Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

His first thoughts pinched at him and pried him open like the vying claws of crabs. He’d been nothing before, a nonentity content to lie dormant forever. But thinking brought himself into focus. With thoughts came the intrinsic realization that he was he, a prime mover. The thing that propelled himself, that directed these things.

After reorienting himself like this, he recognized that this was his proper position. And he needed to know more about where he was. He didn’t know why, but the urge to know, to know to know to know plagued him ceaselessly. His musings dashed around like butterflies but it always came back to I need to know.

And when it did, those butterfly wings would turn into the splicing blades of dragonflies.

Every coherent thing melted away and his brain turned into an unbecoming roiling wave of nervous energy. He had to know.

He didn’t want to know.

His thoughts, his life, pounded away in this darkness.

He didn’t care to know.

It couldn’t just be him here. There was always someone else. Out there?

He was scared to know.

The first shift was involuntary, although he knew he’d done it. The hand he made felt around, reaching out for someone. It only hit walls. No amount of banging would make them give way. He tried and tried. The vibrations tickled him and what he was made of like a wind through fire.

This was not the way it was supposed to be.

The panic welled up to a crescendo. He wanted to cry out but knew he couldn’t, because he didn’t have a body. No parts to cry with.

He stretched out, pulling whatever he was made of out, out, until it reached the end of wherever he was. He made the neck, torso and legs. His feet and toes. The other arm. He made ears so the vibrations wouldn’t have to suffice. And eyes.

His eyes opened to a room with people standing all around. There was a barrier between him and them. He banged against the glass. They stared back, their real eyes wide. A few smiled. He banged again. If they were kind, if they were kind, they’d let him out. Please, he pleaded to himself. Be kind.

Some broke off from the group and dashed away. He couldn’t follow their movements, couldn’t see if they were doing something to help. He waited.

And waited.

But there was nothing.

The number of smiles increased and the ones that didn’t keep staring at him turned to one and the other excitedly, lips mouthing words of happiness. He banged. He punched the glass again and again for as long and as loudly as he would have screamed if he could. The inky darkness of his fists flashed before his eyes and the vibrations cut through him, making his blood or whatever he had instead of blood curdle within him.

His bangs tapered off into taps and still, nothing happened. Because they were not going to let him go.

He laid back for a moment. Then he turned and placed his fingers along every edge of this tube, looking for some kind of crack or hole for ventilation. If there was, he could let go of this body for the time being, go back to being an unformed thing, and slip through. But he didn’t find anything.

He looked back up. A lady had placed her gloved hand against the top of the glass. He put his hand under hers and knocked with the other. A tinny tap tap tap sounded. He looked into her eyes, eager for communication. She just smiled, little white rectangles of bone signaling happiness. She brought her hand away and turned to a colleague. He stopped the little tap taps. Nothing else happened.

Without thinking, emotion the only thing guiding him, he raised his hand, willing a spike to grow through it. It did, with ease. He urged the point of it to be sharp, he repeated it over and over in his head, sharper, sharper, sharper, sharper, if he could speak he would have spat out the word, and it did it, it did it. It was the sharpest point he could conceive of. His mind jingling with unspoken laughter, he reared his hand back then struck out, quick as a snap of a mouse trap and the air rained crystal shards.

Hands reached for him but before they could grab he became small and cloud-like. He whizzed out, only sparing himself enough time to make one eye so he could see the door, which he slipped under and went away away away from them.

Izuku sat at his desk, as frozen and watchful as a mouse listening out for a predator in tall grass. Bakugou stared down at him. Beyond him, every other student was busy filing out of class.

Izuku met his gaze. “What?” He asked, the one syllable dripping with ire.

“I still have some things I need to settle with you,” Bakugou replied, swiping Izuku’s notebook from his desk. His red eyes narrowed as he read the title Izuku had scrawled in blocky letters several months prior.

Izuku shot up. “Give it back,” he said, voice cold and low. He made a move to snatch it. Bakugou simply pivoted away and, holding the book out in front of him, let off an explosion. The pages Izuku had spent hours filling out muffled the sound. One devilish flame licked out between them before dissipating. Bakugou tossed the remains out the open window.

The sweet scent of nitroglycerin burned Izuku’s nostrils.

“I’m going to be the only person from this school to get into UA. Nobody has denied that but you, and you don’t even have a quirk,” Bakugou said, apropos of an explanation.

Izuku fought to get his breathing under control. “I don’t care,” he said after a moment. “I don’t care about your plan. I’m going to do my best to get into UA. I don’t see why that threatens you so much. Since you’ve made it so clear you don’t think I can do it.”

“You can’t do it!” Bakugou spat, taking a step forward. “You’re a third year, yet you still can’t face the facts. A quirkless person has never gotten into a hero academy before.” He placed a smoldering hand on Izuku’s shoulder. “So tell me how you plan to do it.”

Izuku had no answer to give. He leveled Bakugou with a cold stare. “Just burn me already.”

Bakugou’s upper lip twitched in disgust. He shoved Izuku back down in the chair, made a motion to leave, then changed his mind and stooped down to Izuku’s eye level. “Saying that is just pathetic, you know. It’s not winning.”

Izuku braced himself against the truth of the words and said nothing. Dissatisfied, Bakugou left, not wanting to give any more fuel to the point the other had made. A wild flare of anger shot up in Izuku as he watched him go. It was accompanied by a desire to say something - anything - that would make it so that he could prove his determination actually counted for something, that it was useful.

But there were no words that could do that.

Whatever he was, he could fly like the wind. He didn’t know what propelled him, this body. It just moved and slunk and dashed around at his will. No bones held him together; no muscles burned. A strange feeling began to plague him. The word wrong thundered in his mind, his awareness compounding the sensation. Rapidly, his trepidation for himself and what he was turned into fear. It got so that every movement ached and cleaved his mind apart like a knife tearing through sinewy meat. But getting out of the building was his task, so he did it on a kind of autopilot. His eye saw the way, his form moved, and all the while his thoughts were dimpled with the popping static of panic.

The outside was bright and crisp; buildings shone with a sun-washed glaze, a train bulleted forth - all sleek and determined - while cars whizzed amiably past. People chattered away, their feet clicking against concrete. Trees raised their plump foliage, the green leaves simply happy to wave against the sky–the sky!–which domed the whole scene, its unbreakable blue encapsulating everything with a neat click.

He slid into a rectangle of shade an awning casted and stretched until he met and matched its contours, checking that he and it were the same shade of gray. While he lay there he sank mentally, panic fading to a thrum as he tried to think, to think. But he kept going backwards. Why had he been in that room and not out here? Was he chosen–no, he wasn’t. He’d been made. Never once had he been out here, never once had he been a person. He’d been created…for…

His mind struggled to catch up to that one. The thought seemed to leap away, like a frog when you get too close to it.

But…so…he was different from them. The people. Different enough to be unallowed to live like them. Instead, he was of such a nature that…he was the type of creature who must be locked inside somewhere. And pursued when he escaped. Locked back in. And for what…?

Was he dangerous? A gentle regret washed over him. Yes, by his nature he must be dangerous, or else they wouldn’t treat him like this.

With that, the sinking stopped. He leveled off and stayed there. It was too curious a thing to move on from. If he was dangerous, and he didn’t want to be, but he was, did that mean he should go back? Would it be wrong to leave?

Tentatively, the type of human rationalization that occurs when someone wants to do something wrong but for their own good sake took its course.

Everyone had a quirk. He knew it but didn’t know how, in the same way he’d known what trains and buildings were. Not all quirks were explicitly dangerous, but all of them could be used to harm others. In the same sense, everyone had fingers, and anyone could take their finger and use it to poke someone else’s eye out. But that didn’t mean fingers were bad, and it didn’t mean quirks were bad. If he had the means to hurt others - an innate means - that still didn’t make him bad. He could choose not to hurt anyone, just like people do. In fact, the only reason…the only reason he’d been kept in a tube was because the people who made him were afraid of it being their responsibility if he chose wrongly!

His mind buzzed with the warm feeling of making a good connection. His place right now - flattened against the concrete of a vast world - now felt slightly more justified.

That almost brought him back to the present, but an errant thought - miniscule and flying among a million other panic-streaked ones - caught his attention.

Did he have a quirk?

No, he thought. I don’t. I don’t have any special ability. What I can do is just me. I just am…

He jolted, causing the shadow to gently stir.

I am a quirk.

Now…there it was. That was something. That was a gem. If he was a quirk, now that he knew it, he could just follow the function of a quirk. And what did quirks do? They didn’t exist alone on the ground like this. They…found people. Well, they had people. But he didn’t yet –yet!– so he would have to find one. He looked up at the passerby, dizzy with newfound faith. If he got to one of those, would he disappear inside them? Would he…he would! He would have a body! An actual thing that moved correctly, bones inside of muscle inside of skin with the five senses as a constant instead of a thing that had to be installed. He wouldn’t have to be so hauntingly detached any longer.

The relief he felt was immense. His current state didn’t have to be permanent. If he did this, he would look and feel like a person. Just how it should have been all along.

Now he studied the legs as they strolled past him. A new sensation emerged while they brushed by him and whisked themselves away. It was a sort of tense connection…and at the end of it…a pull, an ebb and flow. He tuned in to this line - this livewire - and as he did so it seemed the very air roiled over itself to make room for the connection.

It was quirks.

The livewire fished out information and brought it back to him.

She had a…he could feel it…a healing quirk. Speeds up her healing, also causes hair and fingernails to grow faster. And then another person walked by. A mending quirk. Can tie broken stitches together in a piece of fabric. Then a light intelligence quirk. Another: pyrokinesis (but only for putting out small fires). Photosynthesis. Telekinesis (only works on rocks), and so on…

The farther away the legs moved, the smaller and weaker the connection got until it broke away entirely. He gazed out at these things with wonder, ceaselessly eager to learn about the next and the next. But eventually, there was a lull in the flow of pedestrians. He settled back in himself now, excited…but also anxious.

Because he’d realized that none of these people would work. They were already too full…with their own quirk. There was no room for him in any of them. He could sense it. Despair began to edge around him again, prying him to take action. So he thought about it. It made sense, really. He had to find someone without a quirk. A…he searched that odd lockbox of memories in his mind…quirkless, is what they were called.

A quirkless person.

But they were rare. He had to search his mind for that information too. Only twenty percent of the population were quirkless. It was unlikely that he’d find one by remaining here. Waiting for one of them to pass by him on this sidewalk might take hours.

There was a clamor of some sort to his left. He looked towards it. A group of people, all dressed in black formal suits, rounded the corner. They weren’t just pedestrians. They seemed united, like they walked together with a purpose.

An awkward, halting vibration reached him from a walkie talkie clipped to one of their belts. The man it belonged to reached for it and mouthed something. Apprehensive, he made a small ear.

“Subject Q was last seen in sub-basement ten. Don’t hesitate to use your anti-quirk spray if you see it or– or a shadow that is acting strangely. Go over the east side of the building more thoroughly. Do you copy?”

The man clicked a button. “Yes sir.” He began to wave the rest of the group forward, then the walkie talkie clicked again and he raised a hand for them to pause.

“And do not search beyond the perimeter. Not unless you are certain you’re on its trail.”

“Understood.” The walkie talkie gave a final click of static. He shoved it back in his belt. The group began its movements once more, about half of them going back around the corner to search the other side of the building, spray cans at the ready. The other half marched towards the shadow quirk, their eyes alert.

Knowing he didn’t have much time, he leapt into the first shadow to cross his own. It was just a regular pedestrian’s. Once in, he kept up with it, struggling to maintain the right form and shade while also keeping his eye on the security guards. As soon as he was close enough, he hopped into the still shade of a tree. He glanced back. He was several feet farther from the building and had yet to be seen.

He ground down on his jumping nerves and set his mind to figuring out a path away. Staying wasn’t an option anymore; he had no clue if that anti-quirk spray would have any effect on him or not, and he didn’t feel like waiting to find out. Leaving, no matter the fact that he didn’t know where to go besides away, and that every movement sent jagged shocks of panic through him, was the best he could do.

The livewire of quirks buzzing all around him was his only solace. He’d look out for a person who emitted none of the telltale energy as he made his way through the world.

Izuku grit his teeth, the waterlogged weight of his half finished notebook a glaring break of normalcy in his walk home. He wanted it out of his hand. The pages were ruined; although Bakugou’s explosion hadn’t singed all of them, the middle pages were now stuck together in a gummy little cake. He’d tried to thumb through them, thinking he’d dry it out in the sun if the writing hadn’t smeared together yet, but the pages softly ripped instead. The front and back cover had sloughed off when he raised it from the water. That was fish food now; the koi who lived in the small pond it landed in were more than happy to gobble it up.

He could throw it away in Bakugou’s garbage can. It was Thursday, so it might still be down by the street. And the odds were solid that Bakugou would see Izuku do it from his bedroom window. His desk was in front of it and the window had a perfect view of the street. Izuku grinned a little, and it remained there for exactly one heartbeat before his face fell again. Bakugou’s dad might see him and try to stop him for a chat. The man was always out fiddling with the garden, turning over the soil, pulling up weeds, pruning the bushes.

He heard a small pattering of water and looked down. His fist had clenched around his notebook, wringing the thing. Rivulets of gray water ran down his knuckles. He switched the notebook over to his other hand and found that clumps of white clung to his palm and fingers. Disgusted, he tossed the notebook through the gap of a public garbage can’s hood and picked the reluctant remains off himself. It was slow work.

When he’d pinched it all off and wiped his clammy hand against his pant leg he turned to go, thoughts of meek revenge snuffed out yet fading anger continued to weigh fat and heavy in him like smoldering coals. It made him feel bad and ugly but he held onto it. The coals were more blunt and useful than a tissue would be if he stopped to think beyond the facts and wonder why his friend, Bakugou had turned out this way.

Like turning a knob on a radio to reach a different station, he tuned his thoughts towards what he would be doing tonight, feeling a bit of pride at finally being able to do it well after all these years. He would have to do homework, of course, but first he’d check with his mom to see if he needed to pick anything up from the store for dinner. While he was there, he could pick up a new notebook - one that would not be accompanying him to school. Some notes had to be taken on a fight he’d seen earlier - but that could be done after homework…

As he mused his expression smoothed out; brows that had creased his glabella moments earlier now relaxed, his lips gained color again after being folded into a thin line for so long, and his hands hung limply at his sides, all tension drained from them. Even his walk had some bounce now. He looked calm, and in fact he thought he felt it, confusing emotional exhaustion with a worn satisfaction at being able to move on from the bad things other people did and face the future.

When a villain with a sludge quirk saw Izuku, he was excited. Not only was the boy puny, but he also seemed complacent. And he was headed right for the tunnel, right where he was, in the dark, shielded from the eyes of onlookers. If he could cover his mouth before the boy screamed, it would be too easy to knock him out and take control of his body. Simple strangulation would have to do. The police wouldn’t recognize him; he could get all the way to the airport before he’d have to switch out.

Perched on the ceiling, he tried to keep his sludge from dripping down as Izuku entered the mouth of the tunnel. When the moment was right, he leapt down.

Izuku hardly had time to flinch.

He’d only seen the flash of two eyeballs mounted atop a pile of sludge before the thing fell down on him. Then he was enveloped in it, head to toe, with a wall of sludge at least two feet deep on all sides keeping him from air. Izuku gasped, already out of breath, and flailed his arms, trying to breach the sludge and at least feel the existence of air on his fingertips. But as soon as he opened his mouth the viscous liquid entered, flooding the back of his throat. He gagged, trying to expel it, and when that hardly worked, vomited violently out of pure determination. The sludge parted away from him and he fell on his butt, greedily taking in air. From whatever set of vocal cords the villain had hidden away he said “Ew,” and sounded truly disgusted.

Izuku scrambled up on legs that felt more like wooden pegs than anything else, but was scooped up before he could dash more than a foot away. The sludge surrounded him once more and wound its way back into his mouth. This time it tightened sharply around his neck, constricting his airflow. He kicked and clawed, fighting to pry his way out, working off a dying energy. Having never suffocated before, he was surprised to realize he was slinking off into sleep, which gave him a second wind. I cannot fall asleep, he thought desperately, reaching up. I will not be taken. When his hand touched what he wanted, he closed his fist around it and squeezed.

Those anonymous vocal cords sounded again, this time emitting a squall of horror. The sludge villain swayed and weakened his grip. Izuku lurched forward; torso, arms, and head now outside, but his waist and legs were still being held back. But the sludge was loose, now resembling slime more than anything else. Knowing he should be able to break free of it, Izuku, still heaving and choking a little, tried his best. But all he managed was a wobbly shuffle forward. Still wavering between sludge and freedom, he looked to the mouth of the tunnel, desperate to reach the pinpoint of light there.

“My eye, my eye, oh, my eye…” the villain cooed to himself.

Izuku shuffled again just as the sludge started to churn and solidify. His window of opportunity was closing. He looked about, black dots of suffocation assaulting his eyesight. Then one of them began to move. A black dot…coming towards him, growing bigger. It wasn’t just a blemish of his vision. He looked at it with bleary eyes. It was cloud-like…not an animal, and not a person…although the villain didn’t look like a person either.

His eyes widened. He tried to ask for help but his burning throat wouldn’t make the words. He reached out instead, hand shaking, a rush of blood going to his head at the simple movement. The black cloud slammed against his outstretched palm, curling around his fingers from the force of the collision. It stayed there hugging him for a moment before disappearing.

A shiver went through his spine. Panting, he raised his hand to his face and examined it. There was nothing there. Maybe I did imagine it, he thought, crestfallen.

The sludge rose up to his stomach and continued to rise. The wall was reforming. “You, you you you,” the villain was saying. “How about I make you stab your eye out before I let you go, huh?” As he bit out the threat the sludge wrapped around Izuku’s arms so tightly he felt like they were getting crushed between four walls. Putting aside his anger for now, the sludge villain loosened his grip. He reached for Izuku’s neck once more.

Like the snip of scissors, a thought seared through his mind, cutting away every horrible sensation - he really was about to get taken.

But just as the sludge pooled over his lower lip and into his mouth, he felt a kind of stirring behind him. He knew it only by the way his head tingled, like a cool hand had pressed against it, causing the surrounding nerves to pinch into goosebumps. The something behind him was also behind the sludge villain - he could feel its distance in the same way he could know the position of his hands without looking.

Izuku went very still, and when the villain uttered some taunt about giving up he paid no attention to it. The thing was now taller than him and still gaining mass.

When it wrapped around the villain and in one violent twist Izuku was shucked free from the sludge, he wasn’t surprised. Somehow he had known it was there to save him. He tumbled across the floor a few times before he caught himself, skinning the palm of his hands against the concrete. Laying on his side, he looked back. The thing was a darkness; an uncanny void that moved and slunk around solid objects in a way it had no right to, seeing as how it gave the strong appearance of liquid. It coiled around the villain, who lurched and growled, trying to heave as much of his sludge through the gaps of its grip as he could. As soon as his fumbling movements somehow began to give him the upper hand, the darkness shifted, loosening its grip and turning parts of itself into a kind of scythe. It swung itself, separating layers of sludge like they were pieces of cake and sending them flying away from each other to splat against the walls of the tunnel.

Izuku only inched away, but when the sludge villain uttered an unintelligible roar of fear, he scrambled to his feet and sprinted. “He’s killing him,” Izuku heard his own broken voice mutter. He passed by his yellow backpack, slumped innocently against the brick wall. He ignored it, determined to leave the tunnel.

A hand wrapped around his bicep and jerked him backwards so hard his feet fell out from under him. He landed on his back, sprawled at the feet of the person above him. He barely spared them a glance before he tried and failed to sit up, his burning lungs protesting all the while. Then the hands came back again, grabbing his upper arms and jerking him to his feet. Izuku wheezed and tried to turn and get a good look at them; see if this was friend or foe, but they continued to hold him close. They shoved their arms under his until the inner part of their elbows rested against his armpits. They began to shuffle backwards, slowly at first then rapidly, dragging Izuku with them.

He flailed and struck out at them, planning to dig his nails into their flesh until they released him, but his hands merely bumped against skin that was as solid as stone. It was then that he noticed their arms and body were made of that same darkness the thing attacking the sludge villain was. He gasped for breath, trying to ask questions, to ask why they were taking him back there, to plead with them, but all his words came out as wheezes. He tried to kick, hoping to gain friction against the ground, but his heart gave a horrible jolt like he’d never felt before, warning him that falling unconscious still wasn’t out of the question.

The figure placed him on the ground - a sludge covered ground, he realized as his forehead pressed against something disgusting - and he shot them what he hoped was a mirthful glare.

The fact that they had hair, big curling locks that framed their round face, was the first thing Izuku’s fading presence of mind noticed. Then it was the school uniform, the stiff shoulders and shirt collar matching a form Izuku knew well–the gakuran. Then he was back to their head. Their face…their face was a chilling anomaly. He could hardly see their mouth or their eyes - not even their nose when looked at straight on. All expression was lost in the darkness that comprised everything they were made of.

The most appalling thing hit him last, and when it did he gasped and went limp, coming the closest yet to fainting. The figure looked exactly like him. They were himself, without color or expression. Everything was the same. Right down to the clothes and shoes.

As they leaned down, gently touching his face, Izuku felt rather than saw it - his unblinking eyes had reached full capacity for what new information they could take in.

A shiver went through his spine.

A watery gurgle rose up from the muck behind Izuku. It coughed a cough you only ever heard from the sick, their throats raw and swollen with sores. The sludge villain was trying to gather himself up. He’d given up on the idea of possessing a body today. A night of laying low in the sewers was preferable to being killed out here, right now. As he collected the bits of himself that had been splayed everywhere, a trickle inched over Izuku’s wrist, knocking him out of his stupor.

“Help!” Izuku shrieked, looking between the quaking muck that had strangled him and the vast space of the tunnel, searching for the figure or their wall of darkness. Neither were to be found. He scrambled away until his back hit the wall opposite the sludge villain. He brought his hands up to cover his mouth and nose. “Oh, help,” he mumbled into his fingers. Why did that person bring me back here to him? He thought miserably. They were helping me just a moment ago.

“Because I can’t keep fighting him if you make us run away!” A voice rushed to reply. “But it’s okay, it’s okay now. He doesn’t have much fight left in him. Right?”

Izuku tried to think for one moment, then two, three, four, but his mind offered him nothing coherent. “...Huh?”

“Right?” The voice repeated. It was coming from inside Izuku’s head. Like it was nudged in there along with all his other thoughts. Except unlike them, he wasn’t in control of it. “Do you think so?”

Izuku said nothing, stuck in a kind of abject terror.

“Can you look at him, please?” A concerning silence continued to spread between them. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know I’d be able to talk to you.” The voice tried, grappling for words to console him.

No reply.

“Please look.”

Izuku finally raised his head. The sludge villain was shivering, slowly moving across the floor and walls of the tunnel like a slug, collecting all his pieces. He must have felt Izuku’s stare, because he turned around. His lidless gaze sent a jolt of fear through Izuku, but it also gave him his first thought in over a minute.

“You’re disgusting,” he pointed out.

“You’re still here?” The villain breathed. “You’re still here.” His eye roved the area of the tunnel. “Uh, don’t go anywhere. D-don’t go running off until I leave. Or I’ll…or I will hurt you.” He continued to look wildly about.

“He’s not sure if I’m still here, or if you actually have a quirk that can hurt him, or what. He’s afraid…if he hurts you I’ll stop him again.”

“Okay,” Izuku said.

The sludge villain looked visibly relieved at Izuku’s assent. With one more glance over his shoulder, he continued his work. Izuku watched him for a moment, then got to his feet and began to walk away.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m leaving.”

“He’ll hurt us,” the voice fretted.

“Then stop him,” he replied.

“I told you not to do that,” the villain cried. A line of sludge shot out from the villain’s decimated form and wrapped around Izuku’s ankle, jerking him down. He cringed as he fell on his butt once again.

Izuku’s head gave a preliminary tingle. A sharp tendril of darkness emerged from the cracked brick wall and slammed down, lopping off the villain’s slimy limb.

“So it’s shadow?” Izuku muttered.

“...Yes.”

“You bastard,” the villain bit out, eyeing Izuku’s cool expression. He didn’t know Izuku was in shock, and was seething at this child whom he thought, in his small mind, tricked him. “You smug little bastard,” he roared, rearing up to attack, all previous caution thrown away.

There was a stamping sound behind Izuku, like feet being firmly planted in soil. A gust of wind burst towards him, causing an eerie whistle to sound throughout the tunnel. By the time it and its reverberations faded, rapid footfalls had taken their place. Izuku, whose mind and bones were filled with cotton balls, didn’t even glance up as a hulking figure slid into his peripheral. He only noticed the villain’s expression - like a kid getting caught telling a bad lie, or a wide-eyed dog right before he’s beaten - and the next gust of wind, this one the kind that turned your hair into a whip hellbent on scratching your eye.

He hid his face in the crook of his elbow and lay down on his left shoulder, hiding from the hurricane. He didn’t notice the tunnel’s whistling had turned to screams until it was gone. Even after he processed the cloying silence as a sign the fight was over, it took true effort to convince himself to get up and face this new confrontation. So much so that when he finally got to his feet neither the sight of All Might or the grating crick in his neck seemed worthy of attention or care.

“Young man, are you injured?” All Might asked gently. He was searching for something amidst the sludge that now pasted the walls and floor. As he did so he walked sideways, like a crab, so as not to turn his back on Izuku.

“Nuh,” Izuku slurred. He swallowed back some saliva and tried again. “No.”

“Is that true?”

“Can you tell me what happened here?” All Might asked, voice still light, still gentle. He leaned down and picked something up. Izuku watched, unnerved. Seeing the number one hero in person instead of on TV for the first time was a bit like watching an animatronic move. It was dizzying.

