kettle to boil. Today's selected brew is soothing on the nerves. Nezu can't pretend he only arranged it for the boy.

Before the therapy appointment with Midoriya, Hound Dog and Nezu had talked privately. The counselor’s words linger on his mind. 

(With around fifty scenarios crossed off his mental list, Nezu feels confident in declaring, I am prepared. 

Nezu has always refused for Hound Dog to be muzzled when it is just the two of them. So it is that he sees the flash of a canine smile, quickly hidden before Nezu can bare his teeth in return.

Being prepared is good. But are you ready?)

Teacups in saucers. The tea is brewed, and poured. The soft inside of Nezu's paws is nestled snugly against the source of warmth. 

In the end (and as always), Nezu must do what he must. 

A light flashes twice along with an ultrasound, warning him of two arrivals in his antechamber. There's no need for him to engage video feed. Aizawa and his charge are here.

It's not too late. There is still one exit. If you open the door and scramble really fast between their legs, on all fours like you used to try—

The knock comes. Before he can listen to the voice in his head, Nezu slaps the button and allows it to open.

The boy limps inside, gives a muffled greeting and a bow, and at Nezu's invitation, rests his cane to the side and slips into an armchair. For a brief instant, his hands flutter, uncertain where to land or what to clutch, and then Midoriya defaults to what he sees as safe—mirroring Nezu's hold on his own teacup.

Vapor floats up on invisible currents. A bit of warmth in a world that often feels too cold. 

‘Midoriya-kun. Thank you for coming.’

‘Of c-c-course, Nezu-san.’ Nezu notes the stutter, the bowed head. But the boy's fingers aren't clenched on the teacup, and he actually risks a quick glance up at Nezu. ‘You're not using your g-g-greeting.’

Nezu recalls their first conversation perfectly; he can hear the implied question. Is this a conversation where cheerfulness will feel obnoxious?  

He swallows. ‘Before we start… would you be amenable to wear a quirk-suppressing cuff, Midoriya-kun?’

‘Oh. Err—I can do that?’

‘Of course.’

‘I thought… I mean, the whole point of Aizawa-san being my guardian…’

‘You were on quirk suppressants at the hospital. And while Aizawa-kun is your main guardian, he won't always be there. We thought it best not to douse you with chemicals constantly, so we wanted to give you an option to stop your quirk whenever Aizawa-kun is absent… This isn't an obligation, Midoriya-kun. It's a choice.’

Nezu reaches blindly into his right drawer, and slides an object across the surface of the desk. The bracelet pings softly against Midoriya's saucer. 

‘Wow. It looks incredible.’ The boy takes the bracelet and runs it between his hands. He's still wary (expecting a blow—not physical), and weary (being far too used to them), but curiosity has blown a bit of life into him. ‘Does it suppress all quirks, Nezu-san? Even the really powerful ones, or do they bleed through? Could cuffs like this contain All Might's quirk?’

Nezu's throat tightens. ‘This one can. Yes. For a time.’ 

Five hours by the latest estimate. The person who'd tested the last prototype was Toshinori himself.

‘Okay.’ The boy slips it on and clasps it closed. 

The cental groove running through the silver band lights up with a blue glow which circles once, before its bright tone dulls down to become matted and paint-like.

‘Cool,’ Midoriya whispers with wide eyes, and oh, he is still very much a boy. But too quickly, his fingers still on the silver band. Evidently, the cogs in his head are turning. 

This was the easy part. Nezu takes a shaky sip of tea. ‘Do you have a question?’ he asks with the patience of an educator. 

‘You're expecting me to b-b-be emotional during this c-conversation, aren't you? That's why—the c-cuff—you d-didn't offer it yesterday.’

The boy's body language spells out anxiety. No doubt his mind is already running away with dozens of terrible news he couldn't bear to hear. 

Nezu knows exactly what that feels like. 

‘Yes. Midoriya-kun, there's no easy way to say this.’ His tongue is like sandpaper as he rasps, ‘All Might is dead.’

The boy blinks. ‘P-Pardon?’ He's heard, Nezu has no doubt. But this is as inconceivable to him as Nezu announcing that the sky isn't blue or the Earth isn't round. All Might dying is against the fundamental laws of this boy's universe. 

Nezu's heart clenches and his claws find the grooves in the wood of his desk because—because… for all their preparation, his friend's death had been inconceivable to Nezu too. No. You cannot… this boy deserves your focus now.

‘A-A-Are you s-s-sure?’ 

Tsukauchi had identified the body. Nezu had spared himself the morgue (had spared himself seeing his friend on a cold metal slab, under neon light and a cold white sheet, still and bloodless and broken like the victim of a grotesque experiment). But All Might's silence and absence in the days after had confirmed it more than anything ever could. All Might had never stopped fighting. That had been his flaw, if anything; he'd never been able to stop.

‘Yes,’ is all Nezu manages to articulate. 

‘But… It’s not possible. It's All Might, he can't be… It's impossible. It's All Might, Nezu-san, he can't just be dead, it just, it just doesn't work that way—’

The boy wrenches away his hands. They clench into fists and release, clench and release, in a vain attempt to hold his world together. And then—iridescent green eyes meet Nezu's violently. ‘What's going to happen, Nezu-san? T-To Japan. I mean, with the Symbol of peace g-g-gone… The villains…’

Already, his mind is absorbing the truth. He is picturing the world after All Might. And—

Midoriya keens in distress. 

‘ You can't waste time with me! I can't… Nezu-san, you need all the heroes you can get, Aizawa-san’s quirk is so powerful, he has to be out there—a-and you, I mean, you're like the last safety net Japan has, you c-can't—y-you…’ 

He isn't saying the words but Nezu hears them all the same. You shouldn't waste time on me. I'm not important.

And… strictly from a resource management perspective, it's true. The eternal dilemma—one against the many.

But this isn't a resource management game. It's life, and a world full of people, and if Nezu were to sacrifice the one for the many, then he'd be creating a world he couldn't bear to live in. (Too many times has Nezu himself been that “one” sacrifice.) 

And besides, this particular boy… Midoriya Izuku is Yagi Toshinori's last gift to the world he loved, the world he strived to save every day of his life. 

‘Midoriya-kun … ’ 

The words he wants to say crowd Nezu's throat. Of course, you're important. One day, you will believe it too. But the boy isn't in any capacity to hear them, not yet. 

Instead, cutting through Midoriya’s panicked mutters, he says, ‘All Might… was a good person. He had vision and he had heart. He… He wasn't perfect… but he understood what becoming the Symbol of Peace entailed. He was responsible enough to make provisions for his death. He and I—we were friends. His eventual death has been treated as a national security risk, for which dozens of mitigation scenarios were established with the HPSC and the government both. In the same way that Japan is prepared for several multi-scale earthquakes or has provisions in place for nuclear warfare, we prepared for All Might's death. So I need you to trust me when I say this.’ Nezu sets his teacup aside and leans forward over the wide expanse of his desk. ‘We are not so badly off that Aizawa-kun and I cannot stay at UA. In fact it is more important than ever that we be there, Midoriya-kun. For—for children like you. The next generation.’

Midoriya swallows. He's crying with fat, silent tears, and Nezu isn't certain the boy sees anything, but his eyes are on him, green and attentive.

‘One of the provisions All Might made for his death… was to look for a successor.’

Midoriya sniffles and wipes his face. ‘A… you mean… He passed on his wisdom? Like, uh, someone who shared his philosophy? Or… a powerful hero… like Endeavor?’

Nothing like this buffon, Nezu retorts condescendingly. He still feels bitter about how Tanaka-san had chosen to make a deal with the HPSC to allow Endeavor to graduate from UA. He pushes it out of his mind, even as a subset of his quirk conjures up all of the worst stats related to the Flame Hero.

‘No. You see, All Might's quirk—’ and yes, he has Midoriya's undivided attention, to the point where the boy doesn't even notice how tightly he's clutching his armrests, ‘—could be passed on to another person. Through DNA consumption: a hair, a nail, a bit of skin, a little bit of blood. As long as it was willingly given, and willingly consumed…’

‘Oh,’ Midoriya says. ‘Oooooh, that's—isn't it impossible? So does it just… Rewrite the person's DNA? Wait, but, how does the transfer work, because—’

Nezu raises a paw, and the boy falls silent.

‘All Might got badly injured five years ago. Bad enough that he was only capable of using his quirk a diminishing amount of time. Three hours a day at the last count. Whenever he ran out of time, he would... Power down, so to speak. He looked a quite different, too. And, you see—he wanted to find a successor, but he didn't quite manage. He'd… just started looking when he died. He was supposed to come to UA in ten months…’ 

Nezu blinks through overly wet eyes. And says softly, ‘All Might's name was Yagi Toshinori.’

Shock splashes across Midoriya's face and he jumps as if physically burned. His mouth opens and closes a few times, and then—

‘I-I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, I'll give it back!’

—Midoriya lunges. 

Nezu's paw closes around the boy's fist. His pen holder clatters on its side, spilling its contents on the floor. 

Nezu doesn't pay it any mind, his full focus on the boy. (Classic signs of distress: wide eyes, pallor and flushed skin, elevated breathing, tense muscles, trembling, compromised decision-making skills—) 

Nezu gently flexes his claws so that they prick the boy without breaking skin. A grounding sensation. 

‘Please hear me out, Midoriya-kun. And if after all that you still want to give it back, you have my word, we will arrange it. In a safe and controlled manner that doesn't involve slashing your hand open with a fountain pen.’

The boy's hand is shaking badly under Nezu's touch. 

‘You have a choice here. You're not obliged to do anything, and certainly not right now.’

All Nezu gets in return is a blank stare.

You're losing him. 

Nezu hasn't relinquished his hold on the boy's hand. He gently pries the fingers open, and puts his paw in the center of the palm instead.

‘Tell me where we are.’

He waits, shakes their clasped hands a little, repeats the request. 

At the third try, he gets a tentative, ‘Y-Your office.’

‘Good. Who am I?’

‘Nezu-san. Mr. Principal. A hero.’

‘That's right.’

Fresh tears cascade down the boys face. He scrubs at them half-heartedly. His voice is broken as he confesses, ‘I can feel his arm around me sometimes.’ 

Nezu's heart stops. Izuku's face scrunches up. 

‘I—I'm sorry, I shouldn't be saying that to you.’

‘You can tell me anything, Midoriya-kun.’ Despite Nezu's best effort it still comes out a little faint. PTSD flashbacks. You knew he would likely have some. 

(Forty-eight percent of the most recent cohort study experienced pain flashbacks. You will need to check if Midoriya does—)

‘Did you feel it just now?’

‘No.’ Midoriya fiddles with the quirk-suppressing cuff. ‘I just—I d-don't—I wish…’

Even without his quirk, Nezu is an expert in human body language. He reads Midoriya's words in his wilted stance. I wish I felt it now. 

Nezu's mind goes completely blank.

Up until he got out of the lab, anyone who had hugged him had then turned out to be a fake, watching with cold eyes as he was hurt or causing the pain themselves because, after all, he was just an animal, he didn't matter, he didn't process trauma the way people did—

To this day there are very few people whom Nezu allows to touch him, much less carry him. His staff at UA; occasionally a student he feels comfortable with. Every single time, before allowing it, he has to remind himself that his teeth are very near their carotid artery.

But…

You can put up with a little discomfort for Midoriya's sake. And so, before he can talk himself out of it… ‘Would you like a hug, Midoriya-kun?’

The boy freezes (reluctance to accept a safe touch from an educator? simple hesitation because he's never been offered one by someone other than a parent or family friend? one more indication that there is more here, the boy grew up quirkless after all—) but his head bobs up and down.

Nezu focuses on how touched he feels at Midoriya's acceptance, and not on how badly his skin is crawling. He jumps on the boy’s knees and pushes forward, warmth against warmth. 

Midoriya relaxes at the soft fur in the crook of his neck. His arms drape very loosely around Nezu and—

This is alright.

Perhaps Nezu had been in need of some comfort too. (Have you been neglecting your own needs again, Nezu-san? Tanaka-san’s voice chimes gently from countless memories. It is good to look after others, but you can't do that if you're not looking after yourself.)

For a moment, Nezu allows himself to fold. His quirk has gone quiet in a way it almost never does, and he's just mingling breath with another person, nestled against another warm body, another warm soul. 

Midoriya's voice finally pulls Nezu out of his own thoughts. ‘Shouldn't… shouldn't I give it back?’

Nezu doesn't remove himself from the hug. If the boy feels safer not having to look anyone in the face when he's vulnerable, he won't take this away. ‘To whom?’

‘Someone better. Someone who's mastered their own quirk. Someone who—who's more like All Might than me.’

‘All Might was quirkless when he was in his powered down form,’ Nezu points out. ‘You're quite the All Might fan, I gather. Do you happen to know what color his shoes were, throughout his costumes?’

‘Red…’ Midoriya looks down, goes wide-eyed at seeing his own shoes. His head snaps up. ‘You mean—’

Nezu gives a mirthless chuckle as he finally steps back. ‘Perhaps he was a bit more like you than you seem to think.’ Oh, the wonder in those green eyes pulls a smile out of him. ‘Besides, as far as I am aware, the previous holders of One for All—that's how the quirk is named—were all different. You do not have to be All Might, Midoriya-kun.’

‘But…’ Midoriya ducks his head, fiddling with his sleeve. ‘Yagi-san didn't—he didn't choose me.’

‘That's not quite true. He may not have had much of a choice, but he did have one.’

Nezu perches on his desk again. Somberness drapes itself like a cloak around him, but this time he can bear the weight. He clears his throat. 

‘Look at me, Midoriya-kun.’ This boy needs full and complete honesty. Nothing else will do. ‘I do not believe in fate. I do not believe that Toshinori was meant to die in that collapse, that you were meant to be with him, or that you were meant to have this quirk. What I do believe in is individual choice. That all of this happened is—an improbable tragedy. But we make of opportunities what we will. You get to choose what you do with this quirk.’

A raised paw. 

‘I would never dare to pressure you into doing something you do not want. If you wish to give this quirk away, and resume your regular life, I will facilitate that for you. And this would not be the last time we spoke—our help and support is not conditional to you keeping One for All.

‘But if you do wish to keep the quirk—if you choose to believe that, regardless of the improbable circumstances, Yagi did make the right choice, then… Know that you will not be alone. I will assist you. You will have the full backing of UA. And of Tsukauchi-san, too, I am sure. The choice is yours, Midoriya Izuku.’

The boy’s blotched face is intent on him. He looks a little like he was slapped. He didn't think keeping it was an option. He isn't used to being given choices by people in authority. He didn't know his will had any value. Nezu knows all too well what that feels like.

His skin is crawling again. The lab feels too close to the surface. Nezu has opened himself up, let himself feel exposed, but (danger, danger, danger), it's too much at once. He has to close the lid. 

He takes a few careful steps back to his armchair, smoothes down his crumpled waistcoat, drags his saucer and teacup in front of him. He can almost feel Tanaka-San smile down at him from his picture on the wall. Good job. Go at your own pace. You'll get through this.

A short breath, and Nezu meets Midoriya's eyes again. 

‘I know it is a big decision. I will let you think until tomorrow evening. Please feel free to take some time alone, or consult anyone you wish during that time. I would ask you to keep this within the list of people in the know, but if there is someone you trust above all else, whom you would want to bring in… A parental figure, perhaps… Then after a background check, we can perhaps bring them into our circle. No? No one like that…? Well.’ 

Nezu retrieves a sheet of paper from his drawer and slides it across the desk. Midoriya takes it gingerly, without a word, as if expecting it to vanish into thin air. 

‘All of the people on this list are there if you want to talk, myself included. They have strict instructions not to try and influence you. And you've met Hound Dog. He will make time for you at any time in the next thirty-six hours.’

The boy gets to his feet. He’s dazed by the multiple shocks, but a quick catalog of his body language reassures Nezu that he isn't about to go into shock. No immediate intention to self-harm either.

Nezu breathes a short sigh of relief. They're past the worst of it. Midoriya's taking the hit, and processing.

It is done. Now it's up to him to make a decision. 

The door swivels open. Midoriya gives it a glance, but as he shakily grasps his cane, his eyes find Nezu again. 

Nezu softens. And gives the boy a gift, the words that are, to this day, the source of his greatest comfort. ‘You are free, Midoriya-kun.’

Chapter Text

Izuku lies still, looking up at the tree.

It isn’t a massive tree. It isn’t particularly tall or wide. It’s just a tree, among other trees, doing its best to grow.

It’s the same tree as before, he thinks. The one he looked at yesterday. Somehow, he found himself in the same spot. Somehow, the tree is still the same—even if nothing else is.

Izuku doesn’t really know how he got there. He’s lying on an emergency blanket and wrapped in a man-sized rain poncho, but he’d be hard-pressed to say who gave them to him. Aizawa, probably.

He doesn’t really care to ask.

The tree, he decides, is nice to look at.

There’s something about it. It looks good in the rain. 

Earlier, there was a downpour that kept slamming and slamming against the trunk, almost horizontal in its rage. Now the rain’s slowed to a drizzle, and it sings with the leaves it conspired to bring down.

The foliage is familiar. The way the trunk rises straight up, without twists, without complication, just up, searching for water and sunlight. The way its branches unfold like a canopy. The leaves are dark green in the rain, the exact color of Mom’s hair, and it hadn’t occurred to Izuku, but now it does and—

Yes. It must be the same tree.

Or maybe it’s only that he’s been staring at it for a long time, while thoughts circle within like carrion crows, waiting, waiting patiently for him to fold so they can feast.

Izuku doesn’t want to let them. He just—wants to look at the tree.

He’s shivering. The emergency blanket is waterproof, but the damp cold has crept up his hands, his feet, finding ways through the interstices the rain poncho doesn’t cover. How long have I been here? It must be hours. The sun has probably moved, but it’s hard to tell, hiding as it is behind the clouds.

Izuku speaks. ‘How long has it been, Aizawa-san?’

The hero is leaning unobtrusively against the side of the tree-trunk. He checks his watch. ‘Three hours.’

Three hours. Izuku shuts his eyes. Images flash in front of his eyelids. Words echo at the back of his mind. He shudders. Only three hours.

He opens his eyes again and looks at the tree.

‘Midoriya, you haven’t said a word. Do you want to talk to me?’

Izuku shakes his head side to side.

‘Do you… would you prefer someone else? It’s alright if you do.’

‘Yes,’ Izuku says immediately. ‘But you won’t reach her.’

‘Nezu’s very good at what he does. I’m sure—’

‘—no, you won’t. Nobody’s getting through now. She’s unreachable.’

‘...Okay.’ A sigh. The hero’s hand is looped in a coil of his capture weapon. ‘Midoriya… will you come inside? You're going to catch your death.’

‘Like everyone else, you mean?’

The hero’s face turns startled, edging toward mortification. Izuku snorts, and chortles, then suddenly he’s laughing. He gasps for air, presses a fist against his mouth and another against his stomach, but his abdomen is contracting and he can’t stop laughing because… Mom is dead and All Might is dead and Izuku’s the one left alive? It’s absurd, it’s ridiculous, it’s… freaking hilarious—

His laughter builds and crests, and in the trough of the wave, he finds tears and sobs.

Izuku clenches his teeth together and wrenches. He stops .

My mom’s dead and I’m laughing. I’m a terrible person.

‘You’re not.’

Izuku starts, not having realized he’d spoken aloud, or that the hero had gotten so close, crouching on his heels. Aizawa’s dark eyes are full of something soft Izuku doesn’t want to put a name to. 

Unwilling to face it, he pushes his face in the crook of his elbow.

‘...I am, though,’ he confesses, his voice raw. ‘I… I wished for a quirk every chance I got, Aizawa-san. At my birthday when blowing the candles. At the t-temple d-drawing lucks at New Year’s. Every t-time I g-got an eyelash on my c-cheek… I’d wish for a quirk. B-But I never…’ I never wanted it like this. N-Not…

Licking at the blood on a broken hand.

It tastes like ash on his tongue.

Izuku doesn’t really believe it’ll work, but Yagi-san is begging him, and Yagi-san is very clearly dying (he’s going to die and leave Izuku alone), and all Izuku can do is comply with this kind stranger’s last wish, and breathe in the smell of dusted concrete and ignore the shaking slab above his head, and the indescribable pain in his own leg and the belief, underneath it all, that he’s going to die too—

‘Breathe. You got this. You’re not in there anymore.’

When Izuku comes to, his hand is clutching Aizawa’s in a death grip. The rain on his face is wet, the air in his lungs is cold, but they’re real, they’re signs that he’s not trapped in the collapse anymore. And yet, the hero crouching at his back, with one hand on his shoulder and the other gripping his, suddenly feels too close, too much like… Izuku pushes the hero away with whimpers instead of words.

‘Okay, got it, I’m backing off. You’re okay, kid. Just—fuck, just breathe, okay?’

‘Sorry,’ Izuku gasps, feeling like he’s run a mile at high speed. ‘Sorry. F-For mouthing off earlier.’

‘I don’t care about that. Kid, look at me.’ Izuku obeys, but he doesn’t meet the hero’s eyes. He keeps his own fastened on the capture weapon instead. ‘Your mother would understand your having emotions. And your wishes for a quirk had no bearing on reality. You didn’t want for any of this to happen. You’re not a terrible person. It’s illogical to think so.’

Aizawa stands from his squatting position and offers him a hand up.

‘Now come inside, Midoriya. Please.’

It's the “please” that does it. Izuku closes his eyes for a second, then bows his head, and takes the hero's hand. 

It feels like a tenuous lifeline.

*

To Mitsuki, the pain of losing her best friend is like the pain of losing her father to a villain when she was eighteen. It's just as vast, just as unexpected and sometimes it digs into her with pointed thorns, stealing her ability to breathe.

Masaru has been his usual supportive self—he who is often mistaken as simply a gentle man is a bedrock able to withstand all the emotions that Mitsuki hurls at him, and continue to love her despite it. Because Mitsuki feels a lot (like Inko had), but (unlike Inko) she doesn't express these feelings—or not well, or not in a timely manner. Sometimes it is wonderful (the memories of Katsuki’s birth or Masaru’s proposal still bring tears to her eyes), but sometimes, it makes it hard to be understood. No matter the emotion, it always comes out as loud, gruff, rough. Most people assume she is generally an angry person. 

The worst is, she can't deny it completely. 

Because no matter the emotion she's feeling, the anger is always there. Mitsuki is angry at the world for stealing her dad and her best friend, she's angry that people keep being disappointing, she's angry that the world hasn't changed as quickly or drastically as she had hoped, that, in fact, it hasn't changed at all, it all comes down to the same pain… 

Mitsuki knows anger. She struggles with it every day of her life. She learns to tame it every week in anger management courses (which she's taken for years). 

She knows anger, and she's angry at it. 

So Mitsuki notices when Katsuki becomes more angry. He's taken after her in that way, also has trouble expressing his emotions, also defaults to anger. But Katsuki has had Izuku since he was a kid (Izu who is as much like Inko as Katsuki is like Mitsuki), so she is hopeful that he won't end up too much like her. 

Mitsuki had wanted to enroll him in anger management course at the beginning of middle school, but Masaru had held her back, saying he was just finding his way, and that they didn't want to teach him to repress his anger or dismiss it as an unvalid feeling. “When he gets to high school,” Masaru had said. “He'll be more mature by then, and hopefully in a hero school like he wants—he'll have added incentive to grow.”

Mitsuki finds herself questioning her decision when her son explodes his breakfast, leaves the mess lying around (which he would never do, clean-freak as he is), and stalks off to school. 

Still, she banks her anger concern. She's overreacting. This is an expression of grief. (She can relate.)

But when the school calls, Mitsuki finally knows she was right to be concerned. 

‘...you understand, Bakugou-san, I do not want to put a black mark on Katsuki’s record… he's such a brilliant element… but you see, he’s been getting, well, problematic isn’t quite the word… In any case, Katsuki’s incidents of school property damage have grown exponentially in the last three days. He's been in several fights.’

‘He—has?’ Katuski isn’t stupid. He knows what fights can do to his chances of UA. Mitsuki’s heart twists. Three days—that’s when… That’s Inko. Izuku.

‘I’m sure it's just his aspirations of becoming a hero shining through—you see, he's standing up for others, against notorious bullies.’

‘I thought bullying wasn’t allowed at your school,’ Mitsuki replies, cold as ice.

‘I, erm, well, it’s not, but we’ve been struggling with some… disruptive elements… Nothing out of hand, just schoolyard fights, you know how it is…’

‘It can’t just be schoolyard fights, headmaster. Otherwise you would not be contacting me.’

‘N-No, it is, there is no serious case of bullying at our school, but—’ The headmaster seems to find a second wind. ‘—schoolyard fighting is still fighting, Bakugou-san. And it’s still quirk-use. As headmaster, there’s only so much I can do… Once again, I don’t want this to affect Katsuki’s prospects… But you see, other parents have been grumbling because that quirk up close is impressive, isn’t it? And it'd be such a shame if this heroic attitude became the one thing preventing Katsuki from making it into hero school… Bakugou-san, could you talk to him?’

What a dick, Mitsuki fumes.

‘I’ll talk to him. But you better do something about the bullying at your school, because otherwise you will talk to our lawyer. And I’m sure the parents of those whom Katsuki’s defended will likely join us for that conversation.’

‘Oh no, no, Bakugou-san, it really does not need to come to that, I assure you! But… please do talk to your son. It really has been quite a switch in his attitude. Why, he’s antagonized some he previously called friends, even.’

‘My son would not associate with bullies.’

‘I—well, that’s not what I…’ 

The headmaster hems and haws, so she hangs up and calls Masaru. They both pull out of work early and pick up Katsuki a block away from school, since he's refused to let them come anywhere closer for years. 

The living room has always been a neutral ground, and the space they use for family discussions. Mitsuki designed it to be an open space filled with light. After all these years, it’s grown comfortable and lived-in. The couch has more than one burn mark. The carpet never lays flat, causing Izuku to trip every time he comes over. The coffee table has a full box of tissues, so they’re always at hand when Inko visits.

Katsuki slouches on the couch, eyeing them balefully as they settle opposite him, sitting up so as not to sink in the armchairs.

The discussion starts pretty much as expected: Mitsuki and Katsuki angry (but not adverse to talk, and never insulting), and Masaru acting as a placating agent. 

‘—what the heck, sprout?’ (‘Stop calling me that,’ Katsuki snaps, and Mitsuki promptly ignores him.) ‘You're fighting with bullies now? Using your quirk on them? You should be glad the headmaster believes in your potential, but it won't last if you continue like this. You're old enough and trained enough—don’t pretend it's a loss of control!’

‘I'm not pretending it is!’ Katsuki yells. 

‘Well, good, at least you're honest!’

Masaru raises a hand as if to put a lid on the stoked fire of their emotions. Calmly but firmly (and damn, is this man sexy), he says, ‘Regardless of the circumstances, you've been hurting people with your quirk, Katsuki. That's illegal. If this gets out to the police, it'll get on your record. You won't be able to go to UA.’

‘Fuck it,’ he snarls back, and Mitsuki gapes with shock, because UA has been Katsuki’s goal since he was three, ‘those bullies deserve it! I don't fucking care about my record if it means I can't stop them!’

Mitsuki leans forward, grips her knees. ‘Have you gone completely mad? You know how much your quirk hurts—’

‘—if they can't take it, they shouldn't dish it out!’

‘Don't sass me! Do you care about prison, sprout? Because guess what, last April you became eligible for juvenile detention!’

Katsuki meets her eyes. ‘Tch,’ he says and looks away.

Mitsuki braces, but she's determined to bring up the one subject Katsuki has been shutting down for the last few days. She tries to gentle her tone (and almost manages). ‘I know you're worried about Izuku.’

The reaction is epidermal. Katsuki jumps off the couch, his palms sparking. ‘Who said anything about the damn nerd?’

Masaru clamps down on her hand before Mitsuki can say anything. ‘Well, I'm worried about him. Sit down, son.’

Katsuki wavers. His face twists, revealing that there is something beyond the scowl, a feeling hidden under the anger. He relents and obeys, crossing his arms.

‘I called the hospital. At first they didn't want to tell me anything, but I mobilized Inko’s network—you know she was a nurse, and even if Izuku was in a different hospital, people talk… Anyway, I was told that he was housed in the hero ward, and that anything else was “need to know.” But—’

‘What does that even fucking mean?!’

‘—I don't know, Katsuki. But what I do know is that he's no longer at the hospital. He was signed out by his new guardian. Which means he's alive. He's okay.’

Katsuki’s head bows. His hands are gripping each other; the knuckles are white.

Mitsuki softens. He is suffering. This is grief. Well—I fucking know grief. I can help him through this.

‘I went to the police station,’ Mitsuki offers when she's certain her son won't blow up. ‘Made a real fool of myself, but I got their promise that they'll pass on a message to Izuku's guardian. That we're here for him if he wants to contact us.’

Silence falls over the living room, long and uncharacteristic. Mitsuki exchanges a glance with Masaru. Subtly, they prepare to spring up and away, in case Katsuki’s emotions explode outward. 

But then—the tiniest mumble. ‘…He won't.’

‘Pardon?’

‘He won't want to. Contact us.’

Mitsuki’s heart breaks. She reaches for her son, aiming to ruffle his hair, but he jerks away. She slides her hands under her thighs, a physical reminder to restrain herself from touching him until he wants it. 

‘Katsuki, he might need space because—because we might remind of Inko or something like that… Grief is strange but… I'm sure deep down he'll want to know we're around. And he'll talk to you at least.’

‘I'm telling you he fucking won't! And he'd be fucking right too! If I were him, the last person I'd want to see would be me!’

Another glance. Mitsuki and Masaru have grown adept at this silent communication. She tells him, silently, You take this. There's no way I'm bungling this up.

Her wonderful husband asks, in his gentlest tone, ‘Son. Did you and Izuku have a fight before the collapse?’

Katsuki isn't looking at them. ‘It wasn't a fight.’

‘Are you sure?’

Katsuki looks up, and his palms are blazing and emitting heat, but his eyes are—

This isn't grief. It's guilt. 

‘Yes, I'm fucking sure! It wasn't a fight—it was never a fair fight—because I bullied him, okay?! For years! He didn't have a quirk, and I had a really good one and everyone was telling me I'd go far and I wanted to become the number one hero, and he didn't have a quirk and he still wanted to be a hero—s-so I called him useless and pathetic and I b-burned his fucking notebooks and I even made him a target to practice my quirk—’

The miniature explosions multiply— pop, pop, POP—drumming in Mitskui’s ears. Katsuki is panting; he looks fucking tortured.

‘Katsuki…’ Masaru whispers, his tone shocked and hurt and sympathetic. 

Mitsuki knows she should listen to her son. She should let him vent, be there for him, work to understand him, perhaps even arrange therapy. 

Yet all she can think, as her own emotions churn to a white-hot mixture of molten steel, is: You did what to Inko's son?

Did Inko know?

Did Inko die thinking that I was the most oblivious mother in the world—or worse, that I let him do that to her son?

Masaru has thrown himself forward, trying to hold Katsuki who's fighting him tooth and nails. Mitsuki watches her son numbly, sees the tears finally dripping down his face, the way his fingers are tugging at his hair, the way his palms spark. She has never seen him like this. The smell of burnt hair is overpowering.

Did Inko hate me?

Masaru throws her a backward glance; his face falls as he takes in her expression.

Wherever she is, she sure hates me now.

Mitsuki feels dipped in ice. She knows the signs.

She's out of the door without another look to her family. 

*

After Midoriya’s PTSD episode on the grass, keenly conscious that it is the second one in less than twelve hours, Shouta takes them both back to the flat. 

They sit in silence for long minutes. Shouta’s usually comfortable with silence but this is too much of it.

Midoriya looks… snuffed out. All of the brightness Shouta had gotten a glimpse of earlier—the enthusiasm, the determination, the will to try even when it’s hard … It’s all gone. The kid barely looks like he’s there, so lost is he in the maze of his own mind. He doesn't even notice Squares crawling on top of the couch, settling just above his head. 

And no wonder. Because—all in the same goddamn, never-ending long day—Shouta has heard Midoriya Izuku say about himself that he’ll “never be good enough.” He’s gotten a glimpse of what Midoriya faced at school, and he’s been told that the kid is at risk for suicide. And he knows—he knows that Nezu’s news have probably destroyed a belief the kid must have clutched to, that even if his life was terrible, All Might was at least still out there, bettering the world with each life he saved. 

Shouta’s heart aches with a pain not his own. 

With effort, he pulls up the memory of the day after Oboro died. His mom had held him and soothed him, but his dad had asked for his help building a shelf. It had saved him, to concentrate on how the nuts and bolts fit together. To do something, something helpful, that he could safely screw up. It had gotten him through the first day.

So, as he starts pulling out the dishes Hizashi’s stacked in the fridge and setting them to heat up, Shouta gently asks if Izuku would spoon out two bowls of rice from the cooker, then asks him to take the dishes over to the dining table. The kid seems grateful for something to do. 