“Yes,” he started. He blinked sleepily. There was something he had to tell the hero, now that the man was here. He struggled with his thoughts for a moment, then remembered. “That’s a villain,” he explained, pointing vaguely. All Might nodded encouragingly and gave him a warm smile. Izuku fidgeted for several seconds before realizing there was more to explain. “Uh, he has a quirk that lets him possess other people’s bodies.” Like that other guy, an errant thought whispered. The one that’s still here.

Izuku sniffed, distracted. There was something to that…something to be dealt with. But he didn’t know what or how. He shook his head. “That’s what he tried to do to me.”

A cawing voice cried out. “He gouged my eye out! Squeezed it ‘till it popped! He ain’t innocent, he-” the villain was cut off as All Might finished shoving him in a liter-sized soda bottle. Just as the cap was screwed on, an angry, lidless eye appeared below the plastic label and glared at Izuku, sclera flashing. Izuku took a few preventative steps away before All Might caught onto this and casually moved to hold the bottle behind his thigh.

“I’m sorry son, I have to ask. Is that true?”

“Yeah,” he answered quickly.

“And did you use your quirk to do that?”

Izuku blinked. “Oh, no sir. I’m quirkless.”

All Might smiled at that, obviously relieved. Legally, civilians were only allowed to use their quirks in self defense. Criminals who had been caught often exploited this, claiming victims who fought back had been the ones to initiate the fight. These disagreements could make it to court, where they would be dragged out for a while, each side laying claim to a different set of facts warped by bias and the heat of the moment. All Might didn’t want this moment to be dragged out that long for the boy. Especially since it was such a cut and dry crime. A search warrant had been out for the villain since midmorning; the man had obviously wanted to hide under the cover of an innocent face until he could truly flee.

“I see. I do have to get this villain to a police station soon. This obviously isn’t the proper containment for him.” He raised the bottle but brought it back down behind him when the boy pointedly looked away. “What’s your name, by the way?”

“Midoriya Izuku.”

“And address? In case we need to contact you?”

Izuku recited it, tone listless and droning. All Might stepped closer to him when he finished, taking a better look at him.

“Are you sure you’re uninjured? I can contact a nearby cop or hero to come over here and check you out. Walk you home, maybe.” He really didn’t have the time for it, not if he didn’t want the villain to witness him transform.

“I’m alright, sir.” He replied, and there was something firm in his voice, like he was emerging from his stupor. All Might felt a bit better about leaving, but then the boy inhaled sharply and his head snapped to the right, like he’d just heard something.

“Are you-”

“Um, I’m sorry for holding you back,” he blurted, green eyes wide. “A-all Might.”

All Might waited for him to go on, giving him time to say something else if he needed to, but the boy just stood there gawking. Apparently he finally processed who he was talking to. That was All Might’s cue to leave. He bid him farewell, encouraged him to reach out to the local law enforcement if he needed help or had questions, then left just before the boy’s increasingly excited stare reached its peak.

Just in time.

Izuku snatched up his backpack without stopping, ignoring the way his body jerked and slumped when his shoulder skidded against the wall. “Who are you?” He asked, addressing the voice-person. “Why are you still in my head? What– were you hiding from All Might?” His mind raced with all the sordid possibilities. “Is that why you’re still here?” He shrieked. “To hide? You’re…hiding in my head. What does that even do to me?”

“I’m not hurting you!” The voice-person shrieked back. The rising panic in his voice gave Izuku pause. “I’m not sure if I should be hiding from All Might. Should I? Never mind, you wouldn’t know. I’m sorry. Where are we going?”

Izuku blinked. The setting sun had ducked under a building, casting his side of the world in a dim gray sheen. The light had just touched him when he emerged from the mouth of the tunnel, and he stopped there, dropping his bag on the ground. “I need to see you,” he said tonelessly. “I need to see what I’m dealing with.”

“If I leave we can’t talk,” the voice shot back, all nerves.

“Then I can’t…why not?”

“I’m made of shadow. Shadows don’t talk.”

“Shadows don’t shapeshift of their own independent will. You can talk,” he bit out, the words gritty and final. A silence hung between them. A silence strung across the chasm of two conscious entities. Or maybe it wasn’t a chasm at all, maybe they were nudged right up next to each other in Izuku’s brain. The thought was maddening. “If you can copy me, my self, then you can copy-”

“Your phonatory system,” the voice-person breathed. “I will try. I will focus and try, and try not to forget. But I might not be able to remember for long. It’s tricky to copy. Being in here helps-”

Izuku shuddered and in one sudden movement punched himself in the chest to get the voice to shut up, to not continue speaking like that. Then he froze, hunched over and breathing heavily while his eyes seared the ground.

A few minutes passed.

“Are you almost-” Izuku started, voice shaky.

“I think I’ve got it.”

“Leave,” he commanded. He raised his palm to his face, studying it closely.

“Please look around first. Nobody should see me.”

Izuku bit down on the protestations he desperately wanted to air. This would go easier if he gave a little to get a little, he’d realized. He looked around himself in a slow semicircle, dutifully surveying the bushes, weeds, the crumbling road he’d walked on to get here, and all the accumulations of grit and trash leading up to the mouth of the tunnel. Not a person in sight.

“Alright, I’m leaving now.”

Izuku glowered down at his hand. Although he hadn’t been sure the voice-person would leave through this particular exit, it turned out that he was right. A tendril rose up from the heel of his palm and wavered slightly - just like steam, except for the fact that it was black. More and more of it came from Izuku. It circled the ground in front of him, feeling it out, maybe. Then it gained speed, taking up the space directly in front of him. The black blob convulsed; parts of it seemed to tighten and snap in while others dashed around itself, filling in needful places until they too snapped taught. The whole procedure was so fluid it was like the shadow person had been there all along, concealed by the smoky wisps.

He let out a muffled gurgle, breaking Izuku out of his frigid stare. The shadowed figure hunched over and coughed. Then, straightening up, uttered a few low hums.

“Can you speak?” Izuku asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He tilted his head. “...Yes,” he tried. The pronunciation was a bit too soft, somehow. “Yes,” he repeated, getting better with each iteration. “Yes, yes, yes…yes.” He nodded. “I’ve got it.”

Izuku shifted a little. He was already mollified, and uncertain of what to start with now that the surety of his indignation had deserted him. “Why do you still look like me?”

“Because…you’re the easiest to copy,” he spoke in a tone that implied Izuku should have already figured that out. “What else would I look like? Who?”

“Yourself,” Izuku shot back. A wariness washed over him.

“I don’t have…I don’t look like anything. I’ve made limbs for myself before, but not the whole…thing. Nothing this detailed. Looking like an actual person is more practical, so I’m going to do it now that I know how.”

Izuku winced. His explanation, his language, was all wrong. “You talk like…” He cut himself off, licked his lips, and tried again. “Is this new for you? How long have you had this quirk? Did it just awaken?”

The shadow person leveled him with a long stare. “What?”

Izuku sighed and stamped his foot down, fighting to keep his thoughts from turning into a runny miasma again. “How old are you?”

This seemed to shake him a little. It was imperceptible, his discomfort, but something about him seemed to waver before he spoke, like how one might blink or look to the left before they lie. “Well, that’s…I…I guess I’d need to…I want to know, how old are you?”

There. That was completely wrong. “Fifteen,” Izuku supplied.

“Then that’s how old I am. Must be. Because-”

“No,” Izuku protested, shaking his head. “That’s not how that works. If I’m fifteen, that doesn’t make you fifteen. Even if-”

“I look like you! The age of the body is the same, so-”

Izuku forced back a scoff. “That’s not even true. You just made that body.”

“No, I meant that since we share– o-or we did share, and if we continued to share - then we’d be the same age.”

Izuku stomped forwards. “Why would we keep sharing?” He half-shouted. "And that still doesn’t make sense. I meant mental age, not physical.” He took a deep breath. “What year were you born?”

“Year?” He asked meekly. He looked at the ground for several seconds, considering, then raised his head and eyed his surroundings, like he’d figure it out from a clue in the background. “I don’t know,” he said after a few moments of this. “Look, why don’t I explain it to you?”

Izuku forced back all his stress and anger. He ignored the hurts in his body and the droning buzz of exhaustion. Either this person was a bad person - as well as a bad liar with a bad grasp on their sanity to boot - or they were a good person, who was mixed up in something bad. If it was the latter, then Izuku was certain that the situation would go beyond just not good. It would be horrible. People didn’t turn out like this - confused and relying only on the instincts of their quirk - unless life had really dragged them through the mud. So he calmed down.

“Yes, please tell me.” He grabbed an overturned bucket and placed it so the lid touched the ground. He sat down with a sigh. “But let’s get one thing straight. We’re not going to be sharing a body. That’s out of the question. Okay?”

The question was met with an inscrutably sharp look and nothing more.

“Okay?” He repeated.

The shadow boy remained silent. But the silence wasn’t an indignant silence, which Izuku would have rebutted. It was a quiet, pregnant silence, like the kind someone undergoes when they’ve been hurt by what their conversator thought was a casual remark. It set Izuku on edge.

“That’s what I’m here for,” the boy broke in. He said it strongly, steadily. Like Izuku could either take it or leave it.

“...That’s why you saved me,” Izuku stated blandly.

The shadow boy shot him what might have been an earnest look. “Sort of. I wouldn’t have been able to save you if I hadn’t gone in your body. I can only control other shadows - the ones that aren’t me - if I have a body. I only just found that out.” He paused, perhaps letting himself register the fact for the first time. “And…anyways, I couldn’t have gone in your body if you weren’t quirkless. It was just a chance thing, that I was able to help you.”

“But if you didn’t know you could control other shadows until you…you joined me,” he sighed, genuinely perplexed. “Then why did you risk it in the first place? Why did you hop in a dying body? Quirkless people aren’t that rare.”

“Because you reached out to me,” was the simple reply.

Izuku nodded. “Alright. Oh-kay…” his breath hitched when he finally processed what had just been said to him. He looked at the ground, away from the shadow boy. His shoulders tensed and cried out in soreness as he brought them up to his ears. For some reason, his chest, or his lungs - something - was now sore too. No, it was pained - actively. He let out a few slow breaths and ran a hand through the tangles in his hair. His brow was furrowed in extreme worry. Although he wasn’t sure that was what he actually felt.

He had a realization. It was more a feeling - a sensation - of something real, something grounding. He marveled at it. Then an errant thought told him what it was. I don’t have to hide from this moment.

The shadow watched Izuku, who kept running his hand through his hair. He’d refused to meet his gaze again, and why? The shadow boy didn’t know. Nonetheless, he gave Izuku a few minutes until he said what had to be said next.

“I can’t stay here, and I really shouldn’t talk to you, if sharing a body is ‘out of the question.’”

Izuku looked up. “Why?”

“I know some people are looking for me,” he said, head down, almost like he was ashamed. “Though it didn’t seem like they were going to search very far, they do know what I look like. That I’m a shadow. And while it’s easy to hide as a shadow, it’s not…” He grappled for the right words. “...right. It’s scary.” He whispered, “I’m meant to be a person.”

Izuku stood up. “But you are…?”

He shook his head vehemently. “No.”

Izuku’s mouth twisted like he’d tasted something sour. “I’m not sure what to do with that. But…” his mouth worked for the right words, the gentle ones. Finding none, he settled. “If you give me enough information - enough so that I’m comfortable, I mean - I think I can consider sharing a body. But more importantly, I can try to come up with a solution that’s better than that.”

“...Okay.” He ambled over to Izuku, stopping a foot away. He looked down at his legs for a moment, then shook his head and plopped down on the ground, legs splayed in front of himself. He examined them once more, then awkwardly brought his knees to his chest.

Izuku took that as his cue to sit down as well. But, disliking the height difference the bucket afforded him, he brushed it away and sat criss-cross in front of the shadow boy instead. He stared at him expectantly.

“If you send me away after I tell, you have to promise not to let the people who are after me know you saw me,” he said plainly. “If you do know them. You might not.”

Izuku almost grinned. “I probably don’t.”

The story was harrowing. By the time the boy had finished speaking, the back of Izuku’s neck and his arms were pinched in gooseflesh. His eyes were taught and his vision was blurry at the edges from the strain of staring at one subject for so long.

At first he’d interrupted to ask questions, careful to keep his voice from becoming brash.

“So you woke up in a…container. This glass tube.”

“No, it wasn’t waking up. I’ve been careful not to use that phrase.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“It was like…being aware for the first time. My whole life came to me and I had to realize it.”

But the questions, which came in bright as a bulb, fizzled out as new information was tossed on top of them. When the boy finished Izuku continued to stare. His eyes were locked in yet bright. His previous shock had yet to return.

Slowly, he stood and turned in a half-circle. He pointlessly stared at a cluster of bushes across the road. He had to wet his dry lips before he spoke. “I bet I can find the building on a map.”

“Okay…” The shadow boy was wary, not of what Izuku said, but his reaction. “We can find out what the building’s for. And who made it,” he nodded along, voicing the rest of what he figured Izuku was thinking. “Then we can guess at why they made me.”

Izuku was rigid, his black school uniform making his figure look like a stern line in the foreground. He held his breath, all the conflicting intensions preventing him from thinking clearly. I can’t hold myself back like this, he thought. Just find what you want to say and say it. It only gets easier if you’re honest. He loosened his shoulders and exhaled in a long breath. As soon as the last of the stale air left his lungs, he turned sharply back towards the shadow boy. “What’s your name?” He asked.

“O-h,” the boy wavered. He said softly, in remembrance, “It’s…oh, yes, it’s Mikumo.”

Izuku nodded. “Someone messed up with you,” he said, not unkindly.

“What? How do you mean?”

“You told me that you’re a quirk,” he said, smiling dazedly at a few pebbles on the ground.

“Yes?”

“But you thought you were a person. You felt like a person, at least. Like you should have real human parts, real skin, all of that.”

“I still do,” Mikumo replied, defensive.

“That couldn’t have been their intention. Er, the intention of those doctors or scientists or whatever they were. They couldn’t have wanted you to think you were supposed to be human, couldn’t have wanted you to panic after waking up and realizing you weren’t. But I bet that they did want you to know basic things. Like language, what things are…how people work.” He met Mikumo’s gaze. “They botched it. Gave you too much info, or at least too much information about the wrong thing. Just enough to cause you to think like a…a real person. Instead of just knowing about one.”

Mikumo was quiet, a small, dark form on the ground. A blotch. “Yeah…” he mumbled. “But how did they even do that?”

The hurt in his voice softened Izuku. “I don’t know,” he said, and he was sorry for it.

“Okay. Then why?”

“Why did they do it?” Mikumo nodded. “To…” he let the time draw out between that word and his next sentence. He wanted to sink into it, plunge in like a penny into a fountain. “To use you,” he forced out. “I think it was to use you for…well it’s like you said.” He looked away, brow furrowed. “You, as a quirk, can only work inside quirkless people. So maybe-”

“They made me to give quirkless people quirks.”

Izuku nodded, relieved Mikumo was following. To suggest something like that only for it to be met with disbelief would have been exhausting.

“I guess it worked,” Mikumo breathed.

Izuku’s frown deepened at the bitter air between them. “We haven’t even talked about that.” He sniffed. “I want to help you.” The overture was genuine. “But if we…the arrangement would be practical but…not ideal for me.”

Mikumo stood, wiping dirt off himself. The motion of his hands against his legs sounded like a stone skidding across concrete. “You would have a quirk-” he started, straightening up.

Izuku held up a hand to him. “I don’t want that to be the reason I choose.”

“It should be part of the consideration. Because it’s the reality of the situation. You would have a quirk.”

He stiffened. “I don’t want to agree just so I can use you-”

“I won’t let you use me,” Mikumo bit back. “Just like you won’t let me use you.”

While his mouth worked to deny, the words rang clear and true in his head. Finally he gave up on the effort. “I’m sorry,” he said, feeling like he’d breached a moral.

“It’s okay. I just want you to think clearly about this. And I don’t want you thinking of me like that.” He looked away, obviously discomforted.

“Sorry,” Izuku repeated. “I know where you’re coming from.” And although he couldn’t put it to words, just like Mikumo couldn’t, it was true. “What exactly would the terms of this agreement be?”

“I get a body, you get a quirk. I get protection, and…”

“I get to help you.”

Mikumo’s expression shifted. Izuku interpreted it as a questioning glance. “I want to,” he explained. “Now that I know, I…” He sighed and shook his head. “Well, it’s not that I feel obligated to help. It’s that I can’t imagine myself doing anything different.” He frowned, realizing how cryptic that was. “I hope that makes sense.”

“It does,” Mikumo replied. He almost sounded awed. “I can help you too. If you get attacked again…” he trailed off, overtaken by odd wet coughs and that gurgling from earlier.

Izuku stepped forward. “Are you okay?”

Mikumo cleared his throat. “Yes. We’ve been talking for a long time.” He nodded towards the spot where the sun was hidden behind a skyscraper. Izuku looked, noticing for the first time that the streaks of sunlight had turned golden orange. “It’s hard to keep this up,” Mikumo pointed towards his chest.

“Oh, yeah.” Izuku peered into his face, searching for those inimitable eyes. He hoped they were warm. “Well…I guess I only really want to know if…if, um, you can hear my thoughts. In here.”

“Yes,” Mikumo replied. “But probably not all of them. That would be a mess.”

“Oh, sure,” Izuku started, wary. “It seems like you can choose when to talk to me in there. I also can’t hear all your thoughts.”

Mikumo nodded.

“So how do I do that?”

“Oh! I think it has to do with…with intention. You have to think something with the intention of wanting someone else to hear it.”

A frown pinched at the corners of Izuku’s mouth. “We’ll have to practice on the walk home - that’s where we’re going by the way. And when we get there let’s have some time apart, okay? Just so we can talk face to face again for a bit.” There was more to say, but he decided to save it until Mikumo was in his head again.

“Okay,” Mikumo replied, easily enough. He looked down at Izuku’s hand.

Izuku raised it, palm up. Mikumo placed his on top, inky fingers a perfect match to Izuku’s own. “Is this okay?”

Izuku nodded, subconsciously squeezing his fingers around Mikumo’s. I’ll see how it feels, he assured himself. And if it’s bad and awful then we’ll figure something else out.

Mikumo bowed slightly, then dissipated back into that thick black steam. Whatever he was now, whatever he was made of, curled up and around until it had retreated entirely into Izuku’s skin. Izuku watched quietly. No hole opened up in his palm, no pore widened. The shadow just swept back into him like his flesh was porous.

“Are you okay?” Mikumo asked. He was there again, right in Izuku’s mind. There was no tension, no way to feel out the solidity of his person - his consciousness - he was just there.

“I’m okay,” Izuku replied, more out of a desire to pacify himself as well as Mikumo than any regard for truth. Then he remembered something, and focused on the words. I’m okay.

“Did you hear-”

“Yes! That was good.”

“Alright,” he whispered. Let me know if you lose me.

“I bet I won’t. It’s not so difficult, is it?”

No, not really, actually. He swiped up his backpack.

Chapter Text

Izuku slipped into his building, keeping his eyes peeled for neighbors. The grime he'd accumulated was sticky and stifling. While it wasn't leftovers from the villain himself - a small mercy - it was in fact dirt and muck from being thrown on the ground, crawling on the ground, and even fighting on the ground. The odd thing about living in an apartment building like his own was how little you actually got to see of your neighbors. Walking in the halls, you'd think it was a ghost town if not for the occasional muffled cough from behind a door.

He was also careful about letting himself in the apartment. He made himself slowly turn the key in the lock and casually swing the door open, just like any other day. His mother was home, and he knew she listened to his movements and the way he interacted with objects just like he did with her. She wasn’t in the living room, which was good. Her favorite chair faced the door, and even in the dim hallway she would have been able to see the state of him. The kitchen, which was just around the corner, was silent. She must have been in her bedroom.

He entered his own, shrugging off his backpack to let it fall next to his desk. He had to interrupt Mikumo, who’d been jabbering for a while now.

“...not that I really want to, anyway. Eating food could be gross. I know all about how it works its way through the digestive system. Feeling the inner workings of all that might be nasty. Actually, I don’t know how you can put up with it. There might be some-”

“It’s not something I can actually feel. The digestive system does its own thing. I’m not even aware of it unless I get a stomachache. Listen, now that we’re here, let's do some more talking. But be quiet, like me.” And he was quiet. It took courage to raise his voice from a slurred murmur to a whisper.

“Right, your mom is home. Where is she?”

“The bedroom. Her bedroom.”

“Okay. I won’t make much noise.”

Izuku raised his palm. Mikumo had explained that he could leave through any exit - any part of Izuku’s body. But Izuku wanted to encourage him to use one he could get used to. Apparently Mikumo got the hint. The shadow quirk seeped out, all liquid-smoke, until enough of him was out to create himself. His copy of Izuku.

“That was faster than last time,” Izuku remarked.

“Things like this get easier the more I do it, I’ve noticed.”

Izuku nodded and looked away. He bit down on the urge to remind Mikumo he’d only been around for a few hours. A quick mental mapping of the dialogue told Izuku that it was likely to end in sensitive territory.

“That…you being in my head, it wasn’t so bad,” he said instead.

Mikumo nodded politely. His presence seemed to add gravity to the small room. The corners, already pinched in darkness, were more noticeable with the impossible shadow standing in the middle of them. Izuku brushed past him and settled in at his desk. “I don’t have another chair for you. Do you mind?”

“I don’t.”

“Okay,” he said. He leaned back in his chair, hands casually splayed on the armrests. He turned toward Mikumo, trying his best to look inviting. What he couldn’t say with words he hoped to make clear with gestures. “Let’s try to figure out where you came from.”

Mikumo said nothing, electing instead to tilt his head in a way Izuku interpreted as assent.

With one more glance sideways Izuku turned to his computer and typed in his password. “I’ll pull up a GPS.” He clicked on the map application. “Alright, so - this is where we met.” He dragged his cursor over to the tunnel’s location. “I know you came from this entrance. Way up that road is a park. Do you recognize it?”

Mikumo leaned down. Izuku could see the outline of several long eyelashes jutting out from his face. It was an odd detail to pick up. “...I can’t tell.”

Izuku cringed. Yes, of course a bird’s eye view of the park wouldn’t help much. “Well, do you remember going through a place with a bunch of trees? I know this area. There’s not another park around for a while, so if you were in one, it was here.”

“I was in a place with a lot of trees,” Mikumo mused. “They have lots of good shade. And they’re still.”

“That’s good. So if you left the park through here - that’s where the tunnel is, remember - then you must have entered it either through here or…” He trailed off. “Well, I guess it’s not guaranteed that you went in through any paths.” He looked at Mikumo questioningly.

“Well…sometimes I did. See that there? That thick line of bushes?”

Izuku nodded. The bushes were really massive hedges just over six feet tall. They’d been installed to curb the noise pollution from the road just beyond them. “Did you go in there?” He imagined Mikumo would find lots of shade inside them.

“Yes. I went right through them just as long as I could. Until I got to the exit, actually. I think I entered from the sidewalk next to them…right there. And before that I think it’s safe to say I had been traveling in a straight line.”

“So up this street?”

Mikumo nodded.

“And you didn’t make any more turns?” Izuku raised his eyebrows.

“No, actually. I just…well, here’s where it gets a little confusing. The building emptied out onto a sidewalk. I had to go across the road and between two buildings. Then I followed it down to the park.”

Izuku shrugged. “Well, that’s easy. Don’t worry about it. That just means you started off on this street.” He moved his cursor to drag the screen to the left. “So really, it could be any of the buildings along here.”

Mikumo shuffled his feet. “I can’t recognize it.”

“Do you think you could recognize the alleyway? Those are easier to narrow down than buildings.”

“Maybe,” Mikumo said. They worked at it for several more minutes before narrowing it down between two spots.

“And you said you crossed the street and the alley was right in front of you,” Izuku said, brows furrowed.

“Yes.” They realized at the same time. “So it must be-”

“That one,” Izuku finished. “This building is the only one whose doors align with the alley across the street.” He made his cursor dance around it excitedly.

“Well, what is it?” Mikumo whisper-shouted.

Izuku zoomed out so he could read the label. His grin faded when he processed the words.

Mikumo broke the silence. “What’s it say?”

“U-um, the…” he gestured towards it, wishing Mikumo would just read it for himself. But the boy didn’t catch the hint, and only continued to stare at Izuku. “It’s the…” he wiped at his eye with the back of his hand. “It says it’s the Hero Public Safety Commission HQ.”

Mikumo removed the heels of his hand from the desk and stepped away.

“I know that building,” Izuku muttered, not knowing why. Then he realized. “Oh, it’s the same one we were looking at from the tunnel. The one the sun went behind.”

Izuku turned to look at Mikumo. He was staring abjectly down at the floor.

Izuku got up and went over to him, halting about three feet away. He stooped to peer awkwardly into Mikumo’s downturned face. “What? Do you remember something about them? Like in the…the…” he grappled for the word Mikumo had used to explain it to him. “Lockbox?”

“Yes…I know a lot about them,” he said slowly. He brought his hand up to his face and rubbed his cheek contemplatively. His fingers grated against his skin. “But it’s all too clean. If I told you a bad thing about them I’d only be guessing.”

Izuku’s eyes widened. “So…that does mean that they were the ones who…made you. That practically confirms it.” He looked back to the computer screen. The skyscraper…how many times had he passed by it? How many of those times had Mikumo been in there, being created, scientists gathering eagerly around to work on him? How many days had those people spent working at it, hoping to create a quirk? And why did they have to spoil it all by making it sentient?

Izuku shut down the unbidden thought.

“Why did they want to make me for quirkless people?” Mikumo asked, finally raising his head. Izuku turned guiltily away. Once more he noticed the flecks of dirt marring his skin. He flattened his hands against his thighs to wipe them harshly against the coarse fabric of his pants.

“I don’t know,” Izuku replied. He almost nibbled at his fingernails before he caught himself. “You asked me the same thing earlier, didn’t you?” No reply. Izuku looked at him. Mikumo was enraptured by the computer screen.

“I have to take a shower soon,” Izuku said apologetically. “Before I have dinner with my mom.”

“The Hero Public Safety Commission has almost as much reach and power as the criminal justice system - the government.” His fingers commenced grating against his face. “How will we hide from them?”

“I was wondering the same thing.” They own UA, he almost added. But he didn’t. He hid that thought and all the other selfish ones like it deep down below. They could be dredged up and dealt with later. “I can keep you hidden here, easy.” He brightened. “It’s certainly not a matter of where to hide.”

Mikumo said nothing.

“I guess we just have to find out how well they’re looking.” His brow furrowed. “They must know you can hide in…share a body with quirkless people. But do you think they know you can control other shadows?”

“They designed me that way,” Mikumo shrugged. “Of course, maybe not. They never did get to test me out.”

Izuku’s lips set in a thin, straight line at that last remark. Despite his desire to maintain distance, he edged closer to Mikumo, trying to work out some way in his mind to offer comfort.

Mikumo’s head shot up. “What if I wasn’t the only one there?”

“I-”

“There could have been others. Maybe just one or maybe two. Ten. I don’t know how easy it is to make me - to mass produce me. They could’ve made enough for every quirkless person.”

“That was just conjecture,” Izuku was quick to reply. “I’m not certain what they made you for.” Mikumo shook his head rapidly. Izuku ignored it and went on. “Did you even see any others in that room? In that building?”

“No.”

Izuku studied him, brows creased in concern. “So don’t jump to conclusions like that.”

“Well, Izuku,” Mikumo started. Izuku couldn’t tell if his name was spoken bitterly or out of closeness. “They didn’t just forget how to make me when I left. They still know how.” He began to pace.

Izuku was very still. He knew to be stolid when others panicked. “That could be true. But it may take a…a limited resource in order to make you.” Mikumo merely shook his head. “Well, what do you want to do if it turns out to be true?” He licked his lips. “We might end up having to just default to assuming it’s true. So what would you want to do?”

“I want to stop it.” Mikumo’s words were close to a shout. “I want to stop it,” he repeated. “I want to stop it!” He stomped on the floor along with the last syllable. The ground trembled.

Izuku forced himself to stay in place and fixed Mikumo with a forbidding stare. He listened for the sound of his mom getting out of bed. It would come any minute now. Mikumo continued to trudge from one side of the room to the other, holding his hands close to his head like he wanted to clutch it. He looked blurry now, like his aura had turned black. Izuku blinked and looked again. It seemed Mikumo’s control over his shadow was faltering. A foggy blackness clung around him and his silhouette was less defined. He began to whine - or hum - Izuku wasn’t sure. He could visibly see swaths of Mikumo break off and join the fog. He was diminishing.

It took a few more moments of this before Izuku realized the hums were sobs. “Mikumo,” he said, stepping forward. “What…what do you need?”

“I don’t wanna be like this,” he slurred. He glanced once more at Izuku before trotting off to a far corner of the room. Izuku clasped his hands together and waited, nervous, before his better judgment told him to follow.

He wrestled over whether or not he should say the true words, but finally had to make up his mind when no others came to him. “I wish you weren’t like this, too,” he said gently. “It’s not right. This is awful.” He waited, face pinched, for a reaction.

Mikumo’s expression betrayed even less about what he felt than usual. It was too blurry to see. But finally he spoke. “I wish I had something. But I’m nothing,” he cried, sobs wracking his body. “I could just sink down and disappear right now and forget all about how to look like a person…” he trailed off. His voice had been high-pitched and watery. In the ensuing silence he just shivered quietly, head down.

Izuku’s chest was tight with sympathy. He reached for Mikumo’s shoulder, his hand sinking much farther than it should have before it touched something solid. “I don’t want that for you,” he said, surprising himself. He’d meant to say something about being there for him. “You can have a place here, with me.” His voice was more raw with emotion than it had been in years. “Is that enough?”

Mikumo looked up at him. He was shorter now, and the fog was so dense below him that it was impossible for any part of his legs or lower body to still be solid at this point. “You’re honest?” Was all he said. It seemed that it was very difficult for him to speak now.

“Yes,” Izuku replied. “Do you need-” he cut himself off. He heard footsteps in the hall. “Here, get back in,” he urged. “My mom’s coming.”

Mikumo did so, more or less falling as he leaned into Izuku’s grip. He was back in his hand before gravity could truly take its course. Izuku turned to the door just as it opened. His mom’s pale face peered in through the frame. It took her a moment before her eyes narrowed in on him. “Izuku?”

“Yeah?” he called back, voice light.

“Turn on a light.”

“Okay,” he nodded, but made no move to do so. Nightfall and the fact that he’d forgotten to do it before were the only things keeping her from seeing the grime coating his body. Now he only worried she would flick the switch next to her head. But she didn’t.

“You were late coming home.”

“Yeah.”

“Cleaning up at school?”

“Yeah.”

“You were supposed to pick up some groceries for dinner,” she fretted.

“Oh! I forgot. Sorry.”

“Uhuh. So I didn’t make dinner. I took a nap instead.” Her voice was gravelly from sleep.

“I’m sorry.”

She sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “Quit standing around in the dark. What was that noise earlier?”

“I don’t know. I think it was the neighbor.”

She frowned. He knew she doubted him and he knew why. He’d been prone to temper tantrums when he was a kid. Little bouts of violence. If she left him alone in a room for too long she’d come back to find a bruise on him, or even a little blood on a few occasions. But mostly it was just stuff he’d torn up. He’d kept a pair of scissors hidden to tear into stuffed animals and bedsheets with. She never was able to find them.

“Don’t bother me,” she said. “I think I’ve got a little fever.”

“Oh.”

She began to close the door, then paused to call one more thing out to him. “Just eat some leftovers.”

“‘Kay.”

She closed the door.

For several moments there was no sound but the gentle padding of his mother’s feet as she walked to her bedroom. Izuku raised his hand to his chest. He loosened his shirt collar and placed his fingertips against the skin just below the collar bone. He didn’t know why he did it.

“...I am so sorry.” Even in his head Mikumo’s voice was undeniably weak.

Izuku listened to the quick inhale and exhale of his breathing. He mentally followed the path the air took. Down his neck and to his torso. Then back up. Cold then warm. “It’s okay,” he said hoarsely. “Do you feel all of this?”

Quiet between them. Izuku closed his eyes to stave off regret. “My breathing and my pain? I’m still sore.”

“Yes. Your eyes are stinging. Mine didn’t sting when I cried.”

“I’m not crying,” he said, and wiped his face with his forearm. But he was relieved.

“I’m meant to be just like you. I know it better than any other thing they made me know.”

He went silent, but Izuku knew there was more to say. He waited it out comfortably.

“It hurts to be out there. It grinds down on me, my nerves. I would be lost…” He spoke faster. “What if I hadn’t been able to leave that place? It’s nighttime now. I’d still be locked in there. I’d have no idea how to talk…and they would just stare at me. Izuku, it’s terrible. I think they would have scrapped me when they found out I’m like this. They’d have taught me to talk and then…when I was finally able to ask for help they’d realize their mistake.”

“...And there could be more like you stuck back there.”

“Yes.”

“And that could be happening to them.”

“It’s all of that I’m worried about. Them and me - how afraid I am. It’s all of these things I’ve got to do.”

“You’ve done a lot today. We both have.” Izuku sat down on the edge of his bed. “You want to help them?”

“...I do. I guess I really do. I’m restless. Completely, completely, restless. Earlier I wanted to break something…like myself…it was just something. I wanted to do something.”

I know that feeling. His mind filled with red recollections of coiled stress snapping taught, the painful rage that followed…it was the kind that grew spikes that stabbed into your sides. And while you tried to fight against it you were really just fighting with it, until it all became the same thing.

“I’m glad you do.”

Izuku blinked. He hadn’t meant for Mikumo to hear that thought. “Let’s work on it tomorrow. But…here’s something for now. It’ll help us sleep.”

“What is it?”

Izuku spoke slowly. “I had planned to go to UA. You know about it?”

“Yes.”

“But I don’t have a quirk. I didn’t…”

“But now you do. You…want to become a hero?” His tone carried an odd mixture of doubt and consideration.

“Yes. But my point is, the Hero Public Safety Commission owns UA. They work closely with each other. The HPSC hosts the Hero Licensing Exam. They also coordinate some internships between students and heroes, as well as assign promising students to do actual hero work. So, if we went that route…if we went to UA, that would give us an in. Some kind of opportunity.” He lowered his voice. “I don’t know how else we would go about doing any of this. I can’t think of anything.”

Mikumo was quiet. Izuku waited for his reply with bated breath. Finally, he spoke. “That’s not bad. That is something.”

“Well, there’s some other things to consider about it. Like-”

“Like the increased exposure. Hiding is out of the question. Well, I’d still be hiding. But the quirk…”

“Yeah,” Izuku sighed.

“We’d need that for heroics.”

“Right.” He got up and raised his arm over his head, stretching. “If we can figure it out just the right way…” he muttered.

“We can work on it. But right now, I’m tired. Or - I mean - you’re tired.”

“Oh. Yeah. I guess that’s right. Well, we can sleep on it,” he said, reaching up to touch his chest again.

Izuku had taken two showers. One last night and another this morning for good measure. After some squabbling about what it actually feels like to eat something they’d had dinner. By the time they got to bed the sleeping arrangements had been worked out. Mikumo realized that it was impossible for him to sleep without a body, so Izuku had been gracious and allowed him to remain in his head - although Mikumo didn’t miss the way his - their - lips twisted into a grimace. It made Mikumo feel bad, but Izuku didn’t air any protest. It didn’t take long for them to fall asleep after getting in bed and they both woke up at the same time this morning. It was odd, but Mikumo wasn’t sure if he could wake up before Izuku.

Although Mikumo still felt…rattled, as he had last night and most of yesterday, he also began to feel that he could settle into these bones.

Now he was crouched on the ground, the pattering of shower water a solid murmur in the background. Izuku’s mother had left for work early that morning, leaving the house empty besides the two of them. Mikumo had tried to venture out to the living room and get a feel for the place, but quickly retreated back to the bedroom. The whole rest of the apartment was so white and drab in the dim morning light. It gave such an impression of emptiness that Mikumo felt his very presence would leave an indelible stain on it.

So he studied Izuku’s bookshelf instead. There were a few comics but mostly magazines. They were stacked horizontally; their length about half an inch too long to be properly placed. It was hero stuff. Some pictures were sleek and glamorous, obviously intent on highlighting the limelight side of heroics. But most were informational. He thumbed through these for a good while before getting overwhelmed. It was too much content to take in all at once, even if he was trying to decipher it just from the pictures.

His attention fell on a neat stack of white notebooks in the bottom left corner. They were handwritten, alternating between entries of scruffy pencil marks and sharp pen. There were sketches here, too. More heroes. They were all jagged and rough. The angles were too sharp; the anatomy poorly done. Izuku’s art style made more sense with drawings of objects, and there were plenty of those. All the empty spaces were filled with precise sketches of support gear.

The bedroom door opened and Izuku stepped through, but Mikumo didn’t turn to look at him until Izuku sat down beside him. His wet hair clung to his forehead and ears. The curls had turned to gentle waves from the added gravity.

“That’s a different gakuran, right?” Mikumo asked.

Izuku let out a light chuckle. “Yes. I have a few others in my closet.” He nodded towards the notebooks sprawled on the floor. “These are some notes I’ve taken.”

“I liked looking at them. They’re all filled up,” he said brightly. “How many are there…?” He trailed off to count them himself. Twelve. “How long does this take to do?”

Izuku was quiet for a moment, eyes downcast. “Maybe six to twelve months.”

Mikumo nodded. His eye caught onto something that had been tucked behind the notebooks.

Izuku sighed. “Well, we’ve got to get going. Sorry again about us having to go to school.” He began to reorganize the books.

“It’s not going to be as much of a problem for me as it will be for you. I’ll just be quiet. But it will be…weird for you, I imagine.”

“I can manage it,” Izuku said quickly. “This is something I’ve got to get used to.”

“Okay. Well, hey, that’s a thirteenth notebook, isn’t it?” He finally pointed to it. Its covers had been pressed flat against the wall and the other books. “Why’s it back there?”

Izuku inhaled sharply and glanced sideways at him. “That’s not a notebook for notes.” He slid the rest of the books back in front of it. Mikumo decided to say nothing more about it. Izuku turned to him. “Did you read any of this stuff?”

“No. I just looked at the pictures. Your drawings. I can’t figure out how to read.”

Izuku did a double-take. “Huh?”

“I haven’t…figured it out quite yet,” Mikumo explained.

Izuku studied him. “So…they didn’t teach you how to read? I mean, they didn’t give you the knowledge of it?”

“No.” Mikumo looked away. “I guess I might be a little incomplete.”

Izuku stood and pushed his hair back from his forehead. It flopped back down obstinately. “Not necessarily,” he murmured. “They could’ve done that on purpose. I don’t know why, though. It’s something to think about.” He shook his head. “Later. We really do have to get going.”

Mikumo nodded and went over to him.

Izuku had left early so he could try out a different route - one that didn’t pass by the Hero Pubic Safety Commission HQ. The result was that he got to school a good bit early. Very few students dotted the halls. Only one of them was in the classroom when he got there.

Izuku was quiet as he slipped through the field of desks to his own. He made his stature small and unnoticeable, and kept his eyes on the ground. Still, he knew right away when Bakugou looked up at him. He didn’t look back, electing to slide silently into his chair instead. He sat diagonal to Bakugou, on his left.

I’ve got to warn you about this guy. He’s not nice.

“Oh, okay,” Mikumo said uncertainly.

Where Izuku was content to ignore the fact that they were alone together, Bakugou was not. It was not in his nature to ignore. He always had to come right out and say something to make the moment his own.

“Get out.”

“No,” Izuku shot back immediately.

Bakugou let the textbook he’d been holding fall down on the desk with a harsh thonk. “You can go outside and wait for school to start like all the others,” he said through gritted teeth.

Izuku stared at him evenly. It was true that he’d prefer to be outside, but he was here. He’d already sat down. And he wasn’t going to be shooed away like this. “I’m staying here. I’ve got things to do.”

Bakugou’s ears and cheeks flushed with anger. “You either leave or I drag you out.”

“I’d hate to see you mess up your record,” Izuku said slowly. A threat for a threat. Bakugou had always made it a point not to fight during school. One mark on his record and a Hero Academy might hesitate to accept him. Every subsequent mark just dragged his value down farther and farther. Izuku knew Bakugou had some from elementary school, but that didn’t matter as much. There was a time when, in their first year of middle school, Bakugou had been sent to the principal’s office. That did matter. And one more trip, especially as a third year, would probably tip the scales out of favor for him.

He saw a flicker of hatred pass over Bakugou’s eyes before he spoke again. “Oh, you’d fight me?”

Izuku just stared at him. He could read the answer in his eyes.

Bakugou smiled an ugly smile. “I wouldn’t want to fight you, Deku.”

“Why’s that?” The compliant words were gritty on his tongue yet he felt compelled to say them.

“It’s embarrassing to fight a guy like you. You’re too weak. It’d only be fair if you had a gun.” If their classmates had been in the room that last remark would have been met with murmured “oohs”. But as it was, it was silent. Izuku relished it. It was his only defense. He opened his backpack and laid out some school materials on his desk.

“‘Course, you might go ahead and shoot up the rest of the school. You’re the type to do it.”

Izuku didn’t look up. I’m not the school shooter type, he told Mikumo.

“I know.”

And he knows I’m not, too. Kacchan’s trying to get under my skin. Bakugou, I mean.

“Yeah.”

Izuku almost winced at the short reply. I’m sorry.

“What? It’s okay. It’s just that this is confusing.”

He tried to think of a way to explain what was going on, but found he couldn’t. It’s a confusing situation. He’ll probably keep saying stuff like this all day. Just ignore it.

“Do you remember the last time we fought?”

Izuku had to look up at that. Bakugou still had that ugly little grin on his face. “What?”

Now it was Bakugou’s turn to say nothing. He kept staring instead.

Izuku remembered it. The last time had been when he was thirteen, or close to it. The fight hadn’t happened at school, but on a school field trip - the overnight kind. His class was allowed to stay in a hotel. The students were parsed off into two to a room, and through sheer bad luck Izuku had been paired with one of Bakugou’s friends; an odd man out in his little group. Izuku’s roommate hadn’t been all that bad the first night. He lost all his nerve without other people around to egg him on. But on the second night the boy had snuck out to rendezvous with his friends. He came back after an hour, and he wasn’t alone. He let Bakugou and the others into the room too.

They came in red-faced and grinning ear to ear from laughing so much. Their taste of adulthood freedom had an effect on them that seemed to take away their sobriety. They started right in on Izuku, making fun of him with a gusto that was alarming. He remembered feeling cornered. It was five other guys all around him - all bigger than him - three of whom he’d known since childhood. And it had been…

There was another dimension to this. He recalled it now. He’d been excited to be there, on that field trip. When the teacher had announced it everyone was thrilled, and after the exams came and went and the date edged closer and closer the atmosphere in his classroom was downright jovial. It was against his better judgment to go. It wasn’t just Bakugou that didn’t like him. Izuku had always felt unwelcome at this school. But when he tried to imagine himself leaving that field trip permission form blank and spending the school day in a cafeteria while everyone else got hauled onto the bus…while everyone else spent the next three nights with each other, when he’d be bored at home…staring at the pale walls…

Bakugou had said something. A jab that hit too close to home, or it showed how deep his hatred went. Whatever it was, it set Izuku off. That coil of stress…

He’d thrown the first punch. It hadn’t done much. Izuku could still see clearly how his small fist brushed weakly against the fabric of Bakugou’s t-shirt. It was met with laughter but that didn’t matter. Izuku’s eyes were too blurry to see anyone but who he was focused on. Bakugou said something - or maybe even just started to say something - and Izuku swung again. This time he put more weight behind it.

It started there. It was sort of broken into four parts in Izuku’s mind. The initial teasing, the first scuffle, then being thrown down on the ground. Usually after a fight with Bakugou he could still recall every place he’d been punched, how much it hurt on impact, and how long it took to get his breath back and stand back up. But with this one he was never able to remember any of that. Not right after, and hardly even during.

He was on the floor because Bakugou had got him on the nose. It knocked him off his feet and he lay there, on his back, watching the blood pour out. It was too much of it, and too fast. That was when time slowed down again. He noticed Bakugou shuffle backwards, posture loosened, like he was ready to leave it there. Like he thought it had been enough.

And that thought: “He thinks it’s been enough!” clanged around in Izuku’s mind. It was as dark as his blood and blotted out all others as he got to his feet. The next chunk of time was removed completely from himself. It was black and suspended in the air of a breath. The only part of it he knew were the initial punches; quicker, harder, and meaner than any of the ones before.

It resumed at the last bit, the fourth part. They wound up in the hallway. Bakugou had fallen against the wall and slid down it, catching his breath. For the life of him Izuku couldn’t remember what Bakugou had looked like at that moment. He knew he peered into his face, searching for the damage, how many bruises he’d gotten on him and if he’d managed to get blood. He knew he was horrified as he came to himself (just as he was horrified now as he recollected it) to realize that was what he was doing. Looking for the bruises on his friends face like it was some sort of trophy prize.

It was a small comfort now to know the damage must not have been bad. Bakugou got up and dragged Izuku back into the hotel room, depositing him on the floor. Then the door snapped shut and the adrenaline rush dissipated. He could actually feel the sting leave his eyes, the buzz die away from his hands, and the ringing fade from his ears.

He heard the friends laughing and cracking jokes about it outside, but Bakugou’s voice was not one of them.

And although it should have been at the top of the gossip mill the next morning, Izuku never had to hear anything about it again.

The whole memory had been tucked adamantly away until now. Izuku sighed. “What about it?” If Bakugou was intent on bringing up something so awkward, Izuku might as well try to own it.

“That whole thing disgusted me,” he said, voice even. “Is that how you plan to fight at UA?”

“I’m not going to UA.” The words were out before his mind had cleared them. But it was fine, he realized. They were perfect.

“What?” Bakugou asked. “You’re not going?”

Izuku merely fiddled with his school supplies. Bakugou looked away. He was very tense for several long seconds before turning to Izuku again. “You’re not going to any hero academy?” He asked.

“No.” He tried to look busy by opening a book.

“...Fuckin’ liar.”

Izuku frowned.

“I didn’t think you were such a coward,” Bakugou started, voice low. “You’re just saying that so when you do try out and fail it’s not so embarrassing. That’s weak,” he sneered.

“I’m not going to try out.”

“Why?” Bakugou demanded, face pinched.

“Because I can’t get in,” He explained. “I don’t have a quirk!”

“You’re fucking smiling!” He leapt up. “You piece of shit!” He screamed, grabbing Izuku’s shirt collar. Bakugou twisted, left shoulder aligned as though getting ready to strike.

Izuku yanked his knees up to his chest and kicked blindly out between the bars of the desk. He hit Bakugou somewhere on the thigh, making him shuffle to regain balance. Izuku slipped out from his grip and quickly stood, backing a few paces away.

Izuku eyed Bakugou warily. The other made no move for him, instead glowering up as he hunched over Izuku’s desk, fists clenched. Mikumo was the first to speak.

“Why is he doing this?”

Izuku nearly spoke aloud before regaining his composure. He snapped his mouth shut. There’s something wrong with him.

“This is not good. You’re scared,” Mikumo worried.

I am not scared, Izuku said sternly.

“You are, Izuku - you’re trembling.”

And he was. He glared at his shaking legs and took in a big breath. They lapsed into a mere dull tremor. He forced a scowl on his features and looked up at Bakugou.

Bakugou spoke slowly. “I don’t care anyways.” He smiled. It was thin and horrible. “The only reason you’ve bothered me since-” he cut himself off then continued, undeterred. “Is because you insist you can be a hero when you cannot. It’s so fucking stupid. It’s delusional.”

The words. The words were right on the edge of Izuku’s tongue. Really? We could’ve kept being friends even after I was diagnosed as quirkless if I gave up on being a hero?

But they were spiteful. They weren’t gentle and diluted with sadness as they were when he used to think them as a kid.

So he wouldn’t say it. He wouldn’t do his past self that injustice.

“You used to be friends with him?”

Izuku looked down to hide his grimace. That was another thought he hadn’t meant to share.

“But if you come back here and I hear again that you’re still trying for the hero route in high school, I’m not gonna let it slide. ‘Cause you’ll be a fucking liar.”

Izuku sighed. A big, heavy one that lifted his shoulders high before he exhaled. He wanted to snarl. The fucking audacity.

He knew Mikumo heard that one too, but there was no reply. For some reason, that spurred Izuku to continue.

He basically just said he’s gonna punish me if I go back on what I just said. Who the fuck-

“Izuku, please calm down.”

What is wrong with him? What went so wrong?

“We’re shaking again.”

“I am not scared.” His voice was quiet, but also even. It filled up the room and seemed to snap everything taught with its strength.

Bakugou was silent for many seconds, almost letting Izuku have the last word for once. It dragged on until Izuku thought it might be impossible for either of them to speak again - they’d just have to stand here waiting until someone else broke it all up - but Bakugou did reply, just as easily as though the tension was never there.

“Doesn’t matter either way to me. I’ve said what I said,” he shrugged. He left, swiping his arm over Izuku’s desk to knock the things on the floor.

Izuku watched, dumbfounded. Back to schoolboy pranks.

Like they hadn’t nearly touched something real.

Chapter Text

It was in these days that everything seemed to remain comfortably the same. There was less distress when they were together and when they were apart they both alternated between deep moods of discontent and focus. They had worked out a plan, and for now the plan only required of them those two things.

For Izuku, he could see the difference most clearly in his kitchen and his bedroom. When he rolled out of bed the morning light was a crisp white and the walls opposite the windows were luminescent and those adjacent to it were a golden honey. It was with those things in his sight that he greeted the day, along with a Good morning, Mikumo and a new sense that there were important things to be done.

It had never been his mother’s habit to make him breakfast so he’d rarely eaten it. But now, upon Mikumo’s gentle insistence, he often cooked up something quick to eat. The kitchen sounds - pots clanking, silverware drawer jingling, stove beeps - were less jarring with each day he continued to solidify the habit. It got so that his mother arose to the sounds of breakfast being made and took her daily shower accordingly. If it was her day off from work she often crawled back in bed afterwards. Izuku liked the routine he was creating. It made him feel closer to her. Although, when her door opened his fear of being chided for waking her never lessened. Mikumo adopted Izuku’s wariness - which they both dubbed care - and didn’t mind how Izuku moved deliberately slow when picking up and placing things in the kitchen.

And when the outside light dimmed in the evenings Izuku often left the living room light on. He liked to see the yellow glow wafting in from under his bedroom door.

For Mikumo, things were in peril. The plan they had cooked up was not sufficient, it seemed. But neither was any other. Izuku had spent more time toiling over it than even he had, which was a comfort. But once the decision was made Izuku was able to make his peace with it - or at least push aside uneasy thoughts - whereas Mikumo could not. He had accepted it just as easily but couldn’t stop jabbering to himself about his concerns. He knew something bad was coming. It was in the plan for something to go wrong. He just wished it would come and be over with already.

But that was many months off.