Opening the cutlery drawer, Shouta pauses. He doesn’t let his eyes linger on the odd space left where there used to be kitchen knives. Shouta gets two pairs of chopsticks and closes the drawer.

The reminder rankles. He adjusts his capture weapon around his neck, comforted by its weight, and sits down.

Dinner isn’t disastrous. Even if this one feels unnatural, Shouta is no stranger to silence; he just eats and makes sure the kid does the same.

When it is done, they clear the table. Shouta washes; Midoriya dries. As they're dealing with the last plate, Midoriya suddenly asks, ‘When are they g-going to announce it, Aizawa-san?’

Shouta doesn't need to ask what this is about. ‘There's going to be a broadcast tonight.’

‘C-Can we watch it?’

‘Course, kid.’ Shouta glances at the clock. ‘It should be on soon. Go on, I'll join you.’

Midoriya settles on the couch and jumps when a paw extends to his shoulder. But he lets Squares clamber over him and onto his lap. Seemingly unconsciously, he puts a hand on the cat’s back. 

Shouta stands at the sink and washes the suds off his hands. He watches the water swirling as it seeps down the drain. 

I should buy a desk, the type you put together. The kid needs one anyway.

But until then, there is no great secret. Just be there. The world's greatest hero even had it as his catchphrase. I am here.

Shouta sits at a polite distance from Midoriya, mindful of his personal space. 

Without letting himself hesitate, he reaches out and slides his hand on top of the cat—but under the boy’s.

And with his other hand, he grabs the remote control. 

*

Going to the square park was a bad idea. Mitsuki hasn't come in years, so she thought it was a safe place. It felt safer, at least, than going the opposite direction, where the huge empty hole lies in the place Inko’s apartment building used to stand.

But it wasn't safe, because she kept picturing her own self, sitting on a bench with Inko (sometimes with or without Masaru; never with Hisashi), confessing all their fears and sharing all their joys at being mothers, while the sprogs clambered over the children’s structure with single-minded purpose. (In the silence of the evening, Mitsuki can hear them yell from years away: WHY? BECAUSE I AM HERE!)

Mitsuki is no longer angry. She’s emptied her anger onto the deserted sandbox. She's beaten fists in the soft ground, and when they started to hurt, she's found herself scooping up handfuls, trying to retain the sand sliding through her fingers. As she'd left, the sand had been wet in places, as splotchy as her face must be.

Now she drifts. She can't go west, because west lies a loss too big to face. She can't go home. (Not yet. Just—not yet.) But no matter where else she goes, it's going to be the same as the child park. The neighborhood is full of her. 

Inko’s been in Mitsuki’s life for two decades, and in this neighborhood for two thirds of that. She shines in every corner. The supermarket, Hachinko-san’s boutique, the bakery, the goddamn subway station… They all hold memories. 

So she drifts, head down, and doesn't allow herself to look. She doesn't want to cry (again). If she cries too much, her face gets swollen, and Mitsuki doesn't want Katsuki to think she cried because of him.

Oh, god, Katsuki. How could he do this? How could I miss this? No, that—that's not helpful. What am I going to do with him?

…God, Inko, I wish you were here. We always figured this stuff out together. Me and Masaru and you.

When the rain starts picking up, threatening to mix with the glycerin on her skin to form ungodly clumps, habit kicks in. Mitsuki slides under an awning. 

The shop it belongs to, Mitsuki idly registers, sells TVs. All the screens are on, showing the Prime Minister. 

Mitsuki tunes him out, and as images flicker at the corner of her eye, she huddles in on herself. 

You used to say that the job of a parent was to try their best for their child. And that if they screwed up, then they had to try over again the next day, and actually do better. 

Inko, I screwed up. I screwed up big time. 

The rain lashes out more violently, to the point Mitsuki has to stand and press herself against the shop window. Attracted like magnets, her eyes mindlessly snap to the screens. 

Her jaw drops. She presses even closer and squints, because there's no way she read that right—

Wait—

It's true. Mitsuki reels back on her heels, stunned. She doesn't even notice the rain soaking her shirt. 

All Might is dead?!

Fuck. Fuck, that’s impossible. That’s…

…does Katsuki know? 

This time, Mitsuki doesn't have to wonder what Inko would say. 

I need to go home. 

*

Yamada Hizashi: Can I come over?

Yamada Hizashi: Nvm, ur with Midoriya.

Aizawa Shouta: Come over.

Yamada Hizashi: U ok? 

Aizawa Shouta: Yeah.

Yamada Hizashi: And?

Aizawa Shouta: I'm worried for the kid. We watched the broadcast.

Yamada Hizashi: Damn! How did he take it?

Aizawa Shouta: Listened to every word, but when the channel moved on to a documentary on All Might, he started crying.

Yamada Hizashi: You handle that OK?

Aizawa Shouta: He wouldn’t let me touch him. He buried his face in Squares’ fur.

Yamada Hizashi: And now?

Aizawa Shouta: In his room. Asleep, I think.

Yamada Hizashi: Brt.

Yamada Hizashi: But I’ll need a shower cause I got soaked on that roof.

Aizawa Shouta: That’s because your costume’s dumb.

Aizawa Shouta: I’ve heated up the bath.

*

With no idea how it happens, Izuku falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. For five blessed hours, he conks out. The world around him ceases to exist. It is blissful.

But his brain is still churning, a roiling sea and Izuku a ship on its waves; it tosses him out of sleep. When Izuku opens his eyes, it is the middle of the night. Through the window, he can only see dark sky, gray grass, the vague looming shadow that is the nearby bosque, and where the UA wall ends, the distant glow of the city lights. There is a hallowed hush in the apartment. No movement, barely a sound, none of them unexpected: a whistling snore from the living room (Yamada’s, he identifies, as Aizawa didn't snore last night), the slight drone of the refrigerator, Izuku's own breath, so much louder in the silence.

Izuku has been holding them at bay as best he could all day, but… 

In the quiet of the night, there is plenty of space for thoughts. 

Yagi-san was All Might… I always knew All Might was kind.

He gave me his quirk. I have a quirk. I…

Mom is dead.

All Might debuted as a rescue hero. If I succeed him… 

You're useless, nerd. Stop it with the self-delusion already. 

If I have All Might's quirk… if I'm as powerful as All Might… I'll be able to stop building collapses like the one Mom died in. 

You think you can compare to All Might? You can’t even compare to me . You're not even worth the chair you're sitting on, Deku. You're just a quirkless waste of space—

Perhaps he was a bit more like you than you seem to think.

Mom is dead, she’s dead, she’s gone—

I am here. 

I cut them loose. There's nothing crueler than letting a dream end midway. 

You've got fine grades, Midoriya, but you really should be more realistic. What good would applying to UA even do? You're only setting yourself up for disappointment.

Let me… help you…

You will have the full backing of UA. 

I think you're good enough, no, you're fine exactly as you are. 

Useless, quirkless, weak. 

Izuku… You'll be… great… 

The choice is yours, Midoriya Izuku.

Mom’s voice cuts through them all, at once more distant and more real than any of the other voices. What do you want to be when you grow up, Izuku?

Izuku closes his eyes against the tears. Because… 

I'm sorry. I'm sure there would be better candidates out there. 

…all Izuku has ever wanted to be… 

I'm sorry. I'm not strong enough to say no.

… was to become a hero.

I may not have been your choice, Yagi-san. But I'll work myself to death to live up to your legacy.

Nezu-san and Aizawa-san are willing to help me. UA is willing to give me a chance. I can't—I can't let them down. 

I'm useless, but I can find a use. I'm weak, but I can grow strong. If I work hard… surely if I work hard… 

It'll never bring Mom back.

Izuku folds in half.

His right fist clenches against his thigh. It throbs. 

It is nothing compared to the pain he feels inside.

Forehead against the mattress, Izuku breathes harshly. He closes his eyes tight.

No. Having a quirk, becoming a hero, being All Might’s successor… It won't bring her back. Nothing will. But if I can save anyone else from feeling like this …  

Mom, if I can save even just one person… 

Isn't that already worthwhile?

*

When Mitsuki makes it into her apartment, the living room is smoldering in more than one place. Bits and pieces of the coffee table lay strewn about. The TV screen is a web of fissures threatening to break. The light is off, and it is only because of the small flames licking at the carpet and the wallpaper that she catches sight of her son, huddled in front of the couch. A fire blanket covers him. 

Mitsuki jumps as she sees movement at the corner of her eye, but it's only Masaru, fire extinguisher in one hand and the broken floor lamp in the other, shuffling debris toward the kitchen as he occasionally sprays a still-burning patch on the floor or the wall. His mustache has been burnt off, too, and the lower part of his face is an angry red patch of skin, already blistering. He's tidying up like an automat, a distant look in his eyes. 

When Mitsuki shuts the door a little too hard, he looks up, and his face transforms with relief. The lamp and extinguisher are promptly abandoned, and suddenly Mitsuki is safe in her husband's arms, and unable to tell who is holding the other up. 

‘I love you,’ he whispers in her hair. 

‘Me too,’ Mitsuki replies, repressing a sudden wash of tears. ‘Is Katsuki—’

‘He was calming down when I got the dumb idea of switching on the TV… This is the result…’ 

Mitsuki tenderly brushes white powder out of Masaru’s hair. Don't be ashamed. At least you were there.

‘I'll talk to him,’ she says and kisses him on the temple. ‘Go put some cream on that burn.’

With a practiced glance, Mitsuki assesses the burn threat of the remaining fires—all dying off and in no danger of spiraling. She gives each a quick spray of the extinguisher, and slowly makes her way around the armchair she was sitting on a scant hours earlier. 

Katsuki sits on the ground, back against the couch, his legs in disarray and smelling strongly of burnt sugar. The fire blanket is draped over him and he has made no obvious move to touch it. He is as limp as a marionette whose strings have been cut, who has no idea of the role he must play. 

Mitsuki kneels. ‘Katsuki. Can I hug you?’

A wooden nod. With relish, Mitsuki puts careful hands around his shoulders and tugs. She brings his chin to the crook of her neck, lays her head on his, hair against hair.

‘Mom…’ 

Mitsuki almost flinches at the unfamiliar word in her son’s mouth. She hugs him tighter. 

‘...why isn’t the world making any fucking sense anymore?’

There are a thousand answers she could give, and also none at all.

Still, Mitsuki tries. (That's all she ever does.)

‘I know it's confusing. I know it's scary. But it's going to be okay, sprout. We'll figure it out together, one day at a time. It's going to be okay. I promise.’

And Mitsuki prays, as hard as she's ever prayed for anything, that the world doesn't make her a liar. 

Chapter Text

Later, everyone will remember this moment with stark vividity.

*

On the screen, the President of the Hero Public Safety Commission Suto Takako stands in an impeccably-pressed suit jacket, her blond hair slicked back, shoulder to shoulder with the Japanese Prime Minister, Nishida Satoshi. Her calm expression looks natural on her face. His looks pasted on. 

He was elected three years prior on a platform that called for greater governmental oversight over the HPSC and has managed a few impressive breakthroughs. They have worked together and worked against each other in equal measure. They are people of the same caliber—but Mister Prime Minister has held the knowledge of All Might’s quirk, succession and death for much less long than Madam President. 

Tonight, the HPSC will announce some measures directly taken from some of the bills he’s presented to the Diet before, measures that hadn’t passed or that the HPSC had shot down. But even though this is his life’s work finally coming to fruition, Mister Prime Minister wonders if the price was worth it.

He already knows the ideal society he dreamt of when he crafted those bills will never see the light of day. Not in his lifetime. For the Symbol of Peace is gone, and there are dark days ahead.

Still, it is not yet time to mourn. He is the only elected representative of this broadcast. The knowledge that he bears the will of millions of people lends him courage. It is him who makes the announcement. 

His lips tremble when he says the words. ‘All Might has died.’ 

He is a politician. He has smiled fake smiles every day since he was twenty-one.

He fails to muster one now.

*

When the explanation of All Might’s death is done—all the public will be told is that he died in a building collapse—it is Madam President who takes the lead. In the no-nonsense, brisk tones that she is known for, she tells the public that Japan is still safe; that it is still watched over.

The screen now shows images of the Top Ten heroes, all standing at the highest points of Japan’s top ten cities.

In Musutafu, the entire UA staff (minus the underground hero) stand on the UA roof. In Fukuoka, the Shiketsu staff does the same.

As one—the heroes smile.

Even though some are openly crying, even though most bear grim expressions, even though they all know that the future, without All Might, will be that much more uncertain, the fight that much harder—they smile. For that is All Might's legacy, the ability to keep smiling against all odds. 

*

The announcements continue.

All the measures bolster hero recruitment or facilitate hero work. The message is clear. There are heroes in Japan, but there is a vital need for more heroes and more efficient heroes.

One by one, each measure flashes across the screen. Madam President bears well the cross of explaining each of them. (This is the worst crisis she has faced; it is hardly the first one.)

‘To diversify hero profiles and cast a wider net, the modalities of the entrance exams for UA and Shiketsu are going to change. Additionally, a third hero class for mental quirks is created with immediate effect.

‘To support the work of underground heroes, the Underground Hero Alliance, as originally designed in the bill of the same name, is to be founded and funded by the following Monday.’ 

(Madam President does not dwell long on these two points. They are still sore spots. She fears the creation of the UHA will lead to loss of oversight from the HPSC on underground heroes. She fears opening up the exams to those with mental quirks will eventually lead to a rise in hero misconduct litigation in the future, thus affecting the very image of what a hero is meant to be. She is not entirely wrong; she is not entirely right. But these are policies Mister Principal and Mister Prime Minister forced down her throat, and cooperation is the color of the day.)

‘To prevent the use of mental quirks for villainy, individuals with mental quirks will need to pass an ethics exam to ensure they know the legal framework within which they can make use of their quirks. They will remain under the same licensing requirements as people with physical quirks—public use of quirk forbidden unless licensed—with an additional caveat for private use, specifying that consent can only be waived under certain drastic conditions. This applies regardless of their age, occupation, or whether they hold a legal license to use their quirk.’

(This one, she pushed for. Madam President knows well the damage a mental quirk can do to an individual or an institution, when used unethically. (Her predecessor, some will remember, had a mental quirk.))

Madam President lifts her chin. Her face is implacable in the broadcast, a sharp contrast to All Might’s reassuring smile. (These are the most important measures yet. The ones that will either make or break society. They are the risks the HPSC was never willing to take, while it had a Symbol of Peace to rely on.)

‘Any adult who wishes to try for the hero licensing exam may do so, subject to completion of an additional ethics curriculum. This is valid for individuals with any type of quirk, or lack of one.

‘Anyone facing charges of vigilantism may apply to a Hero Conversion program. 

‘Any villain who has only committed misdemeanors or crimes of class B and below, and who tires of this life, may apply for a Reform program. 

‘However, any villain who persists in crime will face the full extent of the law. And the law,’ as Madam President stresses with relish, ‘will be much harsher than before.’ 

On these words of warning, the broadcast ends.

Later, there will be more. Documentaries on All Might’s life, vox pops gauging people’s reaction, debates between experts, interviews of heroes and Diet members and influence leaders—content put together on the fly as news stations scramble to catch up.

But for now the screen goes black.

*

The world stops and goes quiet.

As it does in the aftermath of a disaster. 

As it does, in anticipation of a new one.

*

Later, everyone will remember this moment with stark vividity.

They will remember where they were and what they were doing when they heard the news.

And they will remember the silence.

The silence is its own beast. It isn't present in every room. Some make light of the situation. Some try to find light within it. Some give over to panic. There are screams in the streets. There are sobs in the subway. There are sighs and supplication, in the shelters and the sanctuaries.

But the silence is pervasive. It hides, and it waits. And ultimately, it touches everyone—as they hesitate to laugh at a paltry joke, as they pause to take a breath in between sentences, as they lay in their bed that night, wondering what the world will look like tomorrow.

*

And yet…

…in some apartments, in some bars, in some undergrounds, in some cars, in some cells, and yes, even in some conference rooms… 

…it isn't the silence that prevails. 

There are not many, the ones who smile tonight. But there are some. Some, who bite off a smile they should hide in present company. Who grin widely as they raise a glass to the start of a new era. 

There are some who cheer.

*

One man, above all, one man finds the news that confirm his suspicions joyful—neigh, poetic. This man smiles. 

He turns to his long-time associate, the doctor whose soul he all but owns and who has saved his fragile envelope from the cold grip of death. And he says, ‘Doctor. We shall accelerate our plans. When he is done with his tantrum—bring me Tomura.’

The eyeless man leans forward, his full attention on the TV broadcasting images he cannot see. It matters not. He can hear his enemies’ plans, given freely to the masses in the hopes of reassuring them that this is not the dawn of a new era of villainy. He can hear their plans, and plan to counter them. The future has opened up. The world is suddenly full of possibilities. And All for One has ever been an opportunist.

And so, quietly, in the privacy of his convalescence room which he will soon be free of—quietly, with the sort of wonder of someone who's been handed an unexpected gift… 

He laughs.

*

That night, across Japan, overjoyed villains become the cause of no less than fifty-three building collapses, half of which are inhabited. 

The detonations sound like fireworks.

The infernos blazing afterwards look like bonfires.

And though only one of these incidents results in the villains getting away—the HPSC’s hero-canvassing measures already yielding results—this is not what people will remember.

What people will remember was that All Might wasn’t there—and never would be again.

*

The next morning, Midoriya Izuku knocks on the door to Nezu’s office, and stands, pale and trembling in front of the desk. His face is lined with exhaustion, grief and nameless emotion.

‘Mister Principal,’ he greets, and Nezu’s ears perk at the use of his hero title.

Midoriya’s spine is straight. Nezu thinks he knows the name of the emotion in the boy’s face.

‘I want to become a hero.’

Yes. It is determination blazing in these green eyes.

‘I want to honor Yagi-san.’ Midoriya briefly falters, ducks his head. But his right fist clenches and he looks back up. ‘So I’ll use his power, and I’ll become the best type of hero. A hero who is kind, and saves people with a smile.’

‘Very well.’ Nezu gives a smile of his own, canine as it is, and spreads his paws. ‘Welcome to your hero academia.’

Chapter Text

When Izuku comes out of Nezu's office, Aizawa's waiting for him in the antechamber. As the hero tiredly gets to his feet, Izuku blinks.

‘Expecting Hizashi?’

‘Uh, yes. Yamada-san said he'd wait for me?’

‘Dumbass forgot he has class.’

‘Oh.’ Izuku wavers, shifts his weight to his left leg. ‘S-Sorry we left without you? It was early, we didn’t want to wake you. You seemed a bit t-tired yesterday.’

‘Not your job to worry about me… but thanks.’ The hero squints at Izuku, who squirms. ‘You look like sh—someone who didn't sleep too.’

‘I… I slept a bit. I’m fine, Aizawa-san.’

The hero sighs, shoving his hands in his pockets.

‘Lose the san. Did the talk with Nezu go well?’

‘Y-Yeah, I mean, yes.’ Izuku has trouble maintaining eye contact suddenly. It can’t be worse than when I handed in my career aspiration form. And yet, he feels like he swallowed broken glass. It’s one thing telling Nezu while he’s riding on adrenaline, but telling Aizawa, to whom he’d whined just yesterday about never being good enough? Heroes have to be brave, he tells himself, and forces the words past his throat. ‘I said I want to t-try. B-Becoming a hero.’

Aizawa gives a slow nod, holding up his phone. ‘Nezu mentioned. You’ll find that information travels fast here.’

That’s it? He’s not going to contest my choice? He’s just going to… let me?

‘Y-You’re okay with it?’

‘I’d be the world’s biggest hypocrite if I weren’t.’

Izuku fidgets with his sleeves. ‘Mom, she… she didn’t want me to become a hero.’

‘...I can understand why. It's dangerous. More than a few lose life or limb in the line of duty. That’s why I expel those who don’t take it seriously. But you seem like you will. Right?’

‘Yes! I promise, Aizawa-san.’ Determination blooms anew within his chest, and Izuku adds, in a thin voice. ‘I know what’s at stake.’

‘...Okay. Then we’re going to start training in earnest, Midoriya.’

Izuku nods, and despite himself—despite the feelings of loss and grief and pain twisting his insides—a grin steals onto his face. Because there’s also hope, and resolve and excitement.

Aizawa sits on the armrest of the chair he’d been lounging in moments earlier. His hands clasp his knees loosely.

‘Fair warning, the training is tough. We're not gonna go easy on you. You’re going to ache, you’re going feel like you can’t breathe, you’re going to cry and you might even puke your guts out. It’s going to be hard, and you’ll need to trust me—trust us. No pushing yourself past what your recovery plan allows. Any of the staff say stop, you stop. Being able to obey is the first step to not being a liability on the field.’

Izuku nods fervently.

Something unlatches in Aizawa’s face. ‘And if you ever feel like you’re not good enough—or that you won’t be, or something like that… Talk to me, alright? I’ll tell you where and how you can improve, and we’ll just… take it one day at a time. Okay?’

‘Okay.’ They really are going to train me. It’s not… I’m going to be a hero. I’m going to train to be a hero.

‘Good.’ A hand reaches out slowly, alighting on his hair. It’s a quick ruffle, but it leaves Izuku’s cheeks stained red. 

‘All that being said,’ the hero says, looking straight into Izuku’s eyes, his own glittering with conviction. ‘I believe you can do it, Midoriya.’

Tears spill before Izuku even realizes they’ve welled up. He doesn’t stop smiling. He couldn’t even if he tried.

*

They leave the antechamber and amble slowly through the corridor. Izuku’s been here a couple times now, but he’s still hard-pressed to guess where they’re going.

‘Next step is talking to Powerloader,’ Aizawa informs him. 

‘P-Powerloader?’

A side-eyed glance. ‘You know of him?’

‘Of course!’ Izuku almost skips but stumbles on his cane, belatedly remembering that he can't do that anymore. The pain shooting up his leg does nothing to quell his enthusiasm. ‘His quirk is Iron Claws, but despite that he didn’t go the usual fighting-hero route and dedicated himself to support! His inventions are world-renowned, he designs the finest support gear in Japan. In fact, he’s the Pro Hero with the highest number of patents, at least half of which he made available in the public domain, mostly the medical ones. He—he made your goggles, didn't he?’

Aizawa halts. His lips quirk up. ‘How the heck do you know that, Midoriya?’

‘I, uh, I made an educated guess?’ Izuku can’t help but feel that, once more, he’s put his foot in it. The hero’s arms cross. Izuku ducks his head, but Aizawa just says, ‘Explain that.’ 

Izuku joins his hands together. Aizawa doesn't sound mad. ‘Uh, there are some fan forums that say Powerloader gets final say on all UA-staff designs. A-And it makes sense if he’s the resident expert to let him have a look or even redesign the support gear worn by UA staff, I mean, UA’s motto is Plus Ultra and uh, I can imagine Nezu-san would want you to have the best.’

‘That’s true. But my goggles?’

‘Well, there are barely any images of you but online there's a few drawings by people you saved, and shots from the sports festivals you participated in. Although the names are redacted on the video, you can tell it’s you because of the capture weapon, and your goggles used to be different then but the recent drawings all show the yellow ones, and if you look back at the date range when it changes, it coincides with when it says you joined the UA staff on the public website.’

‘...You’ve put all that together.’

‘Uh, yes?’

‘You knew I was Eraserhead when we met.’

‘Yes.’

‘Were you—Are you—’ Aizawa’s face is making strange contortions. It goes deadpan a second later. ‘Were you a fan?’

Izuku… doesn’t know what to say. He looks at his guardian with wide eyes, feeling his whole face heat up crimson. I definitely am a fan, but I’m a fan for most heroes so it’s not like he’s special . Except he kind of is because he really is very cool… Come to think of it, would he even like having a fan? He’s underground, maybe he hates being fawned over? And it’s weird, right, since he’s my guardian?

‘You don’t have to answer that, kid.’

Izuku buries his hands in the folds of his T-shirt. Now he has to say something. If he just leaves it there… 

‘Yes,’ he blurts out, ignoring the crimson eruption across his face. ‘I t-told you, Aizawa-san, r-right? I like heroes.’

‘Mmh. You did say.’ The man buries the bottom half of his face in his capture weapon and turns away. ‘Come along, then. Powerloader, Recovery Girl and Nezu put their heads together to make you a leg brace.’

‘Really?’

Aizawa beckons him forward, and only starts walking once Izuku limps along by his side.

‘The brace will allow you to walk and run with less strain and it shouldn’t cause any pain. But it’ll shift your whole way of walking and holding yourself if you grow too dependent on it. We want to avoid that, so you can't lose the cane completely.’

‘...But I'll be able to walk, like, properly walk? A-And run?’ 

‘You should do, kid. There's gonna be a testing phase, and we'll need to watch out for sore spots but—’

Aizawa looks startled as Izuku snags his hand with his own, once more halting them in their tracks. ‘Thank you,’ Izuku says and he beams because—well, because .

‘Don't thank me,’ Aizawa says, suddenly looking uncomfortable. ‘I didn't do anything.’

‘I'll thank Powerloader, Recovery Girl and Nezu-san too.’ Izuku's now almost dragging the hero down the corridor, never mind that he doesn't know the way or that his aching right leg slows him down. ‘You'll see Aizawa-san. I'm going to become a hero you all can be proud of!’

The hero huffs with laughter. He doesn't break the link their joined hands make. Instead, gingerly, his fingers close around Izuku’s. ‘Now that,’ he rumbles, ‘I'd like to see.’

*

The rest of the day is… suspiciously okay. The leg brace is wonderful; if Izuku closes his eyes and takes a few steps, he can barely feel its light weight, just a small constriction around the knee. They spend most of the afternoon testing it for mobility, Aizawa putting Izuku through easy exercises he couldn't do before. Then, once they’ve established that it's safe, Aizawa suggests Izuku goes for a run—“just to get a feel for your baseline”—and Izuku doesn't hesitate. He tears down the tracks of the athletic field and veers off, through the copse of trees and the wide expanse of green grass, wet with rain that thankfully stopped. He knows Aizawa can follow without difficulty, so he doesn't pay attention to the hero. He just runs. He doesn't run away (from his thoughts), doesn't run towards (the future)—he isn't Izuku who grew up quirkless and inherited a quirk and lost his mother—he's just Izuku, and free. 

When he stops, doubled over and panting, he's grinning. He wipes his face, happy to pretend the tears he shed are just sweat. Aizawa jogs to a stop beside him, barely winded, and he makes a quick note on his digital clipboard. ‘Good,’ he says, casting his eyes down. ‘How's the leg?’

‘Fine.’

Aizawa narrows his eyes; Izuku averts his. ‘More details,’ the hero says, not unkindly.

‘Uh…’ Izuku fights to catch his breath. ‘It’s not painful. But uh, it wasn't completely still, so the brace rubbed a bit. On the side of the knee.’

‘Mmh. I noticed there's friction with your trouser leg too. Your movement on that side was more restrained than we'd hoped. We'll need to get that seen to. You should remove it.’

‘I… Now?’

Izuku casts a wild look across the wide expanse of the grass to the UA main building, from where students are starting to come out.

‘...No. Back at the apartment. My bad, I should have said.’

‘C-Can we—go now? Or is there something else you wanted to check?’

‘We can go.’ Without much fanfare, the hero clips the clipboard to his belt and turns around, hands in his pocket. ‘Not comfortable meeting other students yet?’

Aizawa has the ability to ask the toughest questions in the softest tone. Embarrassed, Izuku waves his hands frantically in front of him. ‘No no no, it's not that.’ I don't want him to think I'm a baby . ‘It's just, er…’ He casts for an excuse. The silence stretches. 

‘It's fine not to feel social, kid.’ The hero’s face is facing front, his eyes roaming with his usual vigilance, but Izuku thinks he spies a fond turn to his lips. ‘At your age, I was almost completely antisocial. It used to worry my parents a lot.’

‘Oh. What happened?’

‘Hizashi happened. He and Nemuri and… another friend… wouldn't stop talking to me.’

Their situation is a bit different then. It isn't that Izuku is antisocial. It's that nobody's ever wanted to be social with him .

Still, Aizawa’s story gets a smile out of Izuku. ‘I can see Yamada-san doing that.’

A sidelong glance. ‘Yeah?’

‘He talked for hours on end when I first met him. At… at the hospital.’

‘Heh, typical.’

They continue walking across the grass in silence. For once Izuku isn't a writhing ball of anxiety—he's too exhausted. His thoughts are silent, and he's grateful . He feels like he’ll be able to sleep now.

He slips in the bathroom as soon as he is back, and stares at the leg brace. Just take it off. You don’t have to look at your leg. And even if you do, it’s not like you don’t know what it looks like. It’s just a scar.

It takes Izuku longer than he cares to admit to psych himself up. Breathing deeply, he removes the brace and jumps into the shower, stubbornly keeping his eyes where it’s safe.

I’m not a coward, he tells himself. They keep saying to take it one step at a time, so that’s what I’m doing.

He performs his ablutions without thinking, before clambering over the side of the square bathtub. And there, submerged in clean, hot water, he finally, finally lets himself relax.

*

When he comes out of the bathroom, Nezu is standing on the kitchen counter, while Aizawa and Yamada are arguing over the cooking pot. Three pairs of eyes focus on him the moment he takes a step over the threshold. Right… Hero-level alertness… Suddenly self-conscious, Izuku towels at his wet hair. ‘H-Hello Nezu-san, Yamada-san. Uh, are you joining for dinner?’

‘I’m afraid not, Midoriya-kun,’ Nezu chirps softly. ‘We’re here for another matter. As your partial guardian, I’ve been in touch with one Bakugou Mitsuki. I take it you know her well?’

Izuku brightens, nodding. ‘Yeah. Auntie and Uncle—uh, you’d know them by Mitsuki-san and Masaru-san—they’re friends of my mom. Or, uh. They were.’ A sudden chill in the air causes him to shiver. He towels his hair more energetically. ‘They’re okay?’

Nezu’s eyes sharpens. Izuku has no doubt the mammal hasn’t missed that he didn’t mention the third Bakugou. But to Izuku’s relief, Nezu moves on, ‘They’re doing well. They’ve been worried about you.’

‘Oh.’ Something warm blossoms in his chest. They actually care. Izuku had wondered, sometimes (on dark days). If they just pretended because they liked Mom.

‘Would you like me to pass on a message?’ Nezu prompted softly.

‘W-Would you?’ The headmaster's tail swishes side to side. ‘C-Can you tell them… Uh, would it be okay to call them sometime?’

‘Whenever you need, Midoriya-kun.’ 

Aizawa points a wooden spoon at him. ‘You got that phone, remember?’

‘What this grump means to say,’ Yamada adds fondly, ‘is that you don’t have to use your phone only for emergencies.’

‘R-Right.’ Izuku folds the towel between his hands. He’s not quite sure what to do with it—it’d be rude to just leave the room—so he puts it on top of the couch for now. An instant later, Squares hops on top of it and starts kneading into the fabric. 

‘Bakugou-san called earlier with some news.’ As expected, Nezu didn’t come over at dinnertime just to tell Izuku that he’d heard from the Bakugous.

‘Oh, is it about s-school? B-Because I didn’t show up, or uh, perhaps I’m late on the program or…’

‘No. It’s not about school. … Midoriya-kun, your mother’s cremation ceremony is tomorrow.’

‘They—they’re holding a cremation?’

Nezu’s short ears wiggle. The principal steals a glance at Aizawa, who gives a short shake of his head. ‘Yes,’ he confirms.

‘B-But… There’s no body,’ Izuku hears himself say. 

Yamada makes an aborted sound, but Izuku has eyes only for the white-furred creature who stares back steadily.

‘They said, at the hospital… they couldn’t recover a body. Did they?’ Suddenly, the thought that there had been one, that his mother had had a body and Izuku hadn’t known and hadn’t been there and hadn’t held it one last time or kissed it goodbye—the thought is unbearable. ‘W-Was there a body, Nezu-san?’

Somehow, Newu’s paw is in Izuku’s palm, claws pressing down gently to prickle his skin. ‘No, Midoriya-kun. They… recovered enough to determine that she was dead, but there was no… body to speak of.’

Someone clears his throat, and Izuku’s eyes latch on to Aizawa, whose wrist Yamada is holding in a death grip. ‘There doesn’t need to be a body for there to be a funeral. It’s… frequent… when a building collapses.’

A soft tap against his hand. ‘I don’t know if this will be any comfort, Midoriya-kun but… your mother didn’t suffer.’