They were going to get into UA. Once there, they would be found out. It was a matter of when, not if. But they had one trump card, one modicum of control over the situation. And it was that the HPSC knew Mikumo could run away. He could run away so fast and be so well hidden that if he chose to do it, the HPSC may never find him again. There was no way they were not acutely aware of this fact.

So when they found Izuku out, they would be disinclined to make their knowledge known to him, i.e., he’d be watched, but undisturbed.

Obviously, that limbo would not be able to go on forever - certainly not long enough for Izuku to graduate with his hero license and leave. Nor did either of them want it to. The situation would culminate into a cusp of sorts. Their goal was to be ready for this cusp. To have accrued enough resources (a nebulous concept as of now - though getting people on their side was what they hoped for) to be able to meet a threat with a threat…in the best case scenario this looked like strong-arming the HPSC.

The way Izuku saw it, the HPSC’s publicity was everything to them. The only reason an escaped Mikumo was such a threat to them was because they feared the story getting out. Mikumo’s case was that of a human rights violation - not to mention all the compounding problems his existence implied. There was no way the HPSC could take that hit and roll with it.

Izuku, Mikumo, and those (nebulous) resources would be the sole arbiter of deciding when and how the story got out. Hence…their tool for strong-arming.

There was one major flaw in all of this. It poked a gaping void in the plan and even now they’d yet to plug it up.

Asassination.

“I don’t doubt that there’s a million ways they could kill me before you or I realized it and got you out in time. But unless they know something we don’t…there’s no guarantee that if I die with you in my body, you die with me. My bet’s that they won’t take that risk.” Izuku said, eyes squinting in stern focus.

“I don’t like that,” Mikumo said, knowing it was useless. These were the cards they’d been dealt, and it would be foolish not to examine them all before playing their hand.

“I doubt it will pan out like that anyway.” Izuku said doggedly.

As much as Mikumo stressed and ruminated, he had to admit that this was happening because at the core of it all, he was desperate to know if the HPSC was still holding onto others like him.

He and Izuku could easily choose to not go to UA and remain hidden and safe for the rest of their lives. All they had to do was keep up the facade that Izuku was quirkless. They’d be fine. Undetectable.

But Mikumo could not rest for that.

Something in him constantly churned. He struggled with a pain that washed over him and pulled away as inevitably as ocean waves. And where the idea of other sentient quirks like him were concerned he was unable to stave off the impulses. Impulses of rage and panic that left him feeling miserable and groundless. It brought him back to his first day and chained him there until Izuku reminded him that they were going to do something to fix it all. And that helped settle him. Like a cooling salve.

He was often in awe of Izuku. Mikumo regularly asked him why he wanted to do all of this and Izuku doggedly replied (that word gave a pure resonance with the concept of Izuku) that he could not imagine doing anything else.

Mikumo did not know exactly what the well Izuku drew up his motivation and vigor from contained, but this did not bother him. Izuku was less and less of a stranger every day.

“You know, I’m the only person you’ve ever talked to,” Izuku exclaimed. He’d just broken the hour-long silence between them.

Mikumo nodded. “Yeah. That’s fine.”

Izuku fidgeted but his emerald eyes remained steady. “If you could talk to anyone, who would you talk to?”

“Bakugou,” he said, just to give Izuku an answer. He was only mildly concerned with the question. But if he was honest, he’d say Izuku’s mom. Izuku’s careful treatment of her had made the woman grow to a powerful yet mysterious stature in Mikumo’s mind. He’d like to talk to her, if only to get to know her better.

“Oh.” He recoiled at the answer - a near imperceptible reaction. “What would you say to him?”

“I don’t know. I imagine he’d drive the conversation.”

Izuku was mildly disgusted at the thought. “Yeah.”

“How is studying going?” Mikumo asked. Izuku had doubled down on his study efforts after firmly resolving to go to UA. It wasn’t that he’d been doing badly before, but he’d insisted there was room for improvement. As it was, it seemed he was going for perfection.

“Good. The four hours are almost up. We have one and half left to go. How is that going?” He nodded towards the phone in Mikumo’s gloved hands.

Mikumo looked down at it. He wore the gloves because the phone couldn’t sense his own fingers. The gloves were the special kind that allowed for touchscreen use. “There’s only so much I can learn,” he explained. “The HPSC has a rich history, but they share very little of it. Really, all I can get from their website is the information I knew before. And outside sources are invariably ‘opinion’ articles.”

Izuku merely nodded to show he heard. They’d dished all this out before. “Nothing new today?”

Mikumo leaned back on the floor. “Nothing new.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“Work on reading. Or my shadows.”

“That sounds good,” Izuku said vaguely, turning back to his computer. Mikumo watched him. Izuku always knew what they should be doing. He hated to be idle, but didn’t resist resting when it was due. Mikumo figured it was a good match for his own internal tumult. It was odd, but above all the good things about Izuku, Mikumo was most proud of their dynamic together. And he had a strong feeling that was just what having a friend was like.

Mikumo turned back to the phone. In a few hours they would do their exercise routine. Then, when Izuku’s mom got home, they’d spend the evening quietly watching movies. Or drawing.

This was the schedule they had worked out. They got the most out of it on the weekends, but they were determined to squeeze it into schooldays too. It had been about four weeks since they’d begun it, and it would stretch out all the way until Izuku was done with his third year of middle school. Until he was ready for UA.

And it was all comfortably the same.

The phone buzzed. A breaking news alert poked out from the top of the screen. Mikumo felt lucky as soon as he got through his struggle to read it.

“BREAKING NEWS: HPSC HIRES CRIMINALS TO DO HERO WORK IN EX…”

He tapped violently on the notification, which led him to a monetized video. While the ad played, he read the rest of the caption.

“...IN EXCHANGE FOR REDUCED SENTENCES”

“Izuku!” He shouted.

“What?” Izuku whirled around, immediately matching Mikumo’s alarm.

Mikumo waved him over. “Come look at this! I got something. It’s new - just happened.”

Izuku laid down beside him, pressing his shoulder against Mikumo’s own to get a better look. “Oh shit,” he breathed. “Quick, skip that ad. It’s been four seconds.” But he’d already done it himself.

A lady news anchor was speaking.

“It was previously believed that those who fought against the villainous gang several nights ago were heroes. That was the information the Hero Public Safety Commission presented. But now, a civilian eyewitness who was on the scene during the event claims that the three ‘heroes’ do not match the identities of any known pro hero. Our investigative branch worked tirelessly with this witness and has now conclusively identified who these three men truly are.”

Six images now overlaid the news anchor’s face. The top three were photos of detailed sketches that had been done. Below each was a corresponding image of the man drawn above. Every single one was a mugshot.

“Not only that, but we’ve received an anonymous tip that this standoff was arranged by the HPSC, who offered the three inmates a plea deal that would shave an unknown amount of time off their prison sentences in return for their service.” Her face pinched in faux-concern as she gave a small disappointed shake of her head. “As for why the Hero Public Safety Commission chose to send prisoners into this battle instead of heroes, our leak says it has to do with the gang being suspected of having a new lethal weapon in their possession. At this time, no further information has been released in regards to the nature of this weapon, and the health and status of the prisoners is unknown. Stay tuned to this channel for further updates.”

The clip ended there. Mikumo’s thoughts swam blankly in his head. What he’d just heard carried too many implications for him to cogitate on just one. He turned to Izuku instead.

Izuku had fixed the screen with a stern stare. His lips moved, uttering soundless mutters. He pinched his lower lip between his thumb and pointer finger as he worked it all out. Just as he seemed to reach the end of his line of thought, Mikumo made one connection. Tentatively, he voiced it.

“Did our job just get easier?”

“What? Making their public image go down?” Izuku asked breathlessly. “Yes. This is evidence of them lying. Lying to cover up something groundbreaking, just like with you. But to use prisoners…”

Mikumo was more concerned with their situation. He couldn’t cast his net of empathy out that far. Not easily. “How does this change things for us?”

Izuku flopped down on his back and folded his hands beneath his head. “We get the advantage of…of…” He pursed his lips together and looked at Mikumo. “I’m trying to figure out which way this will bend them. If it’s a higher defense or offense. Do you know what I mean?”

“No. You’re skip-thinking.”

“Oh.” Izuku closed his eyes and sighed. “Alright. I think I’ve got it all in order. Now, listen, the perspective I’m thinking from is the HPSC when they not only know about us, but know we know that they know about us.”

“Alright Izuku, just call it the cusp like we did earlier. This is when we start bargaining…” he trailed off to let Izuku pick it back up.

“And threatening, yes. So, in light of this development, the HPSC will either be even more on guard about what’s remaining of their public image, in which case we’re more likely to get what we want. Or this spurs them to be on the offensive.” He wet his lips thoughtfully. “Which is not good.”

“How can we know which one it’ll be?”

“We can’t.” He sat up. “Don’t worry. These were the same stakes as before, and it’s just as unknown as it always was.”

“So we shouldn’t bother dwelling on it?” Mikumo asked. There was a certain lilt to his own voice that wasn’t normal. He couldn’t identify it. Izuku peered into his eyes, gaze sharp and gentle all at the same time, looking for the meaning too. Mikumo couldn’t tell if he found it.

“No. I’m more focused on the nature of what the HPSC did. I wonder what crimes those three men committed.”

“I bet they were chosen based on their quirks. Past crimes were likely negligible.”

“You really don’t have any faith in the HPSC, do you?”

“No,” he replied. But he was unsure. The question confused him. “Do you?”

Izuku pinched his lip. “I never thought badly of them until I met you. They’ve always been in the background of heroics. I used to associate them with paperwork and bureaucracy. The stunt they pulled - the two stunts,” he corrected, nodding towards Mikumo. “Are abnormal for them. I’ve never heard of anything like it before.”

“Now everyone is going to think differently of them.”

Izuku smiled thinly. “It might be worth reading the opinion articles now.”

Warm gusts of wind pushed and prodded at Izuku as he stepped off the road and onto the meandering dirt path. The ground was comfortable under the soles of his sneakers, and though the sky was gray it served as a comfort to him; at least it was warm.

The path cut through a thick mountain forest. It was a good, dew-ridden morning. The gentle cooing of birds rang out overhead and the deep green of wet leaves was welcoming. He made his way down the shallow decline then veered off to the left. If he kept to the trail, it would lead him all the way to the top of the mountain. But he didn’t plan to. His destination was a mere mile out, and unless he spotted someone else, he’d be there for half an hour before coming back this way.

Little was said between him and Mikumo, and there didn’t need to be. It was like this more and more often now. Conversation could easily lull while Izuku went through the motions of his life. Mikumo was not so much a strange presence or a looming pressure any longer. He was a mere facet of Izuku’s brain.

But this silence was different. It wasn’t exactly tense, but it was something similar. It was hard. Roughened. Neither of them were happy, and they both knew it.

Izuku’s foot fell through a deceptively deep mud puddle. It squelched grotesquely as his leg was enveloped all the way up to the calf. He yanked his foot out and kicked lazily, sending gray water droplets flying.

It just adds to it, he told Mikumo.

He made quick progress. The mud had hardly finished caking to his leg when he reached the drop. It was a slimy precipice, and sheer. It was meant to be used as an overlook, a place for hikers to take a break and enjoy the view. The rest of the path was steep inclines, which meant the water that didn’t go barreling off the side in makeshift waterfalls would accumulate here. And it had. Most of what surrounded Izuku was a solid pool of water, but right at the edge - and this was perfect - it thickened into a watery mud. He stabbed a stick into it to measure. When he shucked it out, the stick read a solid foot of mud.

He touched his chest. What first?

“Let’s set it up - the tracks in the mud. I’ll get out.”

In the next moment Mikumo stood beside Izuku. He looked down at his feet. “Are the shoes a good match?” He asked, tilting his head.

“Let me see the soles.” He crouched down, lifting Mikumo’s foot so he could see. He touched the bottom of it, fingers searching for the same striped grain his own shoes had. It was there. “You got it right. Though I don’t think it will show anyways. This mud doesn’t look like it will take much of an imprint. It’s too slick.”

“But it will take the tracks, right?” Mikumo asked, already walking up to the edge.

“It might smooth out sooner than we thought,” Izuku said faintly. The reality of what he was about to see was dizzying. Mikumo’s dark figure looked so small. And he was about to drop…

“Nobody’s going to check anyway,” he assured Izuku. “This is just in case someone does. For whatever reason.” He turned back to the cliff. “I’ll go now.”

Izuku was tense with restraint. His jaw began to buzz from being held shut so tightly, but he refused to speak, to reach out, to stop him. No matter if this felt wrong, the fact remained that Mikumo couldn’t feel any pain. And they had to do this part - just in case.

All Mikumo had to do was stand on the edge. The mud and gravity took care of the rest. It was almost like he was yanked down, he fell so suddenly. The harsh snaps and rustling of young saplings as Mikumo hit them seemed so loud and enormous that it filled all the world's noise - like everything else had to be silenced for this. Izuku peered over the edge just once. All he saw was the twisting rush of a ragdolling body - Mikumo’s body, his own body - and he could take no more. He backed away until a dark, gaseous substance wound back up the ledge and greeted his palm.

“Why are you scared?”

“Uncanny valley,” he explained, voice wavering. He removed his hand from where it clutched half his face - he’d tried to cover his eyes.

“Look at the track,” Mikumo gently implored.

“Were you scared?”

“No. It was just hard to keep the form. I managed it, though. I didn’t come undone except for a little, maybe.”

Izuku wondered if the pride in his voice was a forced lilt of positivity for his sake. He looked at the pathway. The tracks were good. It looked just like someone had slipped and fell. He stepped forward to examine the rest.

The path Mikumo took was obvious. Crushed shrubs and disturbed leaves traced his graceless fall all the way to the end. The blaring white gashes of wounded saplings glared accusingly up at them. “It’s good. All good,” he heard himself say. “Let’s move onto the next part.”

“No.”

Izuku felt the stony weight of an unknown emotion plunder down his chest. “No? What do you mean?” Then, to be more personal, Why not?

“You’re scared. I can feel our heartbeat, but in a painful way. It’s not good.”

Mikumo! What are we meant to do then? We’re here, and you’ve already done the first part.

“I just meant that we should take a break. Let’s sit down for a few minutes.”

“Oh,” Izuku sighed. He could concede to that. He traveled a few paces back up the trail and sat on a fallen tree. It had rotted from one too many downpours and the soft wood allowed moisture to seep into his pants. He didn’t get up, though. This was the driest place to be.

Silence ticked on. Izuku knew it would be more helpful if Mikumo spoke to him rather than remaining quiet, but he didn’t ask for conversation. He allowed the slow wash of time to rid him of the burning swath of panic in his chest instead. It wasn’t bad at all, but he supposed Mikumo was more sensitive to these things.

“I’ll…what do you want me to do first?”

Break my wrist last. That’s the only thing I’m sure of.

“Okay,” Mikumo said, appearing before him. He looked down at Izuku. “Scratches on your arms and legs. A…gash, maybe.” He seemed to be looking for approval.

“Yes. It’s fine, Mikumo. We talked about all of this before. It’s two gashes.”

“...Okay.”

He backed up a few steps, posturing appraisal. But Izuku knew it was just hesitation, the same kind he’d felt earlier. Now the tables were turned. But it wasn’t nearly that fair, was it? Mikumo’s job was a lot harder than Izuku’s.

Guilt pinched at him. There was no good way to approach this. Open shame would just increase Mikumo’s hesitation, and a bold facade was guileless. He’d come off as smug.

So he just stared earnestly, like he always did.

“It’s got to look traumatic,” Mikumo mused faintly.

Izuku nodded. “Traumatic enough to induce a quirk.”

Mikumo folded his hands together and studied them. “I’ll use my thumb,” he said shyly.

“That’s fine.” He stood. “Just do my arms first.” He offered his left.

Mikumo grabbed it, fingers and (supposedly) eyes tracing the wounds that would soon mar the skin. He came around to Izuku’s left, hand holding Izuku’s arm taught by the wrist. His right hovered over it, and one quick second later a sharp point flashed out from his thumb. He pressed the seared point against Izuku’s skin.

“Just do it really quick,” Izuku advised, looking away. “It’ll make it look more real.”

Pain was his only reply. It was quick and he felt it with a maddening sensitivity, but only because he expected it. He looked over at it just as blood began to ooze from the parted skin. The wound was thin, not very deep, but long. This was a scratch, not the gash. There would have to be several more like it.

Mikumo yelped and slapped his abrasive hand against it. Thin blood droplets splattered onto Izuku’s t-shirt.

“What?” Izuku asked, fighting the urge to wrench his arm away. Mikumo’s grip was a vice, but not an unkind one.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t like that.”

“The blood?”

“I haven’t seen us bleed before.”

Izuku merely blinked at the plural pronoun. He had questions about it, just as he always did when Mikumo spoke like that, but perhaps they were the kind that didn’t need to be voiced. Perhaps he didn’t mind it.

“It’s okay.” He lifted Mikumo’s solid-as-stone hand away from his arm, revealing matted blood to the daylight. Beady scabs had already begun to form. “It doesn’t hurt badly. Do you want to feel it?”

“Yes,” Mikumo nodded, surprisingly willing. He disappeared into Izuku’s arm in the next moment.

“How is it? That pulsebeat you can feel in it will fade after a while.”

“It stings. But I can tell it will heal with time. Sorry. I guess I only needed to know it for myself. I can continue now.”

“They will all heal with time. Even the ones that hurt worse.”

Mikumo formed next to him. “I’ll do…a smaller one next. Right next to it,” he offered.

They continued like that for some time.

As Mikumo worked through all the scratches, they were no longer silent. Chatter filled the air. They talked on many topics, most irrelevant. It seemed their drive was to find out more about each other. One of them would introduce something and ask the other’s opinion on it. It was in this way that they turned the butcher’s work Mikumo was making of Izuku’s skin into a kind of relaxed, monotonous work. They might as well have been two buddies chopping wood for fire-fuel. Except it was a bit more than that. Izuku could feel it.

The gashes took some maneuvering and great care on both their parts to get it done safely. The result was an undeniably nonlethal yet grotesque wound that showed the tense meat of Izuku’s muscle. A chunk of his skin had been flayed off. While he’d been able to stifle his shrieks as sharp exhales before, he could not manage the same this time. He jerked his arm from Mikumo’s grip and held it close to his chest, eyes squeezed shut in pain. Mikumo was back with him with no warning and no invitation.

“Is this one going to be okay?” He asked, panicked.

“Yes,” Izuku bit out. Sweat popped out on his neck. “Just do one on my leg. Below the knee - but smaller. Much smaller.”

It seemed a minute went by without a reply. And he didn’t get one. Mikumo left, scrambled down to his knees, and got the job done quickly. He peered up into Izuku’s face.

“Sorry, I had to do it before I lost my nerve.”

“It’s okay.” His lips peeled back from his teeth as he breathed heavily, hand clasped around his knee. His nails dug into the flesh, trying to outdo the cataclysmic starbursts of heat and pain his heartbeat pounded into the wounds. It was useless. He gathered his bearings, mentally scolding himself. The only reason this hurt so badly was because he knew it was coming. There was no adrenaline rush to sweep away the effects. It had all been premeditated - he’d done it to himself.

He’d done it to himself.

He looked at Mikumo. “Guess that’s over with.” He licked his lips. They were salty with sweat. “Now the uh…the mud and the…”

“Broken wrist,” Mikumo answered softly.

“Yes. That’s next.” The words were heavy and clotted as they left his mouth.

Mikumo didn’t get up. He merely rolled back on his heels. “Why do you want to help me?”

The old question. How many times had he heard it in the past two months? He started to answer but Mikumo interrupted him.

“We could pretend like you’re quirkless. We don’t have to go to UA.”

Izuku blinked blearily down at him. His head hurt. “I’ve always wanted to go to UA.”

Mikumo flinched at this. “I know…you said you planned to go there. But this isn’t how you wanted to do it.”

He dutifully considered this. Turned it over in his head like a stone in a tumbler until a speck of precious gem shone through. He liked what he had to say. “Yes it is.”

Mikumo recoiled. “But…no?”

“It’s all the same.” He smiled. “I wanted to go to UA so I could do things just like this.”

“You mean…help people, as a hero?”

“Yes. Well,” He shuffled his feet. “I wanted to go because…” He bit his lip and restarted. “What drives me is anger, and stress.”

“What?” Mikumo asked sharply.

“It’s just…” he shook his head and looked away. But his eyes were laser focused. “I have strong feelings about creativity and freedom. You know how someone might ask what you would do to change the world, if you could do anything? I’ve always thought about it. Ever since I was a kid I’ve mulled over it…when I was told I was quirkless I guess I just became more intent on the question. ‘What can I do?’ And around that time people started…pushing me around. They tried to tell me what I couldn’t do. They’d discourage me in all sorts of ways. But I was never really discouraged. And…I started noticing that people would…act differently than they always had before. It’s just a part of growing up, really. But I don’t like it. I don’t like it when people aren’t truthful, when they do things I never thought they would do-

“I’m getting off topic. That’s not what I meant to get at. The one thing this world needs is exactly what it’s always needed. People who live. Who can have the freedom to do what they want, and the creativity to drive them. They shouldn’t be pushed down, or discouraged. It makes me angry to see it. Angry enough that I can’t sit still.” He looked back to Mikumo. “I wanted to be a hero so I could do something about it.”

Mikumo was silent for a long while. This didn’t bother Izuku. He set about turning over bloody patches of dirt with his foot. He worked with contentment in his heart.

“I wanted to hear that this is what you wanted,” Mikumo said. “It’s a relief that you said all of that. I’ve been looking for it for months.”

Izuku stared at him. There were no words to match that frankness.

Mikumo pointed at him. “You’re smiling. I haven’t been able to get it right yet. On my own face, I mean. Because you never smile.”

Izuku faltered and looked away. He noticed Mikumo’s hand lilt disappointedly in his peripheral. “Nobody can tell anyways. It’s impossible to read your face.” He realized what he said was possibly rude. “Don’t worry about it,” he tacked on apologetically.

“Okay,” Mikumo said quietly.

The jovial atmosphere was gone. They were separately alone again. Two different people.

Izuku finished tilling the soil with his blood then suggested they finish up. A minute later, Mikumo broke his wrist.

He shoved the neon orange flag through the ground in one powerful motion. The dirt gave way easily. He trudged over to the other side of the entrance, dragging his begrudging cart behind him. He plucked another flag from it and gave it the same treatment as the first. Just as Katsuki started to wind the rope between the flag posts, he heard a noise just beyond the trailhead. Footsteps.

He peered down, rope clutched tightly in hand. It was Deku.

He recognized the simple fact of it immediately. He’d know Deku’s form, his posture, and his face from anywhere, anytime, at any distance. Still, his mind struggled to correct him. It must be someone else. Deku couldn’t be plodding up a hill, slouched miserably, dirt and blood smeared all over him. Another reason was deceptively simple, which knocked him out of his stupor. He hadn’t seen Deku wearing anything but his school uniform in a long time. The relaxed t-shirt and cargo pants were foreign on him.

“Deku!” He barked.

The boy in question finally looked up, wide eyes growing impossibly wider. He stumbled and nearly fell backwards.

This gave Katsuki a start. The fucking mud. “What the fuck are you doing out here?” He demanded. “Do you see this fucking mess? Look down.”

To both their surprise, Deku did it. He stared dumbly down at his feet for a few seconds before looking back at Katsuki. “Yeah? The mud,” he said faintly, and continued to trudge upwards. “What are you doing?” He noticed the rope and the flags. “Volunteering?”

A wave of defensiveness washed over Katsuki, but he pushed it away. He was in the right here. “Yeah, to keep people out of the hiking trails.”

“Too late.”

“Most people would look at the mud and realize it’s too fucking dangerous to be out here right now,” he seethed.

“Then what’s the point of your job?”

A horrible anger leapt up on him. He glared at Deku, who was near to passing him, and wondered what would hurt him the most. Then he saw that dangling, disjointed hand. It hung from the end of Deku’s arm like a claw. He grabbed his wrist.

A surprised cry of pain came out of Deku’s mouth. He sounded like a little boy. Katsuki was almost deterred by it. He brought Deku’s arm closer to get a better look.

“You broke your fucking wrist.”

“And you're holding it,” Deku said plaintively. He was leaning as far away from Katsuki as he could get, yet he hadn’t tried tugging his hand back yet.

Katsuki dropped it, but not before noting the streaks of gore lining Deku’s entire arm.

“You fell.”

“Yep,” Izuku nodded, walking away.

“How’d you fall?”

“Slipped.”

“Fuckin’ figures.” He finished tying the rope into a makeshift blockade. He tossed a glance over his shoulder. Deku sat on the bench at the bus stop.

They would have to wait for the bus together.

Katsuki dragged his cart over and, instead of kicking Deku off the bench so he could sit (like he normally would) he leaned against the pole instead, arms crossed.

Deku stared at him, and by all means, he should have looked like a beaten dog with the way he was slouched, but he didn’t. Something shined too defiantly in his eyes for that. It always did.

Katsuki let his rage simmer quietly. Neither said a thing. Neither stopped staring.

He was compelled to break it; the insolent stare was too much for him. “You still given up on UA?”

Deku hesitated. “...No.”

“Why not?”

Real fear flashed in Deku’s eyes. His mouth opened and closed a few times, struggling for words. “I…have…a quirk…now,” he said slowly, dryly. Like it took all his energy.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” His two reactions were to laugh or to be scared.

Deku started to say something else, then gave up. He leaned back on the bench and stared straight ahead. He looked dejected. Crushed, almost. He raised his uninjured hand, motioning to the ground. “This.”

The shadow under the bench grew darker. It rippled, then something popped out of it. And that was just it. Something. A blob-like thing, impossibly dark, there then gone in the next instant.

Katsuki blanched, wide-eyed. “What?”

“I fell…” Deku said distantly.

Katsuki went for him. He grabbed his shoulder and jerked him up to his feet, ignoring that boyish cry of pain. “You got that from falling?”

A trauma-induced quirk. That’s what Deku was insinuating. Katsuki had always wondered about it in regards to his old friend. But it was too rare, and often too horrible a phenomenon to ever expect to happen. To ever want to happen. He searched Deku’s eyes, but all he found was hatred.

“Yes,” Deku bit out.

“Falling did that to you?” Katsuki scoffed, stepping back. Then it all fell into place.

“It di-”

“That’s not believable,” he interrupted, cold spite taking over.

Deku’s eyes widened. “What?” He asked softly.

“That’s not fucking BELIEVABLE,” he shouted. “You better come up with a better story, Deku!” He shoved him back down on the bench, noting the sick crunch as he landed on his broken wrist.

“GODDAMMIT Kacchan!” Deku screamed, the wailing cry of a boy. He shot out at Katsuki with his legs.

Deku’s sneaker grazed his crotch before he could get completely out of range. For one heartbeat it felt like any other kick, then the pain hit him. He fought the reflexive urge to double over and lost to it.

For a moment the only sound was the scuffling, winded noises of the two of them attempting to recover. Then Katsuki straightened up, ignoring the roiling cramps that had yet to cease in his lower body. Deku was now leaning against the pole, cradling his injury against himself. He stared at a fixed point on the ground, shaking, looking as though he was gathering up the will to look at his now further-mangled limb. Katsuki took one look and couldn’t blame him for his hesitation. Deku’s hand had rotated even further from its proper position. It was absolutely grotesque. Katsuki hadn’t meant to do that to him. He’d just been following an old routine, and Deku fell funny (Deku’s scream still rang through the air).

“What did you come out here for?” He asked, voice low.

Deku’s head shot up. Panic was seared into his eyes. “To…hike,” he said haltingly. “What did you think?”

“I think that falling isn’t traumatizing enough to get a quirk from. I think you’re not stupid enough to go for a hike after a week of rain.”

Deku only bit his lip and stared at him, head bowed. His expression was unreadable, though there was certainly something like mottled rage there.

Katsuki continued. “You’ve been through worse than falling, Deku.” He wasn’t sure how to phrase what he knew. It hung in the forefront of his brain like an iceberg, cold and confusing in its enormity.

“Where do you think I got my quirk from, then?”

The question almost threw him off. “It was the fall,” he said, exasperated. Deku knew what he’d done. Why couldn’t he admit it and spare himself some shame? Spare Katsuki the pain of saying it for him?

“So? We agree!” Deku shouted, frustration streaking his voice with high pitches.

“No, we do not. What’s your story, huh? You just went out there and slipped?” He said, deprecation leaking from his tone. “You broke a bone, and you got a quirk from it? You’ve broken bones before, and never-”

“I thought I was going to die, that’s the difference,” Deku broke in.

“Yeah that is the difference. Trauma-induced quirks come from emotional pain.” He pointed to the trailhead. “So you come out here, thinking you’re going to die…”

Deku finally caught on. He stepped away from the pole towards Katsuki. “I didn’t…it wasn’t a suicide attempt,” he said softly.

“Like hell it wasn’t.”

“Why would I want to die?” Deku cried, voice warbled with sob-spit. “Why would you think I would?” A tear rolled down his cheek. It was sad. It was refreshing. It was annoying.

Why would he want to die?

“I’m not going to UA,” Deku had said. Katsuki had never heard those words from Deku before. Not even the slightest intention of them. Never, not in any of the previous ten years. Until this one. This, the the last year before high school.

Why would he want to die?

“You got what you wanted then, right?” He jeered, shaking with an unspent energy. “You got your quirk? You’re finally on my level. Congrats.” He turned towards his cart, yanking it to attention. The bus would arrive soon.

He ignored his shaking hands.

“On your level?” Deku seethed. His lips were pulled back from his teeth in an ugly attempt at a smile. Katsuki saw this and dismissed it. His head was a mile away.

“What if you actually just died instead of getting your quirk? Or was it fine either way?” His mind flashed with an image of Deku tumbling head first, snapping his neck upon impact with the ground. Would that have been fine?

“I wasn’t trying to kill myself. You and all the things you do don’t mean that much to me. UA does not even mean that much to me.” He paused to sniffle roughly. “You haven’t hurt me in years, Kacchan.”

Katsuki didn’t reply. He couldn’t hear it now, though the words would get through to him later. Then he’d think about it a lot.

Deku was incensed. “I don’t want anything to do with you. And I don’t. You can burn me and hit me but believe me when I say none of it hurts.” The words were raw and strained as he shouted them.

Still, Katsuki heard none of it. He raised his hand to his closed eyelids. He expected to cry. When the two tears rolled out he wiped them away cleanly, with dignity. He didn’t know why it happened, but if it was going to, he’d take care of it well. He didn’t look at Deku as he spoke.

“It would’ve been three weeks before anyone found you. That’s when I’m supposed to take the barrier down.”

The words seemed to tip into a void and stay there.

“...Did you even hear me?” Deku asked. And what was that in his voice? It was scorn.

And there was the bus.

It came to a stop with a sigh. Deku got on first, adamantly pushing through to the back, ignoring all murmurs. Katsuki followed up the steps, maneuvering his cart with care. He took the first available seat he saw. Many looked at him with accusation in their eyes, because they thought he did it. They thought he hurt the kid covered in blood and grime. They thought he did it even though he wore a volunteer vest. Even though he himself bore no marks of a fight.

He felt sunken and hollow. Why would they think it was his fault? It’s a stupid thought, he assured himself. But it replayed painfully in the static of his mind.

Chapter Text

When the rising sun wafted through his window, imbuing the walls with a sickly blue color, Izuku figured it was time to rise. A feverish buzz tickled his mind. His chest felt heavy with yearnings for sleep, yet his thoughts were bright with a horrid alertness. It had been like this all night. The tossing and turning was unusual for him - any disturbance in sleep was. Even on his first night with Mikumo he’d gotten a full eight hours of rest. But last night was not so. Last night was fear.

It was trembles and coldness and at one point muted sobs of frustration.

Now, though his eyelids drooped and his surroundings looked horribly foggy, an electric weight held his spine and arms taught. That weight was awareness, which, since Izuku had pushed it away from his mind, now taunted his limbs.

And it had this to say: The UA entrance exam is today. Today is the day you reveal Mikumo.

Izuku sat on the edge of his bed. His skin glowed with a healthy tan, and his limbs were thick with new muscle. He studied these things, just two fruits amongst many others his labor had brought him over the past months. They seemed small now. The workings of a boy.

Mikumo’s work was much more impressive, but Mikumo was what was at stake today. Mikumo could be taken away if Izuku wasn’t strong enough, quick enough, or sharp-tongued enough.

Mikumo.

Good morning, Mikumo.

“Morning. It’s not very good.”

“Nope,” Izuku sighed, standing up. He went about the slow work of stretching. Don’t worry, I’ll make some tea.

“I think what we need is a jog.”

So they went on a jog.

It really was what they needed. The phrase “Getting the blood flowing” had never rung more true. Though during the first minute his jogging was less of a describable human movement and more of a stumbling shuffle, the rest was good. Izuku felt his grogginess fading.

They talked as the sky above them bloomed to a deep purple.

“They’re not going to hurt us today,” Mikumo said, mimicking Izuku’s own words. “It would be the least tactical thing for them to do.”

And it was true. Izuku knew it, or at least, had known it up until today, the very day he’d actually have to be confronted with the possibility, no matter how slim it was. His steps seemed to punctuate his thoughts. Here they were, carrying out an act of normalcy. They would do the same when they got home today, tomorrow, the first day of UA, and all of the time stretching between now and when they were finally confronted.

That was the maddening nature of what they had to do. Attend UA like their presence wasn’t the biggest fabrication to ever hit the school. Like if they were found out, it wouldn’t send shockwaves through everything.

But what else was there to do? Izuku scolded himself. He wasn’t small. He could stand as strong and unyielding as he needed to. How many taunts had he braved throughout the years, and how much pain? And he’d done all of that alone. Just himself. The levels of pain only went so deep. It could only go to a certain point before it stopped. He knew he could weather that point; he’d visited it before.

A vision came to him of his younger self. The hurt he’d felt had clouded out everything. It swathed him in its lithe cotton body until there was nowhere he could look that wouldn’t bring more of it. The why of it all had never bothered him, it just was, and it was miserable. Then he’d reached the point. And at the point, Izuku knew, you could either die or you could act.

If you chose to act, you never could be quite so afraid again.

If we’re truly at risk, then you leave, he told Mikumo. That’s the threat, and we’ll use it.

“...I could leave. But I’d have to come back to you at some-”

Mikumo. It’s what’s tying this whole thing together. We’ll use it. There was a question at the end, and Mikumo didn’t miss it. Although he may have wanted to.

“We’ll use it,” he confirmed.

Izuku forced himself to eat oatmeal when he got back home. Mikumo hated the sickly reaction their stomach had to it, but it had to be done. They packed, packed again, put on their gakuran, then checked the time. The information the clock showed was highly regretful. Izuku decided to take a shower, leaving Mikumo to dwell as one of the shadows in his bedroom. He promised to be quick.

And he was. He was done before steam had time to culminate. He went to his room and stood in the middle, calling out Mikumo’s name. It was an old routine by now, one most often employed when Izuku’s mother was home. Although Mikumo didn’t have ears as a common shadow, he could sense sound vibrations. And the human voice, Izuku was told, had a recognizable lilt. But unlike the times before, no shadow stirred, no Mikumo emerged.

Izuku calmly wondered about this as an ice spear of panic drove through his chest. The spear, though warranted, was not helpful.

He heard his mother’s voice - muffled shrieks coming from her room - not a waking sound. She was having a nightmare. He turned to check on her, plucking his feet up and down as though they weighed a million tons. It was fine, he’d find Mikumo in a minute. Just a minute.

He peered into her room, and the sight of Mikumo standing in it was like a punch to the face. He stood three feet away from the bed, tentatively looking at Izuku’s mother. A dark fog surrounded him - he was ready to dissipate and hide at a moment’s notice.

Izuku only had one thought in that moment, and it was as insidious as his heartbeat.

She’s going to see him.

He leapt for Mikumo, crashing into him with the force of his whole body weight. It felt like crashing into a brick wall, but then the brick wall disappeared. Izuku fell harshly to the ground.

“I’m sorry-”

WHAT-

“She was crying in pain, I had to see if she was-”

You cannot do that!

“If she was okay. I had to, I’m sorry.”

No, no-

“Izuku?” A gruff, feminine voice. Gravelly from sleep.

He looked up. His mother had swung her legs over the edge of the bed and was staring down at him with a pinched look.

“What are you doing in here?”

“You had a nightmare,” he said, turning away. The floor beneath him. The room. It was different, nostalgic. When was the last time he’d been in here?

“Okay…” she trailed off, eyes in the distance, searching. “I don’t remember having a nightmare.”

Izuku merely nodded. See? She’s okay, Mikumo.

“I didn’t know what a nightmare looked like. I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

It’s okay. But if she’d seen you! Today of all days. Right before…

“Izuku, are you okay?” She leaned forward, brushing away his curls to place a gentle hand on his forehead. He froze like a deer in the headlights. He didn’t move, breathe, or even look away from where his gaze was before she reached for him.

All too soon, the hand lifted itself away, hesitated, then ruffled his hair. “Why don’t you go make me some coffee?” She rose, smoothed out her pajamas, and made her way to her closet.

“Alright,” he said, bouncing to his feet. He walked straight to the kitchen and began fiddling with the coffee pot right away.

“That was nice,” Mikumo said brightly. “But she always walks so rigidly. How old is she?”

Young, Izuku replied, because he didn’t know. It’s because she works a lot. Desk work. I think it messes with her back.

“She sleeps a lot, too.”

“Yep,” Izuku mumbled. I think she’s in a good mood today.

“She was very, very nice. She checked our temperature! I’ve never seen her be so-”

Wait, sorry, he interrupted. “Mom, do you want me to make breakfast too?”

She appeared in the doorway, clutching a bundle of the day's clothes to her chest. “Um…” she bit her lip. “I don’t know, Izuku. I don’t usually eat breakfast,” she mumbled, already in the bathroom by the time she finished speaking.

“Okay.” He turned back to the coffee work, vaguely wishing he’d said nothing more. “It’s done!”

She came back. He poured the steaming liquid into a mug and handed it off to her. She left with it, not sparing him a glance.

Izuku frowned. He felt miffed, though he wasn’t certain why.

“What time is it?”

He checked the oven clock. They still had two hours to kill.

“I wish she agreed to let us make breakfast…”

He started to reply, but had to cut himself off. His mother was staring at him from the bathroom doorway.

“Why are you wearing your uniform? It’s not a school day,” she asked.

“Oh, the entrance exam is today. For UA.” Not a word about his plans to go to UA had ever passed between them except when she silently signatured his forms for it.

She nodded. Her soft face seemed haggard and her usually wide eyes were squinted from sleep. “And where else did you apply?”

“Nowhere,” he admitted easily enough.

“Nowhere?” She echoed.

Izuku frowned.

“You didn’t…apply anywhere else for high school? Just UA?”

“Yes,” he said. He knew where she was going with this, and it made him feel very small. Like his justifications were inexplicable.

She tilted her head, nose wrinkled in some unnamable emotion. “And when you fail? What then? Where are you going?”

“I’m not gonna fail today,” he said quietly, looking down. His mother was the only person who could confront him with adversity and not be lashed out at or disrespected. “I have a quirk now, remember? I’m going to use it in the exam.” This was another thing they had rarely spoken on. She’d taken him to the hospital to get it confirmed, and as soon as he got home, quirk certificate in hand, the topic was never mentioned again - except indirectly, when she inquired about his healing injuries.

“Yes, Izuku, but that’s not…” she trailed off, exasperated. “Your quirk isn’t that good.”

Another provocation that he couldn’t meet with any anger. “I think it is.”

She picked at her face nervously. “No…I mean, have you seen how powerful quirks have gotten in your generation? Seriously, nearly all of your classmates would have been eligible for heroics back when my parents were your age. Probably even when I was your age, and that wasn’t even that long ago. The other kids in the exam today are going to have really good quirks…” She stopped there, the trace of a sympathetic smile on her face. She’d decided to let him figure out the rest on his own.

But he’d already figured it out, and she was wrong. Mikumo was strong enough. “Okay mom,” he said, head bowed.

“Yeah, okay,” she mocked. She shook her head and sighed. “You say that, but you’ve already messed up. You need to fix it.”

He shuffled his feet. “I will.”

“Do you know how?”

He shook his head. But he did know how.

“Go apply to some other high schools, if it’s not too late. You can go for a few more hero academies, but make sure at least three of them aren’t. I’ll sign those papers for you again. Just remind me.”

“Okay. I’ll do that,” he lied.

She sighed, anxious to take her shower. Anxious to be alone again, like always. “I don’t want much from you, but I do want you to graduate high school. Unlike me. I’ve always told you this. Always. I don’t know how you could forget when the time came…”

“I remember it. I will pass today.”

Her head popped out from the bathroom. She’d been ready to close the door, but now she just stared at him, eyes urging him to say the right things.

“But I’ll go ahead and apply to some other places. Right after.”

“Alright.” She closed the door.

Izuku stared after her for about a minute, a look of careful blankness on his face.

“I am strong enough,” Mikumo interjected into the silence. It was welcome. “She saw that when we showed the quirk part of me to her. Right before she took us to the hospital. Didn’t that leave an impression?”

“It did,” he said aloud. The shower water was running. “She’s out of the loop. The only classmate of mine she knows is Bakugou. She thinks they’re all like that. She’s never even seen the rest of them. The last time she saw my class was when I was going into elementary school, and anyone that actually had a quirk seemed powerful at the time. To both of us.”

“Oh,” was all Mikumo said, and Izuku was grateful he didn’t remark on what they were both thinking. That she was stupid.

“I’ll clean up the kitchen,” Izuku mumbled. “Then let’s go to UA.”

Izuku shoved his honorary (and temporary, it expired in a few hours) UA student ID card in his pocket and took in the campus. The big shock of a building stood squat and stolid in front of him, its four modern towers and four uniting indoor bridges radiating eminence and cleverness of design. Its windows shone a gallant blue, more lively than the sky they were set against. Even more impressive was the sprawl of the campus. It stretched for miles and boasted acres of veritable forest.

It was this that Izuku looked at most intently, letting his gaze fall on the spindly tops of hundreds of pines. He preferred it to the nasty conglomeration of people-noise surrounding him, all high-pitched and following a familiar cadence of human patter. Looking at them hurt his eyes; their young forms seemed to blur and cloy together as soon as his gaze rested on them.

His next step was getting his seat number; the person who’d cleared him for entry told him that much before moving onto whoever was next in line. Supposedly, he’d have to find a booth manned by student-volunteers. But these directions seemed horribly thin in the face of this mess. For the first time in his life, Izuku wondered if he might not be afraid of large crowds.

“They’re not leaving anytime soon. In fact, there’s more coming in every second.”

Right. His stomach did a painful somersault. He made his way towards the biggest clump of people, figuring that was where the booth was. When he was close to them, the (choked up artery) crowd’s screams of laughter, wails of nervousness, and everything in between rose to a deafening, mind-altering roar.

This is a festival, not an entrance exam, he thought bitterly.

Out of nowhere, a young man wearing the iconic UA uniform popped up out of the crowd. Either he was a giant at eight feet tall, or he’d just stood on a chair.

“Alright people!” He called, hands cupped around his mouth. “I need to see some lines here! Ten lines!” He held up ten fingers to enunciate the point. “If you are not in a line when you come up to me or my classmates, you will not get your seat number!”

The crowd frowned, wavered, then ducked and weaved, everyone suddenly having a problem with being grouped with other people. After a minute of shouting and nervous scrambling, the one blob had turned into ten. The man on the chair squinted his eyes at them, though no true stress or frustration showed on his face. He held his arms out in front of him and slowly brought them together, over and over, like a maestro guiding an orchestra, and somehow it worked better than the yelling did.

He hopped down from the chair (which could actually be seen now that the forest of middle schooler legs had vacated) and moved amongst them, that once terrifying mob. He motioned for single file and got what he wanted. As he made his way down he gently touched the backs and arms of those that had been ousted and got them situated back in line. Once, Izuku saw a middle schooler reach for the young man to get his attention. He paused for her, and she began to mouth indecipherable words while he listened attentively.

Izuku caught four words: “...guy…sports festival…pants…”

The young man uttered a veritable guffaw and quipped something back that received giggles from those around him. He continued, carrying out his job with a casual precision that was comforting.

When he got to the end he looked up, surveyed what he’d done, and nodded to himself. He whirled around, searching for any loose ends to take care of before he had to return to the booth. His eyes landed on Izuku, who stood a few feet away.

“Do you need to get in line?” He asked.

Izuku had hardly nodded before the man placed a gentle hand on his upper back and brought him to the back of the line. Embarrassed, Izuku let himself be led. Just before the man left he patted him on the shoulder and said lowly, so only Izuku could hear, “Everything’s gonna be okay.”

Izuku stared after him, body as upright and rigid as a door. He was red-faced, uncomfortable, and undeniably thankful.

He didn’t like how it made him feel.

He pinched his lip and with his eyes glued firmly to the brick path beneath his feet, he tried to decipher it. The activity seemed worthwhile because (anything that drowned out the buzzing drill of young voices was good and welcome) that man had been a student, a future upperclassman of Izuku’s.

But the hits just kept on coming, and they really needed to stop. He was jittery, so jittery, and he realized with no small amount of disappointment that he was trembling, which was probably why the man had singled him out, why he had felt the need to comfort Izuku with an inane phrase-

And Bakugou kept right on staring. Why hadn’t he looked away yet?

Izuku grimaced. Bakugou was very far away. He probably already had his seat number in hand and should be making his way into the auditorium, but instead he just stood there, looming. He was so far away it would have been hard to make him out if not for the fact that they both wore the same uniform. Out of everyone at their middle school, they were the only two to apply to UA.

And why was he still staring? What was he thinking?

Was he thinking-

“You’re not going to any hero academy?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think you were such a coward. You’re just saying that so when you do try out and fail it’s not so embarrassing.”

Or was it-

“You got what you wanted then, right? You got your quirk? You’re finally on my level. Congrats.”

But these things were small. Bakugou should know better than to stand around, thinking them at Izuku when they both knew they should remain apart on this day, just like all the other days filling the past few months. So why was he staring?

“Izuku, I’m picking up some of this,” Mikumo broke in nervously.

Oh, sorry. How much- He cut himself off because Bakugou moved. Now the solid black rectangle of his back faced Izuku…and now he was gone. He went into the building.

I wish I could find out what’s wrong with him, Izuku told Mikumo, apropos of nothing.

“Oh…”

Izuku looked up. The line, and he with it, had moved up considerably.

“...Why?”

Because then I’d get him to fix it. Fuck, I’d yell it at him.

“I think we need to calm down,” Mikumo said abruptly.

Yeah, Izuku answered easily enough.

“I’ve never seen you this freaked out. Felt, I mean. There’s some kind of scare-pain in every part of our body.”

Izuku scuffed the ground and considered this. I wasn’t really nervous before today. I guess it’s all coming out now. My mind keeps jumping around. I can’t focus on…on what we’re here for. Izuku grit his teeth. He was suddenly ashamed. But Mikumo didn’t scold or rebuke him in any way.

“What’s going to fix that?”

Nothing, he thought to himself, then pushed it away. Getting into the auditorium. I’ll just sit down and relax. Don’t worry, I’ll be ready for the exam.

Mikumo said nothing more. Izuku grabbed his seat number from the smiling man and was directed towards the same entrance Bakugou had gone into. He hoped they wouldn’t be sitting next to each other.

The auditorium was a warm den with deepset lights that, from their mighty position on the cavernous ceiling, showered the students who milled about like ants with a cozy glow. The setting impressed a command of silence! upon Izuku and the others. Not a single voice was raised above a hoarse whisper, and those that went even that far were promptly stared at.

All in all, Izuku was glad that what he told Mikumo did not turn out to be a lie. He could definitely relax here. He made his way down the cushy red-carpeted steps, seat number in hand, and paused sooner than he expected. He was pleasantly close to the exit. He peered down the row and was pleased once more to find that there was only one other person there. Five spaces down, he checked his ticket. Yep. I’ll be right next to them. He made his way down the row.

“Wait,” Mikumo said darkly.

What?

“Bakugou.”

Where?

“Right there.”

Izuku looked. The human form was hardly articulate in the dim glow. But then they shifted a little and Izuku saw the shock of pale blond hair that was undeniably Bakugou’s.

“I felt his quirk,” Mikumo explained. “I felt Explosion.”

Why are you sensing quirks right now?

“We might be competing against these people.”

True. Izuku would have shrugged if he wasn’t afraid the movement would catch Bakugou’s attention. As it was, it seemed that Bakugou had yet to turn to his left. Izuku could just make out the silhouette of his profile. He thought of wordlessly sitting down next to Bakugou, letting their bodies remain less than a foot away from each other for up to half an hour, that deafening silence weighing like a thundercloud above them-

Nope.

He turned and sped back the way he came - and yes, that was Bakugou finally flicking his head to the side, looking up just in time to see Izuku turn tail and run - marched several paces back up the stairs, then turned left and strided through another, completely unoccupied row. He took his seat five chairs down and settled in. He was now gifted with a perfect view of the top of Bakugou’s head, but so what? He just wouldn’t look down.

“Is this going to be okay? Taking another seat?”

Yeah. Who’s checking?

“The person whose seat you're in.”

I don’t think this one is taken. See how all the seats have been taken at the front, and in the middle it tapers off, and back here there’s almost no one? There’s two other auditoriums being used today, and although the crowd was large, one-third of it wouldn’t fill this place up.

“Okay.”

Have you sensed any good quirks?

“Yes. There’s a quirk that gives the user engines on his lower calf. He’s coming towards us now.”

Izuku whipped his head around. There was, in fact, someone speeding towards Izuku. His shoulders were stiff with painfully perfect posture and as he got closer the grimace on his face was revealed. He came to a stop at a point that was way closer than strictly necessary. He loomed over them, and Izuku would have thought he was another student-volunteer if not for the fact that he was wearing a uniform that was not UA’s.

“Are you sure you’re in the right seat?” His tone was that of a mean teacher or a bouncer. Izuku merely blinked up at him.

“I’m not in the right seat.”

This was not the response the teacher/bouncer had expected. “Oh. Well, I’ll be glad to help you to the right one…” he trailed off, motioning for Izuku to rise. It was blatantly patronizing, whether the man realized it or not. Izuku kept his tongue, hoping that silence would deter this person, or at least cause them to falter.

It did the latter, though he recovered quickly. “Please, get up,” he asked, motioning once more. He had stooped down to Izuku’s level, like how an adult might crouch down to speak to a particularly distraught or dumb child. Izuku shot up, causing the other to flinch.

“Are you taking the exam today?”

“Er, yes. I’m Iida Tenya.” The stutter did nothing to take away from his presidential tone when uttering his name. He smoothed down the nonexistent wrinkles on his shirt. His gold watch flashed when the meager lighting caught its smooth surface. Izuku stared at this item while amazement creeped up on him. This was Iida Tenya, of the Iida line of heroes. His brother, Ingenium, was a third generation hero - and it seemed Tenya was also eager to continue this legacy. His big hands, wide stature, and even his clipped tone were the result of being brought up for heroics. Izuku found this undeniably impressive. This was a capable person, capable enough to follow the rules to a T when he noticed someone deliberately choosing the wrong seat, whereas many others would have simply frowned and let it lie…

Oh, Izuku thought, oblivious as to whether Mikumo could hear him or not. But this isn’t very impressive, is it? Not at all…who is he doing this for? Himself? Just himself?