Izuku stares at Nezu, something big and awful clawing at his chest. Yagi did. Mom was gone just like that, there and then not, a candle in the wind like she didn't matter, but Yagi, he suffered, he was in terrible pain and he tried to pretend that he wasn't but…

No. No, it’s just—too much—I can’t— a high-pitched whine resonates in his ears as Izuku scrambles backwards— make it stop, make it STOP —

The beast inside is writhing along his bones, hot and destructive as lightning and thunder; it arcs along his veins, sparking emerald, on the cusp of explosion—

(And there’s a part of Izuku that wants to explode, that would be glad to, because it would all be done …)

‘Eraserhead!’ Nezu snaps, but there’s no need, for already Aizawa’s hair is rising, his eyes turning red—

—and Izuku is left on his knees on the kitchen floor, gasping, sobbing, drowning.

*

‘Fuck,’ Hizashi’s swear sounds louder than it should, and his voice regulates immediately. ‘Was that…?’

‘His quirk,’ Nezu confirms.

‘Kid,’ Shouta says roughly, his gaze fastened onto the hunched form of his ward. ‘Hey. You hurt?’ 

No response—only gasps and whimpers. As Nezu jumps off the table, Shouta slips onto his knees. Hizashi follows his cue and does the same, reaching for Midoriya’s wrist. From behind his colored sunglasses, Hizashi blinks once, markedly—the boy has a pulse and it's normal.

Shouta’s own heart is still racing with the shock of seeing emerald lightning coursing over the teen’s body. He vividly remembers Nezu's first of many briefings on the matter— “it is a quirk that will tear the boy limb to limb, if he uses it without mastering it” —and it is all he can do not to fling his capture weapon around the boy and speed him to Recovery Girl. 

‘I'm calling Shuzenji-san,’ Nezu says sotto voce, and Shouta relaxes a fraction, glad their thoughts are running on the same track.

Hizashi is now hugging the kid fiercely (how did he manage that feat?), and Shouta thinks adding himself to the mix would be risky. He has a better view of Midoriya here. Best to hang back . 

‘Aizawa-kun.’ Nezu taps on his arm. Shouta doesn't look away from Midoriya, so his boss shuffles into his field of vision, making sure to leave plenty of space for Shouta to see the kid. Shouta feels paws manipulating his hand open, and a cool circle of metal drops into his palm. ‘The cuff. For tonight—and tomorrow, if he wants to.’

Shouta grunts his thanks. He blinks—quickly, quickly—and there Midoriya is, still whole. Not fine, not by a long shot, half-choking on his own breath, grasping at Hizashi’s arms like they're the only things holding him aloft, but alive and uninjured as far as Shouta can tell.

His heart’s mad hammering is finally slowing down. Shouta doesn't startle easily, but the earlier discussion about the recent building collapse had set him on edge, far, far too close to the space Oboro rests in his heart, and now this scare…

Shouta takes a discreet breath in and out. Not discreet enough, for he feels Nezu's soft paw brushing against his fingers, which he now realizes are coiled hard in his capture weapon. 

It takes four minutes for Recovery Girl to finally knock on the window. Her imperious gaze is already taking in the situation as she clambers off her robot-piloted hovering platform, leaning on Shouta’s arm. With a few choice hand-signs, she directs him to unload her medical equipment. She doesn't wait to see that he complies before she strides to Midoriya. 

Her portable X-ray shows signs only of minute hairline fractures, easily wiped away with a kiss, but it leaves all of the adults uneasy. Midoriya had activated his quirk for all of a second—if that. That it had caused damage already… 

‘Yamada-kun, Nezu-san,’ Recovery Girl says in a tone that doesn't suggest so much as commands. ‘We'll see you tomorrow.’ 

With a pat and a soft murmur to Midoriya, Hizashi rises from his kneeling position. Wiggling ears betraying inner agitation, Nezu hovers for a second longer, watching  the boy sitting listless between the counter and the couch. Finally, the principal turns away and vaults onto Hizashi’s shoulder, hoisting himself up by his claws. 

‘Not the leather!’ Hizashi exclaims mournfully.

‘It adds character,’ Nezu retorts, but his eyes are far away—he must be thinking deep if it shows, his quirk firing away.

After Recovery Girl and her robot assistant have climbed back onto their hover-platform, Shouta closes the window and approaches Midoriya.

‘Come on,’ he says, keeping his tone soft. ‘Light dinner and to bed. You must be wiped.’

The boy looks at him. A few locks of dark green hair are plastered across his brow. He does look wiped, but then something sparks in his eyes, akin to the determination he’s shown that morning. ‘I want to go. Tomorrow. At the funeral. C-Can I go?’

Surprise steals Shouta’s voice for a moment. He hadn't expected Midoriya to be able to make a decision just yet—not after what happened. This kid… he really is damn resilient. 

Shouta clears his throat. ‘...Yeah. Of course. We'll make it happen, Midoriya.’

‘Did Nezu-san give you…?’

‘Here.’ The cuff clasps around the boy’s wrist without a sound. Its blue light circles once, then its glow dims.

Midoriya stands looking at it for a moment. His expression is inscrutable. 

‘Dinner?’ Shouta offers, at a loss.

‘...I'll set the table.’

Shouta gets offered a brave little smile, and in return he doesn't censor his expression, he smiles back. 

He’s aware that during the night he'll likely be woken by the sound of sobs again; that once again, he'll lie awake in bed, uncomfortable with the warring desire to help and the knowledge that there's nothing he can do—that, in fact, he'll probably be unwelcome if he tries anything.

But for now, he takes his cue from Midoriya, and plays pretend—that the quirk accident didn't happen, that a highly emotional day isn't looming tomorrow, that they're simply sitting down to enjoy their dinner. 

I need to ask Nezu about that quirk , Shouta muses as he washes the dishes. By his side, silent and pale, Midoriya dries them and puts them where they belong. All Might’s quirk might have been a national secret, but there has to be notes we can consult somewhere. Nezu was his friend, he must have kept a record…

Shouta dries his hands. ‘All done, Midoriya?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Shouta doesn’t sigh at the formality. Instead, he makes sure to telegraph his movement, and lays a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

Midoriya doesn’t inch back, and Shouta takes the win.

‘Try and get some sleep, kid. I’m right next door if you need me.’

Midoriya’s eyes flash up to his, tired and very green, shying away as soon as they meet Shouta’s. ‘Good night, Aizawa-san. Uh, thank you for today.’

Shouta just grunts and shoves his hands in his pocket. He’s never been good at getting thank-yous, particularly when he doesn’t see them coming.

The kid limps to his bedroom and shuts the door. 

At three in the morning, Shouta jolts awake. Predictably, it's the sound of sobs that pulled him out of sleep. He should be grateful that he hasn't gotten used to it yet. 

Shouta turns around in his bed and closes his eyes, knowing he won't go back to sleep until the kid does.

His heart wrenches inside his chest. 

Hold on, Midoriya. We're going to get through this. 

*

The day of the cremation is insultingly sunny. Izuku feels exposed in the sunlight—like everyone can see how tight his skin feels on his bones, how distant the outside world. Aizawa shuffles them both into the back of a car while Nezu sits in the front seat, mirroring the time they picked him up from the hospital. Izuku lays his head against the window. For a while, he looks out, the others keeping silent except to confirm logistics. 

A lot of people on the streets look stressed, or sad. He wonders if they're mourning All Might. He barely has any space to conceive of their loss. He doesn’t… he can’t think of Yagi-san today. He doesn’t want to. He thinks the hero might have understood. 

The window pane is cold as Izuku puts a hand against it. The hand that Mom used to catch hold of whenever one of them was upset. It was often a premise to a hug; it was always a promise. Never to let go.

And yet, she had. 

Izuku wasn't in the same room as Mom, when the building fell. He didn't see what became of her, and if there's anything he's grateful for in this whole horrible thing, it is this. In a way, he prefers not to know how she died. He can make some guesses, but he's happy not to know for sure. He doesn't need to be haunted by pictures of how her body might have looked, how her last instants were. 

Instead, he likes to think she probably had a thought for him. When the world fell apart, when everything shifted and twisted and sank—did she wonder where her son was? Izuku himself had been so surprised, the experience so inconceivable it hadn't registered until he'd been trapped underground. Perhaps Mom didn't have time to think of me, he wonders. But she would have, if she could have .

I… I'm going to have to be the one who thinks of her now. 

‘Midoriya-kun,’ Nezu's voice interrupts, so, so soft. ‘We're here.’

Izuku clambers out of the car, feeling strangely loose in his wide-sleeved kimono. He eyes the sharp black suit worn by Aizawa and Nezu, loneliness welling up. Only family members of the deceased (and the Obou-san, the priest) are supposed to wear traditional clothing. Mom only had me. And now… 

If Izuku died, there'd be nobody wearing kimonos. There likely wouldn't be anyone at the funeral, either, dumbass, Kacchan’s voice whispers. Izuku shakes his head and lets his guardian lead the way. 

The building is square and unremarkable. Izuku notices the curve of a temple gate jutting out from behind it. Suddenly, a thought strikes him like lightning, setting his hands shaking. ‘Aizawa-san, d-d-do we have incense? We have to offer incense, right?’

‘We do. They've prepared everything for us inside.’

‘I n-need to greet everyone first, r-right?’

‘They'll greet you, Midoriya. You don't need to say anything.’

‘And the okoden?’

‘I'll collect it. Don't worry, kid. If you get lost, just follow the obou-san’s cue. ’

*

A blink, and Izuku is standing in front of the door to a hall bedecked in white flowers—chrysanthemum and white lilies and the same baby's breath that Mom had once held as her wedding bouquet. In the center of the flowers stands a large picture of Inko, sitting formally, with only the hint of a smile on her face. Her hair is loose and brushed to a silky sheen. It looks strange to Izuku, because Mom always had her hair up.

A blink, and Auntie Mitsuki, dressed in the most sober black dress he's ever seen on her, is pressing her hands in his. ‘You must be grieving terribly.’ By now Izuku has heard the formal words so many times he's lost count, but it's the first time he feels seen. 

He trembles, and Mitsuki sighs. ‘Oh, Izuku… I’ll find you, after, if you want?’

Izuki’s eyes zero in on Auntie Mitsuki’s shoes. They're closed, black, and look like something she'd never wear. He looks up to her all-too-kind face, intent on commenting on her shoes—and blurts out: ‘Is Kacchan here?’

Auntie swallows, blinking fiercely. ‘Oh. No… He and Masaru will come later. After… When it's done. You'll likely have returned to UA by then.’

‘Is he okay?’

A few stray tears roll down Auntie’s face. ‘He… I don't think he's okay, but he'll get there eventually.’

‘Mmh. Kacchan is really strong.’

‘So are you, Izu. You're such a good boy.’ Auntie lifts a hand as if to give him her usual noogie before realizing the time and place. Slowly, her hand drifts back down.

‘I don't know how to do a funeral, Auntie,’ he confesses.

‘Me neither,’ she whispers back. Her hand squeezes his one last time, and she is moving past to let Nakamura-san take her place. 

*

A blink, and the hall is full of people, some of whom Izuku has known all his life, some of whom he's only met in passing. In between two greetings, he stands silent, focused on his breathing (and it's terrible because the lilies smell wonderful, they smell like coming home at springtime). His ears pick up a few indiscreet murmurs—he hears “quirkless,” and closes his eyes. He wishes he could close his ears too, but he's never learned not to hear the words that hurt the most.

It doesn't matter. Because today, what hurts, what really, truly yanks at his guts and twists and puts tears in his eyes… 

…is that the one voice he wants to hear, he will never hear again. 

*

A blink, and the Obou-san’s sutra rings in the hall in a sea of silence. Izuku doesn't know what it says, but it rings with an air of finality. I'm not ready to say goodbye, Mom, he thinks, and hides his face behind his sleeves as he crumples.

A blink, and the incense smoke curls around his fingers, soft and warm and beautiful, and gone before he can hold on to it. 

A blink, and he is finally out of the hall, in the garden behind the building. There, a path threads among white orchids to a tree, in front of which are an easel with Mom’s picture and a pulpit. One by one, each guest comes to the pulpit and says a few words. One of Mom’s nurse colleagues plays a haunting violin piece. Another brings a deck of cards, and Izuku learns for the first time that Mom was a mean hand at poker. Kaneko-san brings persimmons, even if they're out of season, and offers pieces to the guests because they were Mom’s favorite.

Something settles within Izuku. Under the wide sky, as people come forward one by one, shines evidence that Midoriya Inko was loved. 

Then Izuku sees the Kubas from the floor above his. His whole being freezes for an instant, then he beelines toward them, almost bowling over their youngest in his haste. Among her tears, Kuba-san confesses that they'd been on vacation when the collapse happened, guilt thickening her tone. Izuku wordlessly embraces the parents and the two children, surprised and relieved that they survived, and, selfishly, glad that someone else understood. 

Izuku is the last one to stand at the pulpit. At first he doesn't want to go, but the Obou-san gestures to him gently and Izuku’s feet move on their own. 

With the tree at his back and the wide sky above, Izuku breathes better than in the hall, but he doesn't know what to say. There’s so much he wants to tell Mom.

He chances a look at his guardians. Aizawa is turned toward him, but his eyes are snapping to the roof, the door of the building, the garden wall; monitoring potential threats. His gaze briefly lands on Izuku, and the blank-faced mask breaks just a little, his mouth thinning. Nezu’s white snout pokes out of Aizawa’s capture weapon, looking at the hero, and they exchange a few words. Then the principal meets Izuku’s eyes and smiles. 

Izuku swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. In private, Aizawa had confirmed Izuku’s suspicion that Nezu’s smiles didn’t come naturally to him, were in fact contrary to his animal instincts—which means he is now smiling just for Izuku. 

Just like All Might would have done. 

A breath. In and out. Keep breathing and keep going. 

Izuku looks to the Obou-san, who stands to the side, serene-faced. A glow spreads out from the priest’s skin and his voice speaks in Izuku's mind. This may be your last opportunity, child. Tell your mother what you want her to know.

Izuku gives a slow nod. This isn't about me. This isn't about what I want to tell her. It's about what I'd want her to know. 

‘Mom…’ He clutches the pulpit and clenches his eyes shut. He imagines himself in the kitchen of their cozy apartment, listening to Inko humming as she cooks. 

‘I wish you were here.’

She’s turning toward him. 

‘I love you.’

Now she smiles, that big wide smile that starts with surprise and ends with a love deeper than the ocean. 

‘I miss you.’

And now, she sighs, and he can feel arms around him. Izuku…

There’s no need for more. 

Mom always knew what he meant, even when he struggled to say it.

As he stumbles from the pulpit, crying as only Inko’s son could, he casts a look at his mother's face in the black picture frame. She's blurry, but he can see that hint of a smile.

Will I ever get to see you again, Mom? Will I? 

Izuku… Izuku doesn't know what he believes. He knows what he hopes for. And he prays (to whoever is listening, if anyone) that hope is enough. 

*

The urn they give him is almost empty. There was no body to cremate, so they cremated a wooden effigy instead. Izuku had only gotten a glimpse, and it hadn't looked like Mom. The shape was all wrong. 

When Izuku receives the urn, it hits him. Midoriya Inko is dead. Mom is buried already. Along with the life they used to live. 

She's not just away . She's not just gone somewhere . She's just gone, period.

She isn't anymore.

Izuku clutches the urn with a white-knuckled grip. This is only symbolical, something to acknowledge her passing. But the symbol is all he's got left of her. That, and the picture in its frame back in his room, where she smiles with all the happiness of someone living.

Izuku shuffles out of the crematorium, past Nezu and Aizawa waiting for him, and he stands under the tree. It has rained, a quick flash downpour, and the flowers bow under the weight of the raindrops. They glitter like tiny diamonds in the sunlight. The guests have all gone, since the cremation is for family only. The garden feels lonesome.

Izuku looks up. 

Mom… how am I supposed to do this without you?

Tears fall, and he doesn't stop them. He sobs with his face to the sky, and he wishes, and hopes, and prays, and breaks.

*

Mitsuki stands outside the funeral service building under an umbrella. Her feet hurt, her back aches, and she feels washed out. An undercurrent of anger keeps her upright, but she's keeping a tight hold on it.

Izuku comes out of the building with the long-haired man who'd introduced himself as Izuku's temporary guardian. UA’s curious headmaster stands on his staff-member(?)’s shoulder. Both their eyes find Mitsuki at once, and her anger stirs to prevent her from feeling intimidated.

The white-furred dog-bear-rat(?) mutters a few words to Izuku, who blinks and looks up, finally noticing Mitsuki. Some of her anger calms when she sees his freckled face; it all but evaporates when he comes close enough to bow in greeting. 

His two shadows stay a few steps behind, granting them privacy. 

Mitsuki ruffles Izuku’s hair. ‘Hey, kiddo.’ She doesn't try to pretend her voice isn't rough. She's probably cried as much as he has. ‘I wanted to ask… how have you been?’

She's noticed the cane, of course, not to mention the limp. But Nezu-san had assured her Izuku was fine physically (or as much as he was going to get). That's not what Mitsuki is asking. 

Smart as ever, Izuku gets her drift. ‘They're taking good care of me, Auntie. I'm okay.’

He gives a brave smile, and Mitsuki is startled to recognize the expression. He used to wear the same whenever she'd ask about school, or when he'd demur about organizing a sleepover with Katsuki. He's lying… she realizes. Not about being cared for, that's obvious based on how close he was standing to those two. But he's lying about being okay.

She watches him silently for a moment. He's been lying for so long, hiding his pain… how do I make sure he's honest?

Even when he’s not here, Masaru comes to her aid. It starts with you, he whispers in her mind. 

She swallows, clears her throat. She's never been good at this. She always fucking explodes, she doesn't know if she can do anything else. But— damn if I don't try for Inko’s son. 

‘I'm not okay,’ she says, her voice warbling and high, tears springing anew in her eyes. ‘I lost my best friend… The person who knew me most outside of Masaru. I'm n-not okay, Izu.’ She takes his hands, because she needs the grounding. ‘And I'm sorry, I know you're a good boy, and you don't lie, but I don't think you're okay either.’

Izuku isn't smiling anymore. Instead, his eyes wet with tears that match hers, and he buries his face in her chest. She holds him tight, tight, tight. (She doesn't want to let go.)

The boy stays silent. He still won't speak his hurt. Perhaps, like Mitsuki, he doesn't have the words to encapsulate it. 

Mitsuki presses on, her voice reedy in his ear. ‘But, you know what, Izu? Even if you're not okay now… you'll get there. We both will.’

His arms encase her suddenly— when did he get so big? —and they embrace her just as tight as she does him.

When she finally lets him go, Mitsuki dries his cheeks with her sleeve, and looks straight into his eyes. She sniffles. ‘I know I'm not your mom, Izu. I could never be all that Inko was. But… I'm still a mom. So if you need anything… Or if you ever want to not be okay together… I'm here, alright? Just… just call, yeah?’

‘I will, Auntie,’ he rasps. ‘I… I… I love you.’

‘Yeah, kiddo. I love you too. And fuck—I'm really, really glad that you're alive.’

He gives a weird little sort of laugh. And when he looks back at her, his eyes are shining. ‘I-I'm going to become a hero, Auntie.’

That pulls a smile out of her. ‘Course you will. And a damn fine one, too.’ 

A black sedan pulls up. The pro heroes nearby don't react, still giving them space, but Izuku glances at them. 

‘Looks like your ride is here, Izu.’

‘...Take care, Auntie. I'll call, I promise.’

‘I'll hold you to that,’ Mitsuki whispers. She watches the car smoothly insert itself into traffic, and settles back under her umbrella to wait for Masaru and Katsuki.

*

That afternoon, Shouta knocks on Midoriya's door with tools in hand, a stack of wooden planks set against the wall. When the kid opens up, Shouta explains what he means to do, and gives Midoriya the opportunity to help.

He doesn't need to ask twice.

The sun light grows long and golden as they measure, hammer and saw. (Shouta, it turns out, is really not good at building stuff but Midoriya has a knack for visualization that sees them through.)

By the end of it, past dinnertime, in the nook between the hallway and the corridor now stands a shelf. It looks nice (much, much nicer than the one in Shouta’s dad’s office which has been through the wringer more than once), and they're both feeling quite accomplished.

Midoriya silently places the tablet engraved with his mother's name before her funeral picture and bows. 

Shouta bows alongside his ward, intimidated despite himself. The idea of life after death is illogical to him. And yet, he can't help but greet the woman he's heard so much about today, the woman who raised the child he's now responsible for. 

Please offer me your guidance, Midoriya-san.

*

The next morning, another picture has joined the first at the home altar. It's a picture of a boy with bright blue wisp-like hair and a smile to brighten the universe. 

(Izuku doesn't ask, and Aizawa doesn't say.) 

In a mirror of Aizawa’s action the day before, Izuku clasps his hands together and bows formally before the picture of the boy. ‘Hajimemashite.’

‘We are meeting for the first time.’

When he straightens, he surprises Aizawa staring at him with a strange look in his eyes.

‘Come on, then, kid,’ he says (and if his voice is rough, Izuku certainly doesn't notice). ‘We've gotta talk about your class schedule.’

For an instant, Izuku feels the phantom ghost of an arm circling him like a physical sensation and giving the slightest nudge. 

And for the first time since he’s woken up, he breathes without constraint.

Chapter Text

‘And now?’

‘Erm…’

‘Focus. Don’t just say whatever comes to your mind.’

Izuku bites his tongue. Sitting cross-legged with his eyes closed, he breathes slow and deep like he’s been taught and takes the time to look inward. Breathe in—his lungs expand, front then back then sides… and something is missing. ‘It’s off?’ he asks, unsure. ‘You’re erasing it?’

‘Correct. That’s 63 out of 100, Midoriya. We’re ahead of what random guessing would get you. You’re getting better.’

‘If you say so, Aizawa-san.’

‘I do, kid. And you know I don’t do empty praise.’

That’s true, Izuku admits. Still, impatience with himself gnaws at his stomach. They’ve been at this for several weeks now. One hour, every day, where Izuku sits in the gym as Aizawa paces around him, silently activating his quirk at random. 

At first, he’d asked Izuku to call it when his quirk was off but Izuku had been so incredibly terrible at it that Aizawa had switched strategies. Now he asks, and Izuku has to tell (or guess) if his quirk is erased or not.

It’s dreadfully difficult. It’s worse than having to train your muscles to pull in a different way than they ever have, like he’s doing with his leg every time he walks with the cane. Because Izuku had legs in the first place; he’d used them every day of his life. He knew not only the theory, but the practice. 

With quirks, he only knows the theory.

He shifts on the spot and sighs, though he keeps his eyes closed.

Aizawa’s voice rumbles from somewhere on the right. ‘I know you’re frustrated, but we can’t rush this part.’

‘I know.’

Izuku’s heard it a hundred times, it feels like. Your quirk is dangerous. You need to know how to turn it off. In order to turn it off, you need to know when it’s on. And so the first step is knowing where it rests, what it feels like even inactive, to monitor any change. 

And—it’s not like he doesn’t agree. Now that he’s decided to use it to become a hero, it’s his responsibility to make the quirk his own. Besides, that one brief instant of activating it had felt like standing in the middle of an exploding supernova, fiery currents seeking to pull his limbs apart at the joints. He doesn’t want to go through that again (not unless it’s to actually save someone). 

But Izuku is still Izuku, and he’s useless at this. 

‘Say what’s on your mind, Midoriya.’ The tone is perfectly neutral—just a reminder that Aizawa’s quirk isn’t mind-reading, and it is easier for everyone involved if Izuku voices his feelings. Aizawa’s given this reminder a few times over the last couple of weeks, never with any hint of criticism, and yet Izuku still bows his head in failure. Good job not letting your feelings distract you from your actual work.

A beat, then the hero amends, ‘That is, you can, if you want to.’

‘It’s nothing new, Aizawa-san.’

‘I don’t c—I don’t mind.’

Izuku sits with his feelings for a moment and then—‘I just feel so slow.’

‘That’s illogical. Other kids have had years to work with their quirks, Midoriya. You’ve made more progress in two weeks than most people do in two years.’

‘So I’m equal to a six-year-old,’ Izuku grumbles, then sighs. ‘I—I just wish I could be a little better, that’s all.’

Because it’s not a small mountain to climb. After he can figure out where and how his quirk feels, he’ll work on turning it on and off. Then he’ll need to get a feel for how to dose it (not hurting anyone is paramount). Then he’ll need to actually train to use it, and after that, to fight with it. There is so much to learn, and really, when it comes down to it, less than ten months to learn it. (Izuku is very, very aware of the date of the UA exam. Even though Aizawa said he could still train to be a hero outside of the hero course—Izuku needs to get in. He’s inconveniencing the staff enough as it is.)

‘Kid, you listening? You’ve gone all stiff.’

‘S-Sorry.’

‘Not a problem.’ The sound of feet shifting. ‘Look. If all you had to train on was your quirk, you would be better than you are currently. But you’ve picked up your classes and you’re training most days after—’

‘Can’t we just cut into my down time? It’s not like I’m doing anything with it.’

There is a brief moment of appalled silence. ‘It’s important to have moments when you’re not productive, Midoriya. It’s called resting for a reason.’ Even though his eyes are closed, Izuku can picture Aizawa’s crossed arms just by his sardonic tone.

‘Please, Aizawa-san. I just… I hate feeling useless.’

‘ You are not—’ 

Izuku can’t help the minute flinch at the angered tone, which is stupid. It’s not like Aizawa’s anger is directed at him. He thinks.

A beat, and the hero’s tone is flat again when he says, ‘Your usefulness has no bearing on your worth as a person, Midoriya.’ Izuku tries to process this, mouthing the words, then Aizawa adds, ‘And you’re not useless. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you’ve been picking up more chores.’

Izuku peels an hesitant eye open, checking on his guardian. He looks… stern, but also somewhere between a little resigned and a little sad, for some reason. ‘I just… you’ve taken patrols again, so I thought I could help.’

Their eyes meet, and Aizawa’s jaw unclenches. ‘We have cleaning bots, you know?’

‘Yeah, but… I mean, they do so much already.’

A sigh. ‘Eyes.’ Izuku shuts his eyes at once. ‘Things have been okay with the others staying over?’

‘Yes, they’re all so kind.’ 

Izuku has loved meeting more of the UA staff, and getting to have dinner with so many pro heroes, who (mostly) didn’t mind questions. Powerloader proved the best to talk analytics with, but Izuku liked Midnight too: they’ve had fascinating conversations on hero art and she’s promised to take him to an exhibit sometime. Lunch Rush has set himself to teach Izuku five easy go-to recipes that work with his meal plans. (It is still very much a work in progress.)

Vlad King was a little strange—he seems to have a rivalry of sorts with Aizawa, which Izuku doesn’t think is actually antagonistic, but he also somehow showed an insight almost as keen as Hound Dog when it came to sussing out Izuku’s feelings.

Ectoplasm too. Even though Izuku has most often sat with one of the man’s clones (he is, after all, head of Security team 1 and therefore busy),  he found himself revealing more than he wanted when it came to his former school life. But the hero didn’t press, and for that Izuku was grateful. 

And though they were shy at first, Thirteen was more than willing to explain rescue ops to Izuku. (If the scenario they talked about veered close to building collapse rescues, and if he had to take a moment in the bathroom to cry afterwards, well, that was between the rescue hero and him.)

Yamada remains his favorite, though. 

‘I suppose…’ Aizawa’s voice comes hesitant from behind Izuku, who jumps hard. ‘Shit, sorry.’ 

Izuku giggles at himself as Aizawa’s footfalls become more evident, marvelling at the underground hero’s capacity to be silent. ‘You’re so cool, Aizawa-san,’ he blurts out thoughtlessly, and reddens to the root of his hair.

The hero clears his throat from somewhere to his right, and his voice comes slightly muffled—he must be hiding his mouth in his capture weapon. Izuku wonders if it’s a tell of some kind. ‘I suppose we could use half an hour on Wednesday and Saturday mornings, and one more hour on Sunday before dinner, to work on your quirk. Provided Hound Dog and Recovery Girl both agree.’

Izuku sits stunned. ‘R-Really?’ It still feels so strange, to have an adult other than Mom, Auntie Mitsuki or Uncle Masaru actually listen to what he’s saying and consider his opinion.

‘Would it help?’

‘Y-Yeah… that’d be great! Thank you so much, Aizawa-s—wait… are you erasing my quirk right now?’

‘Heh. 64.’ Footsteps approach, and Izuku feels a soft tap on his shoulder as Aizawa passes by. ‘Good one, kid.’

Izuku finally breathes out the last of his frustration, and with a smile pulling at his lips, he pushes his focus inward. 

*

‘You alive?’ Midnight asks as she leans against the wall, watching Shouta come in.

‘Close enough,’ he grunts, closing the door and sitting tiredly against it. 

Her eyes are sharp behind her red glasses, taking in the large tear in the flank of his hero costume. Thankfully, there’s only bare skin underneath. That last fight had done a number and a half on Shouta. After he’d been cleared to go by on-site first responders, he’d gone straight for Recovery Girl, since she lived on campus. She’d taken care of the wound, going so far as to compliment him for being responsible in getting prompt treatment ‘ for once’ . Shouta simply hadn’t wanted the kid to find him bloody and limping in the middle of the night. 

‘Rough patrol then?’

‘Just the new normal.’

(Of course, tonight's patrol has been anything but normal—his gut still churns with half-horror and half-rage. But until he meets with a cacher, it's best not to think about it, so with the practice of long years, Shouta buries the thoughts. He'll deal with the feelings, eventually—after some sleep.)

Midnight’s mouth twists grimly. She doesn’t need to ask. There’s more heroes on the streets, more police and heroes being recruited, and the defense forces are being mobilized—but all the processes are new, the coordination difficult. It’ll smooth out with time but time is what they don’t have. Villain activity is at an all-time high, particularly at night. 

‘How’s the UHA?’

‘A god-send.’ Shouta levels a look at his friend. ‘But it’s late, I’m beat and I want to sleep.’

‘Got it, you drama queen. I’ll get out of your hair.’ She slips on her platform shoes. ‘You’re having lunch with me tomorrow though. That or you’re getting punished .’ She waggles her eyebrows wickedly; too bad it’s been ineffective since Shouta grew out of his awkward teens.

‘Whatever.’ He can have a nap after lunch or something. 

Shouta twists so Midnight can push the door open. 

Then he blinks tired eyes, and stops her as she’s stepping over the threshold. 

‘How was the kid?’

She sighs, shifting her weight as she crosses her arms.

‘He’s holding up okay… mostly.’

Shouta runs a weary hand over his face. ‘What does that mean, mostly?’

‘When he’s out there, he’s fine. A bit too fine, even. But when it’s just him…’ Midnight gestures toward the inside of the apartment, where Midoriya’s room lies. Shouta listens, and in the quiet, the sound of muffled sobbing greets him. 

It’s a sound he’s become uncomfortably familiar with in the last few weeks, usually heard through a wall—after the funeral, Midoriya has kept his grief private. Tired of his own helplessness, Shouta had tried knocking on the door a couple times, but was either ignored or politely turned down. 

‘He’s putting up a façade,’ Midnight says sadly. ‘He’s eager in class, diligent in doing homework, and even if training’s been hard, he hasn’t complained once. He’s the perfect student. But… He’s pushing it all down.’ Keeping himself down, is what she means. ‘Is he still avoiding other students?’

‘He says he’d feel awkward bothering his senpais.’

‘…I’ll think on it,’ she says, tossing her hair determinedly. He nods, grateful she’s made it her problem; she’s much better at this social stuff than he is. ‘You get some rest. Bye!’

She leaves, and all that remains is the sound of muffled sobs. As Shouta drags himself to sit on the step of the genkan and unlace his boots, Squares jumps from under the top of the fridge and rubs against Shouta’s shins with a quiet ‘ mreow ’. 

Shouta scratches his head. ‘I know,’ he murmurs, heart twisting. ‘Me too.’

He doesn’t know what to do. When he was a kid and upset at something, his mother or father would come knocking on his bedroom door, and unless explicitly told no, would usually walk right in. They’d perch on the edge of his bed, and comfort him (as much as Shouta allowed—he’d been a contrary child). And eventually Shouta would open up of his own accord. 

But that was because he trusted them entirely. Midoriya and him have no such bond, and truth be told, Shouta isn’t sure how to even get started on forming one.

He’d been six when his mother had married his (technically step-)dad, his biological father having walked out before Shouta was born. Shouta has heard he’d been a little hellion at first, not trusting his new dad, but he doesn’t recall that time. He doesn’t remember how his dad won him over; all that he knows, is that his dad is a man of unflappable calm, patient and kind and full of soft strength, the type of person he can only hope to emulate. I wish I could ask you how you did it, dad.

Squares headbutts his shoulder, meowing plaintively for more scratches. 

Shouta sighs deeply and, yielding to the cat’s demands, redirects his mind from sad thoughts back to the problem at hand. 

He’s been acting as Midoriya’s temporary guardian for a little more than a couple of weeks, at most. They’ve gotten to know each other a little, learning to co-exist in the same space, but that’s about it. Their bond is shallow and fragile, and Shouta feels that he should be more, do more—

But come to think of it, would Midoriya even welcome it? Perhaps he’s too grown to want a guardian hovering. Fourteen-year-old Shouta had shied away irritably from his mother’s touch, and thrown dismissive looks at his dad. 