“Iida,” Izuku started, unknowingly taking on the others’ tone. “I’m going to sit here.”

Iida’s eyes widened and his brows shot up before he sculpted his expression into a gentle, patronizing smile. “I realize you may want to, but UA has designated your seat,” he pointed at Izuku. “As that one, right over there.” His finger shifted its aim to the seat two rows below them. Izuku looked even as he mentally begged himself not to. Bakugou stared back at him, red eyes flicking between the two conversators.

“I’m sitting here.”

“You cannot.”

“Who made you the sole arbiter of the seating arrangements in here?”

“I did,” he said cleanly.

Izuku nearly smiled. Suddenly he had a wild hope that this teenager would be in his class, though he couldn’t pin down exactly why.

“Iida Tenya, I’m not moving. Not unless someone comes up to me with a seat number claiming this as their own. In which case, I’ll go two spaces to my right.” He said it with no anger or admonishment, though this fact seemed lost on the other boy.

“Out of respect for UA and your middle school,” he plunged his pointer finger at Izuku’s chest. “Please act with a conduct that is acceptable.”

Izuku resisted the girlish urge to bat away his hand. Instead, he grabbed his wrist and gently pried him away.

Mikumo?

“What?”

I hope this guy passes today, for his sake. He needs an outlet like UA. Because otherwise, all that pent-up controlling energy is going to drive him crazy.

“You should say that.”

And so he did.

Iida’s jaw hung open while he processed this. The words had allowed him to come back to himself, Izuku could tell just by looking at his face. It was a strange energy that caused him to act like this - and it made him seem very immature (something Iida was just realizing). Somehow, Izuku had hit the nail on the head.

Iida bowed, and the words “I’m sorry” hung right on the edge of his mouth, ready to tumble out, but they didn’t quite make it. Instead, he said this: “I did try to stop you. You may act as you please.” With that, he whirled around, gliding coolly back to the stairs. “However deplorable it may be.”

Izuku watched him go, feeling mildly disturbed. Smart guy, he thought, not unkindly. He sat back down with a sigh. His eyes were drawn down to the sneering (confused? Sympathetic? Perhaps both?) face of Bakugou.

Izuku’s middle finger itched to be raised, but he kept it down. Throughout their squabble, Iida’s immaturity had been contagious, and Izuku had refused to catch it. He refused now, too. Bakugou turned around.

The lights dimmed. Izuku settled in. He was still distracted, but in a much better way now. He was beginning to realize that the important thing was to just not think about what they’d be setting in motion when Mikumo manipulated shadows in front of UA for the first time. Don’t think about it, not for the rest of this awful day. And especially not when it happens. There’s no surer way to fail.

Unbeknownst to Izuku, he and Mikumo had just set something else in motion.

Class 1-A’s aversion to them.

After the presentation, during which Izuku learned he and Mikumo would be fighting robots (ROBOTS!), he and about forty others were ushered into a bus that took them to the locker rooms, where they all self-consciously changed into clothes fit for exercise. After that timid affair, Izuku was ushered back on the bus, which then took them to the exam grounds. Bakugou was not placed on this bus, though Iida was. Iida sat in the front and Izuku, from where he was at the very back, was beginning to feel like one of those grim-faced farm animals you sometimes see being toted around in a trailer hooked to a dingy car. The kind that makes you wonder if their destination isn’t such a happy place after all.

He tried to express this analogy to Mikumo, but it was not understood. Apparently Izuku hadn’t seen anything like it in the past several months, and Mikumo had no data that related to it. The past several months. That was how old Mikumo was, if one took the view that the emergence of consciousness and self-awareness is when life begins. Of course, if one didn’t, then Mikumo could be anywhere from the aforementioned several months to…years old. There was no telling how long the scientists at the HPSC had worked on him, no telling of the spotted stagnations and breaks in workflow.

The HPSC could have paid for this bus, Izuku thought suddenly. They owned UA, so it was possible. Mikumo had tried to figure out which way the money was flowing in this situation (from the HPSC to UA or from UA to the HPSC) but since the HPSC was a government organization, their financial statements were not available. Instead, what Mikumo found was several self-inflating ad campaigns wherein the HPSC boasted about UA as though the school was a product (which, notably, was unlike any of the ad campaigns UA had run for itself). In fact, Izuku’s own potential tuition (which had been reduced to a meager amount in light of his mom’s financial statements) might be helping to fund the HPSC. Whether it went straight there or went into UA’s hands, the HPSC benefitted either way. UA’s prosperity meant their prosperity.

Izuku mused on this, feeling quite like he was in the belly of the beast, when the bus rolled to a stop. The doors swung open and the students began filing out. Izuku rose in turn, and as he strolled across the bus, he noticed that his jumping nerves had slowed their leaps and bounds considerably.

Right. It always gets you the day of. Then right before the thing actually happens, that’s when they fade. You’ll be fine in the moment. Afterwards you might be a jittery mess, but in the moment, you’ll be fine.

He hadn’t had much to be nervous about in the past few years (not since he changed himself), but it was coming back to him - what it was like. The last time he’d felt this way had been that day on the hiking trail. But he had Mikumo then. Although Izuku had no idea he thought of it this way, the truth of it was this: Mikumo was a crutch. A whole conscious entity there to fall back on. One that had all of his interests and wellbeing in mind - a well of alternative ideas, thoughts, and ultimately, comfort. Izuku was never alone.

Which meant he wasn’t now.

So…spears for the robots, right?

“Yep. I’ll just tear right through them - best way to do it. And the fastest.”

Izuku nodded to himself. Fast. That’s my part of it, too. You can’t attack unless I’m near them.

He hopped down the bus steps and followed the others to a pair of forbidding gates. Those gates weren’t tall enough to hide the blocky tops of faux city buildings, though. Somewhere in there, an unknown amount of robots were milling about, waiting for the exam to begin. The twist - if there was one - could be that there were less robots than examinees. If that were the case, not even Izuku’s best efforts to be quick would help. Not with people like Iida, with engines stuck in his calves, around.

He remembered his earlier words to his mother:

“I will pass today.”

He hoped he wouldn’t have to eat them.

The staticy crackle of a hidden microphone rang out somewhere above. Izuku had just looked up when one syllable was uttered, and along with it, the gates opened.

Izuku, and all other thirty-nine examiness, were struck dumb. The empty air where the gates had been seconds before was nearly unbelievable. In his stupor, Izuku faintly wondered if that wasn’t a glass wall he was looking at.

Then, Iida’s engines choked to life. He got into the faux city at roughly the same speed the gates had retracted, and Izuku was the only one who knew for sure that Iida was a human, was one of them, rather than the wild, animalistic blur he appeared to be. Izuku knew because ever since stepping off the bus he’d kept an eye on Iida - without even realizing it.

But this, he did realize. Iida was gone, that was not a glass wall, and Izuku’s time to run had arrived.

Out of the forty students, several of them with various kinds of speed quirks, Izuku was the second to make it into the exam area.

Then a flood of them burst in. Izuku’s instincts told him this would happen, and he let the robots closest to the entrance be. Everyone would go for the first robot they saw, even if another student was already engaged in battle with it. He didn’t feel like fighting over a robot like a kid trying to swipe a ball from the bully who held it over his head.

So he cut a straight line down the city, following what he figured was supposed to be Main St. He didn’t err from this path until he saw a robot standing sheepishly in an alleyway, hiding from the ruckus of his brothers getting killed.

Izuku went for it.

He only had to get close enough for it to be within Mikumo’s range - about eight feet. He stopped at six, forcing himself to believe that despite the fact that the robot was massive, its arms could not reach him at this distance. He watched as three spears wound up from the ground and shot at the thing’s chest. They made a deep penetration, though he couldn’t tell just how far.

“Shoved them through to the other side,” Mikumo informed him quickly.

The robot paused, beady red eyes blinking in alarm. It went on just long enough for Izuku to wonder how exactly he would know if the robot was defeated. But then its eyes switched to a steady candy green, the color effectively cutting through all thoughts of doubt. It groped for the spears in its chest, intending to pluck them out. The motion was grotesquely human. Just as it closed five oddly fluid fingers around one spear, they all dissipated. The eyes blinked red once again, but the span of time between red and green was briefer. Then it lurched forwards, wheeled legs propelling it towards Izuku, looming arms outstretched. Izuku’s mind flashed with a mental image of this thing scooping him up and eating him - because truly, that looked to be its intention right now - but he pushed away the childish fear and backpedaled.

Mikumo…! He internally cried.

“I’ll- I’ll do it again!”

The spears thrust forth once more, this time popping through the metal like it was paper once…then twice, as they exited. With the retreat of the spears, Mikumo had brought the robot’s chestplate too, and now it clattered on the ground between them.

Izuku looked down at it, cringing, and the bot seemed to do the same. He noted with faint interest the coiling wires and circuitry that acted as the innards stuffing its now-unveiled torso.

The bot started to roll forwards again, but slower. Whether this was because Mikumo had injured it or it was only being cautious of the rubble in front of it, Izuku could not tell. What he could tell was that they were now exiting the alleyway - which had proved advantageous to him and Mikumo so far. Where the robot was restricted in the cramped space, Mikumo prospered.

I’m going for it, Izuku said, forgetting to explain exactly what he was going for. You go for its head as soon as we’re close enough for you to reach up.

With that, he sprung forward and slipped through the slim space between the bot’s left leg and the wall. A sickening gust of wind tousled his hair as the bot swung its arm down behind him. He turned cold.

He grit his teeth and cried out. “Go, go!”

The shadows around him rose up, twisting like a sick forest of barbs. They emitted their own thin kind of wind, and the feeling of that odd, rustling entity filling up space that should not be filled threw Izuku’s senses for a loop. The stalks went up seven feet - to the base of the bot’s neck - then twined themselves together, creating one deadly spear. It was this that was thrown, rudely shoving itself into the bot’s lower skull before curving to shoot up out of the perfect middle of the thing’s bald head. It rested there for a moment, like a cruel, blooming flower.

When it disappeared, Izuku’s stomach dropped.

Too soon! Too soon!

He scrambled to his feet, not knowing how, when, or why he’d been sitting on his butt, and dived for the other end of the alley. Behind him, the robot, no longer propped up by the thing that killed it, fell to the ground with a concrete-cracking clutter.

We cannot have that…dissonance again. There was no time to mince words.

“I have no idea why I let it go so soon…”

The robot was sprawled on the ground, undeniably dead. Beyond it, out on Main St., a student and another robot were kicking up a flurry of motion. There was no telling how many the others had gotten and, subsequently, how many would be enough for Izuku. It was a competition, after all. And one was…

One was…

Not enough.

“Absolutely not enough,” Mikumo concurred.

The bones in Izuku’s legs turned to jelly but he set himself against it. He set himself against all the blubbering nonsense of panic, and focused his mind on a plan. He was cutting through the steps, flaying away the drivel to get to the hearty meat of what must be done…when static cut through the air.

He hated the voice, hated its progenitors, everything that had led him to here, now, where he was forced to

(reveal Mikumo)

fight robots so he could

(stick to a sleazy, half-baked plan)

get into UA but with no guarantee of

(help)

success. Success!

SUCCESS, he told Mikumo. Then, recovering, I’m figuring something out, it’s coming together, hang on-

“You are not well, our body feels like it’s dying-”

That will pass.

“No, not good. It’s too bad. We-”

No, it’s true. It will pass.

“True?”

True.

Izuku came back to himself and was about to scream at himself for doing anything but planning and trying to win, but was saved from that when the ground began to tremble.

He fell down, but he knew, he could feel it…the source of the tremors was that way. Ahead and to the left. He jumped over the robot, adrenaline allowing him to go much farther than normally possible, and peered out. Even when he saw the gaping hole in the ground he wanted to keep running. Because that was it rising out of that hellish crater. The Zero Pointer.

Back in the auditorium, the UA teacher who’d filled them in on what would occur during the exam had told them of this, the Zero Pointer. He gave no reason for its presence. It was simply a robot…that was worth zero points. He’d said it would show up towards the end of the exam, and that it would be the most massive of them all.

That it was.

The head of the thing was a stout, rising tundra. The floor vacated so the width of its shoulders could get through - literally peeled back, like this whole set was made of nothing but flexible tiles the godlike spurs and cogs below manipulated - and it kept on rising, rising up on that elevating platform that would fill in for new ground, finalizing the reality that the students would have to share their world with this enormity.

Izuku craned his neck to get a good look at it, leaning against the alley wall for balance. It was a good…eight stories high. And what was that, seventy-five feet high? At any rate, it was tall, taller than the tallest building here. And Izuku was close to it.

That word, close sent an electric shock through Izuku’s body. It refined him, set his mind on something different, a new course. And as his prying eyes saw, really saw, he knew how to take this thing out.

He sprang into action, his mind giving his body a clearance that was so exact and promising it seemed to him that he’d already done it.

Mikumo tagged along behind him instead of with him. Mikumo, the reminder of sanity.

“That thing is not worth any points!”

Yep, Izuku replied. But it wasn’t really him, it was some lagging part of his mind. That tiny bit of him that was still way back there, in the present.

“Then why?”

It’s worth…something, that old-Izuku responded groggily.

The new-Izuku drowned everything else out, because he’d reached the fire escape, and now only the tap-tap-tap-tap of sneakers stomping on metallic steps filling the world. It was Mikumo who’d told him when he’d gone far enough, the Mikumo-of-way-back-there who had somehow managed to absorb the lightning shrapnel of Izuku’s plan without him having to articulate it.

“STOP!”

He skidded to a horrid, careening stop that almost sent him over the edge. The recovery time was instant, and he flung himself to the side of this box to peer at the distance. It was perfect - the Zero Pointer’s shoulder would be at Izuku’s eye level in one more stride of its robotic legs. There was a sleek edge to it, questionably grabbable, but it wasn’t smooth or rounded, which meant this was happening.

I will fall-jump. You can catch if needed.

“Using WHAT shade?” Mikumo shrieked, but he knew full well there was a perfect patch of it on the top of this shoulder. The sun, as Izuku knew and Mikumo realized - was hovering to the right of this thing’s head…and they were on its left.

But even knowing this, Mikumo had wanted to try. He wanted to grapple for some excuse or reason that would make Izuku hesitate because

“There’s too much risk!”

But they’d already jumped.

Izuku was hanging on with one limb, one arm, while the rest of his body hung helplessly below him. He tried to haul himself up but his sneakers merely slid softly down the surface of its bicep. For an insane moment he was reminded of the brave attempts to climb up a slide he’d made as a kid - how you always had to resort to peeling your shoes and socks off if you wanted to make it.

He did this, kicking his sneakers off with two violent chops of his feet. The socks were harder. He had to curl his big toe into the hem of one then the other to peel them off. He left them to their merciless drop and, firmly sticking his legs on either side of him, hauled himself up.

Mikumo, who’d been stuck in an abject shock, broke free of it. He used the shade from the head of the monster to create two helpful tendrils that gripped Izuku’s forearms and pulled him up the rest of the way. Now they sat astride the thing’s shoulder.

Now they were close enough.

Mikumo, needing no command from Izuku, took that pool of shadows, yanked a giant weapon from it, and ripped it into the thing’s head, using the same curling motion at the midpoint like he’d done earlier.

He remembered something else from earlier too.

He stubbornly kept the weapon intact, but it was no use. This weapon, despite its enormity, was to the Zero Pointer as a toothpick was to a bear.

So when it disappeared, it could not be held accountable for the fall that followed.

They went tumbling over its chest - and Mikumo felt one of those now-rare moments of separation. It was Izuku that was falling, not him, it was Izuku-

Get out of my head! Izuku internally shrieked.

Five words that Mikumo had always feared. And in this context, it was no different.

“No!” He clung on, clung inside, and he was grounded, safe in the solidity, even though the earth and every other marker of life up until this point had disappeared in this freefall.

The seconds passed, but that didn’t matter anymore, time had gone too. It was really just the wind that counted.

Get out! You’ll die-

Izuku’s cheek hit the ground first.

Which was odd, because it had felt like it was going to be the back of the head that went first.

And it was gentle, almost like a flower petal brushing up against them.

But there was pain too. It just took a few moments for the numbing effect of the wind to fade…and it stung. It wasn’t at all a bludgeoning effect like had been expected.

Then Izuku peeled open his eyes. And what they saw was the crystal blue of the sky, the dead-bug feet of the Zero Pointer (that monster that monster) and a perfectly healthy body.

Their body.

Still wrapped up tightly in gym clothes - not a speck of blood marring the fabric.

“Release!” A girl groaned to their right.

Then they really did hit the ground.

It was a gentle fall, compared to the one they’d expected. Still, the shock of it sent a cold wash of terror over them. Izuku sat up, concrete biting into the heels of his hands. He turned to his left (the side the girl who’d saved them was not on) and threw up. Whether this reaction was prompted by whiplash or pure emotional toil, neither could tell.

The sound of their retching was matched on their right. It had been a bit too much for the girl too, then. Whether her reaction was prompted by the fact that her leg was broken under a pile of rubble or pure emotional toil, neither could tell.

“Your plan…” Mikumo started, vying for an explanation.

Izuku picked up on this. He was breathless even in his mind. Rescued her…rescue points…points from the Zero Pointer…it’s a loophole…I heard her scream from the alleyway right after the ground opened…

It all fell into place. The other part of Izuku’s plan - the reason for it - had been lost way back in the now-now-now-now of his urgency.

“But did you ever stop to think about how we would get down from it?”

Nope.

Maybe just a bit of resentment began to boil up in Mikumo.

I am very sorry.

Then it was gone.

“Excuse me, excuse me…” an old woman’s voice gently chided. Izuku turned to look. It was Recovery Girl, the school’s nurse. The presence of an adult after that frenzy of hellish violence cowed the crowd(!) of middle schoolers into parting so she could make way. Many of them looked at Izuku and the girl next to him with expressions of disgust on their faces. It seemed to him that none of them breathed - that none of them even lived. They were a mere painting of tragedy.

It could not be real, this conglomeration of frightened faces.

“Are you injured, young man?” Recovery Girl croaked down at him. Even while sitting on the ground he was taller than her.

“No…I lived,” he said softly.

“Izuku, look at her face. What does it say? Does she know who I am? What you used?”

He looked. The wrinkled lines of her countenance showed only casual reassurance. A practiced expression, surely. A heroic one.

No, it’s fine. She doesn’t know. At least, she’s not the one that knows. Someone out there does, though.

He got to his feet and watched as Recovery Girl laid a kiss upon the-girl-with-a-broken-leg’s face while making comforting circles on her upper back with her palm. The-girl-with-a-broken-leg cried out, and a horrible snap of bone jutting back into place cut through the air.

Izuku turned away, running a hand through his curls. He tried to go through what he knew before, what he knew now, and what he should expect after. But it all wound together in a tangled mess.

“Excuse me,” an even voice spoke up to his right. It was Iida (Iida!), but an Iida who now looked more disarrayed than Izuku would have thought possible. But there wasn’t dirt marring him or any injury - it was all in his face.

Izuku tried to say “Yes?” but nothing came out except a minute sigh.

Iida was undeterred. He held up a pair of neatly folded socks in one hand and a pair of red sneakers in another. “Your shoes and socks. They fell,” he explained.

“Oh.” Izuku took them, eyeing the socks with distrust. They certainly had not fallen like that.

“Say ‘thank you,’” Mikumo murmured.

“Thank you.”

“It’s no issue at all,” Iida replied primly. But still, his face…

He turned to go after an amount of time Izuku realized only afterwards was awkwardly long. Izuku himself blinked and turned to the girl.

She was laying against a piece of rubble, back stiff with the tension of fading pain. Her legs were splayed out in front of her and Recovery Girl crouched by one of them, prodding it with expert fingers. The girl smiled and waved sleepily at him. He waved back, but did not smile.

Recovery Girl rose. “You may all leave now,” she called to the crowd. “Unless you have an injury. In that case, please form a line behind me and I will get to you soon.” She paused. “And for the love of everything, please do not be modest. Having an injury does not detract points from your score. There is no need to hide it.”

Everyone shuffled then, some going back out the gates and some filing into a neat order. Izuku plopped back down to the ground and slipped on his socks and shoes. He was too shaky to do it one-legged.

Once he was done, he too walked through the gates. He eyed a camera up in the corner.

That camera knew.

Less than two minutes after Izuku started fighting the robot in the alleyway, Principal Nedzu got a call from the Hero Public Safety Commission.

Nedzu did not get the phone call directly. No, not a single phone was in the room with him. Instead, an assistant poked his head into the doorway and, after waiting for a lull that never came, interrupted to inform Nedzu of his attempted interlocutor.

However piqued his interest was, Nedzu had to decline. His work at the computer screens in front of him were of a much more pressing immediacy than whatever the Hero Public Safety Commission wanted - unless, of course, they were calling to inform him that nuclear war had begun.

It didn’t occur to him that they would be interested in something as trifling as the entrance exam, but in hindsight this would seem obvious. They did have access to the same roving cameras he did, after all.

His paws flicked across the custom-built keyboard. Artificial Intelligence could be accredited with much of the moderation work. AI’s were built into each robot - not necessarily to control it, but to stop it when a student was about to suffer too great of an injury. When this occurred, a red dot would flash on one of his monitors, marking the camera that showed the event. This was where he came in - the organically intelligent element. He’d watch to make sure the AI carried out its code successfully, and if it didn’t, he was ready to step in. These red dots came in at a rapid pace - too rapid for an average human to track.

Nedzu was good at his job.

Another AI, one he had painstakingly coded himself, was able to analyze all of the cameras and realistically animate what it deemed most likely to happen five seconds into the future. This was displayed on his second monitor, and unless something went wrong, he hardly had to glance at it.

Something did go wrong.

When one of the prospective applicants jumped atop the Zero Pointer’s shoulders, the second monitor showed this same young man tumbling to the ground before it ever happened.

And when it did happen, the second monitor showed its thoughts on the result. The young woman it knew to be Uraraka Ochaco (Quirk: Zero Gravity) slapped Midoriya Izuku’s face, activating her quirk and effectively stopping his freefall mere moments before he hit the ground.

Nedzu could have relied on this, but he didn’t. His paw hovered over the button that would make the ground slide back to reveal a cushy landing spot in case something went awry - Ms. Uraraka misaiming, for example.

But it happened just as the second monitor foretold.

At this point, Nedzu had received five more calls from the Hero Public Safety Commission, all of which he declined.

Nedzu could not remember ever declining the HPSC’s calls before.

So when Midoriya Izuku’s exam was over, Nedzu alerted Present Mic that they would have to put the others on hold while he took care of something.

When he hopped down from his chair and left the room, it was not a phone call waiting for him, but the Madam President herself. She’d made the trip over to UA in the interim between the second attempted call and the fifth.

Nedzu bowed deeply. He would have gotten down on the floor if he weren’t afraid of wasting her time.

“I am sorry, ma’am. My moderation duties for the entrance exam have kept me busy. What do you wish to discuss?”

Her eyes bore into him with her usual severity. Except this time, there was something wild in them too.

“Nedzu, who was that young man who fell off the big robot?”

“Midoriya Izuku,” he answered promptly. He was often grateful for his skill in recall, but right now, with the depth of her turquoise eyes cutting into him, the feeling had never been so poignant.

“If we do not handle Midoriya Izuku with care, he will be the downfall of UA.”

Her stumble over the word “care,” and the way she trembled when the breath caught in her chest after she was done speaking finally clued Nedzu in on what that glint was in her eyes.

Panic.

Chapter Text

“I know you are aware of the nature of All Might’s quirk,” the President of the Hero Public Safety Commission said, folding her hands in her lap. She was seated comfortably in a narrow armchair across from Nedzu’s own desk chair. They had vacated to another room once it became clear their conversation would be long, and likely arduous.

“Yes ma’am,” was all Nedzu said. He also knew that All Might’s next successor would be Mirio, a third-year at UA. Had, in fact, collaborated closely with the man on this point to make sure all the details were in order.

“Then you are also aware of his impending retirement.”

“Of course.” He wondered if she was aware that the event that would incite said retirement had taken place just this morning. Mirio had been given the gift of One for All and right after set out to do volunteer work for UA. He would make a fine hero.

“When All Might retires, Nedzu, the Symbol of Peace retires with him. And no clever marketing ploy will be able to mold Mirio to the same image. With that sort of void in the structure of heroics - without All Might acting as the pinnacle at the top - our industry will suffer a great dissonance between the true state of things and what civilians will expect to happen.”

“And they will expect disaster?” He guessed.

“Yes. This is not mere conjecture on our part. Our projections confirm this as a certainty: great unrest and distrust of heroes is on its way.”

Nedzu saw where this was going. He saw it as clearly as though a solid black arrow hung just above his nose and stretched all the way out to the fourth dimension, where an omnipotent being might watch this possible future play out. He didn’t like it. As he spoke his next words, he hoped they would not be confirmed. Because if they were, all the rest of what he foresaw would follow.

“I’m guessing you’ve taken some preventative measures?”

“Yes.” The president didn’t pause between this word and her next ones, but Nedzu felt that she did just the same. “We’ve seen this coming for a long while now, though in years past we held out on brash action. There was no telling if some event would incite a shift that could change the consequences of All Might’s retirement. But there’s been no such event.” She pursed her lips. “Luckily, we didn’t hold off on all action.”

She shifted then, an infinitesimal movement. Nedzu could hardly pin down exactly what it was. Perhaps her foot twitched. She’d always had a grand poker face, but she kept her cards especially close to her chest when she was with him. Because she knew him and what he could do. Knew him very well.

She continued, her tone impressively casual. Nedzu was a good poker player too. Any human in his position would have balked at her next words.