But fourteen-year-old Shouta hadn’t been traumatized. Fourteen-year-old Shouta hadn’t lost anyone yet. 

Sixteen-year-old Shouta had been another story. 

Midoriya is traumatized. Like I was. No—worse than I was… and that’s without taking the quirklessness into account.

How do I get through to him?

Shouta… is way too tired for this. 

His thoughts spin as he finally stands, picking up his cat and padding down the corridor. The sobs have stopped by now, and Shouta feels a keen sense of failure that he, once again, hasn’t managed to figure out how to help.

For a moment, he stands in front of Midoriya’s door. Squares squirms, jumps from his arms, and, as if to show Shouta how easy it is, he wiggles his way inside the boy’s room. 

The knowledge dawns on Shouta slowly, piercing through the cloud of his exhaustion. I’m in over my head. 

Then his practical side takes over, reminding him that if he feels caked over and grimy, it’s because his costume is still torn and bloody. He should really take a shower before heading off to bed or risk giving the kid a heart attack in the morning.

Tomorrow, he promises himself.

*

And so, on the morrow, after handing over Midoriya to Ectoplasm for math, he shuts himself in his office, picks up his phone, and calls the one person he can think of who may be able to help. 

‘Hello?’ a voice greets from the other side, sounding hesitant. 

‘Mom. It’s me.’

‘Shouta! It’s you! I didn’t recognize the number, did something happen to your phone?’

‘No. I dialed from the office.’

‘Ah, I see. I’ll have to save that one, too. How are you? It must be a busy time for you.’

Shouta’s throat unexpectedly knots. On the day All Might’s death had been announced, she’d sent him a text to send him her love and support. His own reply had been brief and promised a call he now realizes he forgot to make. He settles deep in his office chair as he clears his throat. ‘Yeah, a bit. Sorry I didn’t call before.’

‘You’re calling now,’ she points out, no trace of reproach in her voice. ‘How can I help?’

Shouta thinks hard for a brief moment, sorting through what he can and can’t say, and what would be sensitive to share even if allowed by the VT-SX protocol. ‘I’ve been made temporary guardian for a kid,’ he ends up saying. ‘Fourteen, with a recent quirk manifestation. He, uh… he was caught in a building collapse.’

‘Oh, no… one of the Aftershocks?’ That’s how the media has taken to calling the wave of building collapses perpetrated by villains in celebration of the Fall, Shouta recalls. He hums, neither confirming nor denying.

‘Poor boy... He lost his family, I’m guessing, that’s why you’re looking after him?’

‘Mmh. Lost his mother.’ 

As his own mom sighs, Shouta reflects (not for the first time) that he is very, very lucky. And his determination to be there for the boy grows. Because, while Shouta has Hizashi, Nemuri and (more sparsely) Tensei, while he still has his mother… Midoriya doesn’t have anyone.

‘Is there anything I can do…?’

‘Actually… I need your advice, Mom. How do I…’ He trails off miserably. 

‘How do you what, my heart?’

Shouta colors at the nickname, suddenly glad he’s in the privacy of his office, and not the faculty one where his conversation may be overheard. He’s not one to get embarrassed but he swears his mother has a special ability to do just that. 

‘How do I bond with him?’

‘Oh. Well, how long is this temporary guardianship going to be?’

‘Undetermined.’ Whenever Midoriya masters his quirk and decides he’d rather live with someone else, is Shouta’s best guess.

‘Then for now… find out what he likes. And provide it to him.’

‘…that simple?’

‘Parenting is both the simplest and most difficult thing, Shouta.’

‘This isn’t parenting.’

‘Semantics. You’re acting in loco parentis. It’s temporary parenting.’ A brief silence. She laughs. ‘I can see your dismayed expression from here. You didn’t fully choose this, did you?’

‘I did.’ He had; he could have refused, after all. He just… hadn’t fully thought things through. 

It had just been the logical course of action. 

‘But…’ His mom hesitates. She has an underground hero for a son, and she knows it. ‘There are circumstances?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you want to do your best.’

‘This is a kid, mom. I can’t screw this up.’

‘You won’t.’ Shouta wants to ask, how do you know? but thinks better of it. Still, his mom must guess at the turn of his thoughts, because she expands softly, ‘I know what you doing your best leads to, Shouta, and it’s really quite impressive.’

Shouta has to swallow around the lump in his throat. ‘Find out what he likes?’

‘I don’t mean just food,’ she warns. ‘And you can’t just… have a list and check items off it either. You have to engage with what he likes. Engage with him.’

Shouta rises from his chair and starts pacing. ‘Give me an example.’

‘Do you remember what started your passion for cats?’

Shouta sighs impatiently. But this is his mom and he owes her a call, so he indulges her. ‘We went to a yard sale. There was this book being sold, about all the different species of cats. It was thin and the drawings were pretty but all the information was scientifically accurate. Dad got it for me.’

‘Yes, but it’s not just that. You read that book and you loved it so much you’d just randomly quote facts from it. So whenever he saw a cute cat-themed item in a store, your dad would get it for you. He’d ask you questions about the cats you both saw when he took you to school. And then when you were eleven—’

‘—the cat cafe. I remember.’

‘See what I mean about engaging? It starts with finding out what he likes, and why he likes it. And then, you share in it.’

‘Okay. I’ll try that. Thanks Mom.’

‘Take care, Shouta.’ 

He doesn’t hang up. She stays on the line. 

Shouta wrestles with himself. He doesn’t know if asking will cause his mom more pain or if staying silent will. 

Today, he chooses to ask. ‘How’s dad?’

‘The same.’

The words stab Shouta more sharply than knives ever have, but the pain is brief and familiar. It’s been three years of the same . Ever since the accident that put his dad in a coma.

That’s the reason Shouta rarely ever sees his parents. They live in Hokkaido, which is far enough under the best of circumstances. But the distance is aggravated by the fact that, after the mandatory forty days, the hospital had turned over his dad’s care to his mom, who has to provide it round-the-clock. Much like Shouta’s job, it’s the kind of occupation one can hardly step away from, even for a brief time. 

‘I have to go, my heart.’

‘’Course. Take care, mom.’ Suddenly the image of his crying ward at Midoriya Inko’s funeral pops into his mind, and he blurts out, completely uncharacteristically, ‘I love you.’

There’s a bout of surprised silence on the line and then a smile colors her voice as she says—‘I know, Shouta. And we both love you too. Be careful out there.’

Shouta hangs up. He feels lighter than he has in days. More importantly, he finally feels like he can do this. 

And he has an idea where to start. 

*

Two hours later, Shouta sits back on his heels with a self-satisfied hum. Around him is an explosion of cardboard boxes and the old stuff it contained—most of which he honestly thought he’d trashed long ago. There are notebooks from high school (complete with Oboro’s doodles, and Shouta won’t pretend he didn’t spend long minutes leafing through those), yearbooks, copies of his grades, little gifts he’s been given over the years, birthday cards, old posters and postcards, a shitton of cat-themed gimmicks (including a keychain he’s now reclaimed), Nemuri’s, Hizashi’s and Tensei’s first merch prototypes… All in all, years’ worth of things he no longer needs but either hasn’t gotten around to throw away or hasn’t been able to discard.

He’s finally found what he was looking for, buried at the bottom of a cardboard box: a single All Might figurine. It had been one of the things he’d taken from home when he’d moved to Musutafu for high school. He doesn’t recall the moment he put it aside, a few years into his hero career; he only remembers the vague mix of anger, disillusion and betrayal that had caused him to do it. Still—he’d never been able to throw it away. Some part of Shouta, even then, even now, still clutched to the hero his ten-year-old self had idolized. 

As he sits there on the cluttered floor, Shouta can admit to himself that while his wide-eyed admiration for the hero had been excessive, so too had his disdain. One as illogical as the other.

Between the TV documentaries, his fellow heroes’ conversations, and the little-known facts he’d caught from Nezu and Midoriya, Shouta’s learned a lot about All Might in the last few weeks. Things he hadn’t bothered to learn before, comfortable with his decision to dislike the man. 

Yes, the man had hogged the media’s attention but… how much of that had been his choice? The media were blood-hounds, leeches. All Might was larger than life. How could he possibly stay under the radar? And since he couldn’t—didn’t it make sense to use it to advocate for what he believed in? Wasn’t it, in fact, a logical choice, to use every tool in his arsenal to be the best hero he could be…? 

All Might had had the respect of Nezu, whom Shouta trusts absolutely. He even threw his support behind the Underground Hero Alliance bill, even if it would gain him absolutely nothing… 

Perhaps all this time , Shouta reflects, smoothing down the battered, well-loved figurine in his hand, I wasn’t resenting him so much as the image of him the media built up.  

Unlike Endeavor, All Might was never listed among the richest men in Japan in spite of a Number-One salary and what had to be an insane amount of merch-related royalties. And Shouta, dumbly, had never wondered why. The media never shone a light on all his quiet work. They talked about the charities that gifted his toys to children of little means, but never mentioned that he gave just as much money to the rehousing of abused women, to outreach centers and shelters for addicts, homeless and marginalized people, or to quirkless support groups. And Shouta had fallen into the media trap—he had thought that, because he didn’t hear about any of those extra works, they didn’t exist. 

Shouta still believes that putting the nation’s safety on the shoulders of one man was wrong and dangerous. It created a dependence that they’re all reeling from. But now that the Symbol of Peace is gone… he can see the value of having had one in the first place. How many civilians had clung to hope on the darkest day of their lives, because they believed All Might or another hero would save them? How many villains’ actions had All Might deterred, just by being in the area…? How many times had All Might saved the day, by stepping in to assist heroes on the brink of being overwhelmed? How many more would have died, on all sides, without him?

All Might had debuted as a rescue hero, and he’d never stopped being one. Quite evidently, given the circumstances of his death (protecting a child to his dying breath), he’d never stopped .

Perhaps it’s time to let go , Shouta thinks. He’s disliked the hero for so long—but his ward (however temporary) loved him. His ward is All Might’s successor, holds All Might’s quirk. And All Might, powered down and suffering as he was, kept Midoriya company on the worst night of his life. 

It’s illogical to hold contempt for a dead man. Especially when most of my reasons were irrational in the first place.

Shouta doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to think of All Might with fondness. He met the man all of one time, in a collective setting, and Shouta doesn’t do fondness with that many people anyway. 

But he is surprised to find that he can—and does, in fact—respect him.

Shouta puts the figurine aside, and begins setting his old stuff to rights.

That evening, when Midoriya comes out of his room with misty eyes, clutching the figurine like a lifeline, and warbles an emotional ‘Aizawa-san…’, Shouta knows he made the right decision.

‘Lose the san, kid,’ he says, fondly . And as Midoriya gives about twenty stuttered thanks, Shouta spares a thank you of his own, in the privacy of his thoughts, for the hero who finally allowed his ward to smile.

*

‘Come on, kid,’ Aizawa says after their Saturday morning quirk training (74 out of 100). ‘We’re going on a field trip.’

‘Eh? Out of UA?’

Aside from the funeral, Izuku has only set foot out of UA once in three weeks, to go to the mall with Present Mic and Midnight (or rather, Yamada and Kayama in this instance, since they had gone incognito). They’d helped him pick up most of what he needed—notebooks and pens for school, toiletries, sheets, several sets of clothes, shoes (and that had been an awkward experience, as Izuku had had to lead them to the quirkless custom counter, which they confessed with not a little shame that they had no idea even existed). 

They’d ended up with about sixteen bags between themselves and three more promises of delivery and yet, they had said, this had only been the basics. At the end of the day, they’d even rewarded him with an exclusive poster of them both (to be officially released for sale in the fall), which he’d faithfully taped above his desk.

That had been it, and Izuku hadn’t expected another outing again, not for a long, long time. Not until he had some measure of control over his quirk, at least. Because the cuff is all well and good, but it lasts no more than five to eight hours before it has to be recharged, and Aizawa has made it clear he doesn’t really do people. Students, yes (and Izuku hasn’t been blind to the bows of respect his guardian has been receiving from UA students); he also seems to have a tolerance for colleagues and co-workers, and Izuku imagines that as a hero he does interact well with victims. 

But aside from Yamada and Kayama whom he is on first-name basis with, he doesn’t seem to have close friends, and he looks to appreciate napping with his cat on his days off more than anything else. 

Not that there’s anything wrong with that. At the very least, it means that Izuku isn’t disrupting the man’s social life. Well, he hopes so. It’s quite obvious that Izuku is disrupting the other aspects of Aizawa’s life, the man devoting more than half of his schedule to Izuku’s instructions, not to mention the groceries and house chores and… No, all in all, I really am disrupting his life, so why would he sacrifice a rest day just to take me out? 

‘Midoriya. I didn’t catch that, can you speak up?’

Izuku squeaks and turns crimson. Cut down the fucking mutters, Deku! Kacchan yells at him in his mind, and Izuku apologizes reflexively. 

‘No need, I just didn’t hear what you said.’

‘Erm…’ Izuku hesitates. Things have been okay with Aizawa—really, the man even took the trouble of gifting him a figurine that had once belonged to him . Perhaps I shouldn’t say anything. It’s probably best not to question his choice to take me out, right? 

But on the other hand, what if he’s only doing this because he feels obligated to? Shouldn’t I tell him I’m perfectly okay if he wants to stay home with Squares? 

‘Stop twisting your hands.’ Izuku jumps as the hero’s hands close gently on his own. ‘You’re in your head today. That’s okay, but I can’t read minds, Midoriya, remember?’

The man bends in an effort to meet Izuku’s gaze. Izuku looks at him and then away. That decides it. ‘Wouldn’t you prefer to rest at the flat,’ he says, ‘with Squares?’

‘Squares can fend for himself for a few hours. And I can nap anytime.’ The man shifts his capture weapon, revealing a half-smile. ‘I just thought I’d take you somewhere today. It’s safe, if that’s your concern. Nezu’s aware of our itinerary and I’ll have the local heroes on speed dial.’

‘Oh, n-no, I don’t… I’m not worried. I know you’re c-competent, Aizawa-san. I just…’

The man waits patiently. 

‘Y-You really want to?’

‘Yes.’ A sharp eyebrow rises, but Izuku doesn’t know the man well enough to tell if his next words are serious or sardonic. ‘Nobody asked me, nobody coerced me. This is my own will.’

‘Okay.’ Izuku nods, and suddenly, the situation hits—a field trip! Just for him! His guardian is so kind, it pulls a smile out of Izuku. ‘Where are we going?’

The man turns on his heels and starts walking out, though Izuku notes he’s mindful to keep apace with his half-limping gait. ‘Hizashi said I should keep it a surprise. I find it illogical, since you’ll have no frame of reference if we’re to be separated. Not that it should happen, but forewarned is forearmed. So you pick, kid. You want to know now?’

‘H-How about you tell me at the t-train station, Aizawa-san? This way I still get some surprise, but I also can’t really get lost?’

The man’s dark eyes shine appreciatively as they slide to Izuku, his head dipping once to acknowledge the compromise. And then—off his gaze goes, snapping to every corner and to the sky above, watchful for threats, even as Aizawa’s hands-in-pocket slumping walk betrays none of his alertness. A real underground hero. He could have walked past me a hundred times on the streets and I wouldn’t have been able to tell.  

Aizawa doesn’t say anything until they’re on the train and then, ‘Can you figure it out?’

Izuku’s eyes widen. While he remembers how much Aizawa’s paid, he’s only gotten a quick glance at the fare map. He looks at the list of announced stops, frowns, turns things over in his mind, and before he knows it, he’s off in his own world. ‘Erm, it’s either the Meiji Shrine, Tanoshimu Plaza, Shinohara station since I think that’s where the local HPSC administrative office is, the Arboretum or the Museum of Pre-quirk arts and crafts. The HPSC’s bound to be closed on the week-end… The museum is open but Mid—Kayama-san said she’d take me… Tanoshimu is probably full of people given they’ve unveiled the new All Might tribute statue so that’s too much risk… I think…’ 

He looks at his guardian who’s waiting patiently, one hand on the train’s top handlebar and the other in his pocket. Izuku sees he’s snagged a band of his capture weapon (which to outer eyes probably looks like a really long scarf), and once again his gaze only seldom meets Izuku’s, alighting on his face before watching the exits. He looks like he’s not really listening, but Izuku knows better. If I’ve learned one thing, it’s that Aizawa has the ears of a cat.

‘The Meiji shrine or the Arboretum?’

‘Good job.’ Izuku fights not to glow at the praise, but the battle is lost before it has begun. ‘The latter. I thought—well. Wasn’t sure how you’d feel about shrines, to be honest. Whereas…’ A shrug, and the hero’s mouth disappears behind his capture weapon. ‘You seem to like trees.’

Izuku blinks once, and then starts blinking furiously as tears suddenly well up.

‘Thank you,’ he croaks. 

Izuku looks up at the next flash of the Arboretum’s name in the station line-up. Almost there. 

I can’t wait. 

*

They hit their first snag at the ticket office. The lady behind the counter squints at them from behind turtle-shell glasses. She gives Midoriya a smile and Shouta a glance full of approval. 

‘It’s rare to see a father and son coming here together. How nice.’

Midoriya jolts , his hands rising to wave frantically. ‘No, no, no, no!’ the boy scrambles to clarify. ‘You’ve got this wrong, madam! He isn’t—I mean he’s too—I’m too—’ 

Shouta shoves his hands deeper in his pockets. It’s not like he cares one way or another, but does the kid have to protest that hard? If Shouta were a lesser person, he’d feel insulted. 

‘—that’s not my father!’ Midoriya finally manages to blurt out. 

The ticket office lady’s eyebrows rise high enough to meet her hairline, and Shouta sees the suspicion growing in the next glance she gives him. 

Fighting the urge to face-palm, he gives a deep sigh. ‘I’m his caretaker,’ he improvises, giving a nod to the cane Midoriya’s left leaning against the counter. ‘We’re here for exercise.’ That should be enough to make her think I’m his physiotherapist or something. ‘Thank you for the tickets.’

Shouta swipes the tickets and a map, and stalks away. Midoriya is giving him concerned glances, his cheeks red with lingering embarrassment. When they are out of hearing range, he turns to the kid. ‘Midoriya—’

‘—Sorry,’ the kid blurts out, realizes he’s interrupted, and bows in deeper apology. ‘I, that must have been embarrassing for you…’

Shouta remembers what Nezu had said about Midoriya’s actual father. (‘ He indicated a lack of interest and has relinquished care to the Japanese government. He—did not even want to speak to his son. ’) Shouta can only speculate, but it’s likely the bastard had made Midoriya feel like an embarrassment, when he’d bothered to keep in touch. 

He banks his annoyance.

‘There are worse things to be mistaken for than your father,’ Shouta says. Midoriya’s expression turns stunned. Shouta adds, ‘Like being mistaken for a middle-aged lecher lusting after a fourteen-year-old.’

Midoriya turns beet red once again. ‘Ohmygod. A-A-Aizawa-san, I’m so sorry,’ he whispers with all the mortification of a teenager forced to publicly acknowledge that sex exists. ‘I really didn’t—maybe I should go explain—’

‘Midoriya. It’s fine.’ Shouta makes it a point to take quick steps on one of the pathways so that the kid has to follow. ‘Next time, let them make their own assumptions and don’t correct them, unless they suspect you of wrongdoing.’ The kid nods frantically. ‘As a hero, even if you’re in the limelight, there are times you’ll need to play a part, Midoriya. One of the key tricks to a successful deception is to play into people’s assumptions.’

‘I-Is that why your costume is so pared down?’ Shouta congratulates himself on successfully moving them past the embarrassing moment. Midoriya Engagement Rule number one: in doubt, talk about heroics. 

‘Mmh. Most people who look at me see a down-on-his-luck man who just wants to be left alone—sometimes even a hobbo if I’ve been out all night. It serves its purpose. They rarely look beyond. Allows me to operate under the radar.’

‘That’s smart…’ 

Shouta smiles amusedly. For a moment, they simply walk under the thick canopies of the age-old trees. The day is hot and humid, and Shouta is sure they will get an insane amount of tropical rain in the afternoon; but for now he is content to bask in the shade where it’s cooler.

There are enough trees that he feels almost in the middle of the woods, and though the threat points are multifold (in between the trees, above the canopy, tunneling through the soil), their own cover is much better than in a cityscape, and unless they number in the hundreds, no villain would be able to block all the escape routes here.

‘I just…’ Midoriya is looking up through the foliage, green eyes tracking the green-hued patches of dappled light dancing with the shadows in the wind. His face seems more open when he’s looking at trees, Shouta notices, not for the first time. ‘It happened once before, one of my senseis got mistaken for my dad and uh… he got angry. To be associated with a quirkless kid.’

Shouta decides it’s probably best he never learns this teacher’s name, given he wouldn’t mind punching the scumbag in the face. 

‘I see your point about assumptions,’ Midoriya continues, and since he looks more thoughtful than nervous, Shouta lets it go. ‘But… people have made a lot of assumptions about me before. And I, uh… I didn’t like it. They weren’t true.’

Shouta nods. ‘People will think what they will. ’Course, you can try to argue with them or try to prove them wrong, or control the narrative—that’s what Hizashi and Midnight do as public heroes, or what Nezu does regarding UA in the media. But that takes a lot of energy, kid, and there’s no telling you’ll be successful. Might as well learn not to care.’

By the look on his face, the very concept is mind-boggling to Midoriya. ‘B-But… people’s assumptions about you dictate so much about how they treat you. A-And what about general education? If you don’t challenge what people think because of their ignorance or bias, how are they supposed to know any better?’

Shouta can’t help glancing at the kid. Those are arguments to a debate he’s had before with his classmates at UA, or with his colleagues and Nezu. He wouldn’t have expected such a level of insight from a fourteen years old. One more way in which growing up quirkless made him mature early. Shouta thinks Midoriya worries a bit too much about what other people think, but he does make good points.

‘I’m not all-knowing, kid. Just telling you what works for me. The others at UA will probably have a different take on it. Each hero chooses their own approach, in the end.’

‘Right,’ Midoriya murmurs. ‘I’d never considered that. Yoroi Musha is very dedicated to the truth and he would never let any mistaken assumption about him stand, like two years ago when there was even a slight suspicion of embezzlement, he made all of his transaction details of the last ten years public… But underground heroes have to be more discreet due to nature of their work, which is why people talk about gray heroics, and when you think about it, which is more honorable in the end…? If a lie allows you to save people…’

Shouta snorts softly. And the kid bounces back.

He shoves his hands in his pocket and though he maintains his usual vigilance, he slowly strolls under the shadows of the trees’ canopy, content to listen to his ward. 

*

At the heart of the arboretum is a grove of the oldest trees in Musutafu. There, the cedar trees shed bark like snakes shed skin. The smell of ferns is pervasive.

Izuku reaches out, brushing against the bark of the oldest tree of the grove. It’s massive, as tall as a skyscraper and so much more graceful. Its bark is peeling, too. The plaque on it says, Ancient tree. Tokugawa era.

There were no quirks back when it sprouted, Izuku realizes. There wouldn’t be quirks for hundreds of years yet. 

It doesn’t do to idolize the past. There would have been warfare and disease and a thousand ways to die that no longer exist nowadays. Living then would have been incredible hard, probably much more than today. And Izuku wouldn’t have been discriminated against for being quirkless, but he’d likely have been shunned for being raised by a single mother. Or having green hair, now that he thinks about it.

But still, the thought of this tree standing there for hundreds of years, while humans were born and buried in its shade… there’s something humbling to it.

‘Have you always liked trees, kid?’

‘Not really,’ Izuku says. ‘It’s not like I know much about them. I just… I don’t know. It feels safe outside.’

Izuku feels the heaviness of the hero’s gaze on him. He wishes he had more to say, but he doesn’t have the words. He can’t articulate what it is that helps him in this half-world of light and shadows. All he knows is that he breathes easier here.

‘What do you like about trees, Aizawa-san?’

‘…I can’t say I like them particularly.’ The hero’s gaze is lost in the branches. ‘But I like heights, so if anything—I’d be happier up there.’ He nods upwards.

‘You like heights?’

‘Yeah.’ A shrug. Aizawa’s gaze roams. ‘Sometimes, when a patrol’s been quiet, I sit on the roof of a skyscraper and just look over the city.’

‘That sounds nice. You’re not afraid you’ll fall?’

That pulls an amused smile out of the hero. ‘I got my capture weapon,’ he says. ‘And years of parkour under my belt.’

Right. Izuku shakes his head. So cool…!

‘Could you show me some, one day, Aizawa-san?’

‘What, parkour? That’ll be part of your training eventually.’

‘I mean…’ Izuku shuffles his feet, suddenly self-conscious. ‘It’s just, I’ve never actually seen you in a fight? There were a few videos on the internet but they’re super grainy and your take-downs were too efficient, they didn’t last more than half a minute at most.’ The hero is staring at him, the lower half of his face hidden by his capture weapon. ‘Err, I don’t mean to overstep—’

‘You’re always free to ask, Midoriya. I was just thinking of a way to make this instructional for you. I’ll have to run it past Nezu, but given you’re a ward of UA, we could allow you to watch a training exercise between the two UA security teams.’

‘Really?!’

‘Mmh. It’s a security risk so we generally don’t allow students to know the details on how UA defends itself, but Nezu’s been working on arranging a memory cache for you, so we might as well let you watch a session and chuck your memory behind it.’

‘S-Sorry, Nezu-san is arranging what?’

‘A memory cache.’ 

Aizawa leans against one of the massive tree trunks, and Izuku finds himself mirroring him, letting his cane rest to the side for the moment. 

‘It’s a process for heroes—particularly those dealing with intelligence or involved in national security—to hide certain knowledge behind a wall of sorts, that is resistant to mental intrusions. It doesn’t shield the hero from, say, being possessed or having their immediate thoughts read, but it encrypts the secrets. However, the people qualified to apply mental caches—and who have ethics strong enough not to abuse their ability—are pretty rare. Nezu tends to pull strings and have them come from abroad rather than from the HPSC, this way he doesn’t have to declare why he’s mandating a cacher.’

Izuku gapes.

The hero gives an unsettling grin. ‘Surely, Midoriya, you didn’t think heroes were allowed to just walk about with secrets in their heads that could put hundreds of lives at risk, when there’s people with mental quirks who can pluck them right out of their heads running around?’

‘I never… I never thought about it.’ 

‘Heh. Good to know you still have a few things to learn.’ 

Aizawa’s grin changes slightly, turning less amused and more… soft, somehow. A bubbly kind of happiness wells inside Izuku and he finds himself grinning back. Today has been—today has been great . 

But the light around them has dimmed and there is definite pressure in the air that promises a storm. Aizawa glances at the sky through the canopy of the trees. ‘Let’s go, kid, or we’ll get caught in the downpour.’

They’re nearly on the way out when Aizawa suddenly shoots an arm in front of Izuku, nudging him to stay behind. His other hand fishes his goggles out of his pocket. 

‘Aiz—Eraserhead?’

‘Stay low.’ His goggles on, he reaches toward his ear-piece, hovering just above the button, ready to send a message out, to UA or the HeroNet, or whatever the protocol demands. ‘We got two incoming.’

‘V-Villains?’

‘Not villains. Potential hostiles.’

Izuku crouches and peeks around his guardian’s flank. His eyes widen.

On the path in front of them is a man in a suit, one hand wrapped around the handle of a briefcase, another raised up in the international gesture of peace. A young adult in hip clothes follows sedately a step behind, looking bored to tears, but his colored visor and the bright crimson of his wings is unmistakable. This is Hawks—Hawks, who is usually based in Fukuoka .  

What is the Number Two hero doing here? Who’s the man with him… ? 

An uncomfortable feeling creeps up Izuku’s neck, and his insides twist as he realizes his guardian isn’t dropping his combat-ready stance.

… and why did Aizawa-san call them potential hostiles?

*

Shouta watches the two approach, making sure to keep both in his field of vision. If I lose sight of Hawks even for a second… The Winged Hero’s speed is legendary.

‘Stay there,’ he calls when they stand three meters away. Thankfully, they comply. Despite their apparent pacifism, Shouta curses his luck. They’re in the open, which means Hawks’ range of movement is unlimited. If we need to run—we need to aim for the trees.

Hawks’ thumbs are hooked in his pockets and he isn’t even looking their way, projecting a casual air, but his lower feathers are twitching. Shouta’s never met the hero before, but he makes it a point to know how other heroes work, in case he’s brought to cooperate with them. Those feathers are the real threat.

What about that man? No sign of a mutation. Mental quirk? Could be anything…

‘What do you want?’

‘Charming welcome, Eraserhead,’ the Suit says.

Shouta doesn’t grace that with a response. He simply tightens his grip on the capture weapon. With his senses on high alert, he can hear the stutter of his ward’s breath behind him. He makes a quick check—no sign of anyone invisible, it’s really just the four of them—and reminds himself what the best escape routes had been on that map. 

The Suit tries again. ‘It’s come to our attention that Midoriya Izuku has recently manifested a Class-S quirk. As such, per HPSC regulation, he must be conscripted to public service—like teleporters are.’ 

‘That’s bullshit,’ Shouta spits. ‘My quirk is S-Class and I've never been conscripted.’

The Suit nods with faux amability. ‘Yes, this is quite unfortunate. You could not be conscripted because you’ve always been a UA affiliate. But Midoriya here isn’t.’

‘He’s my ward,’ Shouta growls. 

‘And that isn’t a UA affiliation.’

What’s that about UA…? Shouta frowns in confusion. There definitely had been some years where he wasn’t a UA affiliate, and yet the HPSC had never approached him. What the fuck is going on?

‘As such, I must ask that Midoriya Izuku comes with us.’

The Suit takes a step forward, and Shouta activates his quirk and gives his earpiece a single tap. ‘Stay back.’

Unperturbed, the Suit leans to the side, trying to make eye contact with Midoriya. Shouta shifts to prevent it, even as his mind races.  

Buy time, he thinks. ‘What do you want with him?’

‘To train him, of course. Working for the HPSC opens up a lot of doors, Midoriya-kun.’

‘Don’t talk to him,’ Shouta says harshly.

‘Now, Eraserhead, don’t be unreasonable. A little talk has never hurt anyone.’

Unless you’re speaking with someone with a control quirk. 

‘Kid…’ Shouta mutters under his breath (a red feather twitches in Hawks’ left wing). He’s not sure what to say. Midoriya isn’t wearing his leg brace and even then, he would have no chance of outrunning a flying hero. And this is the HPSC, which means Shouta can’t call the local heroes for backup.

Can I take on Hawks…? He starts sliding the bands of his capture weapon in between his fingers. Fuck if I don’t try. 

The Suit sighs. ‘Kindly note that any resistance will be classified as public disorder.’

‘Eraserhead,’ comes a whisper from behind Shouta. 

‘No,’ he says to both. ‘I’m not letting you take him. I’m his guardian—’

‘Of course, and we wouldn’t seek to break that bond,’ the Suit positively purrs. Shouta hates him with a passion. ‘You could always give up your UA affiliation and come along with him. Your quirk is very valuable, Aizawa-san.’

Shouta’s eyes are stinging like an acid burn. He’s going to have to blink soon. And then…

Hawks unhooks his thumbs from his pockets, giving a put-upon sigh like it’s a done deal. Shouta narrows his eyes. You’ve got another thing coming, you little shit.

Just then—in the moment before it all goes to hell—

Shouta’s phone rings.

Chapter Text

It takes all of Shouta’s training not to blink, even though he feels instant relief at the sound. 

Shouta is an underground hero. His phone never rings. Not unless the caller is a whizz with electronics who is easily capable of remotely reconfiguring Shouta’s phone.

Someone much like—

‘Aizawa-kun,’ says Nezu from his pocket, loud enough to be heard despite the slight muffling. ‘Would you be obliging enough to point your phone in the general vicinity of Hinagawa-san and Takami-san?’ 

Hawks chokes on thin air, taken with a sudden coughing fit. The Suit’s face morphs from faux amability to frank annoyance. 

Shouta grins, and whips out his phone. His other hand stays coiled in his capture weapon, and he’s taken advantage of the distraction to blink, reactivating his quirk in the same breath. 

‘Hinagawa-san. How delightful of the HPSC to make a move such as this when I am currently engaged in saving lives. Why, I have half a mind not to inform you the next time I assist in coordinating a raid, if this is how you act when I do.’ 

The sound of rapid typing comes through. Even as he is dealing with this, Nezu is still coordinating the raid. In the next moment, his cheerfulness laps, his tone brooking no objection. 

‘Let me brief and let me be clear. Midoriya Izuku is an affiliate of UA.’

The Suit throws the principal a baleful look which Shouta returns in kind. ‘He isn’t a student of yours, Nezu-san.’

‘He is. It was on page 54 of the package you received. Midoriya was officially made a ward of UA under the Junior engagement program.’ Claws fly over keyboard keys. ‘This was signed by his legal guardian Aizawa Shouta on the first day of guardianship.’

I should have paid more attention to those papers. 

‘My records show no such thing.’ The Suit doesn’t sound quite so self-assured, Shouta notes vindinctively.

Some typing, and a quick note rings to alert that they’ve been put on hold. Hawks’ wings ruffle, but under Shouta’s quirk, the feathers no longer operate individually. The young man has dropped the bored act, his golden eyes fixed on the phone with all the intensity of a raptor’s stare. 

Ten tense seconds later, the note rings again, and Nezu’s voice comes through. Despite the obvious juggling he’s engaged in, he doesn’t sound fazed in the slightest. 

‘Your records will show that I sent a notarized paper copy of these documents to your office at the same time as the digital one. And should there be any discrepancy between them, the paper version holds in front of the courts. After all, digital documents are so easily amended .’

Shouta hears Midoriya shifting to a stand behind him. He doesn’t spare his ward a glance, but he feels a small tap on his shoulder. He isn’t sure who the reassurance is meant for, but he appreciates it all the same. 

‘I believe this concludes our business, mmh, Hinagawa-san? Please let the President know I’ll be in touch soon.’

Nezu falls silent (possibly mutes himself), though the line stays on. 

Hawks sends a sidelong glance to the Suit. The man stands there, obviously livid judging by the way his knuckles have turned white on the briefcase he holds. A wave of his arm, and without so much as a by-your-leave, Hawks picks him up around the torso, and swoops away.

Shouta doesn’t deactivate his quirk until he fails to find a single flash of red in his field of vision. Then he looks behind him. Midoriya gives him a tired smile. 

I’m okay, he signs, thank you.  

Shouta blinks. Looks like Hizashi’s taught him a few things. 

Good, he signs back as the phone line crackles back to life. 

‘Please do come back post-haste. Aizawa-kun, I’m sending a car but don’t wait for it…’ The keyboard sounds a staccato. ‘…it’ll find you on the way. In the meantime, stick to crowded areas.’ More typing, and then a strained. ‘This may have been resolved but let’s not tempt the devil.’ 

The call cuts. 

I need a fucking coffee. 

Shouta collects his ward, checking him over. ‘Your leg okay?’

‘It won’t f-fall off.’

Shouta snorts at the unexpected joke then gives his ward a nudge. ‘Let’s go, kid. Nezu’s right, this isn’t over until we’re at UA.’

‘Right. Don’t tempt the devil.’

They start off toward the nearest exit, as fast as the kid’s limping gait allows. 

‘Although,’ Shouta adds, with a quick, complicit glance at Midoriya. ‘If anyone was going to try tempting anyone, Nezu would absolutely win the devil over.’

*

The way back is spent in silence. Even once they get to the car, Aizawa keeps vigilant, twisted in his seat to watch the sky in between the skyscrapers, trusting the robot driver to steer the car as he watches for aggressors (or Hawks). One of his hands is held against the door handle, ready to pull, while his other arm is thrown over Izuku’s headrest. If Izuku’s reading his stance right, the hero is ready to take him and jump out of the car, if necessary.

Izuku doesn’t have the ability or skills for such high-alert vigilance, but he keeps an eye out on the road (just in case). Still, he can’t help but wonder at the depth of his guardian’s reaction to the encounter with the HPSC. 

Aizawa only relaxes once the car pulls inside the high walls of UA. Tension bleeds from his shoulders as he rolls them with a sigh. The hero looks tired, and Izuku feels inexplicably guilty. 

He clambers out of the car behind his guardian, leaning on his cane for balance as Aizawa closes the door.

‘You okay, kid?’

Izuku blinks, surprised at the sudden break in the silence. ‘I—yes, fine.’

Aizawa’s eyes search his, though Izuku is hard-pressed to say what. His tone is probing when he says, ‘It's not every day you almost get kidnapped.’

‘It wasn't kidnapping,’ Izuku feels obliged to point out. ‘It was conscription.’

The hero snorts like he thinks Izuku made a joke, and Izuku can't help but get a little offended on behalf of the HPSC. He has thoughts about conscription, though it looks like they don’t align with Aizawa’s. 

Izuku swallows and roots his eyes to the ground as the car drives away. Should he say anything? Aizawa’s pretty tolerant of him voicing his opinion but they've never actually disagreed on anything before. 

Yet curiosity is an itch on his skin that Izuku longs to scratch. Potential hostiles, Aizawa had said. Nezu had taken a call in the middle of a raid to sort this out. Why?

‘You still with me, kid?’ Aizawa asks softly, and Izuku realizes he's stood silent for too long. 

‘Y-Yeah. Sorry.’

The hero scans his face carefully. Izuku’s fingers tighten on his cane.

A beat, and Aizawa is mercifully turning away, leading them up the steps to the main building. A few upperclassmen weave past, only paying them attention long enough to greet Aizawa, and Izuku is grateful that it’s Saturday afternoon, where student presence isn’t as strong.

Aizawa waits until the students are out of earshots and asks, off-handedly, ‘…did you want to go with them? The HPSC?’

Izuku jerks, eyes flashing to his guardian’s too-neutral face. ‘No!’ 

He overextends on the next step and stumbles. A hand wraps around his elbow to stabilize him, but Izuku pulls away to look Aizawa square in the face.

‘UA’s great . You and Nezu-san a-and all the other staff members… you've been so good to me, and, I mean, I doubt the HPSC has someone with a quirk like you s-so… This is the b-best place to learn how to use One for All. And—’ Izuku’s face reddens and there's no way he can say that when his guardian is looking , so he fixes his gaze on Gym Alpha far to the right. ‘—I liked today, Aizawa-san. It was… It was a good day.’ 

Have a good day, Mum whispers in his mind, and even though his heart stutters, Izuku faces it without breaking.

‘...Glad to hear.’

Izuku chances a glance at his guardian, whose face has relaxed, chin tipping toward his capture scarf. Noticing they’re both standing stationary in the middle of the stairway, Izuku leans on his cane and hops to the next step. Aizawa matches his pace, his hands in his pockets.

It takes the next fourteen steps for Izuku to gather his courage and, just as they’re clearing the landing, to ask the question burning on his lips. ‘Aizawa-san… W-Why did you call it kidnapping?’

‘Because it was . They were trying to take you from your legal guardian. And look how they went about it. One admin guy and a massively overpowered hero, trying to pressure you into coming with them? Going as far as using your concern for my safety to blackmail you?’ The hero breathes out harshly through his nose, and Izuku is startled to realize Aizawa is angry. ‘This was an ambush, Midoriya. If what they were doing was completely legal, we'd have gotten a letter about it. Nezu would have been informed. They wouldn't have waited until we'd stepped out of UA to corner us.’

Izuku mulls it over as he follows behind Aizawa through the corridors. ‘But why kidnap me? I’m just… It’s just me. I guess I have a powerful quirk now, so the conscription kind of makes sense but—’

‘—it doesn’t. I've never heard of this Class-S quirk conscription bulls— crock .’ Aizawa sighs. Gone is the soft look from before; he looks tired all over again. ‘I don’t know why they’d want to kidnap you. Didn’t want ’em to stick around long enough to find out.’ The hero runs a band of capture weapon through his hands. ‘But we’re not gonna let anyone take you away, you got that, Midoriya?’

Aizawa’s dark eyes spear Izuku with the intensity of his promise, and Izuku just nods a few times, incapable of speaking past the sudden lump in his throat. 

He tucks himself behind Aizawa as a few students walk past, his mind churning on the hero’s words.

He’s not just saying that. He means it.

Could it be Aizawa actually cares ?

That he got angry at the HPSC not because they were doing something illegal, or trying to take someone away that was UA’s to keep safe, but because it was Izuku who was threatened?

You’re so effin’ stupid, Deku, Kacchan hisses in his mind. He’s a fucking hero, of course he’s not gonna let a teen get taken away. Doesn’t mean he gives a shit about you .

But… He didn’t have to take me to the Arboretum.

The Kacchan in his mind doesn’t answer. So Izuku is left alone to entertain the thought that, perhaps, the hero he’s hobbling behind actually does, maybe… “give a shit.”

The thought is mind-boggling, and Izuku startles when they stop in front of the faculty break room.

‘I got confirmation Nezu's raid’s still ongoing,’ Aizawa says, and Izuku kind of wishes he were a fly on that wall, because watching Nezu doing hero work would be so cool! ‘Let’s take a break first.’

‘Oh, uh. I-In here?’ That's the faculty’s break room, isn't it? Izuku had failed to pay attention to the corridors they walked through, but he knows this door well. He's been here more than once, just… Never for long. 

‘Yeah. You're with me, you're fine. Come on.’

Aizawa pushes open the door.

While Izuku hovers over the threshold, the hero crosses the room and plonks face-first on the couch. 

‘Tough luck, Eraser,’ Snipe comments without looking up from dismantling and cleaning his gun. (All bullets have been removed, the empty magazine lies on the other side of the table, and the muzzle is pointed carefully away from where anyone is standing or could be standing in adjacent rooms. Gun safety is no joke, as Snipe has told Izuku virtually every single time they have met.)

Thirteen giggles quietly, the sound half-masked by their spacesuit’s helmet. They seem to take pity on Aizawa. ‘Coffee, senpai?’

‘Hrmmnh.’ 

Unfazed, Thirteen stands up and heads to the coffee machine, going straight for the mug with cat ears. 

Present Mic looks up from the English copies he’s correcting. ‘Lil’ listener not with you?’ Then his eyes find Izuku in the doorway, and he smiles his soft smile—the one that doesn’t scream YEAAAHHH!!! like Present Mic’s grin, but that seems to say, The world is just a little brighter for us having met today . ‘Oh, there you are. Well, come in!’

Izuku takes a hesitant step forward, and all but freezes. 

Aizawa pushes on an elbow and props himself up, twisting to look back at him. ‘You good, kid?’

And yeah, Izuku is okay, except that there’s now eleven pairs of eyes on him, because he hadn’t realized the room went quite that deep or that Hound Dog, Vlad King, Ectoplasm and Midnight were there also, engaged in conversation with a few general and business studies teachers whose names Izuku has completely forgotten—

‘Uh, yeah,’ he hears himself say in a much higher pitch than usual. ‘Fine.’

And it is fine, really, it is, except he’s never quite had that much adult attention in his life, and whenever he came close, it never ended well —

‘Eyes off the kid, everyone,’ Hound Dog growls. ‘Get back to it.’

With the efficiency Izuku is starting to realize is characteristic to heroes, everyone complies, and though it’s a pretense (though everyone, he thinks, is still aware of him, in anticipation of an adverse reaction), he does feel better for not having so many eyes on him. 

Hound Dog steps closer, his muzzle dimming his growl. ‘That better, Midoriya?’

Izuku nods, wishing he could disappear thirty feet underground.

Aizawa’s rolled off the couch, but even he is looking down at the coffee table, his hands hanging limply at his side. He’s letting Hound Dog take point. Izuku hasn't missed that Aizawa’s eyes are red-rimmed from quirk overuse. From the tense frown, there’s no doubt he has a killer headache, maybe muscle pain. He… really deserves a nap.

Heat gathers in Izuku’s cheeks. All his guardian had wanted was to relax after a stressful encounter, and here he is having to deal with Izuku’s bullshit. 

The sound of fingers snapping draws Izuku’s gaze to Yamada, who signs every word he says. ‘Right, we had that thing, didn't we, lil’ listener. Said I’d get you hooked up with some good music, didn’t I?’

Present Mic hadn't put a timeline on that offer, and Izuku is well aware that the hero is in the middle of grading… And yet, he’s way too grateful for a way out to say no.

He nods with faked enthusiasm. His eyes dart quickly to Hound Dog and Aizawa, looking for signs of recriminations; he finds none. Instead, Aizawa signs something Izuku’s seen Present Mic use often: Enjoy.

Hesitantly, as Yamada goes around his desk and grabs a spare pair of headphones, Izuku signs back. You too.

Aizawa signs something else which Izuku doesn't get, and Present Mic’s hands answer in a quick flurry that flies over his head. With some hesitation, Aizawa accepts the coffee mug from Thirteen and settles back on the couch. 

Chattering about the music pieces they're going to listen to, Yamada casually slips an arm around Izuku's shoulders to steer him out of the room. 

His touch is light and casual (easily shrugged off), but it's also half of a hug , and suddenly Izuku is fighting a fresh wash of tears. Because his guardian does care, and so does Yamada, and Hound Dog and the rest of the staff in that room. Izuku didn't lie to Aizawa earlier. UA is great, everyone has been kind and… 

(...and one day Izuku is going to let them all down but until then…)

…he has to make them proud . 

*

It's not until Shouta’s second cup of coffee that Nezu sends a quick ping to the security teams (read: all his hero staff) that his raid is done.

Shouta doesn't hurry, figuring Nezu has earned some time to unwind. When he's halfway through his cup, he drains it, gets up, nods to his colleagues and makes his way to the principal’s office. 

A cheerful ‘come in’ answers his knock. Anyone else might take that to mean that Nezu's raid was a tremendous success, but this isn't a given. Shouta’s known the creature’s mood for years. His unflappable cheer is as much a cover as All Might's smile ever was, to send a message to people’s unconscious that everything is going to be alright , even when, in fact, everything has gone to shit.

The office is tainted indigo. Through the window, sunset is fading purple like an old bruise. 

Nezu greets him with a smile, teacups and saucers at the ready, and the kettle comes to a boil just as Shouta sits. It's a relief to see his boss slowly regaining his usual demeanor. It had made his skin crawl with powerlessness, when Nezu had been bowed down by grief. 

‘How are you, Aizawa-kun?’

How about “dead on my feet”? Despite his best efforts, Shouta hadn't been able to catch a nap in the break room. His mind kept going back to Midoriya and the HPSC's puzzling allusions. 

‘...Fine,’ he finally settles on. Nezu can read his body language and decide if it's a lie. ‘How’d the raid go?’

‘No casualties.’ Nezu pours tea in the cups, his whiskers twitching with satisfaction. ‘We found enough evidence to put thirty-eight people on trial and I've identified one of them as susceptible to broker a deal. We should be able to get the last of the network arrested over the next two days.’

To counter the dimming light from outside, the indoor lights have slowly sprung to life around the office, granting the rodent’s fur a pristine sheen. 

His teeth glint sharp around his smile as he says, ‘I've also talked to the President of the Hero Commission.’

‘And?’  

‘She assured me that Hinagawa’s attempt had been “unauthorized, unsanctioned and ill-thought,” and that she would take care of it.’

‘Is that true?’ Shouta accepts his cup with a nod.

‘I do believe she was telling the truth in this instance, yes.’ Claws clink smugly against porcelain. ‘That did not prevent me from wrangling some additional concessions out of her, as compensation.’

‘Good.’

‘Mmh. And how is Midoriya-kun?’

A sliver of concern slices through Shouta’s exhaustion. ‘The kid shrugs off a kidnapping attempt but freezes up when faced with too many teachers .’

‘That is… problematic indeed. Not surprising, considering his profile and the content of his school file—you've finally read it, I take it?’

‘Finished it last week. I've been reading up on quirkless rights and discrimination issues since.’

‘Testimonies?’

‘Some, yeah. Mostly of school days.’

‘You're trying to get a better picture of what Midoriya's experience was like, before UA.’

‘Hrm,’ Shouta confirms. ‘But it's not just that.’

‘No?’

Shouta sighs, running a hand through his hair. He hadn't expected to talk causes with Nezu right now, and yet somehow here he is. ‘...we've never had a quirkless applicant to the hero course before. Even though the exam was open to them several years ago.’

‘That's not quite true. We've never had a successful application that led to effective schooling at UA.’

Shouta blinks. ‘You knew the screening software would rule them out?’

‘Of course. I designed that software, Aizawa-kun.’ Nezu seems genuinely amused. ‘Which is why I made sure to personally test and interview every single quirkless applicant we have ever had. Along with Hound Dog, Vlad King and Recovery Girl, for fairness’ sake.’

‘But…’ Shouta crosses his arms, slumping back in his chair. ‘ None of them made it?’

‘After the physical exam, most realized the extraordinary efforts becoming a quirkless hero would entail, and ended up asking for a transfer to a different branch ahead of their first year. They got into the general, business and support courses. A few didn't make the cut—this is still the best high school in the country, after all. But two did get accepted into the hero course, three years ago and last year, respectively.’

‘What happened?’

‘The first one got a counteroffer by another school in the U.S and decided to go for it. I believe they should debut soon—but not on the Japanese scene unfortunately.’

‘And the second?’

Nezu's tail whips against his seat. ‘Murdered,’ he says shortly, ‘by quirkist activists who caught wind of her achievement.’ 

Shouta’s heart gives a twist. In another life, that could have been Midoriya . No wonder his mom wasn't supportive of him becoming a hero. She must have been much more plugged in to quirkless discrimination than Shouta is, much more aware of the very real risks her son would have faced, on top of the dangers inherent to the hero profession.

What a cruel choice to have to make, between your child's safety and their happiness…

‘...That's why you've been keeping it all on the down-low.’ If Shouta himself hadn't been informed of these measures, then that meant Nezu had been operating with a high degree of discretion—need-to-know only.

‘Exactly.’

Shouta sighs and drains his cup of tea, sparing a second of gratitude for his boss’ insane memory and tea obsession—the tea is black tea and it's from Hokkaido. 

The two of them lapse into a brief silence, during which Nezu brews a second pot and pours them both another cup, and Shouta mulls on how to ask what he came here to ask.

‘That man in the suit,’ he finally says, ‘Hinagawa. He said Class-S quirks are subject to mandatory conscription.’

Nezu sips from his cup. ‘They are.’

‘Is that a new rule?’

‘No. It's been around since—well, I believe since they established the quirk classification system some fifty years ago.’

Shouta frowns; he's having trouble matching this to his own experience.

Evidently, Nezu sees it. His teacup clinks as he puts it delicately into the saucer. ‘Class-S quirk-users do get conscripted once they reach full majority—but it's different from what you are imagining. It is not like cachers or teleporters who get drafted as soon as they turn 18 and aren't allowed another career. Class-S quirk-users get put on the conscription list and, if they choose not to work for the HPSC directly, they will have a career of their own. But they may get called, at any moment of the day or the night, if their specific skill-set is required.’

‘And since they are conscripted, I assume they can't refuse.’

‘Exactly. Now, Class-S quirk-users fall into two categories. There's the overpowered type—such as Mirko. And then there is the rare and useful type. Your quirk is one such. Any quirk that is useful for intelligence purposes, and a high proportion of mental quirks end up being classified as Class-S, specifically so the HPSC can add their users to the conscription list. As you know, though—quirks can sometimes evolve during one's lifetime or under duress, and there are many quirks which get misdiagnosed upon registration. Therefore, the S classification is really quite rare.’

‘Okay, but here's what I don't get, Nezu. My quirk is Class S. And yet I was never conscripted, nor put on their list. And when I pointed that out, the guy said something about… being a UA affiliate.’

Nezu's tail swishes. ‘You are aware of the contract between the HPSC and UA?’

Shouta nods. That much he knows. The two institutions have a legally binding contract of cooperation. That had been Nezu's main contribution in his first years as principal—codifying a lot of the existing verbal and tacit agreements into one master document. Its writing is deliberately obtuse, its provisions full of loopholes to UA's advantage. That contract (and the courts’ independence) is the reason why UA has so much autonomy from the HPSC and so much sway in hero society. 

‘It's quite simple, Aizawa-kun. One provision says Class-S quirk users can't be put on the conscription list so long as they're UA affiliates.’

‘That still doesn't explain my case.’ 

‘Doesn't it?’

Shouta leans forward, elbows on his knees. ‘I've been Class-S since I was four. Even if conscription only happens after majority—I only started working here four years ago. There were six years after graduation during which I wasn't a UA affiliate.’

Nezu blinks, feigning innocence. ‘Weren't you?’

Shouta casts back to his memory, but no. He'd not even talked to Nezu for four out of those six years, much less associated with UA in any way. He'd been a graduate but that… was… it… 

And then he remembers. On the day of the graduation ceremony, Nezu had cornered him with a piece of paper held in his paw, and he'd been oddly insistent that Shouta sign it. 

‘You made me an affiliate through the UA Alumni club ?!’

‘Ah!’ Nezu's ears wiggle as he presses his paws together. ‘I knew you could figure it out, Aizawa-kun!’

Shouta just sits there, genuinely stunned. He protected my free will. Even when he had nothing to gain from it. 

‘You never… You never said anything.’ 

When I came back to UA as a teacher, I dragged my feet… 

Ashamed of his own immaturity, Shouta runs a hand through his hair. ‘You could have drafted me for UA right after graduation. Or you could have leveraged the Commission’s conscription against me, when you asked me to be a teacher.’

‘Yes, I could have.’ Nezu smiles. ‘But, Aizawa-kun, all I’ve ever wanted was to empower my students to pursue their dreams. Your dream was to be an underground hero. Why should I have stood in your way?’

‘But… Then you could have just said. After I became a teacher, I mean.’

Nezu's claws go tap-tap-tap against the wood of his desk. His eyes are bright: to this day, he stands by his choice. 

‘Did you know that human psychology is heavily influenced by indebtedness? The bonds people tie between themselves through actions and repayments are incredibly potent. Even simple gratefulness can influence you.’ Nezu wiggles his ears. ‘Of course, I could have said, Aizawa-kun. I just preferred not to .’

Chapter Text

Hands crossed behind her back, Suto Takako stands facing a sprawling window. It takes up most of the wall of her office, but today (as most days), she has no time to admire the view. She is too busy assessing the damage. 

The building of the HPSC headquarters has an unmistakable vantage point; from here, looking out over Tokyo, she can see smoke and dust rising from two different spots. The incidents are being handled, of course. But that they happened, in broad daylight, is grating. 

Our reactive processes are well-oiled, Takako thinks with the critical eye of someone who started her career in operations, but we're lacking when it comes to identifying when and where incidents will happen. 

The precog unit is doing all it can. But precognition quirks are rare in the first place, and seldom very powerful; Takako prefers to keep them focused on predicting probabilities of national catastrophes and Class-S attacks. Unfortunately, that means no precog power is dedicated to local, small-scale attacks—precisely the type that has multiplied in recent weeks. 

We're being kept on the defensive. It could just be opportunistic villains seizing their chance, and likely some are. But… Takako hasn't risen to where she is by ignoring her instincts. And her instincts are clear: there is more to this. There has to be someone behind the scene, orchestrating the increase in incidents. As a way of stress-testing the efficiency of our response, in preparation of a massive attack? Or as a distraction—but if so, for what? 

The HPSC's best investigative minds (and quirks) are working on finding an answer, but so far they haven't been able to establish a pattern. We can't afford to keep being reactive for too long. Public opinion is volatile as it is. Takako grimaces inwardly, though she keeps her face cast in her usual mask of steel. If the Inductive team doesn't come up with something soon, I’ll have to get Nezu-san involved. His pattern recognition skills are unmatched, after all. 

Speaking of which… Hinagawa and Hawks have been standing (stewing) in the waiting room for close to half an hour. Through her quirk, which allows her to hear every sound in a twenty-meter radius whenever she wants to, she picks up on their fidgeting. Hinagawa in particular is getting restless. 

Good, she thinks with disdain. Hinagawa could stand there all night for all she cares. However, wasting Hawks’ time is counterproductive to the HPSC's goals; so Takako turns to her desk, and asks her assistant to call them in.

She resumes her vigil at the window. It's a power move; it shows she can be rude and get off scot-free. (Takako has fought hard for every inch of that power—she's entitled to be petty with it.)

The smoke to the west is finally abating. She hears the other two come in but feigns ignorance.

‘Madam President,’ Hinegawa greets first, the rustle of his suit betraying his formal bow.

‘Ma’am.’ Hawks sounds less poised than usual. She hadn't expected anything else. With one word, Nezu had revealed that he knew Hawks’ real identity, after all . This was a warning of its own. 

Not for the first time, Takako wishes her predecessor hadn't died so quickly at Lady Nageant’s hands. The Hawks program had been his idea—and he'd used his mental quirk to shut up all objections, hers included. And here I am, trying to clean up the mess he created. To this day! 

Hinagawa had been a convenient replacement for Hawks’ first mentor (the emotionally abusive reprobate ), and Takako had not expected much—but she'd expected better . 

To think he had the gall to go behind my back, and go after a highly protected target…! There's no question in her mind why he did it. With Hawks an adult and fully-fledged hero, he must have keenly felt his obsolescence… and decided to find himself another mentee. 

Takako breathes through her irritation. Behind her, a flutter of wings betrays Hawks’ agitation. Hinagawa, it sounds like, is standing deathly still. 

The moment is ripe. Takako turns and faces them with the coldest smile she can muster.

‘I’ve received an interesting call from Nezu-san. Following which I had to scrape and apologize, and grant some concessions on a few matters I did not want to yield on. Tell me…’ Takako makes a point to check the man's name tag, even though she’s perfectly aware of who he is. ‘...Hinagawa-san. What possessed you to try and take Midoriya Izuku from UA?’

The man swallows, and even as Takako’s disdain for him rises, she congratulates herself on a successful intimidation. 

Still, the man seems determined to plead his case. He sticks out his chest, like that particular bit of posturing has ever had any effect on Takako. ‘He was registered as having a Class-S quirk, Madam President. And as he is a minor without a parent, it is within our prerogative to foster him. The conscription rules are clear.’

‘They are clear,’ she says, ‘and affiliates of UA are not to be approached.’

‘The records did not show he was a UA affiliate.’

Takako raises her eyebrows. ‘Once you were done editing them, you mean.’

The silence that follows is all the confirmation she needs. Takako sneers. ‘You’d do well to remember Mister Principal isn’t in the habit of falling for such childish traps.’

Not to mention this child is also a VT-SX , she wants to say but bites her tongue. This is classified knowledge; only some heroes and a few select administration personnel in the government and the Commission are aware of it. In other words, people above Hinagawa’s pay grade.

She spares an annoyed glance at Hawks, who definitely knows; his wings flutter with his shrug. I suppose we reap what we sow. We didn’t train him to question orders.  

(Takako also doesn’t say that Hinagawa tried to make away with All Might’s successor , and that Nezu-san has every legal right to retain custody of Midoriya in that capacity. She is the only one in the room who knows, and even then, the knowledge is hidden behind a memory cache.)

‘Madam President,’ Hinagawa begins with crumbling composure, both angry and desperate, ‘It was wrong of me to take this initiative without letting you know first. I—I recognize I made a mistake, but I had no reason to believe this would be any different from any other conscription-of-minor case.’

Takako draws herself up to her full height, leaning over her desk. She takes vicious pleasure at seeing the older, larger man cringe. ‘You and I both know this is untrue. You went after this child because he was at UA. You thought that if you managed to take him from them, it would earn you status within the HPSC. You went for this one instead of any other Class-S orphan because you wanted to reap a high reward. But you failed to take into consideration that high rewards come with high risks.’ Takako straightens, and clasps her hands together in front of her. ‘I would not recommend that you take up gambling to make ends meet, Hinagawa-san. You would fail rather poorly.’

As the man sputters a response, she turns to Hawks. ‘You will be reporting to me, effective immediately, until I find someone with a little more… acumen… to represent the Commission’s interests where you are concerned.’

Come to think of it, perhaps it is not such a bad thing. Hawks’ quirk allows him to listen in for threats and secrets, like mine. With a little more critical thinking, he could become a force in the HPSC…

Perhaps All Might isn't the only one in need of a successor. 

‘Yes, ma'am,’ he replies. Neither of them spare a glance for the man Takako has summarily fired. ‘About my identity—’

‘Nezu-san has agreed that it was in everyone's best interest not to reveal it at present. Though he did recommend to consider it in future, to “get ahead of the narrative.” I trust you will take it under advisement.’

‘Yes, ma'am,’ the young man says, badly hiding his relief behind one of his trademark casual smiles.

Hinagawa finally gathers himself enough to stop sputtering. ‘You will regret this,’ he hisses. 

Takako gives him the most polite smile in her arsenal, and glances back at Hawks. 

Thankfully, the winged hero isn't an idiot. With a two-fingered salute that shows admirable resilience, he drags his former mentor away. 

Takako takes a moment to tell her assistant to process Hinagawa for immediate dismissal, and finally, turns back to her window.

She is pleased to see no more smoke in the sky. 

*

Izuku looks up at the knock on his bedroom door. The door stands ajar—as Aizawa explained shortly Izuku learned the truth about his quirk, it’s VT-SX protocol when the hero isn’t in his room just down the corridor.

‘Come in,’ Izuku calls.

‘You got a minute?’

‘Y-Yeah.’ Izuku pushes his English homework away. It’s always his favorite to complete. It started with pretty generic worksheets, to assess his level, but a week ago after their “jamming session,” as he calls it, Yamada has taken to mixing it with music. Now, the worksheets require Izuku to transcribe or translate the lyrics of classics in English. Neither Izuku nor Mom were music lovers, but after the building collapse, he’s found value in drowning out thoughts with sound.

Seeing Aizawa hover over the threshold, Izuku gets up and settles on his bed. He gestures to the chair he just vacated. ‘P-Please sit, Aizawa-san.’

‘Kid, seriously,’ his guardian sighs. ‘Lose the san.’

Aizawa has barely seated himself that Squares shoots from under the bed (when did he get here?) and jumps onto his lap. Without missing a beat, Aizawa runs a hand over the cat’s fur, but it’s mindless; his eyes are still on Izuku. His face holds some tightness, and it sends Izuku’s heart careening with worry. Is it bad news?

Thankfully, Aizawa isn’t one to beat around the bush. ‘I’m going on a mission tomorrow morning. I got called in, and I can't quite refuse. It’s for the UHA.’

The Underground Hero Alliance. It’s less than three-weeks old, and according to hero forums Izuku follows, it’s already made a difference for underground heroes. But like any newly-formed organization, it’s still establishing its processes, figuring out its scope and limits. Nezu has been heavily involved in its conception, Izuku knows, from the very first bill that proposed its implementation. Even so, it makes sense that an underground hero of Aizawa’s caliber would get called in to help.

‘It shouldn’t be more than a week at most.’

Izuku can’t help but feel some disappointment, but he puts a brave face on it. ‘T-Thanks for letting me know, Aizawa-san.’ He looks down, clasps his hands together to prevent from fidgeting. ‘Err, hurry back.’

‘I will. And you won’t be alone—Nezu and Yamada will be taking over from me.’

‘N-Nezu-san too?’ Izuku can’t hide his surprise. ‘I thought he was… attached to his quarters?’ Territorial , is the word he’s edging around.

‘He said he can relocate for a few days when necessary.’ 

Is it necessary? Izuku frowns, vague guilt welling up. 

The hero adds, ‘It’s his choice. Everything here is compatible with his magnetic ring, and I trust you not to make things awkward for him.’

‘O-Of course not.’

‘Good.’ 

His message delivered, Aizawa looks over the space with what Izuku thinks is a little curiosity. Since they built the desk, he's rarely been inside Izuku's room.

His eyes track the couple of hero posters on the wall, the All Might figurine in place of honor on the night-stand, the school notebooks, the pencil case, the clothes Izuku realizes he hasn't put away as neatly as he should have… Izuku can't tell what his guardian is thinking.

On Aizawa's lap, Squares suddenly freezes, blown pupils fixed on a moving strand of the capture weapon.

Inscrutable, Aizawa swivels on the chair, turning to face the desk fully. Squares sees an opening, and strikes. 

‘Ouch! Knock it off, dumbass,’ the hero says, a fond smile pulling at his lips as his hand flattens the cat's ears. He looks up at Izuku's giggle, his lips turning up at the corner. 

Then the books Izuku borrowed from the UA library, stacked on the side of the desk, catch Aizawa’s attention; his head tilts to read the titles. 

I left the top one open , Izuku realizes with unease. 

‘You reading about healing quirks?’

‘Uh… Yeah,’ Izuku says eloquently. As always when they get anywhere close to his love of quirks (and his creepy habit), self-consciousness and embarrassment form a knot in his throat.

Squares stretches, then elongates in between Aizawa and Izuku, passing from one to the other in a mystery of feline flexibility. He starts kneading Izuku's bedspread with a soft purr, and something of Izuku's anxiety abates.

‘Here,’ Aizawa leans forward and stretches a hand to the side of the cat's neck. A moment later, the purr deepens. ‘He likes it here.’

‘I'll, uh, I'll cuddle him when you're gone,’ Izuku promises. 

A careful hand slowly alights on his hair, ruffling it gently. ‘He won't give you a choice about it.’

Izuku is pretty sure he's turned beet red. He hesitantly takes over petting the cat's neck, and is rewarded with a feline headbutt. 

The hero slumps in the chair, and folds over the desk, his hair half-masking his face. Aizawa laying horizontal on a variety of surfaces isn't new, but him doing so in Izuku's presence—in his space—is… It’s…

It's almost like we're close. 