“A few decades ago the Hero Public Safety Commission discreetly opened a new research branch whose sole purpose was to find a way to artificially make a quirk. The goal was to cure quirklessness. It was thought - and still is - that with the quirkless issue taken care of, however minute it may be in the face of other aspects of our society, would help stabilize us.”

Us. There really was everything in just that one word, wasn’t there? The HPSC had intended to unveil their product, their quirk to people, and amidst the cheers they would stand at the center of it all. They, the spearhead of this great invention. Sliding back into public focus would be a discreet affair, with their product held proudly in front of them. Not to mention the slick control they’d be granted as the dispensers of the fine miracle.

Nedzu feigned that he had not understood any of that. “Would the eradication of quirklessness not be too radical an offset? How can you be sure things wouldn’t dip further into chaos?”

“The quirkless people of today are much like those without guns in an America of long past, back before quirks emerged. To not have a gun was only a threat when confronted by people with guns. Thus, even those that opposed the Second Amendment could admit they craved the protection. The quirkless of today only want an even playing field, since eighty percent of their neighbors have an ever-present weapon while they do not.” She said this tonelessly, which was not a surprise. The argument she’d just presented had been said countless times before by countless others for many, many years.

Nedzu nodded peaceably. “I understand.”

“Well,” she said, pulling at the hem of her sleeve. Not a nervous movement - a purposeful one, to create a segue. “The investigative branch didn’t just want to create an artificial quirk. If that were the case, we could have stopped operations years ago.” She motioned towards Nedzu. “When we created your quirk for you.”

In the ensuing silence his ears twitched involuntarily. Those words were like a fine, red wine to him. It was an absolute rarity to hear her, or any of the other few who knew his origins speak of it. The information he himself knew was negligible, and with this miniscule gem of a fact now in his paws, he felt how he figured a young child on his birthday might feel.

He almost forgot to reply. He tried to, but found his mind had gone eerily blank. He nodded for her to continue.

“Another feature we wanted the quirk to have was the ability to standalone.” She crossed her legs and looked into the distance, as though she were reciting something. “‘A standalone artificial quirk.’”

“What exactly does that mean?” But he knew what it meant. They were about to reach the sharp end of that arrow.

“It means that we wished to create something very similar to a sentient quirk. And we did.”

There it was. The HPSC had created another version of him. Or rather, his quirk (but there really wasn’t much of a difference, was there? He didn’t exist without it).

“I thought you might say that, Madam President.” A good liar knows when to sprinkle in some truth. “But it doesn’t seem like you’re done with this story yet. What else is there?”

Another little twitch. “First I have to explain what I meant by sentient. What our intention was, Nedzu. We wanted the quirk to be ‘standalone’ because we found it would be more versatile that way. Sentient quirks are much easier to merge with people. It’s something in their genetic makeup as opposed to the other four types of quirks that allows for this.” She stiffened, perhaps bracing herself to relinquish yet another long-held gem. “That’s why, when we created your quirk, we found that it had to be given to an animal instead of a human. A human mind would have been scrambled from the added pressure - the pressure of an extra layer of consciousness on top of their own, already excellent one.”

That gem was sharp.

“But sentience exists on many levels, Nedzu. We are lucky for that. We’d have shut down the project if full consciousness was required. Instead, we’d planned to give the quirks enough knowledge so they could adapt to being alive. Nothing more. Simple things, like how to open doors, what cars are…how people, their cohabitors work. So no accidental harm would come to the quirk’s user.” She paused. “It was thought that thinking skills would not develop.”

Nedzu’s blood turned cold.

“But…they did?” He asked tentatively. His mind was roving, positively racing over all the possibilities. All were grim.

“Yes. We gave knowledge to one quirk. We were certain the process would be repeated many times over, but still, we held off on giving the same gift to the others - the ones that were in what we called ‘gestation.’ They exist, but without any individuality. They’re pure quirks, like the kind we gave you.”

“And what happened to the one quirk? How alive is it?”

She looked at him coolly. “Very alive. And it’s gone.”

“How?”

“It broke free within minutes of awakening. Before leaving, it showed clear signs of…” she faltered. “Human intelligence.”

“What about human emotion?” Nedzu snapped.

“Emotion, too.”

“Where…did it go?”

“Away. Presumably out of the building, though we could hardly tell even that, at first. Nedzu, I take it you’ve realized the issues this raises?”

“I have. If this quirk is found and shares its story, it really will spell the downfall of…” he trailed off, instincts raising a bright red flag in his mind. He went back to what he’d just been about to quote - her words just before entering this room. She’d said it would mean the downfall of UA, not the HPSC. And what was it before that?

He realized with a jolt.

“Midoriya Izuku,” he said. “That’s where the quirk went.”

She nodded. “That’s where the quirk went.”

His mind jerked suddenly from the dour realities of downfall and clanged down upon a new track, one that was supercharged with emotion.

“And what would you have me do with him?”

She blinked, briefly interrupting that beam her icy eyes sent out. Nedzu realized she had dropped that previously impenetrable pokerface, or at least the posture of it. She was leaning forward, body signaling just how intent she was on this conversation.

“I want you to let him pass. Let him come to UA, no matter if he failed today or not. Place him in 1-A with Eraserhead. Aizawa will be charged with the task of keeping a good eye on him. As will you.”

“...Supervision is all you want? And information?” He hesitated, not because he was uncertain, but because he knew he would not find out just what her endgame was with Midoriya Izuku.

But it was not likely to be pleasant.

“For the time being, yes.” She squinted her eyes at him and patted the arm of her chair. A thinking expression. “Nedzu, I realize I’ve dropped a lot on you today. And I don’t have more to say, really. The HPSC will be busy laying plans for this case, and I’ll relate more to you on your part in it as soon as I’ve figured it out. As of now, this is all I have. I did come here in a rush, after all.”

She rose, and Nedzu hopped down. “I understand,” was all he said, and he sounded downright chipper about it. It was best to use his normal tone. But inside, his nerves were frayed with stress and his mind was traveling in a tipsy go kart.

She bowed in the form of a brief nod. “Of course, you have exams to get back to.”

Nedzu needed no reminding. “Not to worry. It’s scarcely been a half hour.” And didn’t that feel like a lie.

He bowed deeply, and they said their goodbyes. She left using the same underground train she’d taken to get here. It was an unlikely bridge between the HPSC HQ and UA. It had been built purely for high level emergencies.

It hadn’t been used since its first test run many decades ago.

Nedzu sighed, hopped back in the seat facing his monitors, and stared blankly at them for several seconds. He picked up the clutter that was everything he’d just learned (as well as the half-baked predictions, which were screaming for attention) and shoved it in a save file in his brain.

Then he opened the connection to Present Mic’s earpiece and told him the exams could now resume.

Izuku had teetered on the line between obscurity and exposure for a month now. He’d left UA and the dismayed shouts of ‘delay, the rest have been delayed’ to itself and took the bus home.

He’d expected his actions would set off a chain reaction of mad fireworks that would scorch anyone that got too close. He’d expected it even while knowing it would not go down like that.

He found the lack of reaction made him feel ungraceful. Like a cruel kid pulling a block out of another’s perilous tower and frowning when only the briefest of warbles shook it. If he himself felt he was that child, how then, did the high authority of the HPSC view him now? When they sent someone to tail him, what kind of reports did he bring back?

The person who’d been following him had a magnetism quirk. Mikumo kept his quirk sense humming constantly, and that magnetism quirk edged in and out of range far too often. Izuku had never seen the person’s face. He didn’t turn to look when Mikumo called out “He’s behind us” no matter how much he itched to do it.

Izuku had poked at the tower, and now they were watching to ensure he would not do it again.

But that was the issue wasn’t it? He’d have to keep poking at the tower, and they would just have to grin and bear it. Because as long as he was active and in their sights, they would not lose Mikumo again.

That was how he knew the letter he held in his hands would congratulate him on his success during the exam before he even opened it.

It was true, what he’d said to Mikumo in the woods. He wouldn’t have his journey to UA go down any other way. If he backed down from this, then what had he always wanted to be a hero for? But all noble intentions were sullied by manipulation. Izuku had always had his own two cents to share about morality, but now they became more refined everyday. Lies are never good, even when they’re spoken with the best of intentions. If he could have this situation clear-cut and dry, he would. Just him and the powers that be from the HPSC getting everything sorted out - no subterfuge involved.

He kept that mental image close at hand. Even though childish naivete was not actionable, it was still worth keeping near and dear. And he’d never stop hoping for it.

Mikumo. I feel something solid in this letter. Do you think they bugged it?

“...Bugs?”

Izuku grinned. No, Mikumo. A wire. A listening device?

“Oh. Oh sure! Of course they would.”

Izuku peeled it open and let the suspicious object fall to the desk. It was a thick medallion of a thing, gray and gold-rimmed with the UA logo on one side. He picked it up.

“The main purpose can’t be to listen. Still, it could be hidden in there. Don’t speak out loud to me.”

Gotcha. Izuku flipped it over. This side was blank besides one pinhole. Nestled inside was a murky black bead - like the stuff cameras are made of. He frowned at it, fingers working along the sides until he found a button to press. The eyeball sent one serene beam of light upwards. Izuku grimaced and placed it eye-up on his desk before it could blind him.

The beam expanded to a neat rectangle. Inside, a video began to play of Principal Nedzu. The short animal kept his hands folded primly behind his back as he talked while his tail flicked about intermittently.

“Congratulations, Midoriya Izuku! You’ve been accepted into UA Academy.” Nedzu paused, an amicable grin on his snout. He was giving the new student time to celebrate. With family gathered around to cheer and cry, preferably. Izuku only sat terribly still and stared back at those round obsidian eyes.

“Your performance in the entrance exam was superb! You earned two combat points and fifty-six rescue points.” Nedzu moved to one side of the screen to allow an image of the overall scores to appear on his left.

“So you were right about that,” Mikumo breathed. There had been some debate between them in the nervous time between the entrance exam and now as to whether Izuku’s hunch had been correct.

“Overall, you got ninth place, putting you in the top ten!” Another obligatory pause for celebrations. “The rescue points were kept secret until now because we wanted to ensure that if our students helped others, they would do so selflessly.”

Izuku nearly flinched. Nedzu was grinning, but there was something a bit too toothy about it. And they were sharp.

He knows I figured it out!

“Although you may be excited during this transition period, please content yourself with maintaining your physical health. Don’t quit exercising now that you’ve passed. The work doesn’t stop here! Be ready to bring your best self with you on your first day at UA.”

Izuku felt very cold.

“You’ll soon receive your class roster in the mail. In the meantime, go ahead and fill out your enrollment confirmation form. UA looks forward to being your Hero Academy!”

The rectangle shrank into nothing and the beam receded back to the eye it came from. Izuku picked the medallion up and set it to the side. He simply didn’t want to have it in front of him anymore.

What…in the world does Principal Nedzu think of me?

“He warned you.”

He did. Izuku shook out the remaining paper in the envelope. Out slipped the UA ENROLLMENT CONFIRMATION FORM as the heading at the top of the paper so loudly explained. Izuku let that be for now and grabbed the medallion. With it and the envelope in hand, he put on some flip flops and left his apartment. Down the stairs he went, until he came to a battered unmarked door. He stepped through it and into the alley. The singing stench of rotted food assaulted his nose. He slowly looked left and right, in a manner no casual tosser of trash would. Then he stepped up to the titanic heap of a garbage can and held the two items clearly in front of him. He placed them atop the garbage.

He went back upstairs.

“Exactly what kind of message was that?”

I don’t know. It was just a message. I think that’s all that matters. He settled back in his desk chair with an oof.

“We’re communicating now.”

Yes. And now: we officially know we’re safe. We’ve chosen to go to UA, and they’ve accepted those terms.

“I’ll start worrying again about a week in, thank you.”

“It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Aizawa.”

Shouta noted with some distaste that Mera’s voice was still as uncomfortably gravelly as the last time he’d seen the man. It was a strange voice; undeniably a politician’s in the way it grabbed one’s attention. But Yokumiru Mera had not been center stage in political matters his entire career. The Vice President’s role in the Hero Public Safety Commission had been accepted at the same time it was inexplicable. It set Shouta on edge to not know exactly what this man could do.

Still, Shouta grimaced amicably and offered his hand. “I had hoped the first thing you said would be an explanation for this meeting.”

Most people rolled with the punches his brash manner inflicted and treated his words as though he were merely being funny. Mera did the same, but his eyes were humorless. They saw right through it.

“I’m glad to hear it, Mr. Aizawa,” he chuckled dryly. “I’d also like to get down to business.” They shook hands. Mera’s hand was knobby and inflamed. Telltale signs of arthritis.

Shouta started to remark on it. Say something similar to an apology perhaps. He had a vague memory of being told of Mera’s condition before, probably by the man himself. Still, he’d initiated the handshake. But Mera spoke before he could.

“Not to worry, Mr. Aizawa. And certainly no need to look so glum about it. I’m not too far gone yet.” He chuckled and wiggled the fingers of one decrepit hand to prove it.

Shouta nodded and eyed the couches in this spacious office, but Mera had already turned towards them, sensing the upcoming lull.

“Help yourself to the tea platter. You got here just in time to enjoy it. The tea’s still hot and the pastries are warm.”

“Thank you. It would be hard to be late. I’ve had this meeting on my schedule for a month now.” It was true. A month, this meeting had waited. And not once was he given a hint as to what it was about.

“Sorry to keep you hanging like that.” He sipped his tea, and to Shouta’s immense disappointment, it did nothing to ease the man’s chronic sore throat. “Both me and the Madam President agreed it would be best to speak with you in person. As for the wait, the plans for this case are pending. We had to get our ducks in a row, so to speak.”

Shouta felt relief for a worry he’d been trying desperately to ignore: that this meeting had been about him. “What’s the case?”

Mera gulped the last of his tea, pursed his lips, then swallowed. He looked pensively into the distance for several seconds.

It’s reactions like this that make me wonder if all his screws are bolted in tight, Shouta thought.

“We have a special case. You were chosen for it because of your skills in stealth. Also, you are in the best position for it.” He traced the rim of his teacup thoughtfully. “It may make you uncomfortable, this case. It may stress you out.”

Shouta was, in fact, discomforted. Mera, the high and mighty overseer of hero work, witness of all sorts of grisly pieces of shit cases, thought this one might possibly be a bit too much.

He continued. “I understand many Pro Heroes take teaching positions to escape the darker side of heroics. Or rather, to set their sights once more on the hope that made them want to become a hero in the first place.” He gestured genially towards Shouta. “I’m not aware of your motivations, though I do want to be cautious not to step on the toes of them, if they’re what I think they are.”

Shouta made no move to confirm or deny this.

“A young man we need to keep an eye on applied to UA. He took the entrance exam, and passed. He will be put in class 1-A this year, as your student. It’s our hope you will help us watch over him.”

“What has he done?”

Mera let go of his teacup and leaned back. “He’s done nothing wrong, and is not likely to do anything wrong. I can assure you of that.”

Shouta unclenched his fists. He had been certain - certain - Mera would reveal the young man was a villain. That he needed help collecting evidence against him so they could arrest him. And if that had been the case, he’d have been right. Shouta would have been very uncomfortable, and very stressed. But now there was another pressing concern.

“If he’s done nothing wrong then why must his teacher spy on him?” He winced at the emotional undertone of his own words.

“I cannot tell you why the HPSC has asked this of you,” Mera said gently. “And I apologize for that. We merely need more information on this man’s quirk. That’s as far as your obligations with him go.”

“Will he still be in my class by the end of the year?” His tone was even, but the words pulled the air taut with tension.

Mera sighed. “Nothing bad will happen to this student. The situation is pending, and very, very flexible. He may be removed by the end of the year, yes. And, unfortunately, I can guarantee that he will not graduate. I’m sorry if this adds a burden to your shoulders.”

“It does,” Shouta shot back. “For what reason would he be removed?”

Mera seemed to search for words but his gaze was flat. Finally, he sighed. It was a sound of misery and disconsolation. “I cannot tell you. What I can tell you is that no disruption will come to you or class when it happens. The young man himself will be fine. He is simply unfit for UA.”

Mera said that last sentence with flourish, and the hidden message seemed to be: I know you’ll understand that, won’t you, Mr. Aizawa? You did, after all, expel your entire class last year.

Shouta took this as a hit. “Sir. If he is unfit for UA then he should not be at UA.”

“He’s done nothing wrong, I can assure-”

“And if he’s done nothing wrong, and would be fit for UA if not for what he did to provoke the HPSC, then I cannot feel good about this.”

Mera spoke slowly. So slowly, he seemed to melt away the tension with his pace. “But he has provoked the HPSC.” He frowned, shook his head, and refilled his tea cup. When the red liquid had filled it halfway, he cut off the stream and set it back down. He looked back up at Shouta. “And he knows he’s done it.”

He said it with relish.

Shouta rubbed his knee uncomfortably. He suddenly felt like he was looking into the eyes of a snake. “He’ll know people are watching him?”

“Yes.” Mera stared hollowly down at his tea. “He knows, and he’ll keep provoking the HPSC nonetheless.”

“And still…you say he will do nothing wrong. That he is no danger.”

Mera smiled at him. “Let’s put it like this. He’s good-natured, but idiotic.” He took a sip of his tea and raised a bulbous finger. “Mm. You’ve dealt with many of those in your time.” He chuckled.

There. Another aside about the students of last year.

Shouta clicked his tongue and tilted his head. He’d made a decision. “You said you only want information about his quirk?”

“Yes,” Mera said excitedly, ready to get back on track. “It was our thought that it would be a good idea to use Erasure on him. I know you often use it during lessons anyways.”

“Sure.”

“Any and all information you can gather by observing him. There’s no need to go right up to him and ask. He knows he’s being watched, but not by his homeroom teacher.” Mera chuckled once more. Shouta struggled to find it funny.

“Would…you like to know the weaknesses of his quirk?”

“Anything you can give us,” Mera shot back, smiling ignorantly. But Shouta knew he’d seen the trap and averted it.

“What is his quirk? And I suppose you’ll tell me his name now.”

“Of course. Midoriya Izuku. And his quirk allows him to manipulate shadows. He can move them and turn them solid. Within a certain range.”

Shouta was impressed. That was a good quirk. And he thought he had already seen the boy before. All the staff had gathered around to watch the camera footage of the exams. None had missed remarking on the child who defeated a Zero Pointer and promptly got the scare of his life.

“Oh, and this is important, Mr. Aizawa. I’d like you to let me know if he is ever unable to use his quirk when he should be able to.”

“Like…as if it’s missing?”

Mera started to snap then aborted the motion. “Exactly.” He smiled. “Please relate all updates to us promptly.”

Shouta nodded. He felt he was getting a good feel for this situation. He knew he could do it. He just wondered if Mera really believed he could be used as an informant and never figure out just what was going on.

Because he would. For once, the HPSC did not seem to have their shit completely together.

“I trust you can settle into this position?” Mera asked. A loose grin was on his lips but his eyes were stony.

“I can.”

“Good. Nedzu knows just as much as you do. Please meet with him before the school year begins. You’ll tell him of any new developments and he will relate them to us.”

He rose, and Shouta did the same. They said their goodbyes and bowed. He exited the office and was led by two bodyguards through the elevator and to the lobby of the HPSC HQ. He left through the glass double doors. He paused to adjust his tie, enjoying the feel of raw daylight. He thought of finally getting out of these formal clothes, among other things.

Other things being the desperate wish that he hadn’t just been invited to participate in another Suicide Squad level fuck-up.

The whole situation reeks of bullshit, he thought bitterly. He wasn’t all apprehensive, though. He couldn’t wait to meet Midoriya Izuku and start setting things straight.

He started his walk home, missing the good sunlight when he passed under the shade of an awning.

The same awning whose shade had served as a hiding spot for a frightened young botched experiment many months earlier. The botched experiment he’d just been unknowingly tasked with helping to kill.

Chapter Text

Remarkably, as Izuku roamed the halls of UA, it wasn’t so much the Hero Public Safety Commission that was making him nervous, but the simple fact that this was his first day at a new school - a prestigious new school, at that.

When Izuku found the 1-A classroom, he saw that Bakugou was one of the few in it, and the picture he made was stunning. With his legs propped up on the desk and his body leaned back in the chair, he looked just as he had back in middle school. It was like the transition from his sleazy role in middle school to his new position as a hero in training hadn’t fazed him in the least.

Izuku’s grip on the doorknob tightened. A small, cold fear slithered down his back. One of the things he had to be concerned about today was impressions, and he hoped to offer his classmates the idea that he was unremarkable. But with Bakugou sitting there like that…

He went out of his way to ensure I was treated as anything but normal at our old school.

“He can’t do a thing like that here. Not when he’s surrounded by heroes.”

Izuku’s face darkened. Oh, he can. He’s good at finding a way.

He released the doorknob and started forwards, hand apprehensively flicking to the bulky knot that was his tie. He circumvented Iida, who was doing his ‘please conduct yourself with respect’ routine on Bakugou (which had about the same effect of scolding a brick wall) and slid into the seat right behind his old friend. As weird as it was, Izuku preferred to be here. Bakugou was the only person in this school who was not an unknown variable. Bakugou turned, and his red eyes flicked to Izuku. There was something dark and full of ire in them, but after a few moments of studying Izuku his lips formed a thin grin. There was something cruel about it.

More students trickled in and Izuku observed them dutifully. They were an odd, bulky bunch, full of obvious strength, but cowed by their nerves. It was strange to see a huge young man with a severe mutant quirk sidling shyly amongst the desks for a seat. If there was one saving grace, it was that all of the students looked at one another with gentle inquisitiveness rather than a shark-like gaze - the kind Izuku often saw on Bakugou’s face (and was surely there now) that roved for weaknesses.

Amidst the tension the air carried, there was also camaraderie. The kind that occurs when people who are frightened to their core are relieved to find that they’re not alone.

In short, it was pleasant.

The desks were filling, and one of the last few to slip into the classroom was the girl from the entrance exam. Izuku locked eyes with her and mutual surprise filled their faces. She giggled and went to him. Izuku forced a weak smile on his lips.

“You’re the kid from the entrance exam!” She exclaimed, beaming with happiness. “I’m so glad you’re in my class. I’m Uraraka Ochaco.” She stuck out her hand. “Thanks for saving me!”

He shook. “Well, I’m Midoriya Izuku. Thank you for saving me, too.” He tried his best to ignore how quietly he spoke. Uraraka did not do the same. She faltered a little.

She giggled nervously, realizing that they were out of pleasantries to exchange. “I’ll catch up with you later, I guess.” She glanced at an arm that was devoid of any timepiece. “Class is probably about to start.”

Izuku nodded and watched her go. He was glad. He’d just figured out who to sit with during lunch.

“Please, cut the chatter,” an adult voice said from the front of the room. Everything fell quiet. “I’m Mr. Aizawa, your homeroom teacher this year.” He strided over to the lectern, further cementing this point. “We’ll be skipping the introduction ceremonies and move straight into a quirk apprehension test.”

Izuku heard the starchy scuffle of well-ironed clothes as Iida raised his hand.

“Excuse me, sir. I thought the introduction ceremony was mandatory for all first years?”

Mr. Aizawa slowly blinked at him. “Here at UA, teachers are given permission to run their class as they see fit. And the way I see it, there’s no point in taking you through the introduction ceremony if I’ve yet to figure out how many of you are going to stay at UA.”

Iida hesitated as he deliberated the meaning of those alarming words. “Yes sir…but do you mean to say…do you mean that not all of us are official students?”

“No. You are all students of UA. I’m talking about expulsion. This test will let me see who does and does not have potential as a hero.”

Everyone seemed to draw back from Mr. Aizawa at those words. Even Bakugou flinched. Izuku frowned.

“If he expels us he throws off the entire game,” Mikumo warned.

Could he even expel us? If I’ve got them pinned down right, the HPSC wouldn’t be able to let him do it.

“You can’t do that!” The kid behind Izuku shrieked.

Mr. Aizawa leveled the kid with a forbidding stare. It was so stern Izuku felt too dizzy to look at it for long.

“I can do that,” Mr. Aizawa said lowly.

“You shouldn’t,” the kid pouted. Izuku suddenly felt very bad for him. He’d effectively just planted himself firmly on the teacher's bad side, and if Izuku knew teachers, they rarely let go of the grudges formed on the first day.

“Why not, Mineta Minoru? If a student isn’t cut out for heroics, then why should they be allowed to continue to train for heroics?” He didn’t say it, but his tone heavily implied that Mineta might just be that kind of student.

Mineta didn’t reply. Izuku didn’t turn to look, but he could perfectly imagine the pout screwing up the guy’s face.

With that taken care of, Mr. Aizawa commenced to explain how the test would work. It would be split into eight parts, each part testing a basic fitness skill. Points would be rewarded based on performance for each test, and at the end they would be tallied up to find the total score.

“Whoever gets last is expelled. Also, quirk use is allowed. Encouraged, in fact. Use your quirk to get ahead whenever possible.”

So that was the kicker. Izuku winced. He and Mikumo weren’t always the best at coordination. Being able to feel when Mikumo manipulated shadows helped, but sometimes their ideas of what exactly should be done didn’t mesh. They’d fumbled when fighting the two-point robot - Mikumo let the thing fall before Izuku had a chance to get clear of it.

Mr. Aizawa roused the class from the contemplative silence that had overtaken them after he spoke his last words and told them to go to the locker rooms to change into their gym uniforms.

“Don’t be more than ten minutes,” he added brusquely.

With that, Iida stood first and the rest of the class followed. They shuffled out and, though it was a guessing game at first, found the locker rooms.

“We could use this as a test of our own, you know,” Mikumo started.

What do you mean?