It sends his heart soaring. 

*

As Shouta plays up his relaxed state—all the better to appear unthreatening—he watches the kid from under the cover of his long hair. He'd tensed up when Shouta had brought up the books, his body language closing up like a wilting flower. 

Shouta would have been a pretty poor teacher (never mind guardian) if he'd missed that Midoriya likes quirks. At the same time, he hasn't forgotten the kid's words after he'd gotten passionate about All Might's. 

‘That's, err, I'm sorry. That was a bit… much.’

There's something there, Shouta thinks. Gotta tread carefully. 

Shouta’s redirection to the cat has worked. A smile is playing on Midoriya’s lips, now, as he mock-wrestles with Squares. 

Should I just… leave it?

He could. Perhaps he should; he'll be gone for a week after all. If he fucks up, he won't be here for the fall-out. And yet… He might only be a temporary guardian, but… Someday, Shouta wants to have a conversation with Midoriya where he doesn't tread on a landmine.

And that means getting to know the kid.

‘Now that I think about it,’ Shouta confesses—a weakness for a weakness. ‘I don't know much about healing quirks.’ (And there's that tenseness, in the way Midoriya's hand stills on the cat.) ‘Do you?’

For a few seconds, the kid doesn't say anything, and Shouta thinks he's messed up. Then, Midoriya admits, with a hesitant glance up at Shouta: ‘N-Not as much as I’d like. Which is why I b-borrowed the book. I, uh, I just know they’re rare and… I’d have loved to have one.’

Midoriya glances down, and Shouta can guess he’s thinking of the most recent occasion where a healing quirk might have been useful. 

Ah, shit. Casting about for a distraction, Shouta nearly misses Midoriya's next words. 

‘B-But I picked up this book because… Well, I was thinking… Aizawa-san, what happens to Recovery Girl during summer vacation?’

Midoriya's vibrant green eyes meet his own, innocent and genuinely curious, and Shouta breathes an inner sigh of relief. He's okay. 

‘She tends to integrate an immediate-response medical team. You might have heard of them?’ 

Midoriya nods excitedly. ‘Can you tell me more, Aizawa-san?’

Shouta straightens, spirits rising to match the kid’s enthusiasm. (He is so glad Midoriya likes heroics. There's very few fields Shouta can speak confidently on, not without preliminary research.) 

‘Let me see.’ Shouta gathers his thoughts. ‘First off: people with the most powerful healing quirks—Class-S only—are conscripted by the HPSC and assigned to a team with a teleporter.’

‘Who are also conscripted. Erm, right?’

‘Right. Every day, on a rotation, these teams tour hospitals in the country that put forward a demand. It’s a complicated system, because they have to arbitrate between emergencies and long-standing requests, as well as the team-members’ quirk specs—what they can actually do and their limits. From what I hear, it's an efficient system. Saved the lives of many heroes and civilians over the years.’

‘S-So you don't… dislike the HPSC?’

Fuck but this kid knows how to ask complicated questions. 

Running a hand through his hair, Shouta sighs. ‘...it's not a matter of liking or disliking. Look, I see shit everyday. Most underground heroes, they give up or switch to twilight or limelight after a while.’ If they don't get killed , but there's no way Shouta's going to bring that up right before leaving for a week-long mission. ‘But you know… Things like the existence of those teams which the HPSC supports at a massive financial loss. It's stuff like that which keeps me thinking… The system isn't perfect and they've got a lot of space to improve, but… overall we do more good than harm, we heroes. And so does the HPSC.’

Midoriya's eyes are wide. Is he thinking of the kidnapping attempt? He didn't bring it up again, and it's been a week. Hound Dog didn't mention anything. But no, the kid is nodding enthusiastically. 

‘I—I was just thinking that the other day, Aizawa-san, you know, when we d-disagreed on conscription—’ Wait, did we disagree on conscription? ‘—the system isn't all that bad and if you read testimonies…’

Now the kid’s talking a mile a minute to the point he can hardly follow. Shouta huffs with laughter, and Midoriya's mouth clicks shut. 

‘Don't let me stop you.’

‘N-No, I, err, was done anyway.’ 

Dammit, I shouldn't have laughed. Look at him fiddling his hands. Kid thinks I laughed at him.

No choice but to forge ahead. Keep the dialogue going. 

‘Got any other question, Midoriya?’

‘Erm.’ The teen’s gaze darts up at him and away at once. Still, Shouta considers it a victory when his head bobs, and he asks, ‘W-Were you ever p-part of one, Aizawa-san? The, err, the immediate-response teams?’

‘No. My quirk has very little medical applications, and Recovery Girl told me quirk suppressants do a better job. Apparently they’re less traumatic on injured bodies than a cuff, or snuffing out the quirk with my own.’ Shouta shrugs. ‘I know about them because one of these teams saved my life.’

Midoriya's eyes are almost as round as Squares’. ‘They did? ’

‘Hrn,’ Shouta grunts in assent. ‘Before I became a teacher.’ 

Before Nezu gave him the necklace that monitored his vitals and sent emergency signals to the nearest police and hospital dispatch if they dropped below a certain level. 

‘What happened?’ Midoriya is all fascination, and it makes Shouta an odd mix of warm and uncomfortable. 

He looks away. ‘I caught a villain. He stabbed me. I tied him up and left him for the police to find… The wound wasn’t very deep, I figured I’d be fine stitching myself up at home. Didn’t realize he’d nicked one of my organs.’

‘Oh my god, Aizawa-san!’

Squares squeaks as Midoriya’s hands tighten on him in shock, and the cat wrestles out of the kid’s grasp before stalking off indignantly. Shouta bites off a smile; the kid hasn't even realized, his eyes tracking Shouta as if to check him over for injury. ‘A-And the response team found you?’

‘Yeah. One of them had a quirk that informed them of injuries within a half-mile radius. They found me collapsed in an alley with massive internal bleeding, performed first aid and teleported me to the closest ER.’ Shouta’s smile wipes off his face. ‘It was a near thing. I was stupid, kid. Fucking cocky.’ 

Midoriya blinks and— shit. 

‘Sorry.’ Shouta runs a hand through his hair. ‘…I shouldn’t swear.’

‘It’s alright, Aizawa-san. I’m g-glad they were able to help you.’

‘Me too,’ Shouta says simply. 

Getting chewed out by Hizashi, Nemuri and Tensei for the week of bed-rest afterwards hadn’t been a walk in the park, but at least he’d been alive. Shortly after, Shouta had received Nezu’s first prospective-hire call. (It had taken him several years to give in, but he had still felt touched that his former teacher had cared enough to check in.)

But they've strayed far from the point. 

‘Why did you ask about Recovery Girl’s summer plans?’

‘Err, I was just talking with Thirteen the other day and… I d-don’t know if you’ve planned to do anything for summer vacation already but… C-Could I perhaps take a first-aid course?’

Shouta blinks. ‘It’s vacation,’ he deadpans. ‘You’re not supposed to work.’ (He feels a bit like a hypocrite saying this, but he does value his rest whenever he can find space for it. Which admittedly is not often—but he’s also not a fourteen-year-old teenager.) 

Midoriya fidgets with his hands, his head bowed. Green eyes peek up at Shouta from under green curls. ‘…Plus Ultra?’

Bested at his own game, Shouta huffs. ‘This can’t be your answer for all my objections, Midoriya,’ he warns, softening his words with an uptick of his lips.

‘No, sir.’

‘We’ll see what we can do. I might get drafted to attend a summer camp as a supplementary teacher, in which case Nezu and I will discuss whether we can take you along or make other arrangements. If there’s time and space for first aid, why not?’

‘Really? You mean it?’ 

Midoriya is beaming. At Shouta’s grunt of affirmation, he launches forward and… freezes there. 

Shouta meets him halfway. Before he can think twice about it, he slides off the desk chair, wraps an arm around the kid’s shoulders and tugs. 

The hug is brief, turning the kid red with embarrassment, but (for all that he's a little embarrassed himself) Shouta cannot regret it. Because Midoriya doesn't shrug it off, and as he follows Shouta out of the room for dinner prep, the kid is still grinning. 

*

Since Aizawa won't patrol tonight, having to leave for his mission early in the morning, Izuku and him enjoy a quiet night in. Once dinner is over, they put on a movie, a police flick about a quirkless detective. The budget is low, the production only semi-professional. It never even made it out in theaters. But someone Aizawa called Tsukauchi recommended it, so they put it on. 

It's an instant win; Aizawa commends the finesse of the plot, Izuku how realistically the quirkless experience is portrayed. Both of them appreciate (with more cheering, on Izuku’s part than Aizawa's) that the man resolves an impossible murder with only the force of his intellect. 

Afterwards, they actually talk about the movie (which Mom rarely ever did), and Izuku has to bite his tongue several times to stop himself from going into mutter-storm levels of excitement.

Aizawa is slumping on his half of the couch, one leg folded, the other foot on the table. The lights have been dimmed for the sake of the movie, so Izuku can't see all the details of the hero's face, but he seems in good spirits. 

When their conversation about the movie winds down, he gives Izuku a glance which is half-amusement and half-assessment. ‘Tell you what, since you're reading up on quirks. While I'm gone, ask the teachers about theirs. I want a report on the activation criteria of at least three of them.’

Izuku feels alarm jolt through his veins because that sounds… dangerously close to his analysis. But… it's also sanctioned. 

He's been dying to ask all these pro heroes about their quirks. And he'd be lying if he didn't admit to having sneaked a few questions here and there, even going as far as to commit the answers to paper in a new notebook he's kept in his drawer… 

Surely it's fine, if Aizawa is asking. Which means…

Oh my god. 

I can actually ask all the questions I want! 

Izuku is busy making a list of the top three people he wants to ask (— of course I’ll go Plus Ultra and ask everybody, because I'm never getting a better chance, but who do I ask first— ) when Aizawa clearing his throat makes him jump. 

‘Oh, err, s-sorry, Aizawa-san.’

‘You're fine, kid.’ Aizawa pushes off the couch. ‘I said I'm going to go pack what I need. Lights out in thirty.’

‘R-Right.’ And suddenly, Izuku sees an opportunity. Because Aizawa’s back is to him, and Izuku isn't a mess of nerves right now, and he's got things to look forward to… 

…and he feels… In the near-obscurity of the room, where everything is gray and fuzzy, Izuku feels it's okay to ask something he's been wondering about ever since Nezu introduced Aizawa as his guardian. 

It feels safe enough. Aizawa won't bite his head off. Izuku's never going to forget what he said. There are worse things to be mistaken for than your father. 

‘Aizawa-san,’ Izuku queries in a whisper.

‘Mmh?’ The hero turns where he would have headed down the corridor, and leans against the wall. His face is half shadows. 

Izuku studiously does not look at him. Heroes have to be brave, he tells himself. So be brave. He takes a full breath. ‘W-Why did you choose to be my guardian?’

‘Oh.’ Aizawa’s tone indicates he expected another (tougher) question. ‘I didn't choose so much as I got picked.’

Just like that, Izuku is underwater. Because—

‘I can turn off your quirk at a glance. I don't have a class this year. So I said yes. It's only logical.’

Izuku can't breathe. Frigid ice contracts his lungs, his stomach, his guts. Because—Because—

Aizawa’s voice cuts through the static. ‘...Zashi'll be there to take you to class tomorrow. I'll call when I can.’

Izuku says something in response. He isn't really sure how he does, doesn't really know what he says. 

‘Night, Midoriya.’

This is wrong, all wrong, it feels incredibly cold and distant—it should be Good night, Izuku . Suddenly, he wants Mom, he feels her absence like a physical pain. Because—

Aizawa vanishes down the corridor, leaving Izuku alone in the darkened room.

Tears well up, but Izuku doesn't let them fall, won't allow them to. This is my fault. Just because Aizawa’s kind—no, just because he's a good hero and a good teacher, Izuku went and fooled himself into thinking… into hoping… 

Izuku shuts himself in the bathroom,  presses his fists against his mouth to muffle sounds, and bursts into tears. Blindly, he fumbles until the quirk-suppression cuff is out of his pocket, and locks it tight around his wrist. 

The occasional pats on the head he's been enjoying (and treasuring the memories of). The thoughtfulness put into his training. The willingness to listen to his wishes. The visit to the Arboretum. The staunch refusal to let the HPSC take him. The movie and the discussion afterwards… 

The hug. 

Were they really all just—empty gestures? 

You've heard it from Aizawa himself. 

He didn't choose you.  

One by one, Izuku takes those memories and strikes them through. 

Because the Kacchan of his thoughts had been right.

Doesn't mean he gives a shit about you .

It's only logical. 

Aizawa doesn't care about Izuku.

Chapter Text

The door to the apartment swings open immediately at Hizashi’s soft knock.

Standing in the genkan, Shouta is packed, ready and alert. Meanwhile, Hizashi is bleary-eyed, barely functional and doesn't even have a smudge of make-up on.

If Hizashi had more than two braincells to rub together right now, he might reflect on the difference between the various types of heroics. As it is, all he can do is stumble in, pushing his shoulder against his friend’s in greeting. 

‘Sorry you had to get up so early,’ Shou whispers. 

There's no point griping to his friend that 4 am is too early a time to be awake. The underground hero has been going to bed at this hour for years.

Hizashi bites off a yawn. ‘’s all fine, Shou. You’ve got some coffee ready?’

Shou looks up from buckling up his backpack. ‘What do you think?’

‘…You made a pot and drank it whole, didn’t you?’

A smile births at the corner of Shou’s lips. The buckle snaps closed. ‘You’re the one who told me not to leave coffee lying around with a teen in the house.’

‘Didn’t think you’d actually listen.’

Shou straightens, dark eyes boring into Hizashi’s. ‘What are you talking about? This is your wheelhouse. You’re great at this kind of thing… I’d be dumb not to listen.’

With a fondness too strong for words and an awe that’s never gone away despite exposure, Hizashi marvels at the casual way his friend has of handing compliments. Because to Shouta, they’re not compliments, they’re just plain facts.

But where Hizashi would normally just shoot him a thanks along with finger guns, he's yet to find his mojo this morning, and the praise makes him color instead. 

Clumsily, he deflects. ‘How’s Midoriya, then?’

‘Yesterday was a good day for him. We had a breakthrough last evening.’

Hizashi brightens at the news. ‘Yeah?’

‘Hrm.’ Shouta isn't looking at him, busy looping the strands of his capture weapon around his neck, double-checking it for nicks that could prove life-threatening.

Hizashi wonders if his friend is even aware of the smile playing on his lips.

He doesn't comment on it. Nemuri would—but she’s not there, and Hizashi wouldn’t want to sear any budding feelings by bringing them out in the open too soon. Not everyone’s like him—wearing their heart on their sleeves, broadcasting emotion all over the place, generally being too much. Shouta, especially, works differently from him, and while it took years for Hizashi to learn the ins and outs of his friend… he has learned.

‘I’m glad the lil’ listener’s having good days again,’ he offers quietly. It’s not a trend (yet), based on what he's heard from Shouta. But from Midoriya’s homework and his attitude in class, you’d never know. It actually makes Hizashi’s heart squeeze tight when he thinks about it too much. The lil’ guy’s learned to mask his lows a tad bit too well. 

Hizashi can easily picture why he had to.

After Shouta half-reluctantly submits to a goodbye hug and steps out the door, Hizashi sets himself to brewing a pot of coffee. Then, first cup in hand, he sits down to wait for the lil’ listener. 

*

Shouta breathes a sigh as he crosses the UA gate. 

Immediately, a shadow-clad figure detaches itself from the wall. She’s wearing an entirely different costume than her usual—it’s all black, for one. Silently, Shouta approves.

‘You ready to go?’ he asks.

‘You bet, Teach. Ne ne, how come you came from inside UA at this hour? Do you actually sleep there?’

‘Spiral. First rule of underground heroics?’

‘Sensitive talks behind secure walls.’ The girl lays a finger on her cheek. ‘So it is sensitive.’

‘ Spiral —’

‘Just joking, Sensei, just joking.’ The streetlight gives her mask’s smile a grotesque air, but Shouta knows she's taken his words seriously.

She's done nothing but take things seriously since that mess of a night a couple of weeks back—since she got her first taste of helplessness and had crossed the line from hero to victim . 

He wishes she hadn't.

He wishes the call hadn't come in the middle of his patrol. 

He wishes he hadn't had to listen to a shocked Vlad King stuttering on the line, ‘Eraserhead—it's one of my students… she's… it's a 1-90. Eraser, they saved her, that's, uh, someone from the UHA, they stopped it before it went too far, but… it's a 1-90 and… Will you come? To the station. She said… I think she's deflecting, she's refusing to face what happened, but… She wants to talk to you.’

Shouta wishes a lot of things, in the privacy of his thoughts.

But unless a quirk is involved, wishes never actually save anyone. Heroes do. And through the tough choice she made, this one has double the potential she once had.

Shouta’s never been one to let potential go to waste if he can help it. 

‘Let's go,’ he grunts, and leads the way as Hado Nejire follows behind on silent feet. 

*

By the time Midoriya starts stirring, Hizashi is well on his way to being in a good mood. He stops just short of humming while he cooks breakfast, mindful that kids need their sleep at that age. He's got a couple ideas (or ten) floating around on how to make Midoriya's day fun, which, considering it's only six-thirty, is a solid start. 

Then Hizashi looks up and, catching sight of the kid coming out of his room, he scraps all his plans. He doesn't quite let the smile freeze on his face, but it's a near-thing. 

Because Midoriya shuffles into the living room with a pale, drawn face that throws into stark relief the dark circles under his eyes. 

Bad night.

Hizashi makes sure to tone down his energy. ‘What's up, lil’ listener?’ 

Mindful of how rigid Midoriya stands under his gaze (and remembering his reaction in the staff room a week ago), Hizashi turns it to the omelet in the pan. The ketchup waits off to the side, ready to squirt out a message of encouragement to crown the omurice. Hizashi had been debating between a few, but none of them feel adequate now.

His heart twists as the silence grows, highlighting the kid’s lack of an answer. 

But then he hears a soft knock on the counter, and finds Midoriya mustering a smile. It's the kid's hands that do the speaking for him. ‘We sign today?’

This kid… 

He’s always trying so hard. 

‘Sure, lil’ listener,’ Hizashi answers through voice, hand and spatula. He doesn't even try to repress the beaming smile pulling at his lips. ‘Whatever you feel like.’

The conversation stays on easy, safe grounds, bound by the limits of Midoriya's budding sign language skills. 

Today isn't the day that he'll allow himself to let up, Hizashi thinks a little later, and a little wistfully, ruffling Midoriya's hair before sitting down to breakfast. But he'll get there.

See if Hizashi doesn't make it his mission.

*

The morning classes pass by slower than Izuku would have liked, and by the time Ectoplasm’s clone leaves him at the door of the training gym, he's restless. Intrusive thoughts have been drifting up more and more often despite his best efforts at pushing them down. 

Thoughts such as, Aizawa didn't choose me. Yagi didn't choose me. 

Now that Mom’s gone… there's nobody in the world who’ll choose me for me. 

Izuku's skin prickles with the phantom sensation of an arm circling his shoulder, but it feels like a chokehold. 

Just stop it, Izuku. Get a grip. 

He shuts his eyes, shakes his head and yanks open the door. Exercising always helps. 

He falters in his step when he enters the gym and sees Nezu with a familiar clipboard in hand. 

‘S-Sir?’

‘Am I a dog, a bear, or a rat? Whatever else, I am Mister Principal!’ The hero’s smile is wide and cheerful. Half of Izuku is excited at seeing the trademark introduction in person—the other one is relieved that he finally gets to hear it. Apparently, today there's no reason for Nezu-san to eschew his cheerfulness. No bad news. This is just a normal training session. 

Albeit with the smartest creature in Japan. 

Nerves suddenly grip him by the throat. 

Nezu gestures for him to approach. ‘It's good to see you, Midoriya-kun.’

‘You t-too, Nezu-san. H-How are you?’

The principal's ears prick up. ‘Well enough, Midoriya-kun, thank you.’

‘I, err, I meant to thank you actually. For your help with, erm… At the Arboretum.’

‘But of course.’ If Nezu has any lingering negative thoughts toward the incident, none of it shows; his cheerful demeanor does not slip in the slightest. 

It's almost as if, after several days of only catching sight of each other or exchanging passing conversation, he's genuinely happy to see Izuku. 

Izuku knows better than to trust that impression though. Don't read too much into it. He's just being a hero. 

As if spurred on by an invisible force, Izuku’s mind throws a confusing mess of images at him—Nezu curling up at the foot of his hospital bed, offering a hug that obviously made him uncomfortable, smiling just for him at Mom’s funeral… 

He's just going out of his way to comfort a traumatized student, nerd, Kacchan whispers in his mind. He's the King of Plus Ultra. Nothing surprising ’bout that. 

And yet Nezu had said it himself, hadn't he? ‘We make of opportunities what we will.’ Even if Izuku got foisted onto him… Perhaps he has chosen to care? 

Shut. Up. 

‘Midoriya-kun?’

Just focus on training. You can't disappoint Nezu.  

‘Y-Yes, sir. W-What shall I start with?’

‘For now we are sticking to Aizawa-kun’s plan.’

Izuku warms up then starts on weights. The principal’s keen eyes take in every movement, but he stays silent. Then after the first series, he suddenly has a flurry of advice. 

‘...put your foot there, and your right wrist at this angle, isn't it easier to lift? ...’

It's his quirk at play—or rather, one part of his quirk, if Izuku guesses correctly that there are more than one thought-stream firing at once. It's a marvel to wonder at and Izuku itches to ask, but there's a time and place. Which isn’t in the middle of training. 

Still—I have to interview him for Aizawa’s assignment. 

Resolving to make an appointment, Izuku applies himself to implementing the principal’s suggestions.

But thinking of Aizawa’s assignment made him think of the hero, and… well, there's a part of him that's worried. How many coffees has he had? Has he taken a nap yet, or is he powering through the day? What sort of mission is he on…?

Stop—being—distracted! Kacchan yells in his mind. He doesn't give two fucks about you—

The weight bar clangs to the floor with a resounding bang.

‘All good, Midoriya-kun?’

‘I just… I slipped.’

‘Nothing wrong with that. Happens to the best of us.’ A pause. Nezu’s eyes feel too piercing, so Izuku avoids meeting them. ‘Are you good to continue?’

‘I—yeah, I'm fine.’

And Izuku is. He is. 

He's just a little tired, but he's fine. 

Despite his best efforts, Izuku loses count of how many times he messes up. 

Muttering about a water break, Izuku stumbles to the locker room. With shaking hands and screaming muscles, Izuku pushes his head straight under the faucet and turns the tap on. 

I've got to get myself together. This is the Principal of UA. He's already wasting three hours with me—he has better things to do than cater to a useless kid who doesn't even know how to use his quirk. 

Izuku keeps the water punishingly cold.

*

Outwardly, Nezu takes care to play the part of the attentive teacher, typing down by rote on the tablet when he is, in fact, memorizing every score. Inwardly, he is attentive, but only a small portion is devoted to the boy’s training progress.

More concerning is his welfare. 

He's pushing himself too much. Nezu can't help but feel some dismay at the conclusion he's come to. Aizawa had told him it was a concern at the beginning but it had smoothed out. So why is it making a come-back? 

Nezu is aware the child has had a bad night. The signs are clear. More subtle are the signs that the boy is fighting a battle with himself—and, perhaps, losing. 

Is he putting himself through a grueling workout to drown out unfriendly thoughts…? 

Watching Midoriya perform calf raises, Nezu reflects. The boy’s face is a shade paler than moments before—he's putting strain on his leg.

…or is this self-destruction? 

Immediately, Nezu’s quirk supplies him with five different methods for initiating the conversation, and ten times as many ways of putting his theories to the test—half of which are unethical and would put Midoriya at risk. 

(In the back of his head the statistics for the quirkless run like a morbid mantra, each number falling as regularly as a metronome. The numbers are many, telling a story he can parse all too easily, but Nezu redirects that particular stream to recounting the budget for the sports festival to the very last cent.

He won't let this child be just a number.)

‘Midoriya-kun,’ he starts, but the boy doesn't hear, mumbling his count under his breath. ‘Midoriya-kun, you should stop now.’

‘What? Stop? But I've still got two repetitions and then there's the—’

‘You've done well.’ Nezu keeps his voice soft, his body language relaxed. ‘But this is enough, Midoriya-kun.’ 

You're in pain, aren't you? Nezu wants to ask, but the boy will not receive it well in his current state. He doesn’t think of himself as someone who matters. 

‘I will need to get back to my work soon,’ Nezu adds instead. It's a half-truth rather than a lie but it's likely the one thing Midoriya will accept as a reason to stop. If he feels like he's inconveniencing others… 

It leaves a bitter taste in Nezu’s mouth to play that card, but if it's the only way to stop the boy from pushing past the point of no return…

Midoriya hangs his head, costing Nezu the angle he needs to look into his face. Nezu has to prevent himself from chattering his teeth in frustration. Human expressions are so much more telling than their words—they don't lie as much. 

‘Can I—can I run?’ Midoriya pleads. ‘It's just, we never finish without it and, and cardio’s important, right, and there's the leg brace I'm still testing…’

Nezu squints. The boy’s eyes are wet. It could be sweat getting into them—the smell is unmistakable, and proof of Midoriya's efforts—but no, those are tears.

He's taking it as punishment. He thinks I made him stop because of the mistakes he made.

Careful not to tilt his ears back and show reluctance, Nezu says, ‘Yes, you can run, but—’

Nezu doesn't have time to finish his sentence: the boy is tearing outside the gym and pelting down the track. 

A fraction of a second ticks past, during which Nezu’s quirk halts in startlement. Then Nezu curses softly, and dashes after Midoriya. 

There are smarter ways to go about this, Nezu’s quirk chimes in while his lungs and legs protest with the sudden exertion . You should call Ectoplasm and get him to make a clone to stop the boy. Or if you predict his route—there's 67% of him passing by Gym Beta where Vlad King is teaching at the moment—he could stop the kid. You could initiate Protocol 32-6g for intruders that must be left unharmed. You should not be running after him when his legs are so much longer and you are at least a little out of shape—

But Nezu is a hero, long familiar with pursuit tactics (and perhaps there are predator instincts coded into him). He knows the terrain better than anybody—he has shaped it—and he would be a very poor model for his staff if he didn't ensure to keep up his exercise routine.

And so Nezu lopes on all fours, taking shortcuts, predicts Midoriya's likely route, jumps over and under and against obstacles, and finally makes it to a branch which he runs along and without questioning himself—

—he jumps onto the teen’s shoulder.

Midoriya yelps with fright and not registering who the threat is, attempts to throw him off; but his grip is clumsy, his technique non-existent. Nezu maintains his position with ease, and as the boy stumbles to a stop, Nezu vaults to the ground and stands up on two legs. 

‘Midoriya-kun,’ Nezu chides gently, brushing down his waistcoat. ‘You did not let me finish.’

The boy's eyes are wide, no doubt as shocked by Nezu’s apparition as by his undignified appearance. ‘I—Nezu-san?! What—how…?’

He's gasping for breath. He wasn't trying to stay within the bounds of the training plan.

Too busy running away.

Yes, because you made him feel he had to, a voice inside him whispers. (Even as it goes on identifying promising hires for next year, his unhelpful quirk supplies Nezu with nine ways he could have prevented this.) 

Repressing any urge to snarl at his own thoughts, Nezu makes sure to give a soft smile. ‘Please, Midoriya-kun. For your sake, not to mention mine, do respect the limits set by Aizawa in his training plan.’

The boy turns beet red and sweeps into a ninety-degree bow. ‘I'm so sorry. I didn't realize—I just… I never meant to make you run after me—’

‘You didn't make me do anything, Midoriya-kun.’ Nezu has to relinquish the smile, lest he shows a hint of teeth. He hates the idea of anyone making him do things—especially humans. ‘It was my choice to run, and besides, a little exercise is good for me.’

A pause. Nezu lets Midoriya catch his breath, but he is turning over scenarios in his mind. How do I broach this without making the boy think he's failed?

In the end, Midoriya surprises him. ‘I'm s-sorry, Nezu-san.’ 

His green eyes are lowered and brimming with tears, and Nezu realizes that he has failed as an educator. Do better, Nezu admonishes himself. Teenagers respond well to open communication—even if they struggle to apply it themselves. So communicate.

‘Why are you apologizing?’

The boy’s knuckles are turning white from how tightly he’s clenching his fists. ‘I just—I keep messing up today.’

‘I haven't seen any instances of that this afternoon, Midoriya-kun,’ Nezu counters gently, and clarifies at the incredulous look he gets in response. ‘A few mistakes isn’t the same as messing up . Is your performance always perfect with Aizawa-kun?’

‘N-No, n-never, I could never… but you're taking time out of your day for this and I just… I’m just no good.’

Generalization, Nezu’s quirk points out. He’s not saying “I’m no good today”. He’s saying “I’m never any good.”

Self-esteem is a hard summit to reach—and it’s all too easy to slide back down its slopes. Nezu knows this intimately. By now, he has decades of practice at recognizing self-defeating thoughts and excising them from his mind. And yet, they never stop coming.

‘Then it is good that we'll be training together this week,’ Nezu says simply. ‘So that I get to see you at your best too.’

Something like hope sparks in the boy’s eyes, and he nods. If his fists are clenched now, it’s determination that makes it so.

But a piece of the puzzle is still missing. Nezu draws a step closer, where he cannot fail to catch any subtleties in the boy’s expression, and watches carefully as he says: ‘If I may ask, Midoriya-kun, and bear in mind that you do not have to answer… is there anything in particular that has been causing you to make mistakes today?’

Midoriya's eyes widen as they meet his, and he swallows. Nezu hopes, for an instant, that something has loosened, that Midoriya will open up—but no. His back straightens: the boy’s resilience shining through. And unfortunately in this instance, acting against his own interests.

‘I'm just… f-frustrated,’ Midoriya replies, looking away. He makes a vague gesture in the direction of the cane he left behind. ‘My leg…’

This Nezu can understand. If anything affected his ability to run away—

But sixteen different signs in Midoriya's body language speak of a deeper hurt, something eating away at him, and that is without counting the obvious distraction during training earlier. There is more to it than tiredness and frustration over his recent disability.

Nezu, who has made mistakes as an educator before and learned from them, knows that he shouldn't force the boy to share. With cold calculation, he strangles his powerlessness at not being able to help, and the irritation he feels against himself.

Neither of them will help him win this boy’s trust. But patience, openness, a respect for his boundaries, and genuine empathy… those may yet go a long way.

So, instead of pressing, Nezu puts a paw in Midoriya’s hand, and is rewarded with a tremulous smile. ‘Shall we wrap this up, Midoriya-kun? Your run, I mean.’

The boy perks up, and nods enthusiastically. 

‘You should run, at the pace and to the distance set in your training plan. If you want a little extra challenge, I can stand on your shoulders while you’re jogging.’

‘You'd—err, Nezu-san, you're okay with that?’

Valid question, his quirk supplies. It usually takes you an average of two hundred and sixty days to allow a non-mutant human to carry you—though if you filter down to only include your students… 

Nezu tunes his quirk out, but the matter is curious. Because, as Nezu looks inward, he finds that there’s no apprehension at the idea of Midoriya carrying him, even though they’ve only known each other a scant few weeks.

‘Today I am,’ he answers, to give himself an out later on if he needs.

‘Then, uh…’

‘Crouch down for a moment.’

Nezu clambers onto the boy’s shoulders with ease, green hair tickling his sensitive nose. What makes this human different? 

His quirk shoots off in all directions. Trauma bonding? He's been down-trodden like you have, betrayed by authority figures like you have. Grief bonding? He is the last person to see Yagi alive. He carries within him the last embers of your friend, who is gone.

No way to tell for sure. 

Tanaka-san’s voice echoes in his mind, warm as his presence had been. Sometimes it is best to accept a kindness life grants you, without questioning it. It had taken Nezu years to learn that kindness could come without strings attached—but learned, he had. And that discovery had, in turn, led him to become a hero. 

‘Are you c-comfortable, Nezu-san?’ 

‘Yes,’ Nezu says, and doesn’t lie. 

The boy is short, nothing like Toshinori. But the way he interacts with Nezu—never questioning that he is a full person in his own right, when Nezu himself sometimes doubts it… And there is this air sometimes, around the boy… You may not have had much choice. And yet you picked well, old friend.

Nezu allows himself a heartbeat to feel the loss resonating within, and slowly breathes it out, focusing back on the student he has to guide.

His tail curls around the boy’s arm for extra stability. Whatever resemblance he bears to Toshinori—whatever the reason why I’m comfortable with him… I’ll have to be mindful not to project onto him, Nezu thinks. He deserves better.

His paw finds the crook of Midoriya’s neck (claws very near the carotid, his quirk confirms). 