“If Mr. Aizawa shows an aversion to expelling us, it would be very telling. If he did that, then it’s safe to say he knows about our situation, right?”

That’s right. But if we do get expelled…

“Then he didn’t know. But it’s like you said, the HPSC won’t let us go.”

Shouta had a hunch about Midoriya Izuku, and he was dread to think it true. Because the words of Mera kept circling about in his head.

“Let’s put it like this. He’s good-natured, but idiotic.”

And sure, it could take an idiot to pull off whatever scheme Midoriya was pulling and still be able to stand here so serenely. But it could also take an incredibly sharp-minded person. One who could stick to their convictions and be ready to use them in conflict as easily as drawing a gun from their hip.

Shouta wanted to believe that was who Midoriya was. Because aside from his HPSC bestowed mission, Shouta had a personal one. And the first step in that mission was establishing Midoriya’s intelligence. The next was figuring out just what exactly his convictions were - what he was so bent on protecting.

But as he watched the kid work his way through the last seven tests, Shouta was filled with an enduring sense of awe and annoyance.

It wasn’t obvious, what Midoriya was doing. Shouta’s evidence consisted of one too many glances thrown his way and whatever bullshit had gone down during the standing long jump test and sit ups test.

All of the students were watching their teacher very carefully right now. There wasn’t anything wrong with Midoriya staring at him, but whenever Shouta turned to meet it, there was something just a bit too intense in the boy’s eyes to be normal. He got the sense that he was being observed for a reaction, and this sent alarm bells ringing in his head like nothing else.

What Shouta had noticed during the standing long jump and the sit ups test was something he’d have caught onto even if the HPSC hadn’t tasked him with being extra vigilant. And it was simple. Midoriya was not using his quirk. When the boy stepped up to the line, ready for his jump, Shouta had fully expected him to use his quirk to carry himself over. It was the best way to get the farthest distance, and if he used his own shadow to do it, the quirk’s limited range wouldn’t matter. But instead, Midoriya had hoisted himself across the line in one pathetic leap.

Initially, Shouta had chalked this up as the kid being wary of using his quirk in an experimental way in front of a large group of strangers. Shouta had observed this many times in his career. New students who had been scolded again and again for using their quirks could be painfully shy when it was finally permitted.

But, Shouta had never seen them actually give in to the embarrassment and risk failing out of the school for it.

And the strange thing was, Midoriya didn’t even seem to be feeling very nervous.

The last test had been the sit ups test. Midoriya had managed to do fifty-five sit ups before the minute was up, which was perfectly average for a fit person. But the key to doing better than that was so obvious that if Shouta wasn’t in the position the HPSC had him in, he would have expelled the kid right that minute - nevermind last place getting expelled. Because Midoriya could have simply used his shadows to press against his back and lift him up and down.

So Shouta’s hunch was this: Midoriya was purposefully tempting fate in order to see if Shouta was aware of his situation.

He was impressed and disappointed at the same time - an unnamed emotion Shouta had become very familiar with in his teaching career. Impressed because the way Midoriya had carried out this operation was artful, and disappointed because it was not artful enough.

It’s the glances, dammit.

Right now the kid was in last, though he had no way of knowing that. Mineta was just a few points above him. The ball throw was next, and if Shouta said one word to him about “Hey, maybe use your quirk this time” his cover would be blown. And if he did nothing, his cover would be blown when he had to admit he couldn’t actually expel this student.

So Shouta was stuck gritting his teeth on the sidelines, hoping Midoriya figured he’d already safely secured last place for himself and would use his quirk.

As a heroics teacher, you never want to be in a position where you can’t control your students. Shouta was currently packed into a tight little corner by whatever Midoriya was vying for and whatever the HPSC didn’t want him to have. This was a damnable, dangerous situation, and Shouta resented it. A wrench in the works like this one would stunt his teaching abilities and, consequently, every other student's education. The only way to fix this would be to do what the HPSC said, so they could get this student out.

And Mera had told him to try using Erasure.

It didn’t matter if Midoriya had his quirk activated or not. He would still feel the effects of it. Most people winced, gasped, and occasionally even screamed. The shock of losing a quirk was the mental equivalent of losing a limb, but with no pain. Even if Shouta had damned himself with the threat to expel whoever came last, at least he’d have some data to lessen the blow.

Izuku had gotten nothing. His teacher showed him no special awareness or consideration than any other student, and he thought it was fair game to call this plan a bust.

“Not quite. We found out he doesn’t know,” Mikumo reminded. “Did you want it to be him?”

I guess I did. It’s got to be somebody around here, and if I could pin them down on the first day, I’d consider us lucky, Izuku thought morosely. He took the ball from Mr. Aizawa and stepped up to the line. I don’t think it’s worth it to fail now.

“Nope. I can…make a tendril from your shadow and throw the ball.”

Izuku nodded. It wouldn’t go as far as it did when Bakugou had boosted it with an explosion a few minutes prior, but it was better than whatever Izuku could manage with his arm. Ready, he told Mikumo, turning to look at his shadow. An inky black plume emerged and rose up, twisting lithely in a way that reminded Izuku of a snake. It plucked the ball from his hand and coiled around it. He stepped around to its side, giving Mikumo a good view of where he needed to aim. Behind him, he heard the vague chattering of his classmates. Most had missed seeing his quirk during the grip strength test, which was the only other time he’d used it today.

How far can you really get it? He was having doubts that this meager rope would suffice.

“Don’t worry. I’ll use it like a whip.”

Don’t lose control of it, Izuku warned. He eyed Mikumo’s creation suspiciously. This one seemed particularly alive.

“I’m ready.”

He glanced up at Mr. Aizawa. The man stood about ten feet away, stance languid. If Izuku was any closer, he’d have been able to see the sharpness in his eyes.

Let’s do it then.

The shadow stretched backwards, the ball weighing it down like a ripe tomato hanging at the end of a vine. It snapped to attention with an audible crack, mercilessly parting the air. Izuku stifled a flinch. It whipped back around, creating an angelic arc entirely juxtaposed with its previous motion. The ball was sent gracefully from its now uncoiled grip, and soared steadily through the blue sky.

Certainly farther than I could have thrown it.

A moment passed.

Farther than a batter could have smacked it. This assumption was based on the fact that the ball had cleared the distance of a baseball field. It went just a bit farther than that, then finally bowed downwards. It went at a slow pace rather than a sheer drop, and Izuku thought that was the mark of a well-rounded throw.

He felt Mikumo’s tendril shrink back into his shadow. He was overtaken by the urge to compliment him.

That was so good. And that shadow was very…animated.

“It’s getting easier to make good ones,” Mikumo beamed.

Izuku turned to Mr. Aizawa, ready to hear the score. The man’s face was contorted in a snarl, and for a second there seemed to be a diminishing red light in his eyes. Izuku only stared back. He felt like a spider had just skittered across his grave.

Mikumo broke the silence. “Did we cheat?” He asked shakily.

Izuku couldn’t reply. He would realize a moment later that it was insane, but right now his mind had narrowed to the prehistoric deliberation of fight or flight. And flight was winning. He was tensed to run.

Mr. Aizawa shifted, literally stepping back into his languid stance. His face was relaxed save for his lips, which were a tight line. “Two hundred and ten meters. Get back in line.”

Izuku did so, turning to keep his eye on Mr. Aizawa most of the way. But the man looked away and started jotting something down on his clipboard. Izuku slipped in next to Uraraka. She shot him a brief questioning glance and he shrugged.

“What do we make of that?” Mikumo asked softly.

Izuku thought it over. I wish I could say that was the sign we were looking for, but I don’t know what caused it. Because we’re definitely not in last anymore.

“Right.”

Mr. Aizawa stepped up to the middle of the students. His eyes passed over their faces disinterestedly, then down to his clipboard. “Yaoyorozu first, Todoroki second, Bakugou third, Iida fourth, Tokoyami fifth…” He droned on, and Izuku listened with mild distaste. “...Midoriya eighteenth…” One meager jolt went through his chest, then nothing. “Hagakure nineteenth, Mineta twentieth.” Mr. Aizawa lowered the clipboard and seemed to appraise their reactions. There were some smiles, but most of them were shaky and uncertain. Satisfied with this, he sought out Mineta.

The boy’s legs were trembling and his arms were folded protectively across his chest. He sniffled roughly and began to whine. “It’s not fair! I got into this school the same as everybody else. Why was I accepted if I couldn’t make it through the first day?”

“That’s a question you might want to ask yourself.” Then, more gently, “But I see what you mean. The standards for students of 1-A are high. Since you couldn’t keep up during this test, your outlook is bleak for the rest of the upcoming trials. I would be-”

Mineta broke in. “Then move me to class 1-B!” He wailed.

Mr. Aizawa paused, finding this worth considering. “Class 1-B is filled,” he said shortly. “We will discuss the details alone. The rest of you are dismissed for lunch.”

Izuku was confused, and Mikumo voiced his very own thoughts. “He didn’t say no…”

Iida shouted. “Alright class! Let’s go to the locker rooms and change first.”

Izuku nearly snickered. Iida had taken up the position of teacher’s assistant, and Mr. Aizawa didn’t seem to care. He followed Iida, shooting a glance to Uraraka. She smiled back, confirming the unasked question: “We’re sitting together during lunch, right?”

And hopefully far away from Bakugou.

Lunch was a bland event. After he and Uraraka had grabbed their lunch trays, he guided her well out of range of Bakugou while she prattled on. Perhaps a bit too far out range, it seemed they were very close to the invisible line that kept upperclassmen separated from freshmen. But no one stopped them.

He tried to talk as much as Uraraka did, but her massive flow of output far surpassed what he was capable of, even at his best. And right now, his social skills were probably at their worst. He was so keyed up about his situation that when he tried to get back down to the level of small talk, his mind only procured two dim dialogue options at a time, and one always came from Mikumo. Uraraka was having a conversation with two people.

“...and I did want to go for something more mature for my hero costume, but pink and white are so reassuring. Anyways, that’s what I wound up saying I wanted on the form.” She nodded to herself as though to confirm that fact.

“And those are like the colors of a paramedic…”

“And those are like the colors of a paramedic.”

She beamed at him. “Yes! That’s what I’m going for. I want to be a hero that rescues people.”

That’s good, Izuku’s own worn brain chugged out.

“Your quirk would be useful for lifting rubble…” Mikumo offered.

He chose that one.

“Yeah. I used to consider working for my parents' construction company, but…” she trailed off. Someone had approached their table and was looking down at them, hands on his hips.

“Hey guys!” He said, a big smile on his face.

It was the guy from the entrance exam. The one that had corralled all the applicants into forming neat lines. Izuku and Uraraka cowered under his stare. Neither were frightened, but the sudden presence of a third year was slightly harrowing.

“Hi,” Izuku said.

“Hello,” Uraraka chimed in, smiling weakly.

“I was just wondering, are you in class 1-A?” They nodded. “Well, good! I made the right pick.” He slid into the booth across from them.

“I’m Midoriya Izuku,” Izuku said, mostly so he could find out what the other's name was.

“Oh, Toogata Mirio over here,” he said, raising a hand. He looked at Uraraka, politely waiting for her to introduce herself. Izuku relaxed a bit.

“Uraraka Ochaco,” she said.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you two.” He barely paused between this sentence and his next. “Did you know All Might will be teaching one of your classes this year?”

“Huh?” Ochaco shrieked, then slapped a hand over her mouth. She giggled nervously. “Are you serious?”

“Very serious! So he hasn’t taught you yet, huh? His class must be next.”

“Why would All Might want to be a teacher?”

“Why would All Might want to be a teacher?” Izuku repeated unthinkingly.

“Uh, I’m not sure,” Mirio said apologetically. “But I do know that he originally wanted to teach class 3-A, but because he didn’t actually have any teaching experience, Principal Nedzu moved him to 1-A. So I guess I’m just curious about what it would have been like.” Throughout his talking, he never lost what seemed to be a genuine joviality.

Izuku liked it, but he frowned. “How do you know all that?”

Mirio shrugged. “Oh, it’s just a rumor. Might not be very credible, actually,” he chuckled.

“Well, I haven’t even seen All Might around yet,” Uraraka said excitedly. “He’s really here?”

“For sure. He’s probably getting ready for his class right now,” Mirio mused. “I wish I could see it.”

Izuku blinked dazedly and messed around with the noodles on the plate before him. “Well, if it’s true then maybe we can tell you what it was like tomorrow.” Uraraka kicked him under the table and he looked at her with deep surprise.

“I believe it!” She exclaimed, slapping a fist on her palm.

Mirio laughed heartily and waved his hands in front of him warningly. “It’s okay! I would doubt it too. Especially coming from a third-year on the first day. I know it sounds like hazing.” He rose to leave, not showing the least bit of offense. “I’ll come back tomorrow. You guys can be my little informants.” He clapped excitedly.

Uraraka chuckled and tapped Izuku with her foot again, but lightly this time. Apologetically. “Sure, it’s a deal.”

They watched him go together. Then Izuku looked at her, worried that their disagreement put her in a bad mood for the day. She merely smiled and picked up the conversation where they left off.

It was clean and easy.

All Might really did teach their next class. Izuku regarded this development with a cold frustration he fought to ward off. It was just another completely unexpected twist. An innocuous one, sure, but it threw him off nonetheless. It was mainly because of the shock of the man actually being here, but there were about two other dimensions to it as well. The first was that All Might knew Izuku, and Izuku knew him. He had noticed All Might squinting at him, as though working to place his face in his memory. It wouldn’t take long before he remembered the sludge villain incident, and an awkward conversation was sure to follow. The last dimension, though entirely out of left field, obstinately remained, no matter how much sound reasoning Izuku threw at it.

It was that All Might had been hired by the HPSC to come keep an eye on him.

It truly was ridiculous, though. Even if official papers said it, All Might did not work for the Hero Public Safety Commission. If anything, Izuku had always had the firm impression that All Might was hardly associated with them at all, and that the HPSC merely worked around him. He’d explained as much to Mikumo when he’d brought up the same concern.

But it nagged at Izuku, and he realized that this was simply what UA would be like for him. Always suspicious, always concerned, especially with the people he was supposed to trust: his teachers.

“Listen up, my new students!” All Might cried. “Here’s how the Battle Trial will work. You’ll be randomly separated into groups of two. To win, you must fight another group of two. One pair will be the villains, and the other the heroes. Villains will guard a fake bomb in one of the buildings behind me, and the heroes will try to arrest the villains or disable the bomb by touching it. If the heroes can’t manage that before the time runs out, then the villains win. Got it?”

Izuku nodded along with his classmates’ excited chorus of “yes sir!” We’ll have better luck as villains, he told Mikumo quickly. I know our defense is good, but we’ve never done offense in a fight.

“But the robot?”

In a fight where we can’t stab our opponent, I mean.

“I’ll start drawing names now,” All Might declared. He procured a bucket with flourish and dug through it. He fished up a slim paper and read it. “Aoyama!” He drew another. “And Ashido. You’re the heroes.” He pulled two more, Sato and Koda, and declared them the villains. Izuku glanced around while All Might went through a few more cycles of this. Uraraka’s costume really was pink and white, though the design team must have taken some liberties, because there were wide strips of black as well. It was the best of both worlds, he supposed. She had wanted something more mature too. He let his gaze fall on Bakugou. Out of everyone (besides Iida, perhaps - he was wearing a modern take on knight armor) he was the most imposing. It was those two gauntlets on his hands. They were nearly a foot wide, and shaped like grenades.

“I like our costume,” Mikumo chimed in, catching the drift of his thoughts.

Izuku looked down at it. It was well made, he could feel that much when he moved in it. But there wasn’t much use to it besides the red belt around his waist which held first-aid items. We’ll have to get more accessories…whenever we find out what they should be.

“I’d like the idea of more armor for us.”

Yes… He eyed the slim metallic tubes clipped to his belt. Each one contained a pinhole at the top, and when he peered inside, he could clearly see there was nothing inside. If a fight in full, unforgiving daylight ever occurred, this was Mikumo's last reservoir of shadow.

Izuku fidgeted with one, wincing slightly. This was the Support Department's interpretation of an obviously uncertain request. He and Mikumo had no idea how much use an object like this would be, so erring on the side of minimalism seemed prudent. Izuku cast another glance at Iida. It didn't seem so smart now.

"Midoriya!" All Might boomed, reading from a freshly plucked scrap of paper. He grappled for another. "Uraraka! You're a hero duo."

Izuku sensed her turn to him in excitement. He smiled back, but only inclined his head towards her by a few degrees. He needed to know who their opponent would be, and the chances of his failure.

The ungraceful shuffling of paper. A whick! as All Might brought one to the light and snapped it taut.

"Bakugou!"

"No…"

"...And Tokoyami! Villains, both of you."

Izuku didn't blink. His breathing remained even. His peripheral vision told him that Bakugou was staring.

I'm sorry, Izuku told Mikumo. He met Bakugou's gaze, clenching his teeth against stress, fearful of what his facial expression give away about his emotions.

He was surprised to see an indication of curiosity from Bakugou. While his thin lips and furrowed brows betrayed that ever-present irritation, his eyes darted across Izuku, taking in his new hero costume with a decidedly fascinated attachment.

He doesn't know where we stand with each other. Izuku clenched his fists and looked away. That's not surprising. But–

"It's surprising that he cares."

Izuku cocked his head to the side and straightened his shoulders. All Might resumed his speech and the words brushed by him, disregarded. What better way for Kacchan to settle things than with a fight?

"We need to evade Bakugou," Izuku murmured. Beside him, Uraraka stiffened. "He won't sit on defense with the bomb; he'll make Tokoyami do that. Because he'll assume the two of us won't last long in a fight, and he'll want his chance with us." Izuku scratched his cheek. "In fact, he won't consider himself the victor unless he takes both of us out himself." Izuku sighed, screwing his eyes shut. "Which means–"

"He'll go for full-frontal attack? Immediately? As soon as we get in there?" Uraraka gestured at the front door of the faux building, her tone incredulous.

"Yes. I think so." He turned toward her fully. "Bakugou's best strength is in an all-out brawl. I'm…I've never used my quirk in a fight before."

She nodded. "Who has? We're all new to this."

Izuku opened his mouth, then shut it. Mikumo spoke for him.

"Except Bakugou."

He could see a similar conclusion dawning on Uraraka as she replayed his previous words in her mind. He cut her off before she could speak - they had no time for these things. The exercise would start shortly.

"I'll fumble any fight with someone who has more experience than me. As far as skill goes, Tokoyami's an unknown, so…" He shook his head. "I don't like that, either."

"What? Leaving me with Bakugou?" Uraraka grinned sheepishly. "I'm not much better off than you. Of course, I'll try my best, but using Float on him could only help him. He knows how to use his explosions to propel himself," she mused. "In the standing long jump earlier today he just shot–" she clapped her hands, "--straight across."

Izuku only fidgeted. I don't know what to tell her.

"Only the two of you working together could defeat Bakugou. That's what you need to say."

But it's not true, Mikumo!

"Do you think that because that's what Bakugou thinks?"

Izuku grimaced. Mikumo made a good point, even if he hadn't carried it to its logical conclusion. Perhaps to spare Izuku's feeling, but he didn't need that particular shield. I've let him get inside my head. I've let him decide the winner, already. A shock of ire rushed through Izuku, making the heat of the day and the sun beating down on his back all the more oppressive. If only he didn't have to confront Bakugou. That was the only piece of Izuku's old life that still confounded him.

"Midoriya?"

I'll leave it up to her, Mikumo. Okay?

He looked at her.

"If I can get Bakugou to chase after me, he'll probably use his explosions to try to take the lead and corner me off. But if I can make that last long enough, and I'm smart about which turns I take…" She pondered, her gaze rested firmly upon the building, like she could understand its entire structure if she only stared for long enough. "I can pick up the rubble his explosions kick up and throw it at him. Like some really heavy concrete."

Izuku blinked. "Oh. And use Float to make it easier to throw, a-and release it just before it hits him?"

She nodded. "It's not very hero-like to throw blunt objects at the opponent, but…"

"No, no! It works."

"Is that the solution?"

It depends on how long she can outmaneuver him. He won't just take that attack forever. Izuku eyed her warily. "I'll have to get through Tokoyami and to the bomb really fast."

"Shadow quirk against shadow quirk," Mikumo intoned.

They heard the sounds of Bakugou's approach as soon as they entered the building. Heavy footfalls resounded above them, from the second floor, leading to the right. Izuku looked that way, hoping for a sign to precipitate the danger. He saw a staircase.

Uraraka stiffened, seeing this too. She whirled on him, smacking the back of her hand against his shoulder. "Go on, Izuku," she whisper-yelled. "You're gonna get in my way in a minute."

Izuku opened his mouth in a soft 'oh.' A protest escaped him. "But–"

"You should be running," she hissed. There was a sharpness to her lips and eyes, something half-scowl and half-comradic grin. She wasn't scared. She didn't feel the dark tightness in her stomach as Izuku did, constricting with each echoing footfall Bakugou made as he leapt down the stairs.

Izuku nodded, finding his feet, and dashed down the opposite end of the hall. The last thing he saw was Bakugou's shadow preceding him against the wall.

"It's better this way," Mikumo comforted. "Bakugou won't go easy on her, but–"

He won't be cruel. Not like he is to me.

Adrenaline fed his progress as he explored the contents of each floor and room with a deftness he hadn't known he acquired. He made his steps light (difficult in these heavy-soled shoes) and clung to corners, slipping out only once total stillness had been ascertained. Mikumo was forbidden from using his quirk sense to feel out for Tokoyami. Anything that hinted at an uncanny prescience Izuku should not, by rights, actually behold, was a danger.

Izuku visualized shadows: slick and rife with life. He kept his eye out for any movements that shouldn't be there. He was well-practiced in finding the signs.

Not a thing was out of place until he got to the sixth - and final - floor.

There was a wall with an opening for double-wide doors, but no doors rested within that space. This, more than anything, tipped Izuku off. He crouched low and ready twenty feet away, analyzing the area for a sign he was being misled. He even glanced up at the ceiling - nothing. Mikumo, dutifully, did not activate quirk sense.

Izuku was the first to speak. I can't waste any time here, not while Uraraka's down there contending with that. I'm heading in. Be ready to restrain the…Dark Shadow, was it? He'd seen Tokoyami activate his quirk that morning, during the ball throw. A bird-like shadow emerged from his chest, solemnly and quietly executing the ball-throw with much more strength than its counterpart could hope to.

The fact that it was made of shadow could either be its strength or weakness in this fight. Izuku and Mikumo had no idea how his manipulations would interact with it. Not even quirk sense could have told him that.

"Yes. I'll try to restrain it with its own body, first."

If that works, this fight will end quickly. Izuku bounced up and sprinted through the door. He geared every bit of his awareness towards his eyesight, ready to see and process whatever trick or ploy that might lay before him.

Tokoyami stood in the middle of the room, his body weight cast unevenly onto one foot, his arms crossed against his chest. Dark Shadow stood aloof of him, hovering in the air with its constructed claws splayed out, thrice the size it had been that morning. The bomb lay pressed up against the wall behind them.

"Dark Shadow," Tokoyami called out, his tone commanding and his voice composed. "Attack him."

The quirk didn't hesitate.

It came forward, roiling upon the shadowy mass of itself like a great wave. Its eyes beheld a sonorous glow. Yellow, like the moon. It loomed upon Izuku like a wild beast as it seemed at once to slide across the room like oil and strain upon the solid weight of compounding, multiplying muscles. Its claw lurched backward as it readied an attack that would end the game right here and now.

Izuku slid into a dodge that would never work, his heart hammering and his brain filled with the sensation that this had happened before.

The quirk before him held an oblique resemblance to the Sludge Villain.

This relation made a causeway open up. As he looked at the outcome of the past a one-lined future solidified.

He didn't even have to say his name.

Mikumo bound the beast. Black tendrils lashed around its chest. The arms girded against the restraints, but this only served to feed them. Dark Shadow squawked as it buckled.

Push it back!

The bird trembled as it was dragged away. Izuku jogged behind it. He scarcely felt his legs.

Turn on Quirk Sense, he mentally mumbled to Mikumo. There had been a decorum to keeping that aspect of his powers under wraps, but in the face of such a near loss it had been tarnished.

"It hates the sun," Mikumo replied. He led a howling Dark Shadow past the bomb and to a window, where he left it propped.

Izuku hesitated in the middle of the room. His gaze darted to Tokoyami. Sweat dripped into his eye.

Tokoyami turned away from Izuku. "Can't you break free?" he hissed at the diminished figure of his quirk.

Dark Shadow cocked its head and bit one of the tendrils. There was an odd, rubber snapping sound.

Did it break?

"It's intact, Mikumo replied. "This quirk has emotions." His voice was distant.

What?

"It feels…angry."

Izuku bit his lip and glared at Tokoyami, like the boy could supply answers to a conversation he was not privy to. He merely squinted his red eyes in return.

How is it angry?

"It's sentient, Izuku."

Like you? Izuku tilted his head, awash in confusion.

"No. Dark Shadow was born alongside Tokoyami."

Okay. Okay, we have to let that go for now. I've got to touch the bomb. There seemed nothing better to say, though he could hear the sentimentality in Mikumo's tone and it pained him.

"Okay."

Tokoyami curled his fingers into fists. "How long can you hold Dark Shadow down?" he questioned.

Izuku grinned, a thin little thing. "As long as I want to."

"Less than a minute," Mikumo uttered meekly.

Izuku took a step forward. There was a thud behind him.

Tokoyami's red gaze slid across his shoulder.

Bakugou huffed. He stood half-crouched in the doorway, one hand pressed against the frame to steady himself. "Are you useless without your pet?" he roared at Tokoyami. Pinkish abrasions littered his exposed arms. Blood dripped.

Uraraka was nowhere in sight.