And as Midoriya starts loping along the track, Nezu settles for a bumpy ride. 

*

A shower helps to drown Izuku’s thoughts. When he comes out, he’s feeling sore, but more clear-headed. Despite the rocky start, he’s done well on the final run. Nezu hadn’t seemed disgusted by his performance, which means Izuku can’t be as hopeless as Ogino-sensei always said he was. There’s a chance for me yet. And that’s what I always wanted, isn’t it? Just a chance.

As he gently washes his leg brace, Izuku’s conviction cements, and he quietly resolves to do some extra calisthenics that evening. Now that his goal is in sight again, the thoughts that had plagued him during the night, that had impeded his training, all sound ridiculous. 

I just want to become a hero, he thinks, giving the bathroom a cursory sweep. I don't need a parent —I don’t need a guardian for that. I just need a… a custodian. 

So what, if Aizawa doesn’t care about me as me? I don’t need him to. I can care about him all on my own. 

Izuku nods to himself, and before he can talk himself out of it, grabs his phone and texts Aizawa.

After all, Izuku thinks with quiet satisfaction, stepping out of the bathroom with his cane in hand, I continued admiring Kacchan long after he stopped caring about me.

*

The answer to Izuku’s text comes in the early evening, as Izuku is working on his homework on a corner of his desk. Most of the space is taken up by Squares, who’s spread indulgently over his completed worksheets, tail swishing.

At the ping of his phone, Izuku puts down his pencil. With a lightning-fast swipe, Squares throws it to the ground, then pounces on it, and runs out of the room.

Laughing at the cat’s antics, Izuku looks at his phone. Conflicting feelings rise inside him at seeing his guardian’s name as the sender. His smile freezes. He finds himself tapping on the name before he can think better of it. 

Aizawa Shouta: I’m okay, kid. Though the coffee’s shit here. Given who’s around you’d think it’d be decent but no-go.

Three dots appear above the input box.

Aizawa Shouta: And you, you okay?

Izuku swallows. He doesn’t understand why tears well up in his eyes, why his heart is twisting.

His fingers hover over the phone keyboard.

He’s on a mission. It’s likely dangerous, the hero fan in him whispers with dead seriousness. He can’t afford distractions. You have to reply.

Izuku takes a deep breath, pushes everything down, and even though no one is here to see it, he puts on the smile that he’s put on every day of his life since he was four.

Midoriya Izuku: Yes. Everything’s fine.

Chapter Text

The next day, Izuku's insides no longer feels scraped raw. He's slept, one long full night, and got woken by the soft light of dawn seeping through the blinds. His mind feels clearer.

Determined to start the day right, he does push-ups until his arms scream. 

When he reaches for his phone to check the time, he almost drops it in surprise, because… 

Last evening just before bed, he'd found Squares sprawling on his covers; he'd snapped a picture and sent it to his guardian. 

Aizawa has sent a heart in response.

Izuku stares at it. He forgets to check the time, forgets he has to dress and pack his leg brace and take his cane and grab his bag. 

Izuku knows—obviously the heart is for the cat. The man softens when Squares is around. If there's anything Izuku has noticed in the weeks since… since moving to UA, it's that very little can get between Aizawa and his cat.

The heart isn't meant for Izuku. But… 

But cats can't read, so… in a way, he did send it to me.

There's a glow in his chest that is like the budding colors of the dawn outside—at once glad and sad.

Midoriya Izuku: I hope the coffee tastes better today. 

An answer comes immediately. 

Aizawa Shouta: Fat chance.

Aizawa Shouta: Have a nice one, kid. 

A smile pulls at Izuku’s lips. The glow is so warm it inhabits the whole of him.

The heaviness in the air promises a storm (though not a typhoon, not yet). Izuku doesn't mind. For now, a corner of the sky is illuminated by sunlight, and it's enough to brighten the day. 

*

It is Nezu who greets him at the breakfast table. Izuku blinks; as far as he knows, Midnight had been covering the night shift. 

‘Good morning, Midoriya-kun!’

‘Good morning, Nezu-san.’

‘There's a slight change to your schedule today. After your morning classes, Cementoss will take you to my office.’

‘We're… not training today?’

Does he want to talk about the mistakes I made yesterday? He said I hadn't messed up, but maybe he thought about it overnight? 

Nezu clambers onto the stool and gestures to the second one. On the table lies a bowl of rice porridge, leafy greens and an impressive amount of eggs. 

Izuku sits, and starts picking at his food. 

‘We might or we might not. It depends on how the meeting goes. You see—I've called in two people who, well… who supported Yagi at different points of his career, and who are familiar with One for All.’ The principal’s claws tap lightly on the counter. ‘There was another person I wished to invite, but he wasn't available. A… detective…?’

‘Oh!’ 

Nezu is looking at him carefully, as if checking for an adverse reaction, but all Izuku feels is stunned. People who knew Yagi-san…! 

‘Who are they?’

Nezu’s smile blooms, tranquil. He stands to make some tea. ‘All in due time, Midoriya-kun.’ 

Silence reigns while the kettle is boiling. Nezu folds his paws, his eyes piercing. Izuku feels compelled to start eating in earnest. 

‘Generally,’ Nezu begins, pouring the tea in teacups far too dainty to belong in Aizawa’s apartment, ‘it is best to avoid holding secret knowledge in the forefront of your mind for too long. There is at least one student at UA who can read surface thoughts, and it is not as uncommon a quirk as you might think.’

‘Oh, yes, I remember reading about that! That mental quirks, while the rarest kind, are often underestimated and misdiagnosed. And sometimes people don't even realize they have them, because the activation conditions are subtle or because their quirk is passive, so the proportion could be even higher—’

‘Exactly.’ Nezu gently cuts in. To prevent himself from mumbling further, Izuku shovels eggs in his mouth. ‘To that purpose, I've arranged a meeting with our usual cacher this evening.’

Izuku brightens. ‘Really?’

‘Yes. In fact, she's now UA’s official cacher. I was finally able to recruit her as a member of staff.’ Nezu's whiskers twitch with self-satisfaction. ‘She is fully certified in mental quirk training and ethics, and she's a brilliant instructor.’

‘Oh! And she isn't conscripted? No, wait, Aizawa-san said you usually have cachers come in from abroad…’

‘Precisely. Watabe-san worked in Europe for most of her career, though she is Japanese by birth.’

‘Will you ask her to teach too? Um, the… during the broadcast, the HPSC President said the hero course would gain an additional track…’

‘Well-deducted, Midoriya-kun,’ Nezu compliments, causing Izuku to turn beet red and curl around his bowl of porridge. ‘Watabe-san will be heading the newly-formed mental quirk branch of the hero course. While Aizawa-kun will remain the general ethics teacher, Watabe-san specializes on the ethics tied to mental quirk usage. She is uniquely primed to teach those students.’

‘Congratulations on hiring her, Nezu-san.’

Izuku's mind is swirling. I'm going to learn more about One for All, meet people who knew All Might personally, and get to experience a super cool mental quirk in action…! Today is the best! 

Nezu’s high-pitched voice cut through his musings. ‘But for now, your classes await…’

‘Right.’

‘...and I believe you have Japanese classical literature first.’

Izuku groans as the principal chuckles, before a soft paw pats his shoulder in sympathy. 

*

The tea steaming in the teacups is made from dandelions. It had been Toshinori’s favorite when he was still alive. He'd once confessed to Nezu that it reminded him of his childhood, when the only type of herbs he could readily find for tea were the weeds growing through the cracks in the road. It had been an infusion Toshinori had often brewed for his mentor, too.

Nezu hasn’t chosen this tea by accident (he never does). It is meant to be a sincere homage to his friend, and perhaps, an overture to All Might's inner circle. 

If his two visitors think anything of the fragrance wafting from their cups, they let none of it show. 

Content with silent observation as they wait for Midoriya to arrive, Nezu calmy sips from his cup. The others’ remain untouched.

If this meeting were happening under any other circumstances, the contrast between the two men would be comical. One, Torino Sorahiko, is short and squat, but incredibly agile and sharper than he lets on. The other, Sasaki Mirai, is tall and lean, the picture of reasonability, but self-assured and blind to his own biases. Their only common point is that they're both in civilian clothing.

Both have their jaws set. Nighteye’s arms are crossed. Torino is looking out the window, no doubt at the gathering storm clouds which building pressure has been skittering across Nezu’s skin all morning. 

Past the first greeting, they haven't said a single word. They’re not loquacious men, Nezu knows, but their body language clearly spells reluctance. 

Admittedly, Nezu nearly had to twist their arms to have them come here. Some part of him is indignant that he’s had to call at all, that they hadn’t insisted upon coming themselves, that they hadn’t gathered at once the moment they’d learned Toshinori had a successor. As if to highlight the contrast, Nezu’s quirk has been conjuring images of how his staff had positively rallied after All Might’s death; how supportive they’d been; how patient with his demands and flexible with his needs; how humane, in the most beautiful sense of the word.

This is going to be quite different, he reflects, letting the cup warm the soft insides of his paws. But whether Nezu can turn it around and make it a success remains to be seen. For one, the analysis his quirk depends on isn’t as grounded as he might like.  The data points are few. Many of the variables of these men’s behaviors are unknown to him, which means all his quirk’s conjured scenarios operate with a rather large margin of error. 

He knows Sir Nighteye better. For one, the man is a twilight hero, and as All Might’s sidekick he had done his fair share of media appearances. Plus, Nezu has interacted with him previously—in fact, he has had occasional differences of opinions with Sir Nighteye in the past. 

Gran Torino is the unknown element here. His teaching days at UA had been before Nezu's time as a teacher (well before he became the principal), and Tanaka-san had been rather tight-lipped about the man, even after Nezu had been told about One for All. 

Neither Nighteye nor Gran Torino would be Nezu's first choice of trainers under normal circumstances. But they had once been All Might's most trusted allies, and bringing the whole UA staff into the confidence about Midoriya's quirk would be too much of a security risk. 

So Nezu must compose with these men, if only to make sure Midoriya doesn’t blow himself into smithereens.

A light flashes once, along with an ultrasound. Here he comes. Midoriya is in the antechamber, and from the camera feed, he looks excited.

‘Midoriya-kun is here,’ he announces, and two sets of eyes snap to him immediately. They don't look excited. It's a struggle not to let his hackles rise. 

Let's set expectations before I let him in. 

‘Tsukauchi-san wasn't able to make it, and neither was Midoriya’s guardian. I will be acting in loco parentis. As such I will kindly ask you to be… sensitive… to what the boy has been through.’

Nezu smiles wider than usual, until he is certain the other two have noticed the sharpness of his teeth.

‘We don't have all day, Nezu-san,’ Nighteye points out flatly, draping his long fingers over his crossed knee. ‘Are we to see this boy?’

For a single second, Nezu wavers. There are many reasons why he shouldn't have Midoriya participate. He was fragile just the day before. And these two… 

Toshinori was not a bad judge of character, he reassures himself. Though he was notoriously forgiving… 

His quirk provides him with a counterpoint. There is a 27% chance that this meeting will not go well. Even taking into account that his quirk’s running with incomplete data, it's a much higher chance than Nezu is comfortable with, but pinning down these two had been difficult. There is no guarantee that postponing the meeting will arrange matters. And…

And this is about Midoriya's future. About his potential as a hero. 

Nezu cannot leave him out of this conversation.

‘Of course,’ he demures, and activates the door.

Midoriya comes in limping, his cane in hand, and suddenly, Nezu understands why Yamada had done a double take when he’d caught sight of Sir Nighteye in the corridor earlier. Their hair’s green shade matches almost exactly. 

The boy takes in Gran Torino’s appearance with curiosity, but his eyes positively shine when he recognizes Sir Nighteye. He bows, lower than property demands.

‘I'm Midoriya Izuku. It's, um, it's an honor.’

‘Torino Sorahiko,’ the old man offers, and nothing else.

‘I am Sasaki Mirai, hero name Sir Nighteye.’

‘Ah—yes, I-I've heard of you.’

‘Have you.’

‘Of course! You were All Might’s one and only side-kick—although technically he only ever called you his associate. I-I've read a lot about you, particularly your take-down of the Akai-Masuku and your contribution to the imprisonment of Toxic Chainsaw. Your quirk is fascinating, Mirai-san, and I, well, I've been wondering—’ 

‘Why don't you take a seat, first,’ Nighteye cuts in. ‘Let's stop wasting time.’

The boy’s mouth snaps shut and Nezu wants to growl at how quickly self-doubt makes a home in his gaze. ‘Um, o-of course.’ He bows again. ‘I apologize if I… I d-didn't mean to offend.’

‘No harm done,’ Nezu counters, ‘Nighteye is just keen to get started, Midoriya-kun.’ As he silently invites the teen to the last available seat, he flashes a warning glance to the green-haired hero.

If Aizawa-kun were here… But he isn't. Aizawa had been uniquely placed to help settle another student’s precarious situation. It had made sense for him to go. 

Even if it had robbed Nezu of one of his most precious allies.

Torino’s mouth is a flat line, his keen eyes missing nothing of Midoriya's movement as he limps to the free chair and takes a seat. 

A notebook and a pen soon make their appearance. Poised to take notes, the boy is the picture of an attentive student. Nezu hopes the other two can see how eager Midoriya-kun is. Even if that eagerness borders desperation. (Statistically speaking, quirkless individuals tend to entertain much less dreams and aspirations about their future than their quirked counterparts. Either they are too busy trying to fulfill their unmet basic needs, or they have resigned to having little control over their future. But those quirkless who do have a dream—they clutch to it fiercely.) 

(As fiercely as you did, a voice whispers, when you discovered there was an outside.)

In between a breath and the next, Nezu shakes his hesitation. The boy is here. It is done. It is my job to make them see Midoriya as an asset—as someone who can be, who deserves to be trained. 

Nezu has armed himself with thirty-seven arguments, ranging from practical to emotional to logical, and one stream of his quirk will be entirely dedicated to judging which should be used when during the discussion. 

Leaning back in his seat, Nezu smiles at Midoriya and at his other guests, clasping his paws against each other.

‘We are here to discuss the training of Midoriya-kun as All Might’s successor.’ 

Midoriya's fists slowly clench, his back straightening. Nezu is growing increasingly familiar with what Midoriya Izuku looks like when he's determined. 

(He knows, too, that it is fragile, a dash of desperate paint slapped over self-doubt that has long been ingrained. But colors can bleed into the skin underneath, and change it forever, if given time.)

‘The term “successor” is a bit much, is it not, Nezu-san? Considering the boy's acquired One for All in the last minutes of Toshinori's life.’

A shadow flits in Midoriya's gaze, but he only swallows. 

‘He is the current holder,’ Torino counters firmly. ‘This is all that matters.’

Nezu takes a calming sip of tea. ‘Regardless what we call him, Midoriya-kun has expressed the desire to keep the quirk. Since then we have been—’

Nighteye leans forward as he interrupts. ‘And were his wishes the most determining factor?’ He doesn't look at the teen sitting a few yards away.

Nezu makes sure not to bare his teeth. ‘They were the only determining factor, Sir Nighteye—aside from potential concerns about his health.’ A pause. ‘I would thank you to let me finish my introduction before we discuss future plans and any concerns you wish to raise.’

Nighteye sits back.

‘As I was saying, we have put Midoriya-kun on a specific training regiment—including exercise, diet and breaks—which is aimed at increasing his muscle mass.’

Torino’s cane thumps on the floorboards. ‘What happens if you activate your quirk now, boy?’

Midoriya blinks at being talked to so suddenly. ‘Um. I’ve only ever done it once, um, b-by accident.’

‘By accident?’ Nighteye mutters. 

Midoriya gives him a side-eyed glance but turns back to Gran Torino.

‘It b-broke my bones a little. Just hairline fractures, but err…’ He winces, and his hand rises to rub the back of his neck. ‘It got canceled after a second at most.’

‘So it will blow you apart if you activate it fully,’ Torino sums up, laconic. 

‘Now you see the issue!’ Nezu interjects, keeping his tone cheerful though he hasn't missed the signs. Nighteye’s grip on his knees has turned white; his lip is curling. He's exercising self-control but I caught that disbelieving shake of the head. 

Nezu’s quirk is unequivocal. Hostile. 

‘Yes, I do see the issue,’ the hero says, and Nezu’s fur bristles at the tone. ‘I daresay it's different from the one you think you're facing.’

‘Oh?’

‘I would not have believed it of you, Nezu-san, but you've let sentimentality win over logic. All Might died saving this boy—’ and Nezu has to bite his tongue not to interrupt, not to tell this entitled asshat that no, it was the reverse, it was the boy who had tried to help Toshinori… ‘—and so just because he was the last one to see him alive, you think he should keep One for All?’

Torino twists to pin Nighteye with a sharp glare. ‘The boy is the current holder—’

‘—but he doesn't need to remain so .’

Nezu has to curl his tail around his chair to refrain himself from jumping onto his desk. ‘Choice is what matters here. Midoriya-kun’s wishes are clear, Sasaki-san—’

‘And as important as they may be, do they matter more than the countless number of lives that could be saved, right now, by someone more competent being in possession of One for All?’

Nezu sees the words impact the boy, sees his eyes widen, his face pale. (A quick glance down reassures Nezu that the quirk-canceling cuff is still active around Midoriya’s wrist.)

‘Before we discuss of any future plans, should we not first discuss the suitability of Midoriya taking up All Might’s mantle?’

‘That is not what I called this meeting for,’ Nezu grinds. ‘I was hoping to benefit from your knowledge of One for All and from your help training Midoriya-kun.’

‘Then it is my expert opinion that One for All should be passed on as swiftly as can be arranged.’ Nighteye pushes his glasses back up. ‘Any competent hero would do. But if we are looking for someone who is reasonable enough to listen to advice, with access to training facilities and time to do so, then a student nearing the end of their curriculum would make the most sense. My current intern would be a good choice, for instance.’

Nezu places him at once. ‘Mirio Togata?’ 

‘To put it succinctly, Mirio is more competent. He is halfway through his schooling, has more muscle mass and more experience than Midoriya. He has a radiant personality which is highly suitable for taking up the mantle of the Symbol of Peace. And he has already successfully mastered a complicated quirk—’

‘—To be certain,’ Nezu interrupts firmly, ‘Mirio-kun is an exemplary hero student, with tremendous potential to rise to the top of the charts on his own power. And even if he could be a good candidate for One for All, this isn't the matter at hand. That choice is made. The deed is done, Sasaki-san—’

‘I…’ Midoriya says, but his voice shrivels when Nighteye jumps to his feet. 

‘Then the choice must be made again! In this context… I don't need to tell you villainy on the rise—up more than two hundred percent in five weeks—surely in this context it makes sense to favor the most competent candidate!’

‘Not the kindest?’

Nighteye drew up short at Nezu’s retort. ‘What?’

‘Toshinori,’ Torino gruffly points out, ‘was as incompetent as you could get, when he became the sole holder of One for All. But he had heart.’

The boy is looking fixedly at his notebook, Nezu’s quirk whispers. Holding himself very still. Making himself unnoticeable on purpose.

This conversation has been blow after blow. It makes Nezu want to snarl.

He doesn't. By the skin of his teeth, he clings to his composure as hard as he can. He is holding a fragile teacup; he cannot let it break. 

Nezu lifts his chin and makes sure to meet the tall hero’s troubled gaze. ‘To see us through battles, to see us through war—you're right, Sasaki-san. It might make sense to put one's bet on the most competent candidate. But All Might's legacy was not war, and his primary attribute—the one he was known and beloved for—was never his power or his competence. It was his kindness. I believe you once called it his “largesse of heart”. So I ask you, Sir Nighteye, former associate of All Might. To see us through to peace… Between the most competent or the kindest… Who would you choose?’

Nighteye crosses his arms. His glare is fierce, but Nezu has faced fiercer. I will not back down. Toshinori would be on my side in this, I am certain. Nezu’s heart has picked up speed, but adrenaline and his protective instinct make it impossible for fear to touch him. And there are deeper, fundamental values at stake. What will Midoriya learn from me, if I give an inch here? 

Nighteye takes a long breath. ‘I am not saying that Mirio has to be the one. Or that Midoriya would be the worst candidate, either. But are we to ignore the elephant in the room? ...the boy is crippled.’

Did he just dare—

Before he knows it, Nezu is standing on top of his desk, teacup hastily discarded to the side. But even as Nighteye drops his arms and shifts to a defensive stance, and Torino jumps to his feet in outrage—Nezu only has eyes for Midoriya. 

Who looks back, embarrassment and smothered shame warring on his face… Which all get erased as their eyes meet, and he offers a tremulous smile.

“I smile to trick the fear inside of me.”

Toshinori, this one smiles to hide his pain. 

Nezu doesn't have a smile in him to offer in return, but he wiggles his ears, and is relieved to see the smile soften, becoming more sincere.

Both of their heads snap sideways as a crack resonates through the room. There's a new crater in the upper right-hand corner of the room. Consistent with high-speed impact of a heavy body—

Torino’s cane raps against the side of Nezu’s desk (who would be put out by the destruction, if it hadn't halted Nighteye in his tracks).

‘...because I am old,’ Torino was saying with narrowed eyes. ‘Some might say an old hero is a crippled hero. And yet, I rather think I could take you and win, Nighteye. All Might was on three hours of hero duty before he died. Infirmity—no, pardon my geezer vocabulary, being disabled doesn't define what makes a good hero or not—’

Seeing himself outnumbered, Nighteye turned to the last person sitting in the room. 

‘That is not to say that you have less worth, Midoriya. This isn't personal. I am not saying you can't be a hero. All I'm saying is you're not fit to wield One for All.’

‘This isn't up to you, boyo—’ Torino tries to interrupt even as Nezu growls.

‘You could become a good hero in time, I'm sure. You could be the first Japanese quirkless hero, and if you care about that, that is something All Might would have been proud of.’

This sentence, just there, Nezu’s quirk points out. He's right. 

It then moves to suggest ten unfortunately too violent ways of getting the man to stop talking. ‘Enough,’ Nezu snaps. 

The hero (?) remains unfazed. ‘But there are others who would be better at carrying on All Might’s legacy.’ He takes a step forward, only to be halted by Torino’s cane against his abdomen. His eyes are boring into Midoriya's, who looks back wide-eyed. ‘It makes no sense to give you a quirk that can rewrite the face of the Earth, when you have barely started and the deck is stacked against you. Especially when there are people who could wield it within six months—’

‘—stop it! Stop this instant!’ 

Nezu jumps onto the arm of Midoriya's chair: he puts his body between them, cuts off their eye contact. And even as his tail curls delicately around the hand that isn't holding a pen, his claws flex. 

‘Sasaki-san, given your clear bias, you will talk to me, to us, but not to Midoriya. Or you will be escorted out.’

‘Listen, you pipsqueak,’ Torino grumbles, craning his neck, and Nezu almost startles to realize he's calling Nighteye that. ‘You're not winning yourself any friends here. Take a breath and use what's between your ears and behind your ribs. You're out of line—’

Sasaki sneers. ‘Why don't we use my quirk, then? If you think Midoriya has such a bright future ahead of him with One for All—shall we see if you're right?’

‘I…’

Nezu glances behind him. Midoriya is twisting his hands. He would say yes, and never take the time to consider what he actually wants. Nezu’s tail tightens around the teen’s wrist. 

‘Midoriya-kun is not in a position to give informed consent. You can thank your bullish manners for that.’

Nighteye looks down at Nezu through his glasses. ‘My quirk offends you, doesn't it?’

‘No. What offends me is that attitude of yours that stems from the belief that your quirk is an absolute. If it is absolute, then you are always right.’ Nezu’s breath stutters, and he is acutely conscious that there are three humans in the room. ‘There is much danger in humans believing they are in the right. ’

‘And not in animals? The fact of the matter is that my quirk has never been wrong. It reads destiny—’

‘There is no such thing. It is all probabilities—’

‘It has never been wrong.’

Gran Torino takes a step back, and sits tiredly. ‘So did you foresee Yagi's death in a building collapse?’

Sasaki falters. ‘My quirk has never been wrong before. ’

From behind Nezu comes some soft muttering that he doesn't quite catch (—precognition—quirk—foresight—much as probability calculation—individuals who—). 

And then, the boy speaks up, bravely. ‘Have you, erm, have you tried it on quirkless people? Your Foresight quirk.’

‘There has rarely been a time when a quirkless person had enough importance to an investigation to merit it.’

‘That's a no,’ Torino clarifies smugly. 

‘Th-Then… Could it be that it doesn't work on quirkless people? By which I mean—the probability is off for them?’

Nezu sees the implications right away. 

‘Yagi-san was originally quirkless… and your prediction of his death was wrong. I, well, if you think about it, it's either that, or your foresight doesn't work well for people you care about.’

‘Which does seem to imply,’ Nezu concludes, ‘that your quirk is not an absolute. And you will not be using it today.’

Nighteye purses his lips as he pushes his glasses up once more. ‘So you'll persist in this foolishness, then? You think I will let you get away with—with wasting One for All? That the HPSC will? You should prepare for staunch opposition, Nezu-san, and not just from me.’

‘Oh, no. You see, All Might was very clear in his will. He left the training of any successor of his to me. “At my entire discretion,” is the phrasing he used.’

Nezu jumps back onto his desk, regains his chair. He smooths down his waistcoat, takes a sip of tea. (The dandelion taste conjures up a swirl of feelings he carefully does not acknowledge.)

‘I have invited you here as a courtesy, and because you are one of the only ones in the know. However, if you are going to continue saying such awful things in Midoriya's presence, I rather think that I will recede my invitation. And perhaps file a restraining order.’

‘How could you—I was All Might’s associate for years!’

‘He was my friend too!’ Nezu thunders as rage seizes him whole. ‘And you don’t see me taking my grief out on a boy!’ A growl is deepening his usually thin voice and for a few racing heartbeats he has to fight the urge to claw and tear and hurt because—because this isn’t him, it isn’t , it is loss talking.

Nezu yanks his claws away from the grooves in his desk, breathing harshly. (There is no tears to blink back, of course. Only a whine no human can hear to refrain, and ruffled fur to coax back down.)

‘Leave. Leave now.’ He isn't smiling any longer: he is baring teeth. ‘And do not try to read Midoriya-kun, or any of us, without our consent or I assure you, you will be in a world of trouble.’

Sasaki draws himself up with a scowl. ‘Fine. Fine. Have it your way. Rob the world of his Symbol of Peace—’

‘That happened,’ Torino retorts calmly, ‘the moment Toshinori died. And this boy had nothing to do with it.’

The tall hero only shakes his head at the shorter one. Glaring at Nezu, he turns their back on them and crosses the office toward the door. 

‘A waste, ’ Nighteye mutters, loud enough to be heard by humans, judging by Midoriya's flinch. ‘All Might would be ashamed.’

He doesn't spare a glance for Midoriya.

The door swivels open automatically, and shuts behind him. 

Nezu takes a shaky breath, ensuring through his screens that Nighteye is indeed leaving, and a quick text to Ectoplasm that the hero will be tailed from afar as he makes his way out of the school. 

When he looks back up, he sees Torino has stood up again. ‘I won't apologize for this imbecile. But I do feel bad for suggesting to invite him.’

‘That is fine, Torino-san,’ Nezu sighs. ‘Please do take a seat—’

‘No, Nezu-san. I won't.’ 

The hero shifts his weight, looking out the window. As if seeking an escape. 

But then, he glances at Midoriya, his lips pulling up in a semblance of a smile. ‘It's nothing against you, boy. But I—I have buried two users of One for All.’ All ten of his fingers are clenched around the pommel of his cane. ‘I… Toshinori was… I was harsh on him. Too harsh. When we parted… And then later the few times that he'd call… We weren't on the best of terms.’

Nezu’s senses are on high alert after the conversation, and he is laser-focused on the hero. That is the only reason he catches a glimpse into a chasm of regret, an ocean of grief.

And his heart resonates with it because… 

(Nezu still remembers Shirakumo Oboro, the very first student that he lost…) 

(And Nezu has never forgotten, and will never forget, Toshinori’s loss.)

‘It-It's okay, Torino-san,’ Midoriya answers. He is smiling too, though his eyes aren't shining. He's too used to disappointment. To being the source of the disappointment. ‘You should t-take care of yourself first. I… The school c-counselor says it's important t-to take time to grieve.’

‘Hah! I don't need more of that. Time is all I have now that I'm a codger, and grief is an old friend—a damn regular at my house.’ Gran Torino hesitates. His quirk is activating periodically, making him hover in place. ‘I'm not saying never, kid, Nezu-san. When you can safely activate your quirk, then you call me, okay? ...Might have a few tips for you.’

Midoriya brightens. He jumps to his feet, almost falling over as he over-balances for his leg, and bows low to Torino. ‘Thank you. Thank you so much!’

‘I just said I wouldn't train you, boy.’

‘Yet. You said you wouldn't train me yet. I'll work hard, Torino-san.’

The old man's expression twists, somewhere between wistfulness and dismay. He swallows hard. ‘You do that, you lepton.’

He hobbles to the door (leaning, Nezu thinks, harder on his cane than he needs, probably to make a point), and with a hop, he activates his quirk and is gone in a flash.

And outside, the storm that had been brewing finally breaks.

***

Chapter Text

Through Sorahiko’s never-ending streak of bad luck, the storm’s floodgates open just as he makes it outside. Normally, he doesn't mind a little rain, even with thunder and lightning joining the party. But the rain will undoubtedly make his old joints achy and creaky tonight. The wind will echo hollowly through his house that feels emptier now that Toshinori is gone. And the discussion (if you can call it that) has left him grumpy, maudlin and disgruntled. 

He is about to zoom out of UA and straight to the train station, when he catches sight of the green-haired fool on the entrance path.

The sight kindles anger and disdain, yet a thought stops him in his tracks. He is just as stupid as you were—just in a different way, that's all.

It isn't too late to educate him. Sorahiko has never been shy in giving anyone a piece of his mind. And after all, he used to be a teacher here. 

In short bursts of speed that already leave him half-soaked, Sorahiko catches up to Sir Nighteye. Could he look any more like an office drone? Everything about the man irritates him.

‘You're an imbecile,’ Sorahiko says. ‘And not a little bit of an arsehole, too.’

‘Pardon?’ Long-legs half-turns to him and rolls his eyes. ‘If that is all you have to say to me, go on your way, Gran Torino. I don't care for your opinion.’

‘And I don't care that you don't care. You made a mess in there. The poor boy deserved none of your vitriol. You claim to be All Might’s biggest fan, but it looks like you forgot everything he stands for.’

Nighteye draws to a halt, and quietly pulls out an umbrella from his pocket. ‘And pray tell,’ the tall jerk says glacially as he shields himself from the rain, ‘what exactly you think you know about All Might that I don't?’

‘That he believed you.’

Nighteye frowns. ‘What?’

‘Toshinori believed you. I know you slammed the door on five years of friendship because you thought he didn't, but he did. He thought, for sure, that he'd die at the hand of a great villain like you said.’ Nighteye’s arms uncross. Torino takes the opportunity to jab him in the belly with his cane. ‘For you, that was reason enough to ask him to cease being a hero, to retire. But if you follow your quirk’s logic, that wouldn't prevent the outcome.’

‘No, but—’

‘I'm talking, pipsqueak.’

Through controlled bursts of air from his feet, Sorahiko hovers in place. Perhaps Nighteye remembers Toshinori's tales of his training; whatever the case, the big bully wisely chooses to shut up, his eyes tracking him.

‘Because he thought your quirk an absolute, Yagi believed that no matter what he did, he would die at the hand of a villain anyway, just like you said. So he decided to make the sacrifice worthwhile. He chose to keep being a hero at the cost of himself.’

Nighteye’s jaw sets. ‘He could have been happy,’ he articulates through gritted teeth. ‘He could have retired and had happy years—’

‘He was happiest doing hero work.’ Sorahiko stares at him through the fury of the storm. ‘How were you his sidekick for years and never learned that?’

‘Of course I—’

‘No, I don't think you did. Yagi thought peace was worth everything—everything but tolerating injustice. He grew up in a lawless world. He knew very well how much it hurt. It was his choice to continue being a hero. And I can see why your friendship ended, if you weren't able to see that.’

‘His “choice,” as you say, was self-destruction.’

Sorahiko sneers. This one doesn't listen. Nezu’s assessment was spot on. He is too used to thinking of himself as being in the right.

But Sorahiko’s conscience is stinging. Beyond training and advising him about All for One, he hadn't been able to do much for Toshinori while he was alive. He'd made himself too much of a difficult memory for the man to reach out regularly. But damn me if I let anyone taint his memory—or distort what he was trying to achieve. 

‘No. There is self-destruction, which cares only about destroying the self without regard for the consequences on others. And then there is the selfless suicide most people call sacrifice.’

Sorahiko hovers close, closer than propriety usually allows, so that he is very much in Nighteye’s face. The hero’s expression is shuttered but his eyes are confused. Underneath the anger, there is sadness. Maybe he will hear this. 

‘They are two sides of the same coin, but they are fundamentally not the same. Because the first one is selfish. It’s about ending your pain. The other one is—it’s about alleviating that of others.’

‘All Might was injured—he was walking around missing organs—and you maintain that keeping on as a hero wasn't self-destruction?’ The disbelief is strong in the green-haired hero’s tone, but his expression is showing cracks.

‘It's self-actualization. Toshinori’s whole sense of self was built around being the Symbol of Peace. Whatever pain he had to bear, whatever smiles he had to fake, all of that was worth it.’

And that is why it doesn't matter if Midoriya Izuku has the quirk, or another hero student does. As long as he saves people—as long as he contributes to peace—Toshinori will have a legacy. 

Sorahiko pulls back. 

A faceful of rain washes away the anger, the disdain, the pitiable hope that there is still something he can do for the one person he’d never allowed to connect with him. 

Sudden grief threatens to pull him down, and regret, its ever-present shadow.

‘Try to think on that, Sir Nighteye,’ Sorahiko snaps, and goes home to nurse the wounds on his soul that will never heal. 

*

For a few seconds after the door has swiveled closed on silent hinges, Nezu-san doesn't speak. His eyes are fixed unseeing on the doorway. 

Then a tremor shakes his white-furred body, and he says, in a seeking tone, ‘Midoriya-kun…’

‘I'm fine,’ Izuku answers automatically. He's… not lying exactly. He isn't sure what to feel. They'd just learned about decantation in chem class earlier that week: he feels like that. All of his emotions are a mix that has to decant, and right now… He'd gotten briefly excited at Torino's gruff encouragement, but when he remembers Sir Nighteye’s words… Numbness fills him.

It's much easier to focus on the other person in the room. 

Nezu’s expression is a labyrinthine mystery, but his fur is ruffled. And though his gaze is fixed on him (and his quirk no doubt registering a thousand things about Izuku)... There is something like emptiness there too. 

It's the cheerfulness. It's gone. It feels strange. Even during the times when Nezu had avoided being too cheerful, there had always been something engaging coming through. Like a hand reached out—to greet, to support, to comfort, to clasp.

But now… Is he… He looks like he's breathing wrong. 

He is not fine. 

The animal’s round ears are clearly pulled back, his arms listless at his sides. ‘I… that was… I should have…’

Izuku has never seen Nezu speechless before. He mustn't be as numb as he thinks, because his heart lurches at seeing the usually unflappable principal so affected.

Hesitantly, he makes his way closer to the desk, stops just within arms’ reach. Maybe Nezu-san doesn't like having people come too close when he's upset.

‘Um… Y-You did well, Nezu-san. I, uh, I felt safe thanks to you.’ No, safe isn’t the right word. There hadn't been any threat in the room. ‘Supported, I mean. I felt supported.’

It doesn't feel like enough to say these words. The principal looks like he barely registers them. So Izuku thinks back to the times when Nezu had provided a grounding presence, and he reaches out a hand, which he puts down on the desk. 

Slowly, a paw—a paw that is just this side of trembling—rests on top of his open palm. 

‘I'm sorry, Midoriya-kun. I…’

The breathing is still wrong, and Nezu's fur is ruffling. His tail whips about in agitation. 

That's when it hits Izuku. 

Nezu can't cry. 

He's an animal. Most animals don't cry. They have other signs showing that they're distraught… 

Unfortunately, Izuku thinks he knows what those signs are now. For a moment, he feels cast off, like a ship thrown in the middle of an ocean that he doesn't know how to navigate. He's seen adults cry before—Mom cried for all sorts of reasons, but he'd also caught Auntie Mitsuki crying in rage, and many people at Mom’s funeral… But this is Nezu. 

And yet… it's unfair to expect him to be a bastion of strength all the time.

Izuku clenches the fist that isn't holding a paw. ‘H-How can I help?’

The claws dig in at his voice and retract. ‘G-Give me space. Just for a minute.’

‘Of c-course!’ Izuku backpedals clumsily, fumbling with his cane, until his back is to the opposite wall. Meanwhile, Nezu clambers to his seat and… dives under his desk.

There is the sound of a small click, or a hatch, and Izuku is left alone in the office.

For several minutes, Izuku leans against the wall and breathes. He doesn't want to think about what just happened, so he looks out the window, at the storm clouds discharging the rain they are made of, not realizing it will lead to their loss. They will give and give of themselves until they are gone. 

The thought causes a twist in his chest, so he turns his attention to the only one of Nezu’s screens that he can catch a glimpse of, and that isn't hidden by a confidentiality filter. Several security camera feeds show details of the school he can only guess at from this distance, and a window in the corner lists the UA hero staff, with varying lines below their pictures. He takes comfort in the green tick blinking softly next to all of them. Everyone is fine, he thinks. Even Aizawa. 

I wonder what he'd make of this.

He’d have stood with Nezu, surely. He's training me, and he said I can be a hero.

…but on the other hand, a lot of Sir Nighteye’s arguments had been rational. Almost common sense. 

“It's only logical.”

Izuku's heart sinks. He shuts his eyes, breathes harshly through his nose. 

He startles when he hears the principal’s voice. It's coming through a small metal grating in the floor. He hasn't left Izuku after all. 

‘I miss him,’ Nezu confesses in a small voice. 

I know, Izuku thinks, his mind turning to Mom. On that vast space within him that he could drown in. Oh, I know how you feel.  

‘I wish I'd known him,’ he says instead.

A short silence, and then the sound of a hatch comes again. Nezu’s whiskered snout pops above his desk, and the principal soon shimmies up onto his seat. With gestures that seem like a ritual, he empties the teapot, puts the kettle on, and re-arranges the teacups in their saucer.

‘You can come near, Midoriya-kun. Thank you for giving me a moment.’

‘Of course, Nezu-san. Um, would you like me to leave? I'm sure I can find a hero to stay with if—’

‘No, I do not mind your company.’ Nezu pauses after refilling Izuku's cup. ‘Though I would thank you not to mention the existence of this grate to anyone.’

‘I won't!’

Silence settles, or perhaps they settle in it. They are only two people sharing the same space, slowly drinking in warmth. 

‘The world was better,’ Nezu says after a while, ‘with him in it.’

Yes. All Might was such a paragon of heroism. Everything that a hero should stand for. 

And yet, he's not really speaking of All Might, is he? 

He's grieving Yagi Toshinori.

‘Will you tell me about him, sometime? Um, if you want?’

Izuku is rewarded with a perk of the principal’s ears, if not quite a smile. ‘Of course, Midoriya-kun. It will be my privilege.’

*

‘Nezu? What's up? You don't usually call in the middle of the day.’

‘I know. I'm calling about Midoriya-kun.’

‘Is the kid okay?’

‘That… remains to be seen. Do you remember that meeting I mentioned?’

‘With the ones who know about his quirk, yes. What happened? Did his quirk activate?’

‘No, no. The cuff seems to be serving him well. I am… concerned about his mental well-being though. Sir Nighteye was… inappropriate.’

‘...Inappropriate in what way.’

‘Nothing sexual, if that's what you're afraid of. Gran Torino and I were here the whole time.’

‘Sorry. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions.’

‘It is quite normal that this would be a latent concern of yours, given what happened with your… current student. But Sir Nighteye very vocally expressed his opinion that Midoriya is not a suitable candidate. He called the boy “crippled” to his face.’

‘He fucking what?’

‘He also implied that the longer Midoriya kept the quirk, the more people died when they could have been saved.’

‘You going to file an official warning on his license?’

‘No, I'm afraid I cannot. For all that his behavior today was appalling, Sir Nighteye is an exemplary hero with a sterling record. And since the content of this meeting must remain private… There are no grounds for revocation, or even a warning.’

‘...Fine. …Nezu, I don't want the kid near him ever again.’

‘No, neither do I. And I will take another look at Mirio-kun’s experience at the Nighteye agency. I was under the impression that it was a wholly positive one, but…’

‘If he can be that cruel to a kid he doesn't like… Fuck! As if Midoriya needed that on top of everything else!’

‘I apologize, Aizawa-kun. It was a gross miscalculation on my part.’

‘You couldn't know, Nezu.’

‘You're kind to say so.’

‘Next time you have a meeting like that, I want to be there. And—I want a briefing on the quirk.’

‘Of course. Mind you, Toshinori was… private. I do not have all the specifics, or the history. But I will look into it. By the time Midoriya can activate it, I should have a full briefing ready.’

‘...Do you still think he's… at risk, Nezu?’

‘...Yes. Not actively, but yes.’

‘...’

‘...’

‘Has he… been seeing Hound Dog?’

‘Yes.’

‘Okay. I… the mission’s going well. I should be back soon.’

‘This is good to hear.’

‘Is he around? Midoriya—can I talk to him?’

‘He's changing in his cubicle. Kan-kun and Yamada-kun are right nearby in the locker room.’

‘He's training after this?’

‘He insisted. He seems to be using it as a coping mechanism.’

‘Wouldn't be the first one… Okay. I'll call later. Who's with him tonight?’

‘Hound Dog.’

‘Good. …Thanks, Nezu.’

‘Mmh. He is my responsibility too, you know. And it is my pleasure besides.’

‘I know. Still, thank you. He's lucky he's got you in his corner.’

‘And you, Aizawa-kun. Ah, here he comes. Good luck today!’

‘Bye.’

*

‘Are you sure you're fine with having this visit now, Midoriya-kun? Watabe-san won't mind doing it tomorrow.’

‘Yes, I'm sure, Nezu-san. Thank you.’

‘Of course. Turn right.’

This is the second time Nezu’s offered to reschedule the visit to the cacher, but just like for training, Izuku is insistent. This is not only important for his goals, it's also really cool, and—

And it allows you not to think about what the green-haired tool said, Kacchan spits in his mind. 

Izuku doesn't stumble, but it's a near thing. He feels the principal subtly shifting his weight to the left—mindful that his right leg is sore after training, even with the shower. He’s taken off his brace, and though the muscles are stronger now than right after the hospital, they still pull wrong. It’s the bone that’s the problem.

You're scared to face it, aren't you? A man comes and for once he doesn't mollycoddle you, he tells you the truth—

No , Izuku counters, frowning. It's not the truth—

It is the truth. There are hundreds of people who could use this quirk better than you. I could use this quirk better than you. 

Izuku bites his tongue. Rather than Nighteye’s scathing words, he concentrates on the cool, soft paw against his neck, on the support Nezu gave him, then and now (even though he doesn't deserve it).

Pushing his right hand in his pocket, he makes a fist. His fingernails bite into his palm. Nezu-san thinks it's okay for me to have this quirk, and he's smarter than I am. Or than Kacchan. I can master it, and become a hero. I can. 

Leaning harder on his cane, Izuku widens his steps and picks up his pace. He wants to—he wants to get there already. 

Go ahead, just run away. You're pathetic, Deku. A sniveling little coward.

Izuku swallows. He doesn't deny it. That's the truth: he just doesn't want to be alone with his thoughts right now. He'd much rather hear about a cool quirk, and theorize how it works, and get one step closer to completing Aizawa’s assignment (never mind that he's already got a third of a notebook’s worth of theories on the UA staff’s quirks).

And maybe it's okay? It's okay to want to escape sometimes, Hound Dog had said once. Even for heroes. His smile, hidden by a muzzle, had shone through his gravelly voice. It keeps you alive. 

Yeah, so? You won't be able to run forever, nerd, Kacchan warns. 

‘That's the door, Midoriya-kun!’ Nezu chirps. 

Izuku stands dumb in front of it, thrown by the sudden halt in the spiral of his thoughts. 

Then he blinks, once, twice. They're here! As if it had been waiting all day for its turn, excitement wells up inside. Here is someone whom Nezu-san tried to hire for years, and she not only has a mental quirk, she trains others in it…!

Nezu nimbly clambers down and knocks on the door. 

As Watabe Sorane welcomes them in her private office, Izuku can't help but be impressed.

The office is the quintessence of efficiency. Little to no knick-knacks, everything squared away where it belongs. It's a contrast to Aizawa’s office, which constantly remains somewhere between chaotic and comfortable, and even more so Present Mic’s which has stuff everywhere . 

There are no windows in the room, and the longer side of the desk faces the door. It feels purposeful. Izuku has little to no concept on how to secure oneself in a closed room, but he's heard Aizawa at the dining table, grading ‘surroundings assessment and re-purposing’ essays for the third years. If he looks at the room through that angle… The desk can be flipped and serve as cover in case an assailant comes through the door. And the vent right above makes a convenient escape route, as long as we squeeze our way in.  

Then, there is the woman herself. Short purple hair, flint-eyed, she has a face of sharp angles which middle-age has done little to soften. But she gives a crooked smile when she finds Nezu and Izuku at the door. 

‘Come in,’ she says, and to Izuku's surprise, she offers him her hand to shake; her grip is strong, her palm callused.

Izuku isn't sure if he should bow after shaking hands, so just in case, he does. ‘I'm Midoriya Izuku. H-Hajimemashite, Watabe-san.’

Watabe closes the door behind them. ‘Heard you need a cacher?’

‘Yes, ma'am.’

Izuku's eyes are immediately attracted to a poster hanging on the opposite wall. It lists the 10-As, the ten absolutes that a mental quirk user must always keep in mind when using their quirk, and before deciding to do so. Izuku isn't too familiar with them. 

His fingers itch for his notebook and his pen; he wants to write them all down. He makes a note to look them up later, and resolves to commit them to memory. That's the framework within which any mental-quirked hero has to work. I wonder if there are differences between Japan and other countries? Izuku thinks he spies a U.N. Logo on the corner of the poster—maybe there are international standards? 

Watabe gestures for Izuku to sit down, sparing a glance for Nezu. ‘Make yourself comfortable, Mr. Nezu,’ she says, then pivots a chair so the back is facing front and sits in it. 

‘Right. Dzieciak,’ and Izuku startles when he realizes she means him. ‘My quirk allows me to create a mental cache in the minds of people I touch. Do you know what that is?’

‘Um… Is it kind of like a mental wall?’

‘Yes. A mental cache is like the walls of a house. Anything you put behind the cache—inside the house—will be hidden. Nobody will be able to read the memory or force the information out of you, even through a mental quirk or torture.’ 

Izuku grimaces; Nezu clears his throat. She gives the principal a glance, and goes on. 

‘There are limits. It won't protect all of your thoughts, only what I've tucked behind the cache. If the cache is a house, your surface thoughts are in the garden, which anyone can access—with the right quirk of course. Additionally, the cache won't protect any memory you make after this, which is why most heroes dealing with intelligence see cachers regularly.’

‘In fact,’ Nezu pipes up, ‘most intelligence agencies have their own cachers on site.’

‘Right.’ Watabe leans both arms on the back of the chair she's straddling. ‘Now, listen closely ’cause this is important. A mental cache still allows you to talk about cached memories willingly. Going back to the house metaphor, you can still open the door or the windows. That’s because heroes sometimes need to tell each other secrets, or a need-to-know has to be expanded, particularly in an emergency. Do you understand what that implies?’

‘Err…’ 

She leans forward, her gray eyes boring into Izuku's. ‘It means any secret put behind a cache can still be coerced out of you—via emotional manipulation. “You tell me or he dies.” You'll still be susceptible to that. You got me?’

‘Yes, ma'am.’

‘Right.’ She sits back. Her crooked smile is back. ‘You got questions for me?’

Only a thousand. 

He settles for the simplest one. ‘Are you a hero?’

‘No.’

‘Oh! But I thought there was a rule that all the teachers of the UA hero course have to be heroes. Are you an exception then?’

‘I suppose so,’ she says at the same time as Nezu answers, ‘Not… strictly speaking.’

Izuku waits for Nezu to elaborate. The principal just goes on smiling, his tail swishing. 

Watabe gives a sigh. ‘Let’s just say you won't find me on any public database and leave it at that.’

‘Watabe-san is still licensed for quirk-usage as a cacher,’ Nezu adds, ‘and for specially mandated missions.’

Oh! An underground hero? A… European underground hero? But then why would her name be kept off of their databases? Is it policy over there…? She holds herself very straight though. Former military? ...Secret service operative?

‘He’s got a keen mind, that one,’ Watabe comments, sardonic. Oh, no… ‘No discretion though.’

Oh, no, I must have been muttering again . Izuku wilts under the adults’ gazes. 

‘He’ll learn,’ Nezu says simply, his gaze shining with a glint Izuku can’t read on his animal face.

I embarrassed him. After he spends two whole afternoons with me, I go and embarrass him.

Izuku wishes the earth would swallow him. 

‘You with me, děcko?’

Izuku jumps at how close that sounds to Deku. Heart suddenly beating a staccato, he nods frantically. 

‘Applying a cache is relatively benign. It's not painful. It can be mildly disagreeable, particularly as it involves seeing some of the memories you’re caching go past you. But in nearly twenty years of career, only three people reacted badly to a cache, and they were later found to possess a latent mental quirk that manifested against the “intrusion”. I should also point out that the cache isn't permanent—I can dismantle it. However, most people end up keeping it all their lives and caching new memories periodically.’

She looks at him expectantly.

‘O-Okay?’

She twists in her seat to retrieve paper and pen from her desk. ‘Now, your guardians have consented to this procedure. But more importantly, I need your consent. Verbal and written agreement—sign here if you agree.’ Before Izuku can apply pen to paper, she lays a hand on the page. ‘It's not often that minors require a cache. I don't know what you've been told before coming here. But you don't have to do this.’ 

Nezu chimes in. ‘There are particular circumstances, Watabe-san.’ 

She doesn't give him a glance. ‘And I don't need to know them, Mr. Nezu. But I do need to establish informed consent. We've done the informed part, so now we're doing consent.’

The principal beams, ears wiggling. ‘Of course. Midoriya-kun, I can only second what Watabe-san has told you. Much like the cuff you're wearing at the moment, this is a choice. You can say no.’

‘Wouldn’t it make things—difficult?’

‘There would be risks,’ Nezu concedes. ‘But there are ways of mitigating and minimizing them.’

A short silence, during which the adults studiously look away from Izuku and maintain an aggressively neutral body language. Izuku's heart warms. They're doing their best not to influence me. 

‘I—I want to do it. Please, Watabe-san.’

‘Got it, gamin. Then, no point dallying. Take off your cuff and sit back.’

‘Take off…’ Izuku slides his eyes to Nezu. ‘Is this alright?’

‘I will hold on to it,’ the principal says, ‘and should it come to that, I have taken the liberty of acquiring a syringe of quirk suppressants. But neither should be required. Watabe-san really is telling the truth in saying it’s benign and safe.’

Izuku clicks on the clasp and watches as the blue glow circles the quirk-suppressing cuff once and powers down. He holds on to it for a moment before gingerly giving it to Nezu. At Watabe’s gesture, he slides deeper into his chair.

‘You comfortable?’

‘Yes?’

‘Here we go.’

Izuku feels a touch on his wrist, and the world rounds, and tilts, and folds… 

*

Overhead the sky is awash with lights, tiny pinpricks of stars scattered like diamond dust on black velvet. Colors swirl in the void, connecting the dots, northern lights or galaxies. More likely, this is an inner representation of Izuku's emotions, psyche and biochemical processes—but whatever else, it is beautiful. 

Izuku stands with his neck craned up, and when he finally thinks to look down, he sees a land that is as black as a moonless night. He can barely make out the relief of it, an outcropping here, a dip there. Right next to him, giving off a faint glow, is a humongous river of translucent silver. Many tinier tributaries run to feed it, sparking shifts in its currents, while others snake away to sink deep into the earth. 

Izuku is entirely out of his element, and yet, he doesn't feel lost. If anything he feels like he belongs. This is him, just him, and for once, for perhaps the first time he can remember, he feels that he is enough.

(‘See that purple current over there? Those are the memories I'm shepherding. Can you concentrate on what you need to hide? Your mind will do the rest.’)

Izuku does what the voice tells him. Instinctively, he knows that if he didn't trust it, this place wouldn't look the same. Besides, it can't force him to do anything, not here. It can shape some things (he can feel them, the ins and outs of what it can do), but it cannot change him. It's actually quite comforting.

So Izuku turns away from the beauty of this place and focuses. There's quite a lot he needs to cache, but Nezu and him established a list beforehand and the knowledge is there, waiting for him. With barely any effort, the purple hue gathers over the silvery film of his memories, and the gentle force whose voice is talking to him outside guides it out through a new furrow. 

(‘You're doing well, kiddo.’)

Suddenly, Izuku catches a glimpse of green hair, and he's scrabbling on the riverbank before he knows it, hastening after that memory, because that's Mom—

‘…to the tailor, Izuku,’ Mom is saying as she leaves him sitting on the couch with a leg tucked under and his notebook in hand, heading further into the flat to her room. Her voice drifts back to him. ‘Hayashi-san’s wedding is next month and I need to get my suit mended. Do you wanna come with me?’

Izuku is about to reply when all at once the world swings sideways. A rumble invades his ears, his mind, his bones, grey dust takes over his vision and rush into his lungs, causing him to cough. The couch is gone from under him and Izuku realizes that he's airborne, he's falling, he reaches and grasps only thin air, and everything is—everything is—

(Somewhere, Izuku's body is breathing too fast, his fists clenching… His leg is spasming, and there's pain shooting up those nerves, there has to be blood on it, the bone must be sticking out, in a moment he's going to…)

Something intangible picks him up round the waist before he can sink into the river. Its grip is firm but not unkind, like Watabe-san’s handshake.

It holds him steady until Izuku finds his feet. 

(‘Breathe, kiddo, remember how to do that? Good, that's good. Try to avoid looking too closely, if you can. You might trigger yourself otherwise. Let the memories flow past. They can't hurt you.’)

The purple-hued snake of memories is already hurrying away down the new furrow, and on the horizon, Izuku can just about guess at a new structure slowly rising from the ground.

His heart twists; it looks like home. Or like home used to be, the building as it stood before the collapse. Izuku has no doubt the second story's flight of stairs has a crack in the third step, that all the doors are needlessly whiney, that the main door is kept propped open with a brick during the day. He can almost feel the spring wind blowing in the smell of nearby plum tree blossoms. 

Izuku barely has to think and he is there, having unconsciously followed the forming cache, or perhaps being tethered by the force of Watabe’s quirk. 

And then he blinks. Because, behind the building, there is something… 

It's a wall. A wall as massive as Izuku thinks the Great Wall must be, perhaps even greater—void-black, without asperities, rising straight up and all the way down on either side of the cache, hugging the shape of the land as if it’s always been there… 

(‘That's strange.’

‘What is?’

‘There's a wall already. To give you an image—it's as if my cache is a house that I'm placing against the outer wall of a fortress.’

‘Is it interfering with your cache?’

‘No. If anything it's shoring it up.’

‘Interesting. Midoriya's quirk probably has built-in mental protections.’

‘Yes, I've seen it happen occasionally. In any case, I'm nearly done. You're doing good, gamin.’)

Izuku feels a pull coming from the wall. Surprise takes him, alarm fast on its heels, and he tries digging in his heels, but there is no fighting it. The pull is as much a part of him as everything else. Against his will (and also not) he slips away from the cache, from Watabe’s reaching grip, building up speed as he hurtles toward the looming cliff face… 

(‘Kurde!’)

Izuku slams into the wall. 

It turns to slick static shadows; they wrap themselves against him like a second skin. For a brief instant, Izuku struggles… 

(‘What's happening?’ Nezu asks, sounding shaken. ‘Why are his eyes like that?’

‘Well, Mr. Nezu,’ Watabe-san says laconically. ‘I think we're looking at number four.’)

…and the wall sucks him in. 

*

Izuku blinks up wearily, feeling groggy. He tries to rub his eyes and fails. Looks down. His arms are bound by the same sticky, lightning-streaked shadows that swallowed him—

‘Izuku-shounen?’

He looks up in shock even as, dimly, he registers that the voice is familiar…

Izuku loses all ability for speech. 

For in front of him, in a regular white button-down and large black trousers, shoulders cloaked in shadows glinting with stars… 

…stands the lanky form of Yagi Toshinori. 

***

Chapter Text

‘How does it feel to activate my quirk…? Thanks for the question, lil’ listener! Let’s see… Mine is a passive quirk. I know, surprising, right? But I spend most of my time modulating or deactivating it. By default, I’m LOUD. When I was born, I busted my parents’ eardrums. Yikes, right? Haha, yeah, I still feel bad about that… How did I learn to deactivate it…? Don’t laugh, okay? But it started with music. Out of all the ways my parents calmed me down when I cried—and the windows were threatening to break all over—the one that worked best was when they would dance with me in their arms. And they discovered that when they put music on, I’d instinctively try to match the melody. And then I tried to match the volume. So they gradually turned it down, down, and there I went. Learned to be quiet.’

‘No wonder you’re a DJ.’

‘Yeah, boy!’ Hizashi pulls out his signature finger guns, and Midoriya grinning along with him is a reward that sets his soul singing. ‘It all comes down to music.’

*

Once they are done dissecting every aspect of his quirk—and Hizashi’s made a note to check a thing or two with Powerloader, because heck, does this boy have ideas—Hizashi expects for Midoriya to excuse himself to do homework, watch TV or hang out in his room. 

So he’s surprised when the conversation doesn’t stop there. Instead of leaving, the boy leans his notebook on the counter, smoothing its cover hesitantly as he fidgets on his stool. His eyes dart to Hizashi and away, fast as a silverfish.

‘Erm… Yamada-san, this doesn't have to do with your quirk, but uh… Can I ask why you never put out a second album? After “Keep looking up” ?’

Hizashi’s eyes widen despite himself. ‘You know about that?’

‘Of course! We own a copy! Or, uh… w-we did.’

‘But…’ Heat climbs into his cheeks. If Hizashi’s honest with himself… this is a shame he never really got past. ‘It made a flop.’

Midoriya shrugs. ‘I guess people didn't expect you to sing ballads when your image’s always been marketed as a rocker… But, I don't know. I felt like we got to see, you know. You? The you under the costume. I liked that.’

Of course, Midoriya has no idea how much his words mean to Hizashi, who just stares at him dumbfounded, his throat inexplicably tight. The boy’s kindness is like that, Hizashi’s noticed, given freely to others without a second thought—without thought of what he could gain.

The boy's eyes are far away now, fixed on a time and place that no longer exist. ‘I saved up my allowance for a month to buy it for my mom. T-There's this one song she'd always hum…’ His voice breaks, and Midoriya dissolves into sobs, hiding his face behind his hands. 

‘Oh— god, it's, it's okay, lil’ listener. No, no, don't apologize. You're allowed to cry, yeah?’

But the boy is an adept at swallowing back his tears, and soon, he is wiping at his cheeks with only a slight stutter to his breath to indicate anything happened. Hizashi’s heart twists, and he reaches out to take Midoriya’s hands in his own.

The boy turns them over and clears his throat. ‘Please, Yamada-san. Just because that album didn't have commercial success…’

Midoriya looks up. The watery sheen of tears turns the green of his eyes so deep it provides a glimpse of the heart underneath. Hizashi sits still, speared by its kindness. 

‘Don't think it was worthless. Because to some of us… to some of us, it made a difference.’

*

‘My quirk? Oh, uh, well, it has a built-in trigger. I have to open the conduit in my finger by pulling down the first knuckle. Oh, no, I’m not breaking my finger, can you imagine? It’s just… the way this finger works. And then, yes, when I open it, everything gets sucked in. I’m not certain if it gets thrown somewhere in space, or another universe or if it’s just plain made into minute matter particles.’ Thirteen is fiddling with their hands—the right with the left, well away from their activation trigger. ‘I’m sure Nezu-san has some theories, feel free to ask him, but to tell the truth, I never wanted to hear them…’

*

‘D-Do people give you trouble for being disabled?’

‘Sometimes,’ Ectoplasm answers pensively. 

Izuku doesn't look down at the hero’s legs, or his own, but of course it's on his mind. Izuku doesn't have a prosthetic, and in a way he is grateful not to know, intimately, the challenges Ectoplasm openly talks about to raise awareness. Izuku has read about it (even more so since the building collapse) but he doesn't know how strange it is to feel a limb that is no longer there, or how a prosthetic chafes, or how learning to walk anew makes your whole body ache, because the new legs don't quite work like the old. 

He does know what it feels like, to wake up to a disability and a world that has changed around you—how tiring, how frustrating it can be. 

(No one knows how Ectoplasm lost his legs, but Izuku knows better than to press that subject.)

‘So, um, how do you deal with it? The p-people who, err, see you as… less?’

The hero grins, crossing his arms. ‘Nowadays, I remind them I take my team to finals at the WHC almost every year, and that usually takes care of that. Although some people won't listen, mind.’

Proven competence can allay discrimination, Izuku writes. 

‘Erm, what's the WHC?’

‘The World Hero Championship. It's a joint event with the World Military Championship. Have you ever watched those?’

‘N-No!’

‘Ah, I'm not surprised. It's not publicized all that much—not like the Sports Festivals or the Quirkimpics.’

‘I'll—I'll definitely watch it!’

‘I recommend it; nothing like it to study efficient teamwork. Don't expect to see many Top 10 heroes from any country, though. Most often, they're banned from competing.’

‘Eh, but why?’

‘Because their presence on any battlefield is a game-changer. It'd kill the spirit of the games.’ 

Izuku takes careful note of the competition’s name, electricity coursing through him at the idea of watching it that evening. But first he has an assignment to complete, so he turns his questions to Ectoplasm’s quirk. 

Before long, he’s exclaiming in astonishment, ‘Up to thirty clones?!’

‘Thirty-six on a good day.’ 

I wonder if he’s capable of more, and throwing off suspicions by publicizing a fake number? It'd be a smart move, to have villains underestimate him in case UA was ever attacked. Izuku marks down his inkling in his notebook, with the words Could not answer even if true. Probable need-to-know only.

‘Ectoplasm, I keep seeing your clones everywhere in UA… Why's that?’

‘That's part of the security measures. But it also allows me to get a lot of things done. I handle a lot of the administrative paperwork for the general and business courses. For Nezu, too, sometimes, when he gets particularly busy. Ah, and I supervise the robots as well.’

Backbone of UA, Izuku writes in his notebook. 

‘But doesn't it get tiring to constantly be using your quirk?’

‘No, it's the reverse, actually.’ The hero's smile grows, larger than a regular human’s. Like Gang Orca, Ectoplasm is often ranked as one of the heroes who look most like villains. Izuku has to admit, the largeness of that smile is unsettling, but he never feels the least bit threatened. ‘I'm a mutant. Keeping all the clones within me—contained… That's the straining part. My brain is designed for split attention. For processing input from several bodies experiencing different things at once.’

‘Really?’

‘Yep. It got me in trouble on my wedding day. You see—my intended was very insistent that she wanted to marry me when I was one person. Said she would marry the whole of me or not at all.’

The smile on the masked hero’s face has grown fond. In the next moment, it turns nostalgic and then—unbearably sad. 

Izuku had another question prepared, about why a hero with such potential for combat or rescue had chosen to teach at a hero's school—and indeed, as head of Security Team 1, spend most of his time there.

Izuku slowly closes his notebook, and chooses not to ask. 

*

‘You had a question for me, kiddo? Must be personal if you waited for all the other teachers to file out.’

Midnight waggles her eyebrows and without understanding why, Izuku gets incredibly embarrassed. But the notebook in his hand serves as a reminder of his purpose, and he will never have a better opportunity to ask this question…

‘C-Can I ask you a question about your quirk?’

‘My quirk? Oh, it's for the assignment Shouta gave you? I wondered when you'd be coming to me.’ 

Izuku pauses, waiting. 

‘Go ahead, Midoriya.’

He nods his thanks, hoping his demeanor isn't showing as much nervousness as he feels. Gathering his courage, he lifts his chin, and looks straight at her when he asks, ‘Did you decide to become a s-sex symbol because your quirk only works on people who are attracted to you?’

Behind her glasses, Kayama blinks. 

‘Did you think that being a publicly recognized sex symbol would mean you’d show up in people’s unconscious as desirable, which would therefore greatly increase the potential range of people you could affect—’

The heroine’s hand falls heavy on Izuku’s shoulder. She bends to look into his face; her own looks thrown, almost fearful. ‘How do you know that?’ she demands. ‘Where did you hear it, or read it?’

Izuku panics. He jolts away and the notebook goes splat on the ground as he raises his hands placatingly. ‘I didn’t—I didn’t read it or… I wasn’t sure, I’m sorry, I was just s-s-speculating—’

‘Oh! Oh, okay.’ She clocks his state of half-panic. ‘Damn, Midoriya, did I startle you? I’m sorry, I just… This is sensitive. Of the teachers here, only Snipe and Shouta figured it out, and Ectoplasm only knows ’cause he’s head of Security Team 1…’ 

She runs a hand through her hair, her expression half-relieved and half-guilty as Izuku tightens his grip on his cane in a vain attempt to slow down his racing heart.